The life of George Washington; with curious anecdotes, equally honourable to himself, and exemplary to his young countrymen ...

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Chapter I

Oh ! as along the stream of time thy name Expanded flies, and gathers all its fame ; May then these lines to future days descend, And prove thy country's good thine only end !

"Ah, gentlemen !" — exclaimed Bonaparte — 'twas just as he was about to embark for Egypt— some young Americans happening at Toulon, and anxious to see the mighty Corsican, had obtained the honour of an introduction to him. Scarcely were past the customary salutations, when he eagerly asked, " how faresyourcountryman,the great Washington?" "He was very well," replied the youths, brighten mg at the thought, that they were the countrymen of Washington ; "he was very well, general, when we left America." — " Ah, gentlemen !" rejoined he, "Washington can never be otherwise than well. — The measure of his fame is full. — Posterity will talk of him with reverence as the founder of a great empire, when my name shall be lost in the vortex of Revolutions !"

Who, then, that has a spark of virtuous curiosity,

but must wish to know the history of him whose

name could thus awaken the sigh even of Bonaparte?

But is not his histDry alreadv known ? Have not a

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tiiousand orators spread his fame abroad, bright aa his own Potomac, when he reflects the morning sun, and flames hke a sea of Hqnid gold, the wonder and dehght of all the neighbouring shores ? Yes, thev have indeed spread his fame abroad .... his fame as Generalissimo of the armies, and first President of the councils of his nation. But this is not half his

fame True, he has been seen in greatness : but it is

only the greatness of public character, which is no evidence of true greatness ; for a public character is often an artificial one. At the head of an army or nation, where gold and glory are at stake, and where a man feels himself the burning focus of unnumbered eyes ; he must be a paltry fellow, indeed, who

does not play his part pretty handsomely even the

common passions of pride, avarice, or ambition, will put him up to his mettle, and call forth his best and bravest doings. But let this heat and blaze of public situation and incitement be withdrawn ; let him be thrust back into the shade of private life ; and you shal) see how soon, like a forced plant robbed of its hot-bed, he will drop his false foliage and fruit, and stand forth confessed in native stickweed sterility and worthlessness. — There was Benedict Arnold — while strutting a brigadier general on the public state, he could play you the great man, on a handsome

scale he out-marched Hannibal, and out-fought

Burgoyne he chased the British like curlews, or

cooped them up like chickens ! and yet in the private walks of life, in Philadelphia, he could swindle rum from the commissary's stores, and, with the aid of loose women, retail it by the gill ! ! — And there was the great duke of Marlborough too — his public character, a thunderbolt in war ! Britian's boast, and the terror of the French ! But his private character, what.? Why a swindler to whom Arnold's self could hold a candle ; a perfect nondescript of baseness ; a shaver of farthings from the poor sixpenny pay of his own brave soldiers ! !

ft is not, then, in the glare of public, but in the shade of private Ufe, that we are to look for the man. Private life, is always real life. Behind the curtain^ where the eyes of the million are not upon him, and where a man can have no motive but inclination, no incitement but honest nature, there he will always be sure to act himself: consequently, if he act greatly, he must be great indeed. Hence it has been justly Baid, that, " our private deeds, if noble, are noblest of our lives."

Of these private deeds of Washington very little has been said. In most of the elegant orations pronounced to his praise, you see nothing of Washington below the clouds — nothing of Washington the dutiful son — the affectionate brother — the cheerful school-boy — the diligent surveyor — the neat draftsman — the laborious farmer — the widow's husband — the orphan's father — the poor man's friend. No ! this is not the Washington you see ; 'tis only Washington, the HERO, and the Demigod — Washington the sun-beam in council, or the storm in war.

And in all the ensigns of character amidst which he is generally drawn, you see none that represent him what he really was, " the jupiter Conservator," the friend and benefactor of men. Where's his bright ploughshare that he loved — or his wheat-crowned fields, waving in yellow ridges before the wanton breeze — or his hills whitened over with flocks — or his clover covered pastures spread with innumerous herds — or his neat-clad servants with songs rolling the heavy harvest before them? Such were the scenes of peace, plenty, and happiness, in which Washington delighted. But his eulogists have denied him these, the only scenes which belong to man the great ; and have trick'd him up in the vile drapery of man the little. See ! there he stands ! with the port of Mars "the destroyer,'* dark frowning over the fields of war — the lightning of Potter's blade is by his side —the deep-mouthed cannon is before him, disgorg-

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8 LllE OF WASHINGTON.

