UBRARY CONGRESS DDDDS7ESE5E c /\. -.^^^ /% ^^^ '. ^o .^-^^ ,*r^% ^'^_ •e^ ^* ■ /jaV/»;» ■'*'*•» c** ♦'■ '*»'. *«;~o« ,«,'^ 'o,^ *.',«.' A O ♦'•,1* aO ',$>. .'.^'^u,. V * 1 "^^ c>. Ik Ay V .• .►<•'"•'. •■&M..- ,'■"'*-. -.' il C^ * q.. *.»-•' aO* WASHINGTON AT THE AGE OE TWENTY-EIVE im^im -m^ MOUNT VERNON: A LETTEK CHILDREN OP AMEEICA. BY THE AUTHOR OF " RURAL HOURS," Etc., Etc. NEW YORK : D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 346 & 348 BROADWAY. M.DCCC.LIX. y ^7 y}i^,y^ ^c.^A /f.^ .C17 Entered, according to Act of Congress, iii the year 1858, by D. APPLETON & CO. In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New Torlv. PUBLISHEKS' XOTE. The readers of this little volume are indebted to tlie courtesy of Mr. George 'P. Putnam, publislier of Irving's Life of Washington, for the two interesting illus- trations which embellish it. The medal- lion likeness of " Washington at Twenty- five " is now first engraved from the veri- table miniature presented by General Washington to his niece. New York, Decemler 15, 1858. MOUNT VERNON. Dear Children : You have all been taught from your cra- dles to honor the name of George Washing- ton. Many of you already know that Mount Vernon was his home, where he lived and died. Far away, m the good State of Vir- ginia, an old, gray, stone house, with tall piazza, and peaked roof, and overlooking cupola, stands on an elevated bank, which is beautifully shaded by many different trees, while the broad river Potomac flows grandly below — this is Mount Vernon. Good men love their homes. General Washington loved Mount Vernon very dearly. He loved those gray walls for the sake of the elder brother who had built them — Mr. Lawrence Wash- ington, who, in boyhood, had been kind as a 1* 10 MOUNT VERNON. father to him. He loved the great woods, with their noble timber, and aU the wild creatm-es sheltered there ; he loved the broad farms with their rich crops, their fresh springs, the patient flocks, and the kindly cattle feed- ing on the sweet grass of the field. Our Heavenly Father has given many gracious blessings to a country home ; and all these were enjoyed by General Washington, with a wisely thankful heart. It is more than a hundred years since George Washington first lived at Mount Ver- non. He went there a youth — a noble youth of fifteen, sound in body, ardent in temper, generous at heart, purely upright in word and in deed. Already, at that early day, he was fitting himself with care for the great work of life — ^by study, by forming healthy habits of body and of mind, by good thought and worthy action. Pause awhile, dear children ; turn eye and heart towards that quiet country home, on the banks of the Potomac. Remember all you have read, all that has been told to you, of the great man whose noble head was so MOUNT VEKNON. 11 long sheltered beneath that roof. Remember his honorable youth ; see him first crossing the threshold of Mount Yernon, with his survey- ing instruments, when a growing lad of six- teen ; see him bravely making his way on foot, on horseback, through forests, over moimtain and marsh, exposed to all winds and weathers, ever diligent, ever trustworthy, ever faithM to the task of the hour. See him, when still a beardless lad, drawing maps, and making surveys, so correct in all then- parts, that to this day practised lawyers turn to them in cases of doubt and dispute. See him watching, in sickness, by the side of the kind brother who loved him so truly; see him intrusted with the guardianship of the little fatherless child, and the large prop- erty of that brother — he who was then himself but a youth under age. "Well and honorably indeed must his first years of manhood have been passed, to justify such a trust ! Observe him during the long struggle, and the many difficulties of the Old French War, as we call it in our histories. Behold him, at nineteen, one of those intrusted with the duty 12 MOUNT VERNON. of prej)aring his native province for war. Call to mind all his toil, all his perils, when, a few months later, he travelled through the wilder- ness at mid-winter, bearing letters from the governor of Virginia to the French command- er, on the shores of Lake Erie. You remem- ber that long and perilous journey, with all its hourly dangers from the deep snows, the an- gry rivers, the cimning wiles of the enemy, the treachery of the savage hovering about his path, more fiercely cruel than the beasts of prey. You remember well that false traitor, the Indian guide, who offered to lead him through the wilderness, and then, suddenly turning from his side, raised his gun, took murderous aim, and fired at the unsuspecting young ofiicer ! You remember the humanity of Major Washmgton, who disarmed the vile wretch, but gave him his life. And the raft on the wild waters of the troubled Alleghany — you have not forgotten that daring launch, with the long fireless night on the desolate island. You know already how faithfully the papers intrusted to his care were guarded amid a thousand dangers, and, after more than MOimr VEENON. 