Chapter V: Last Days

GEORGE WASHINGTON[16]

BY HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE

On the 4th of March, 1797, Washington went to the inauguration of his successor as President of the United States. The Federal Government was sitting in Philadelphia at that time, and Congress held sessions in the courthouse on the corner of Sixth and Chestnut Streets.

At the appointed hour Washington entered the hall, followed by John Adams, who was to take the oath of office. When they were seated, Washington arose and introduced Mr. Adams to the audience, and then proceeded to read in a firm, clear voice his brief valedictory--not his great "Farewell Address," for that had already been published. A lady who sat on "the front bench," "immediately in front" of Washington, describes the scene in these words:

There was a narrow passage from the door of entrance to the room.
General Washington stopped at the end to let Mr. Adams pass to the
chair. The latter always wore a full suit of bright drab, with
loose cuffs to his coat. General Washington's dress was a full suit
of black. His military hat had the black cockade. There stood the
"Father of his Country," acknowledged by nations the first in war,
first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen. No
marshals with gold-colored scarfs attended him; there was no
cheering, no noise; the most profound silence greeted him as if the
great assembly desired to hear him breathe. Mr. Adams covered his
face with both his hands; the sleeves of his coat and his hands
were covered with tears. Every now and then there was a suppressed
sob. I cannot describe Washington's appearance as I felt
it--perfectly composed and self-possessed till the close of his
address. Then, when strong nervous sobs broke loose, when tears
covered the faces, then the great man was shaken. I never took my
eyes from his face. Large drops came from his eyes. He looked as if
his heart was with them, and would be to the end.

On Washington's retirement from the Presidency one of his first employments was to arrange his papers and letters. Then, on returning to his home, the venerable master found many things to repair. His landed estate comprised eight thousand acres, and was divided into farms, with inclosures and farm buildings. And now, with body and mind alike sound and vigorous, he bent his energies to directing the improvements that marked his last days at Mount Vernon.

In his earlier as well as in later life, his tour of the farms would average from eight to twelve or fourteen miles a day. He rode upon his farms entirely unattended, opening his gates, pulling down and putting up his fences as he passed, visiting his laborers at their work, inspecting all the operations of his extensive establishment with a careful eye, directing useful improvements, and superintending them in their progress.

He usually rode at a moderate pace in passing through his fields. But when behind time, this most punctual of men would display the horsemanship of his earlier days, and a hard gallop would bring him up to time so that the sound of his horse's hoofs and the first dinner bell would be heard together at a quarter before three.

A story is told that one day an elderly stranger meeting a Revolutionary worthy out hunting, a long-tried and valued friend of the chief, accosted him, and asked whether Washington was to be found at the mansion house, or whether he was off riding over his estate. The friend answered that he was visiting his farms, and directed the stranger the road to take, adding, "You will meet, sir, with an old gentleman riding alone in plain drab clothes, a broad-brimmed white hat, a hickory switch in his hand, and carrying an umbrella with a long staff, which is attached to his saddle-bow--that person, sir, is General Washington."

Precisely at a quarter before three the industrious farmer returned, dressed, and dined at three o'clock. At this meal he ate heartily, but was not particular in his diet with the exception of fish, of which he was excessively fond. Touching his liking for fish, and illustrative of his practical economy and abhorrence of waste and extravagance, an anecdote is told of the time he was President and living in Philadelphia. It happened that a single shad had been caught in the Delaware, and brought to the city market. His steward, Sam Fraunces, pounced upon the fish with the speed of an osprey, delighted that he had secured a delicacy agreeable to the palate of his chief, and careless of the expense, for which the President had often rebuked him.

When the fish was served, Washington suspected the steward had forgotten his order about expenditure for the table, and said to Fraunces, who stood at his post at the sideboard, "What fish is this?" "A shad, sir, a very fine shad," the steward answered. "I know Your Excellency is particularly fond of this kind of fish, and was so fortunate as to procure this one--the only one in market, sir, the first of the season." "The price, sir, the price?" asked Washington sternly. "Three--three dollars," stammered the conscience-stricken steward. "Take it away," thundered the chief, "take it away, sir! It shall never be said that my table set such an example of luxury and extravagance." Poor Fraunces tremblingly did as he was told, and the first shad of the season was carried away untouched, to be speedily discussed in the servants' dining-room.