ing its flesh-mangling balls — ^his war-horse pants with impatience to bear him, a speedy thunderbolt, against the pale and bleeding ranks of Britain ! — These are the drawings usually given of Washington; drawings masterly no doubt, and perhaps justly descriptive of him in some scenes of his life. But scenes they were, which I am sure his soul abhorred, and in which, at any rate, you see nothing of his private virtues. These old fashioned commodities are generally thrown into the back ground of the picture; and treated, as the grandees at the London and Paris routs, treat their good old aunts and grandmothers, huddling them together into the back rooms, there to wheeze and cough by themselves, and not depress the fine laudanum-raised spirits of the young sparklers. And yet it was to those old fashioned virtues that our hero owed every thing. For they in fact were the food of the great actions of him, whom men call Washington. It was they that enabled him, first to triumph over himself; then over the British; and uniformly to set such bright examples of human perfectibility and true greatness, that, compared therewith, the history of his capturing Cornwallis and Tarleton, with their buccaneering legions, sounds almost as small as the story of General Putnam's catching his wolf and her lamb-killing whelps.

Since then it is the private virtues that (ay the foundation of all human excellence — since it was these that exalted Washington to be " Columbia's first and greatest Son," be it our first care to present these, in all their lustre, before the admiring eyes of our children. To them his private character is every thing ; his public, hardly any thing. For how glorious soever it may have been in Washington to have undertaken the emancipation of his country ; to have stemmed the long tide of adversity ; to have baffled every effort of a wealthy and warlike nation; to have obtained for his countrymen the completes! victory, and for himself the most unbounded power .

and then to have returned that power, accompanied with all the weight of his own great character and advice to estabhsh a government that should immortalize the blessings of liberty — however glorious, I say, all this may have been to himself, or instructive to future generals and presidents, yet does it but little concern our children. For who among us can hope that his son shall ever be called, like Washington, to direct the storm of war, or to ravish the ears of deeply listening Senates ? To be constantly placing him then, before our children, in this high character, what is it but like springing in the clouds a golden Phoenix, which no mortal calibre can ever hope to reach ? Or like setting pictures of the Mammoth before the mice, whom "not all the manna of Heaven'' can ever raise to equality ? Oh no ! give us his pri^ vate virtues ! In these, every youth is interested, because in these every youth may become a Washington — a Washington in piety and patriotism, — in industry and honour — and consequently a Washington, m what alone deserves the name, self esteem and

UNIVERSAL RESPECT.

Chapter II. Birth And Education

** Children like tender osiers take the bow ; " And as they first are form'd, forever grow."

To this day numbers of good Christians can hardly find faith to believe that Washington was, bona fide, a Virginian ! " What ! a buckskin ! say they with a smile. " George Washington a buckskin ! pshaw ! impossible! he was certainly an European: So great a man could never have been born m America."

So great a man could never have been born in

America ! — why that's the very prince of reasons why he should liave been born here ! Nature, wc know, is fond of harmonies ; and paria paribus, that is, great things to great, is the rule she delights to work by. Where, for example, do we look for the whale, " the biggest born of nature ?'' not, 1 trow, in a mill-pond, but in the main ocean. " There go the great ships :" and there are the spoutings of whales amidst their boiling foam.

By the sam-e rule, where shall we look for Washington, the greatest among men, but in America — that greatest Continent, which, rising from beneath the frozen pole, stretches far and wide to the south, running almost " the whole length of this vast terrene," and sustaining on her ample sides the roaring shock of half the watery globe ? And equal to its size is the furniture of this vast continent, where the Almighty has reared his cloud-capt mountains, and spread his sea-like lakes, and poured his mighty rivers, and hurled down his thundering cataracts in a style of the sublime, so far superior to any thing of the kind in the other continents, that we may fairly conclude that great men and great deeds are designed for America.

This seems to be the verdict of honest analogy ; and accordingly we find America the honoured cradle of Washington, who was born on Pope's creek, in Westmoreland county, Virginia, the 22nd of February, 1732. His father, whose name was Augustin Washington, was also a Virginian : but his grandfather (John) was an Englishman, who came over and settled in Virginia in 1657.

His father, fully persuaded that a marriage of virtuous love comes nearest to angelic life, early stepped up to the altar with glowing cheeks and joy sparkling eyes, while by his side with soft warm hand, sweetly trembling in his, stood the angel-form »'f the lovely Miss Dandridge.

After several years of great domestic happiness

LIFE OF WASHINGTON. l

Mr Washington was separated by death from this excellent woman, who left him and two children to lament her early fate.

Fully persuaded still, that " it is not good for man to be alone," he renewed, for the second time, the chaste delights of matrimonial love. His consort was Miss Mary Ball, a young lady of fortune, and descended from one of the best families in Virginia.