15 two months of wintry peril in the wilderness, were safely delivered into the hands to which they were addressed. Behold him once more leaving the quiet walls of Mount Vernon, and hastening, with early sjDring, at the head of his little troop of Virginians, to take post as the advance-guard of the provhice, breaking, with toilsome strug- gles, a road through the wilds of Western Virginia, along the passes of " Savage Moun- tain," through those gloomy woods called the " Shades of Death." Then came the skirmish at the Great Meadows, where the blood shed was the first drawn in a long and famous war — a war gradually extending from the moun- tain-passes of Virginia, and the wooded plains of Ohio, to famous fields of the Old World, to the banks of the Elbe and the Danube, where aU the great powers of Europe w^ere march- ing their armies to and fro. You know al- ready by heart, my children, the com'se of George Washington through that war. You have followed in your histories the boastful march of General Braddock ; you have noted the modest wisdom, the gallant bravery, the 14 MOUNT VEKNON. generous humanity, of the young Virginian aid. So often have we read the narrative, that we seem almost to have beheld him with our own eyes, riding about that fatal field of Fort Duquesne, seeking to rally the flying troops, exposed to many deaths, horses shot under him, bullets passing through his cloth- ing, his brother-officers falling one after an- other, and he left alone, his tall figure and fine horse a mark to the trained aim of the French soldier, and to the quick-eyed savage in his lair.* We, the women and children of the country, seem still to tremble, these hundred years later, at the dangers which threatened * *' The sachem made known to him that he was one of the warriors in the service of the French, who lay in ambush on the banks of the Monongahela, and wrought such havoc in Braddock's army. He declared that he and his young men had singled out Washington, as he made himself conspicuous, riding about the field of batv tie with the general's orders, and had fired at him re- peatedly without success ; whence they had concluded that he was under the protection of the Great Spirit, had a charmed life, and could not be slain in battle." — Ir^ ving^s Washinf/to7i, vol. i., p. 836. MOUNT VERNON. 15 that noble head. And you have read of the after-trials of the same war, darker perhaps to his ardent spirit than in the eager years of youth, than the fatal day at Fort Duquesne — trials of endurance under neglect, abuse and opposition — trials which, by the will of Provi- dence, were moulding his character for diffi- culties still more severe, through which, at a later period, he was nobly to steer his own course and that of his country. And then, when Fort Duquesne had at length fallen, when Canada had been con- qaered, and his native province was fi-eed from peril, there came a period of honorable re- pose. Colonel Washington married. Mount Vernon became a happy house. My children, it is those we love — father and mother, hus- band and wife, brother and sister, son and daughter — it is these near and dear ones, sharing our joys and sorrows, with us at our daily meal, our daily prayer, these whose love goes with us along the whole path of life, and still watches over the grave — it is these best, most worthy, most enduring affections of our nature, which give, as it were, heart and soul 16 MOUNT VISENON. to the Christian home. George Washington was a man whose affections were true, pure, strong. The home of his boyhood now became dearer to him than ever, for the sake of the wife and children who shared its blessings with him. There are men, my young friends, capable of great and honorable exertion when aroused by some urgent need, acting bravely and zeal- ously in hours of danger, but sinking into weakness and selfish indulgence in hours of repose. Those were peaceful days to Colonel Washington. But the hours were not idled away. He well knew the great value of time worthily spent. The plantation of Mount Vernon was large, stretching for miles along the bank of the Potomac. It contained dif- ferent farms, watered by brooks and rivulets, with much woodland also. The woods were left wholly wild, with large droves of swine feeding on the fallen acorns and beech-nuts. The farms were thoroughly worked. George Washington was a wise, industrious, thrifty farmer ; he was not a man to be content with meagre returns from the soil ; he spared no MOUNT VEENON. 