Although the Farmer of Mount Vernon was much retired from the business world, he was by no means inattentive to the progress of public affairs. When the post-bag arrived, he would select his letters and lay them aside for reading in the seclusion of his library. The newspapers he would peruse while taking his single cup of tea (his only supper) and read aloud passages of peculiar interest, remarking the matter as he went along. He read with distinctness and precision. These evenings with his family always ended at precisely nine o'clock, when he bade everyone good-night and retired to rest, to rise again at four and renew the same routine of labor and enjoyment.

Washington's last days, like those that preceded them in the course of a long and well-spent life, were devoted to constant and careful employment. His correspondence both at home and abroad was immense. Yet no letter was unanswered. One of the best-bred men of his time, Washington deemed it a grave offense against the rules of good manners and propriety to leave letters unanswered. He wrote with great facility, and it would be a difficult matter to find another who had written so much, who had written so well. General Harry Lee once observed to him, "We are amazed, sir, at the vast amount of work you get through." Washington answered, "Sir, I rise at four o'clock, and a great deal of my work is done while others sleep."

He was the most punctual of men, as we said. To this admirable quality of rising at four and retiring to rest at nine at all seasons, this great man owed his ability to accomplish mighty labors during his long and illustrious life. He was punctual in everything, and made everyone about him punctual. So careful a man delighted in always having about him a good timekeeper. In Philadelphia the first President regularly walked up to his watchmaker's to compare his watch with the regulator. At Mount Vernon the active yet punctual farmer invariably consulted the dial when returning from his morning ride, and before entering his house.

The affairs of the household took order from the master's accurate and methodical arrangement of time. Even the fisherman on the river watched for the cook's signal when to pull in shore and deliver his catch in time for dinner.

Among the picturesque objects on the Potomac, to be seen from the eastern portion of the mansion house, was the light canoe of the house's fisher. Father Jack was an African, an hundred years of age, and although enfeebled in body by weight of years, his mind possessed uncommon vigor. And he would tell of days long past, when, under African suns, he was made captive, and of the terrible battle in which his royal sire was slain, the village burned, and himself sent to the slave ship.

Father Jack had in a considerable degree a leading quality of his race--somnolency. Many an hour could the family of Washington see the canoe fastened to a stake, with the old fisherman bent nearly double enjoying a nap, which was only disturbed by the jerking of the white perch caught on his hook. But, as we just said, the domestic duties of Mount Vernon were governed by clock time, and the slumbers of fisher Jack might occasion inconvenience, for the cook required the fish at a certain hour, so that they might be served smoking hot precisely at three. At times he would go to the river bank and make the accustomed signals, and meet with no response. The old fisherman would be quietly reposing in his canoe, rocked by the gentle undulations of the stream, and dreaming, no doubt, of events "long time ago." The importune master of the kitchen, grown ferocious by delay, would now rush up and down the water's edge, and, by dint of loud shouting, cause the canoe to turn its prow to the shore. Father Jack, indignant at its being supposed he was asleep at his post, would rate those present on his landing, "What you all meck such a debil of a noise for, hey? I wa'nt sleep, only noddin'."

The establishment of Mount Vernon employed a perfect army of domestics; yet to each one were assigned special duties, and from each one strict performance was required. There was no confusion where there was order, and the affairs of this estate, embracing thousands of acres and hundreds of dependents, were conducted with as much ease, method, and regularity as the affairs of a homestead of average size.

Mrs. Washington was an accomplished housewife of the olden time, and she gave constant attention to all matters of her household, and by her skill and management greatly contributed to the comfort and entertainment of the guests who enjoyed the hospitality of her home.

The best charities of life were gathered round Washington in the last days at Mount Vernon. The love and veneration of a whole people for his illustrious services, his generous and untiring labors in the cause of public utility; his kindly demeanor to his family circle, his friends, and numerous dependents; his courteous and cordial hospitality to his guests, many of them strangers from far distant lands; these charities, all of which sprang from the heart, were the ornament of his declining years, and granted the most sublime scene in nature, when human greatness reposes upon human happiness.