From his intermarriage with this charming girl, it would appear that our hero's father must have possessed either a very pleasing person, or highly polished manners, or perhaps both ; for, from wha^ 1 can learn, he was at that time at least forty years old ! while she, on the other hand, was universally toasted as the belle of the Northern Neck, and in the full bloom and freshness of love-inspiring sixteen. This I have from one who tells me that he has carried down many a sett dance with her; I mean that amiable and pleasant old gentleman, John Fitzhugh, Esq. of Stafford, who was, all his life, a neighbour and intimate of the Washington family. By his first wife, Mr. Washington had two children, both sons — Lawrence and Augustin. By his second wife, he had five children, four sons and a daughter — George, Samuel, John, Charles, and Elizabeth. Those over delicate folk, who are ready to faint at thought of a second marriage, might do well to remember, that the greatest man that ever lived was the son of this second marriage.

Little George had scarcely attained his fifth year, when his father left Pope's creek, and came up to a plantation which he had in Stafford, opposite to Fredericksburg. The house in which he lived is still to be seen. It lifts its low and modest front of faded red, over the turbid waters of Rappahannock ; whither, to this day, numbers of people repair, and, with emotions unutterable, looking at the weatherbeaten mansion, exclaim, " Here's the house where the great Washington was born '"

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But it is all a mistake ; for he was born, as I saidj at Pope's creek, in Westmoreland county, near the margin of his own roaring Potomac.

The first place of education to which George was ever sent, was a little "old field school," kept by one of his father's tenants, named Hobby; an honest, poor old man, who acted in the double character of sexton and schoolmaster. On his skill as a grave-digger, iradition is silent; but for a teacher of youth, his qualifications were certainly of the humbler sort ; making what is generally called an A. B. C. schoolmaster. Such was the preceptor who first taught Washington the knowledge of letters ! Hobby lived to see his young pupil in all his glory, and rejoiced exceedingly. In his cups — for though a sexton, he would sometimes drink, particularly on the General's birth days — he used to boast that " 'twas he, who, between his keees, had laid the foundation of George Washington's greatness."

But though George was early sent to a schoolmaster, yet he was not on that account neglected by his father. Deeply sensible of the loveliness and worth of which human nature is capable, through the virtues and graces early implanted in the heart, he never for a moment, lost sight of George in those all-important respects.

To assist his son to overcome that selfish spirit, which too often leads children to fret and fight about trifles, was a notable care of Mr. Washington. For ♦his purpose, of all the presents, such as cakes, fruit, &c. he received, he was always desired to give a Uberal part to his play-mates. To enable him to do this with more alacrity, his father would remind him of the love which he would thereby gain, and the frequent presents which would in return be made to him ; and also would tell of that great and good God, who delights above all things to see children love one another, and will assuredly reward them f(»i acting so amiable a part.

Some idea of Mr. Washington's plan of education ill this respect, may be collected from the folio wmg anecdote, related to me twenty years ago by an aged lady, who was a distant relative, and, when a girl, spent much of her time in the family :

« On a fine morning," said she, " in the fall ol 1 737, Mr. Washington havhig little George by the hand, came to the door and asked my cousin Washington and myself to walk with him to the orchard, promising he would show us a fine sight. On arriving at the orchard, we were presented with a fine sight indeed. The whole earth, as far as we could see, was strewed with fruit: and yet the trees were bending under the weight of apples, which hung in clusters like grapes, and vainly strove to hide their blushing cheeks behind the green leaves. Now, George, said his father, look here, my son ! don't you remember when this good cousin of yours brought you that fine large apple last spring, how hardly I could prevail on you to divide with your brothers and sisters ; though I promised you that if you would but do it, God Almighty would give you plenty of apples this fall. Poor George could not say a word ; but hanging down his head, looked quite confused, while with his little naked toes he scratched in the soft ground. Now look up, my son, continued his father, look up, George ! and see there how richly the blessed God has made good my promise to you. Wherever you turn your eyes, you see the trees loaded with fine fruit ; many of them indeed breaking down ; while the ground is covered with mellow apples, more than you could eat, my son, in all your life time."

George looked in silence on the wide wilderness of fruit. He marked the busy humming bees, and heard the gay notes of birds ; then lifting his eyes, filled with shining moisture, to his father, he softly said, " Well, Pa, only forgive me this time ; and see if I ever be so stingy any more."