17 pains to bring the very best crops from his fields. Once in a while a ship would sail np the Potomac, anchor in the river, and receive the choice produce of the plantation. The to- bacco, good as that once smoked by Raleigh in the presence of Queen Bess, was sent to London. The return voyages brought him many necessaries of life, and many little mat- ters which to-day you and I might find at the nearest counter in our own neighborhood. Colonel Washington wrote to London for pins, for Mrs. Washington's toilet, and for a doll, a doll for the little daughter of the house ; " a fashionably drfesed baby " it was to be ! The flour from the fields of Mount Vernon Avas sent in other ships to the West Lidia Isl- ands, and there, my children, the name of George Washington became known in the markets, not as that of a gallant soldier, not as that of a wise statesman, but as the name of an upright man, an honest farmer, faultless in good faith. The barrels marked with that name were not opened for examination ; the dealers were confident that the quality of the 2 18 MOUNT VERNOK. flour within was precisely such as it was rep- resented to be ; it needed no inspection. It was during those quiet, years, my chil- dren, that a little church arose in the neigh- borhood of Mount Vernon, the church at Pohick, planned, and in a good measure built, by Colonel Washington. Every Sunday, as a rule, the gates of Mount Vernon opened to Colonel Washington and his family, on then- way to the house of God. He was not one of those who, calhng themselves Christians, yet neglect the public worship of the Lord God of heaven and earth. It would not be easy,* dear children, to imagine a more happy, a more honorably peaceful way of life, than that led at Mount Vernon during those quiet years ; the active usefulness, the manly exercises without — the generous hospitalities, the neighborly chari- ties, the happy family circle within — these gave Colonel Washington what his heart most enjoyed. But, my children, all these pleasures were now to be dehberately sac- rificed ; they were all to be nobly given up. Much as he loved that happy home, his MOUNT VEENON. 19 love of country was still stronger. His sense of honor, of duty, his reverence for truth and justice, were much too great to allow him to sit idle by the hearthstone of Mount Vernon, when the highest mterests of his country were at stake. You know already that the war of the Revolution, which separated America from England, was brought on by the injustice of the English government. As we sow, so shall we reap, whether nations or individuals. Injustice, whether public or private, is doom- ed in the end, under one form or another, to work out its own punishment. The English government insisted on exercising in the col- onies powers to which they had no just right. The people of the colonies remonstrated; they sought redress by peaceable means. They long clung to the mother country hope- ful of justice and reconciliation ; but, when all peaceful measures had failed — when troops were sent among them to compel obedience to laws plainly unconstitutional and tyi*anni- cal— then, at length, they were themselves 20 MOUNT VERNON. driven to take up arms in defence of their cherished rights. The memorable war began between thir- teen feeble colonies and their mother country, one of the richest and most powerful nations then on the earth. SmaU would have been the hope of these colonies if they had de- pended on the numbers of their troops, on the strength of their fortresses, on the size of their fleets. Regular armies they had none. Their fortresses were few and small, and chiefly in the hands of the enemy. With a sea-board coast stretching a thousand miles along the Atlantic, they had not one regu- larly armed vessel to represent a navy — to defend their hundred ports. But, my young friends, the hearts of the people were brave. For leaders they had wise and upright men. And the moral strength of their cause was to them like an impregnable citadel. You already know who became the great leader of the American people in the struggle which then began. There was no man on the contiaent who felt a more generous indigna- tion at the wrongs inflicted on his country- MOUNT VERNON. 21 >^eii, than George Washington, then in his 2)eaceful home at Mount Vernon. With a devotion purely unselfish, he stood ready to give up life, and ease, and property, to the service of his country in her hour of utmost need. An American army was already gath- erinix on the heisfhts of Boston. An Ameri- can Congress met at Philadelphia. Ere many days had passed, George Washington was unanimously appointed, by the Congress of the Colonies, Commander-in-Chief of their troops. His skill as an officer, his position, his talents, his superior character, were de- clared such as " would unite the cordial exer- tions of all the colonies better than any other person in the Union." Mark that word Union, my young friends, now first used on a most solemn public occasion — a word carry- ing with it a principle of wise statesmanship, of generous sympathies, of prudent concilia tion — a principle which has been, more than any other, the life and soul of our common country, which has, under Providence, made of a dozen scattered provinces one great and powerful nation, which has bound up in one 22 MOUNT VERNON. common weal the hearts of millions of men, making brothers and comrades of those who, without it, must one day have become bitter rivals and deadly foes. And how happily was the word now uttered in this its very earliest use, connected with the name of George Washington — coimected with the name of the man who throughout his whole course proved how deeply he felt the full force of its meaning — who labored so faithfully to uphold the just and wise and generous principles it involves. The choice of Congress was unanimous. The gravely weighty charge was accepted with that unfeigned modesty, that noble humility, which entered so thoroughly into this great man's nature. "There is something charming to me in the conduct of "Washing- ton, a gentleman of one of the first fortunes on the continent, leaving his delicious retire- ment, his family and friends, sacrificing his ease, and hazarding all in the cause of liia country. His motives are noble, and disin- terested." Such were the words of John Adams. MOUNT VEENON. 