On the morning of the 13th of December, 1799, the General was engaged in making some improvements in the front of Mount Vernon. As was usual with him, he carried his own compass, noted his observations, and marked out the ground. The day became rainy, with sleet, and the improver remained so long exposed to the inclemency of the weather as to be considerably wetted before his return to the house. About one o'clock he was seized with chilliness and nausea, but having changed his clothes, he sat down to his indoor work. At night, on joining his family circle, he complained of a slight indisposition. Upon the night of the following day, having borne acute suffering with composure and fortitude, he died.

In person Washington was unique. He looked like no one else. To a stature lofty and commanding he united a form of the manliest proportions, and a dignified, graceful, and imposing carriage. In the prime of life he stood six feet, two inches. From the period of the Revolution there was an evident bending in his frame so passing straight before, but the stoop came from the cares and toils of that arduous contest rather than from years. For his step was firm, his appearance noble and impressive long after the time when the physical properties of men are supposed to wane.

A majestic height was met by corresponding breadth and firmness. His whole person was so cast in nature's finest mould as to resemble an ancient statue, all of whose parts unite to the perfection of the whole. But with all its development of muscular power, Washington's form had no look of bulkiness, and so harmonious were its proportions that he did not appear so tall as his portraits have represented. He was rather spare than full during his whole life.

The strength of Washington's arm was shown on several occasions. He threw a stone from the bed of the stream to the top of the Natural Bridge, Virginia, and another stone across the Rappahannock at Fredericksburg. The stone was said to be a piece of slate about the size of a dollar with which he spanned the bold river, and it took the ground at least thirty yards on the other side. Many have since tried this feat, but none have cleared the water.

In 1772 some young men were contending at Mount Vernon in the exercise of pitching the bar. The Colonel looked on for a time, then grasping the missile in his master hand, he whirled the iron through the air, and it fell far beyond any of its former limits. "You see, young gentlemen," said the chief with a smile, "that my arm yet retains some portion of my early vigor." He was then in his fortieth year, and probably in the fullness of his physical powers. Those powers became rather mellowed than decayed by time, for "his age was like lusty winter, frosty yet kindly," and up to his sixty-eighth year he mounted a horse with surprising agility, and rode with ease and grace. Rickets, the celebrated equestrian, used to say, "I delight to see the General ride, and make it a point to fall in with him when I hear he is out on horseback--his seat is so firm, his management so easy and graceful, that I, who am an instructor in horsemanship, would go to him and learn to ride."

In his later day, the General, desirous of riding pleasantly, procured from the North two horses of a breed for bearing the saddle. They were well to look at, and pleasantly gaited under the saddle, but also scary, and therefore unfitted for the service of one who liked to ride quietly on his farm, occasionally dismounting and walking in his fields to inspect improvements. From one of these horses the General sustained a fall--probably the only fall he ever had from a horse in his life. It was upon a November evening, and he was returning from Alexandria to Mount Vernon, with three friends and a groom. Having halted a few moments, he dismounted, and upon rising in his stirrup again, the horse, alarmed at the glare from a fire near the roadside, sprang from under his rider, who came heavily to the ground. His friends rushed to give him assistance, thinking him hurt. But the vigorous old man was upon his feet again, brushing the dust from his clothes, and after thanking those who came to his aid, said that he had had a very complete tumble, and that it was owing to a cause no horseman could well avoid or control--that he was only poised in his stirrup, and had not yet gained his saddle when the scary animal sprang from under him.

Bred in the vigorous school of frontier warfare, "the earth for his bed, his canopy the heavens," Washington excelled the hunter and woodsman in their athletic habits, and in those trials of manhood which filled the hardy days of his early life. He was amazingly swift of foot, and could climb steep mountains seemingly without effort. Indeed, in all the tests of his great physical powers he appeared to make little effort. When he overthrew the strong man of Virginia in wrestling, upon a day when many of the finest athletes were engaged in the contest, he had retired to the shade of a tree intent upon the reading of a book. It was only after the champion of the games strode through the ring calling for nobler antagonists, and taunting the reader with the fear that he would be thrown, that Washington closed his book. Without taking off his coat he calmly observed that fear did not enter his make-up; then grappling with the champion, he hurled him to the ground. "In Washington's lion-like grasp," said the vanquished wrestler, "I became powerless, and went down with a force that seemed to jar the very marrow in my bones." The victor, regardless of shouts at his success, leisurely retired to his shade, and again took up his book.