Some, when they look ud to the oak, whose giant

X\ LIFE OF WASHINGTON.

arms throw a darkening shade over distant acres, oi whose single trunk lays the keei of a man of war, cannot bear to hear of the time when this mighty plant was but an acorn, which a pig could hove demolished. But others, who know their value, like to learn the soil and situation which best produces such noble trees. Thus, parents that are wise, will listen, well pleased, while I relate how moved the steps of the youthful Washington, whose single worth far outweighs all the oaks of Bashan and the red spicy cedars of Lebanon. Yes, they will listen delighted while I tell of their Washington in the days of his youth, when his little feet were swift towards the nests of birds ; or when, wearied in the chase of the butterfly, he laid him down on his grassy couch and slept, while ministering spirits, Avith their roseate wings, fanned his glowing cheeks, and kissed his lips of innocence with that fervent love which makes the Heaven !

Never did the wise Ulysses take more pains with his beloved Telemachus, than did Mr. Washington with George, to inspire him with an early love of truth. " Truth, George," said he, *' is the loveliest quahty of youth. I would ride fifty miles, my son, to see the little boy whose heart is so honest, and his lips so pure, that we may depend on every word he says. how lovely does such a child appear in the eyes of every body ! his parents doat on him. His relations glory in him. They are constantly praising him to their children, whom they beg to imitate him. They are often sending for him to visit them ; and receive him, when he comes, with as much joy as if he were a little angel, come to set pretty examples to their children.

" But, Oh ! how different, George, is the case with the boy who is so given to lying, that nobody can Delieve a word he says ! He is looked at with aversion wherever he goes, and parents dread to see him come among their children. Oh, George ! my son ! rather than see you come to this pass, dear as you are to my heart, gladly would I assist to nail you up in your little coffin, and follow you to your grave. Hard, indeed, would it be to me to give up my son, whose little feet are always so ready to run about with me, and whose fondly looking eyes and sweet prattte makes so large a part of my happiness. But still I would give him up, rather than see him a common liar."

" Pa," 8aid George very seriously'', ^* do I ever tell lies V

" No, George, I thank God you do not, my son ; and I rejoice in the hope you never will. At least, you shall never, from me, have cause to be guilty of so shameful a thing. Many parents, indeed, even compel their children to this vile practice, by barbarously beating them for every little fault : hence, on the next offence, the little terrified creature slips out a lie I just to escape the rod. But as to yourself, George, you know I have always told you, and now tell you again, that, whenever by accident, you do any thing wrong, which must often be the case, as you are but a poor little boy yet, without experience or knowledge, you must never tell a falsehood to conceal it ; but come bravely up, my son, like a little man, and tell me of it : and, instead of beating you, George, I will but the more honour and love you for it, my dear."

This, you'll say, was sowing good seed I — Yes, it was : and the crop, thank God, was, as I believe it ever will be, where a man acts the true parent, that is, the Guardian Angel, by his child.

The following anecdote is a case in point. It is too valuable to be lost, and too true to be doubted ; for it was communicated to me by the same excellent lady to whom I am indebted for the last.

"When George," said she, "was about six years old, he was made the wealthy master of a hatchet 1 of which, like most little boys, he was immoderately foiid, and was constantly going about chopping every 6hing that came in his way. One day, in the garden, where he often amused himself hacking his mother's pea-sticks, he unluckily tried the edge of his hatchet on the body of a beautiful young English cherry-tree, which he barked so terribly, that 1 don't beheve the tree ever got the better of it. The next morning the old gentleman, finding out what had befallen his tree, which, by the by, was a great favourite, came into the house ; and with much warmth asked for the mischievous author, declaring at the same time, that he would not have taken five guineas for his tree Nobody could tell him any thing about it. Presently George and his hatchet made their appearance. " George," said his father, " do you know who killed that beautiful little cherry tree yonder in the garden ?" This was a tough question ; and George staggered imder it for a moment ; but quickly recovered himself: and looking at his father, with the sweet face of youth brightened with the inexpressible charm of allconquering truth, he bravely cried out, " I can't tell a lie, Pa ; you know I can't tell a lie. 1 did cut it with my hatchet." — Run to my arms, you dearest boy, cried his father in transports, run to my arms • glad am I, George, that you killed my tree ; for you have paid me for it a thousand fold. Such an act of heroism in my son is more worth than a thousand trees, though blossomed with silver, and their fruits of purest gold."