23 Then followed the daiing siege of Boston. It was a siege begun with the utmost boldness, and carried on with a resolution, an unyield- ing fortitude under difficulties, still more re- markable. On the 3d of July, 1775, General Washington took formal command of the army — an army most uncouth to the eye of a soldier — a besieging army of husbandmen, without tents, without stores, ragged and half-clad, scarcely halfarmed, and with little ammunition. But beneath that scanty cloth- ing beat the hearts of brave men ; the spirit of injured freemen lighted up those sharp features. The character of an army has ever been of far more importance than its weapons. Those rude countrymen had already compelled the brilliant English troops at Lexington to retreat. They had all but won the field of Bunker Hill from the experienced English general, commanding at Boston. During the first months they kept their ground bravely, in spite of every obstacle. But these undiscip- lined yeomen, brave as men could be in the field, at length became v/eary of the camp. As the siege was prolonged their patience 24 MOin!JT VERNON. failed. Discontent, murmuring were there, as the time of enlistment drew to a close ; many left the camp, and turned their faces home- ward. It needed a wiser courage than theirs, spirits more enduring, to complete the work so bravely begun. At one moment it seemed as if General Washington with his officers might be left alone on those heights — like fabled champions of old — beleaguering the British army in Boston ! The American forces were melting away — varying with every waning moon — ebbing and flowing like the tide-s in the harbor below, but with far more of caprice and uncertainty in their move- ment, than that of the waves of the sea. But, in the midst of dangers, and trials, and diffi- culties far beyond what your young minds can now comprehend, the fortitude of General Washington remained unwavering. He pru- dently concealed his weakness. He patiently labored to enlist a new army — he planned — he wrote — he watched with unwearied fideli- ty. Men, cannon, powder, clothing, were sought far and near. In the very face of the enemy, the army was built up anew. No ad- MOITNT VERNON. 25 vantage was lost. The American intrench- ments were pushed nearer and nearer to the 'besieged town. At length the hour came — the city could no longer be held by the enemy ; with the dawn of day, March the 3d, 1776, the bay of Boston was crowded with English shipping, getting under way; the British army hurried on board, and the fleet sailed out to sea. The victory was won. Boston was free. By noon General Putnam — that brave old man — had marched into the city ; the yoimg flag of the country was seen float- ing freshly over the town, in the bleak March breezes. New York was threatened. General Washington hastened there. An attack was expected. It came ere long. A great fleet of one hundred and thirty sail appeared at the mouth of the Hudson, and was soon at anchor in the bay. An army of 30,000 men was on board. Their white tents arose on Staten Island — and, ere long, a large British force landed on Long Island. A battle was fought. The Americans oj^posed the enemy with great gallantry ; but they had failed to 26 MOUNT VEKNOK. guard one important point — they were sur- rounded, and thrown into confusion. General Washington was in New York, preparing for an attack on the city ; he hurried over the river, but only in time to see his defeated troops driven from their ground, and retreat- ing toward Brooklyn. Haj)pily for them, night was at hand. The fighting ceased. The Americans had lost two thousand men — the English commander believed a complete ^dctory to be in his power — he felt sure of forcing the whole American army, now lying weary and defeated within sight and sound of his own troops, to surrender as prisoners of war. He lay dreaming in his tent. "With early dawn he was aroused by strange tidings. The American army, to the very last man, had vanished — their camp, close at hand, was empty ! It seemed mcredible. Silently and swiftly, in the dead of night, shrouded in a heavy fog, the army had been withdrawn by General "Washington, embarked in boats hasti- ly brought together, and safely ferried across the river to New York. A more sudden and MOUNT VERNON. 