Washington's powers were chiefly in his limbs. His frame was of equal breadth from the shoulders to the hips. His chest was not prominent, but rather hollowed in the center. He never entirely recovered from a pulmonary affection from which he suffered in early life. His frame showed an extraordinary development of bone and muscle; his joints were large, as were his feet; and could a cast of his hand have been preserved, it would be ascribed to a being of a fabulous age. Lafayette said, "I never saw any human being with so large a hand as the General's."

Of the awe and reverence which the presence of Washington inspired we have many records. "I stood," says one writer, "before the door of the Hall of Congress in Philadelphia, when the carriage of the President drew up. It was a white coach, or, rather, of a light cream color, painted on the panels with beautiful groups representing the four seasons. As Washington alighted, and, ascending the steps, paused on the platform, he was preceded by two gentlemen bearing large white wands, who kept back the eager crowd that pressed on every side. At that moment I stood so near I might have touched his clothes; but I should as soon have thought of touching an electric battery. I was penetrated with deepest awe. Nor was this the feeling of the schoolboy I then was. It pervaded, I believe, every human being that approached Washington; and I have been told that even in his social hours, this feeling in those who shared them never suffered intermission. I saw him a hundred times afterward, but never with any other than the same feeling. The Almighty, who raised up for our hour of need a man so peculiarly prepared for its whole dread responsibility, seems to have put a stamp of sacredness upon his instrument. The first sight of the man struck the eye with involuntary homage, and prepared everything around him to obey.

"At the time I speak of, he stood in profound silence and had the statue-like air which mental greatness alone can bestow. As he turned to enter the building, and was ascending the staircase to the Congressional hall, I glided along unseen, almost under the cover of the skirts of his dress, and entered into the lobby of the House, which was in session to receive him.

"At Washington's entrance there was a most profound silence. House, lobbies, gallery, all were wrapped in deepest attention. And the souls of the entire assemblage seemed peering from their eyes as the noble figure deliberately and unaffectedly advanced up the broad aisle of the hall between ranks of standing Senators and members, and slowly ascended the steps leading to the Speaker's chair.

"The President, having seated himself, remained in silence, and the members took their seats, waiting for the speech. No house of worship was ever more profoundly still than that large and crowded chamber.

"Washington was dressed precisely as Stuart has painted him in full-length portrait--in a full suit of the richest black velvet, with diamond knee-buckles and square silver buckles set upon shoes japanned with most scrupulous neatness; black silk stockings, his shirt ruffled at the breast and waist, a light dress sword, his hair profusely powdered, fully dressed, so as to project at the sides, and gathered behind in a silk bag ornamented with a large rose or black ribbon. He held his cocked hat, which had a large black cockade on one side of it, in his hand, as he advanced toward the chair, and when seated, laid it on the table.

"At length thrusting his hand within the side of his coat, he drew forth a roll of manuscript which he opened, and rising, read in a rich, deep, full, sonorous voice his opening address to Congress. His enunciation was deliberate, justly emphasized, very distinct, and accompanied with an air of deep solemnity as being the utterance of a mind conscious of the whole responsibility of its position, but not oppressed by it. There was ever about the man something which impressed one with the conviction that he was exactly and fully equal to what he had to do. He was never hurried; never negligent; but seemed ever prepared for the occasion, be it what it might. In his study, in his parlor, at a levee, before Congress, at the head of the army, he seemed ever to be just what the situation required. He possessed, in a degree never equaled by any human being I ever saw, the strongest, most ever-present sense of propriety."

In the early part of Washington's administration, great complaints were made by political opponents of the aristocratic and royal demeanor of the President. Particularly, these complaints were about the manner of his receiving visitors. In a letter Washington gave account of the origin of his levees: "Before the custom was established," he wrote, "which now accommodates foreign characters, strangers, and others, who, from motives of curiosity, respect for the chief magistrate, or other cause, are induced to call upon me, I was unable to attend to any business whatever; for gentlemen, consulting their own convenience rather than mine, were calling after the time I rose from breakfast, and often before, until I sat down to dinner. This, as I resolved not to neglect my public duties, reduced me to the choice of one of these alternatives: either to refuse visits altogether, or to appropriate a time for the reception of them.... To please everybody was impossible. I, therefore, adopted that line of conduct which combined public advantage with private convenience.... These visits are optional, they are made without invitation; between the hours of three and four every Tuesday I am prepared to receive them. Gentlemen, often in great numbers, come and go, chat with each other, and act as they please. A porter shows them into the room, and they retire from it when they choose, without ceremony. At their first entrance they salute me, and I them, and as many as I can talk to."