It was in this way by interesting at once both his heart and head, that Mr. Washington conducted George with great ease and pleasure along the happy paths of virtue. But well knowing that his beloved charge, soon to be a man, would be left exposed to numberless temptations, both from himself and from ethers, his heart throbbed with the tenderest anxiety to make him acquainted with that great being, whom to know and love, is to possess the surest defence against vice, and the best of all motives to virtuo and happiness. To startle George into a lively ^ense of his Maker, he fell upon the following very curious but impressive expedient :

One day he went into the garden, and piepared a little bed of finely pulverized earth, on which he wrote George's name at full, in large letters — then strewing in plenty of cabbage seed, he covered them up, and smoothed all over nicely with the roller. — This bed he purposely prepared close along side of a gooseberry walk, which happening at this time to be well hung with ripe fruit, he knew would be honoured with George's visits pretty regularly every day. Not many mornings had passed away before in came George, with eyes wild rolling, and his little cheeks ready to burst with great news.

"0 Pa! come here ! come here !"

" What's the matter, my son ? what's the matter ?"

" come here, 1 tell you. Pa : come here ! and I'll shew you such a sight as you never saw in all your life time."

The old gentleman suspecting what George would be at, gave him his hand, which he seized with great eagerness, and tugging him along through the garden, led him point blank to the bed whereon was inscribed, in large letters, and in all the freshness of newly sprung plants, the full name of

GEORGE WASHINGTON.

" There Pa?" said George, quite in an ecstacy of astonishment, " did you ever see such a sight in ail your life time ?"

<* Why it seems like a curious affair, sure enoUigh, George !"

"But, Pa, who did make it there ? who did make It there ?"

« It grew there by chance, 1 suppose, my son."

" By chance. Pa ! no ! no ! it never did gro\* Ihere by chance. Pa. Indeed that it never did '"

" High ! why not, my son ?" 2*

IS LIFF: of WASHINGTON.

" Wliy, Pa, did you ever see any body's name m a plant bed before ?"

" Well, but George, such a thing might happen, though you never saw it before.

" Yes, Pa ; but I did never see the little plants grow up so as to make one single letter of my name before. Now, how could they grow up so as to make all the letters of my name ! and then standing one after another, to spell my name so exactly ! — and all so neat and even too, at top and bottom ! ! Pa, you must not say chance did all this. Indeed somebody did it ; and I dare say now, Pa, you did it just to scare me, because I am your little boy."

His father smiled ; and said, " Well George, you have guessed right. I indeed did it ; but not to scare you, my son ; but to learn you a great thing which 1 wish you to understand. I want, my son, to introduce you to your true Father."

" High, Pa,an't you my true father, that has loved me, and been so good to me always?"

" Yes George, I am your father, as the world calls It : and I love you very dearly too. But yet with all my love for you, George, I am but a poor goodfor-nothing sort of a father in comparison of one you have."

" Aye ! I know, well enough whom you mean. Pa. /ou mean God Almighty ; don't you ?"

" Yes, my son, I mean him indeed. He is your true Father, George."

" But, Pa, where is God Almighty ! I did never see him yet."

" True my son ; but though you never saw him, yet he is always with you. You did not see me when ten days ago I made this little plant bed, where you see your name in such beautiful green letters : but though you did not see me here, yet you know I was here ! !"

«^ Yes, Pa, that I do. I know you was here.'

« Well then, and as my son could not believe that

LIFE OF WASHINGTON l»

chance had made and put together so exactly i\ <» letters of his name, (though only sixteen) then howcan he believe, that chance could have made andpm together all those millions and millions of things thai are now so exactly fitted to his good ! That my son may look at every thing around him, see ! what fine eyes he has got ! and a little pug nose to smell the sweet flowers! and pretty ears to hear sweet sounds! and a lovely mouth for his bread and butter! and 0, the little ivory teeth to cut it for him ! and the dear little tongue to prattle with his father ! and precious llittle hands and fingers to hold his play -things ! and beautiful little feet for him to run about upon ! and when my little rogue of a son is tired with running about, then the still night comes for him to lie down : and his mother sings, and the little crickets chirp him to sleep ! and as soon as he has slept enough, and jumps up fresh and strong as a little buck, there the sweet golden light is ready for him ! When he looks down into the water, there he sees the beautiful silver fishes for him ! and up in the trees there are the apples, and peaches, and thousands of sweet fruits for him ! and all, all around him, wherever my dear boy looks, he sees every thing just to his wants and wishes ; — the bubbUng springs with cool sweet water for him to drink ! and the wood to make him spark ling fires when he is cold ! and beautiful horses lor him to ride ! and strong oxen to work for him . and the good cow to give him milk ! and bees to make sweet honey for his sweeter mouth ! and the little lambs, with snowy wool, for beautiful clothes for him ! Now, these and all the ten thousand thousand other good things more than my son can ever think of, and all so exactly fitted to his use and delight — Now how could chance ever have done all this for my little son ? Oh George ! —