An English gentleman, after visiting President Washington, wrote: "There was a commanding air in his appearance which excited respect and forbade too great a freedom toward him, independently of that species of awe which is always felt in the moral influence of a great character? In every movement, too, there was a polite gracefulness equal to any met with in the most polished individuals of Europe, and his smile was extraordinarily attractive.... It struck me no man could be better formed for command. A stature of six feet, a robust but well-proportioned frame calculated to stand fatigue, without that heaviness which generally attends great muscular strength and abates active exertion, displayed bodily power of no mean standard. A light eye and full--the very eye of genius and reflection. His nose appeared thick, and though it befitted his other features, was too coarsely and strongly formed to be the handsomest of its class. His mouth was like no other I ever saw: the lips firm, and the under jaw seeming to grasp the upper with force, as if its muscles were in full action when he sat still."

Such Washington appeared to those who saw and knew him. Such he remains to our vision. His memory is held by us in undying honor. Not only his memory alone, but also the memory of his associates in the struggle for American Independence. Homage we should have in our hearts for those patriots and heroes and sages who with humble means raised their native land--now our native land--from the depths of dependence, and made it a free nation. And especially for Washington, who presided over the nation's course at the beginning of the great experiment in self-government and, after an unexampled career in the service of freedom and our human-kind, with no dimming of august fame, died calmly at Mount Vernon--the Father of his Country.

FOOTNOTES:

[16] From "Heroes Every Child Should Know." Copyright, 1906, by Doubleday, Page & Co.

* * * * *

WASHINGTON'S LAST DAYS[17]

BY ELIZABETH EGGLESTON SEELYE

Once more before he died Washington was called into public life for a short time. President Adams had sent three commissioners to France. The French Minister, Talleyrand, treated them ill, and sent secret agents to them to let them know that nothing would be done until they paid large bribes. The three Americans sent home cipher dispatches in which they told how they had been received. President Adams thought best to publish these dispatches, putting the letters X, Y, and Z in place of the names of the secret agents. These papers came to be known as the X, Y, and Z dispatches, and they caused great excitement in America. The cry was, "Millions for defense, but not one cent for tribute," and the war spirit rose very high. Everyone wished Washington to be the leader in case there should be war with France. President Adams accordingly wrote to Washington, asking him to accept the command of the new army which was to be formed. Washington accepted, on condition that he was not to be called into service unless there should really be war, and that he should be allowed to name the chief officers who were to serve under him. He wished to put a young and able man second in command--for old officers seldom make good ones--so he chose Hamilton first, then Pinckney, and then Knox. Adams disliked Hamilton, and tried to place Knox second in command, as this old officer thought his due. There was some trouble between Washington and Adams on this point, but Adams was forced to give way to the great leader. Washington went to Philadelphia in the fall of 1798, to work over army plans with his major-generals. It seemed possible that he might have to lead the Americans against one of Napoleon's great armies. But though he made careful preparations, Washington did not believe that there would be war. He thought, however, that preparing for war would be the best way to bring about peace. And so it proved; for no sooner did Talleyrand see that the Americans were really aroused than he caused it to be intimated to the American Minister at Holland that he would treat another envoy better. Adams accordingly sent one to France, and war was finally averted, though the news of the settlement did not reach America until after the death of her great General.

Washington had said, "I am of a short-lived family, and cannot remain long upon the earth." In fact, his sister and all of his brothers except one died before he did. According to his usual careful habits, he made out a long paper, in which he planned how his estates should be managed for several years, with a rotation of crops. He finished this paper only four days before his death. The day before he was taken ill he walked out with his nephew, Lawrence Lewis, who was married to Nelly Custis and living at Mount Vernon, and talked to him about building a new family vault. "This change," said he, "I shall make first of all, for I may require it before the rest."

On the 12th of December, 1799, Washington made the tour, as usual, of his plantations. The weather was very bad. There was rain, hail, and snow falling at different times, and a cold wind blowing. It was after three o'clock when he returned. Mr. Lear, his secretary, brought him some letters to be franked, for he intended to send them to the post office that afternoon. Washington franked the letters, but said that the weather was too bad to send a servant out with them. Lear noticed that the General's neck appeared to be wet, and that there was snow clinging to his hair. He spoke to him about it, but Washington said that he was not wet, as his greatcoat had protected him. He went to dinner, which was waiting for him, without changing his clothes. The next day he complained of a sore throat, and remained in the house in the morning, as it was snowing hard. In the afternoon, however, he went out to mark some trees which he wished cut down, between the house and the river. He was quite hoarse by evening. He sat in the parlor, however, with Mrs. Washington and Lear, reading the papers which had been brought from the post office. He read some things aloud in spite of his hoarseness. At nine o'clock Mrs. Washington went to the room of her granddaughter Nelly, whose first child had recently been born. The two gentlemen continued to read the papers, and Washington seemed cheerful. Once he became excited over some political event, and used some of the strong words he could command on occasion. Before they went to bed, Lear advised the General to take something for his cold.

"No," said Washington; "you know I never take anything for a cold. Let it go as it came."

During the night, however, he had a chill, and awoke Mrs. Washington, telling her that he felt ill. She wished to get up, but he would not allow her to do this, lest she should take cold. When the servant came into the room to make a fire at daylight, Mrs. Washington sent for Lear, and got up herself. The General was now breathing with difficulty, and could scarcely speak. Lear sent for Dr. Craik, and meantime Washington told him to send for Mr. Rawlins, an overseer, to bleed him. Rawlins came soon after sunrise, and trembled at the prospect of opening a vein on the great man's arm. "Don't be afraid," said Washington; and when the vein had been opened, he added, "the orifice is not large enough." Mrs. Washington did not approve of the bleeding before the doctor came, but Washington said, "More, more." It was a universal remedy in those days, but it brought no relief to the sufferer.

During the day three doctors arrived. Washington was bled three times; blisters were applied to the throat and the feet; all that medical science could do in that day was tried, but without success. The disease was an acute laryngitis, and could have been relieved only by tracheotomy, which was not practical in the South, though it had been tried in Philadelphia at an earlier date. About half-past four in the afternoon the sick man asked Mrs. Washington to go downstairs and fetch two wills from his desk. He looked at them, and asked her to burn one of them, which she did. Lear now came to his bedside and took his hand.

"I find I am going," Washington said to him. "My breath cannot last long. I believed from the first that the disorder would prove fatal. Do you arrange and record all my late military letters and papers. Arrange my accounts and settle my books, as you know more about them than anyone else, and let Mr. Rawlins finish recording my other letters which he has begun."

Washington asked Lear whether he thought of anything else that ought to be done; he had but a very short time, he said, to remain with his friends. The secretary answered that he could think of nothing, and that he hoped the General was not so near his end as he thought. Washington smiled, and said that he certainly was, "and that, as it was a debt which we must all pay, he looked on the event with perfect resignation."

Sometimes he seemed to be in pain and distress from the difficulty of breathing, and was very restless. Lear would then lie down upon the bed and raise and turn him as gently as possibly. Washington often said, "I am afraid I shall fatigue you too much"; and when the young man assured him that he wished for nothing but to give him ease, Washington replied:

"Well, it is a debt we must pay to each other, and I hope that when you want aid of this kind you will find it."

He noticed that his servant, Christopher, had been standing most of the day, and told him to sit down. He asked when his nephew Lewis and his adopted son Custis, who were away from home, would return. When his lifelong friend, Dr. Craik, came to his bedside, he said: "Doctor, I die hard, but I am not afraid to go. I believed from my first attack that I should not survive it. My breath cannot last long." The doctor was unable to answer from grief, and could only press his hand.

He afterward said to all the physicians: "I feel myself going. I thank you for your attentions; but, I pray you, take no more trouble about me. Let me go off quietly; I cannot last long." He continued to be restless and uneasy, but made no complaints, only asking now and then what time it was. When Lear helped him to move, he gave the secretary a look of gratitude. About ten o'clock at night he made several efforts to speak to Lear before he could do so. He finally said: "I am just going. Have me decently buried; and do not let my body be put into the vault in less than three days after I am dead." Lear nodded, for he could not speak.

"Do you understand?" asked Washington.

"Yes."

"'Tis well," said the dying man.

About ten minutes before death his breathing became easier; he felt his own pulse, and the expression of his face changed. One hand presently fell from the wrist of the other. Lear took it in his and pressed it to his bosom.

Mrs. Washington, who sat near the foot of the bed, asked in a firm voice, "Is he gone?"

Lear was unable to speak, but made a sign that Washington was dead.

"Tis well," said she; "all is now over; I shall soon follow him; I have no more trials to pass through."

Washington died on December 14, 1799, in his sixty-eighth year. All his neighbors and relatives assembled to attend his funeral; the militia and Freemasons of Alexandria were present; eleven pieces of artillery were brought to Mount Vernon to do military honors, and a schooner which lay in the Potomac fired minute guns. Washington's horse, with saddle, holster, and pistols, was led before the coffin by two grooms dressed in black. The body was deposited in the old family vault, after short and simple ceremonies. Washington was deeply mourned all over the United States, for never had a man been so beloved by his own countrymen.

Washington left all of his estates to his wife for life; after her death they were to be divided between his nephews and nieces, and Mrs. Washington's grandchildren. He made his nephew, Bushrod Washington, his principal heir, leaving Mount Vernon to him. He said that he did this partly because he had promised the young man's father, his brother, John Augustine, when they were bachelors, to leave Mount Vernon to him in case he should fall in the French war. He willed that all his negro slaves should be set free on the death of his wife. He said that he earnestly wished that it might be done before this, but he feared it would cause trouble on account of their intermarriages with the dower negroes who came to Mrs. Washington from her first husband, and whom he had no right to free. He willed also that such should be comfortably clothed and fed by his heirs. To his five nephews he left his swords, with the injunction that they were "not to unsheath them for the purpose of shedding blood, except it be in self-defense, or in defense of their country and its rights; and in the latter case to keep them unsheathed, and prefer falling with them in their hands to the relinquishment thereof."

Washington's life is an open book. He knew that he was making history, and he kept careful copies of all his most important letters and writings, so that it is impossible that there should be doubts on any very important point. So jealous was he of his own honorable reputation, that his last act as President was to file a denial of the authenticity of some spurious letters which were attributed to him by his political enemies. These letters were first published during the Revolution by the English, and purported to be written by Washington to Lund Washington, to Mrs. Washington, and to John Parke Custis. The person who wrote them knew something of Washington's private affairs, but he made the American general say things which represented him as opposed to the independence of the colonies. It was asserted that Washington in his retreat from New York left his servant Billy behind, and that these papers were found in a handbag which the valet carried. As it was well known in the army that Billy had never been captured, Washington did not then think it needful to deny having written these letters; but when they were brought forward again by his enemies during the last years of his Presidency, he was alarmed lest they should go down to history as his own. Most of Washington's writings which are preserved show him to us only as a grave public character, and lives of Washington drawn mainly from this source are apt to make the great man seem unnaturally cold, dignified, remote, and impressive. So usual has this view of Washington become, that there is a common belief that he never laughed aloud--a belief which there are many stories to refute.

Washington had immense physical courage. In all the battles in which he fought he exposed himself fearlessly. His moral courage was even greater. He never shrank from doing what he thought right because it was likely to make him unpopular. Perhaps Washington's greatest qualities were his wisdom and prudence. These traits were very important in the leader of a young people engaged in a revolutionary struggle. He had few brilliant military successes, but it is impossible to say what he might not have done had he not been weighed down by immense difficulties. His influence over men was great, and those who were under him loved him. He was never swayed by mean motives, his actions were always honorable, and he was generous even to those who were his bitter opponents. Though he was a man of action, he thought deeply on many subjects. "Never," said Jefferson, "did nature and fortune combine more perfectly to make a man great, and to place him in the same constellation with whatever worthies have merited from man an everlasting remembrance."

FOOTNOTES:

[17] "The Story of Washington." D. Appleton & Co., 1893.

* * * * *

THE MOUNT VERNON TRIBUTE[18]

WASHINGTON

The Defender of His Country, The Founder of Liberty,

THE FRIEND OF MAN.

History and Tradition are Explored in Vain for a Parallel to His Character.

IN THE ANNALS OF MODERN GREATNESS, HE STANDS ALONE, And the Noblest Names of Antiquity Lose Their Lustre In His Presence. Born the Benefactor of Mankind, He United All The Qualities Necessary to An Illustrious Career.

NATURE MADE HIM GREAT;

He made himself virtuous.

Called By His Country To The Defence of Her Liberties, He Triumphantly Vindicated The Rights of Humanity, And on The Pillars of National Independence Laid the Foundations Of A Great Republic. Twice Invested With the Supreme Magistracy, By the Unanimous Voice of a Free People, He Surpassed In The Cabinet

THE GLORIES OF THE FIELD,

And Voluntarily Resigning the Sceptre and the Sword, Retired to the Shades of Private Life. A Spectacle So New and So Sublime Was Contemplated With the Profoundest Admiration; And the Name of

WASHINGTON,

Adding New Lustre to Humanity, Resounded To The Remotest Regions Of the Earth. Magnanimous in Youth,

GLORIOUS THROUGH LIFE, GREAT IN DEATH,

His Highest Ambition the Happiness of Mankind, His Noblest Victory the Conquest of Himself, Bequeathing to Posterity the Inheritance of His Fame,

_And Building His Monument in the Hearts of His Countrymen,_

He Lived the Ornament Of the Eighteenth Century, and Died Regretted By a Mourning World.

FOOTNOTES:

[18] The author of this inscription is not known. It has been transcribed from a manuscript copy written on the back of a picture-frame, in which is set a miniature likeness of Washington, and which hangs in one of the rooms of the mansion at Mount Vernon, where it was left some time after Washington's death.--H.B. CARRINGTON.

* * * * *

THE WORDS OF WASHINGTON

BY DANIEL WEBSTER

_Delivered at the laying of the cornerstone of the new wing of the Capitol at Washington, July 4, 1851_

Washington! Methinks I see his venerable form now before me. He is dignified and grave; but concern and anxiety seem to soften the lineaments of his countenance. The government over which he presides is yet in the crisis of experiment. Not free from troubles at home, he sees the world in commotion and arms all around him. He sees that imposing foreign powers are half disposed to try the strength of the recently established American Government. Mighty thoughts, mingled with fears as well as with hopes, are struggling within him. He heads a short procession over these then naked fields; he crosses yonder stream on a fallen tree; he ascends to the top of this eminence, whose original oaks of the forest stand as thick around him as if the spot had been devoted to Druidical worship, and here he performs the appointed duty of the day.

And now, if this vision were a reality; if Washington now were actually amongst us, and if he could draw around him the shades of the great public men of his own day, patriots and warriors, orators and statesmen, and were to address us in their presence, would he not say to us:

"Ye men of this generation, I rejoice and thank God for being able to see that our labors, and toils, and sacrifices, were not in vain. You are prosperous, you are happy, you are grateful. The fire of liberty burns brightly and steadily in your hearts, while duty and the law restrain it from bursting forth in wild and destructive conflagration. Cherish liberty, as you love it; cherish its securities, as you wish to preserve it. Maintain the Constitution which we labored so painfully to establish, and which has been to you such a source of inestimable blessings. Preserve the Union of the States, cemented as it was by our prayers, our tears, and our blood. Be true to God, to your country, and to your duty. So shall the whole Eastern world follow the morning sun, so contemplate you as a nation; so shall all generations honor you, as they honor us; and so shall that Almighty power which so graciously protected us, and which now protects you, shower its everlasting blessings upon you and your posterity!"

Great Father of your Country! We need your words; we feel their force, as if you now uttered them with lips of flesh and blood. Your example teaches us, your affectionate addresses teach us, your public life teaches us, your sense of the value of the blessings of the Union. Those blessings our fathers have tasted, and we have tasted, and still taste. Nor do we intend that those who come after us shall be denied the same high function. Our honor, as well as our happiness, is concerned. We cannot, we dare not, we will not, betray our sacred trust. We will not filch from posterity the treasure placed in our hands to be transmitted to other generations. The bow that gilds the clouds in the heavens, the pillars that uphold the firmament, may disappear and fall away in the hour appointed by the will of God; but, until that day comes, or so long as our lives may last, no ruthless hand shall undermine that bright arch of Union and Liberty which spans the continent from Washington to California!