27 and skilful retreat is scarcely to be found in the records of history. But, my children, that celebrated move- ment, after the defeat on Long Island, was only the first step in a long course of deliberate retreat, now rendered necessary by the weak- ness of the American army, and the increas- ing strength of the British forces. I^ew York could no longer be held. It was necessary to abandon the city. Slowly and painfully, amid many trials and vexations. General Washing- ton withdrew his army to the northward. Wherever it was possible, there he paused ; and his troops, skilful as ever with the spade, threw up intrenchments with surprising quick- ness of hand and eye. In October, amid the colored autumnal groves of Westchester, was fought the battle of White Plains, where the Americans yielded the ground, but without being defeated. Rapidly, during the dark hours of a frosty night, while the camp-fires of both armies lighted up the shadowy hill sides, our countrymen raised new redoubts, built up of maize stalks, and their shaggy roots matted with earth. By skilful work, and rapid move- 28 MOUNT TEKNO^, ments, General "Washington succeeded in securing a position too strong for attack. The English general lay idle awhile in his camp, and then marched away, moving west- ward. Fort Washington on the Hudson was, his object. This fortress protected the north- ern country against the English forces in New York, It was a post of great importance, but had not the strength to repulse alone an enemy of the force of General Howe. Gene- ral Washington had wished to withdraw the troops. There was delay, and some indecision, A strong Enghsh army appeared, with a sum- mons to surrender. They were very gallantly opposed. General Washington, then in New Jersey, became painfully anxious ; on learning that the fort was besieged, he mounted his horse, rode rapidly to Fort Lee, on the Jersey shore, and threw himself into a boat, to cross the river; but he met General Greene returning with hopeful reports from the garrison. Sta- tioning himself on the heights of the palisades, immediately opposite, the Commander-in-Chief now watched with the utmost anxiety the fate of his brave troops. But they had undertake MOUNT VEENON. 29 en a task beyond their strength ; ere long the Commander-in-Chief had the bitter mortifica- tion of seeing the gallant defenders of the fort compelled to sm-render. The American flag was lowered — nearly one-third of the army were taken prisoners, besides stores and am- munition of the greatest importance. Two thousand eight himdred men of the American troops were disarmed, and marched off at midnight to 'New York, prisoners of war. Sad was the fate of many of these, at a later day, in the wretched prisons where they were confined by the enemy, like evil-doers. General Washington's army was now but little more than two thousand men, chiefly en- camped at Hackensack, in New Jersey. An English force, six thousand strong, suddenly crossed the river, to surprise them. General Washington was on the alert. Rapidly as possible he was compelled to retreat to save the small remnant of the American army; tents, baggage, stores, provisions, cannons, — all were abandoned. At their utmost speed the troops move toward the bridge over the 3 30 MOUNT VERNON. Hackensack — they reach it — cross the river, and are safe for the day. And then followed months of painful Avan- derings on the part of the enfeebled American army — as usual suffermg for want of clothing, arms, and food, — "ragged tatterdemalions," as the British officers contemptuously called them. Steadily and wisely General Washing- ton led the forced retreat — now retiring at a slow, deliberate pace, now pausing; then again moving with the utmost rapidity, press- ed by more urgent need — ever watchful, ever on the alert to seize the first opening for favorable action. He was compelled to cross the Passaic. The enemy pursued him closely. He reached Trenton, and crossed the broad Delaware. In hot pursuit the English army followed to the banks of the stream. They sought to cross. Boats could not be found — ^these had all been removed by General Washington's orders. They hovered awhile on the shore, then scattered themselves over the adjoining country. That small American army was once more safe, for the moment. Time and again, my children, during the MOUNT VEENON. 31 course of that memorable war, were tne slen- der American forces struggling for the freedom of the country, befriended, as it were, by the noble rivers of the land. The ample waters, flowing broad and deep, formed natu- ral barriers against the invader. But most gloomy were the prosjoects of the American army, now gathered on the western bank of the. Delaware. The future lay dark, and seemingly hopeless, before them. Stout hearts began to fail. There was secret murmur- ing — ^there was underhand plotting — curses were at work — slander was heard. The char- acter of General Washington was assailed. There were many now very ready to blame the Commander-in-Chief— Avas he always to re- treat ? Suddenly news flew over the country of a very brilliant action — an action wholly un- expected. Boldly recrossing the Delaware, on a cold and stormy winter's night — Christ- mas-Eve of 1776 — at the head of his half-clad troops, General Washiagton had surprised,- defeated, and taken prisoners a large body of the enemy's Hessian troops, at Trenton. Then, moving gallantly onward, he had fol- 32 MOUNT "VEENON. lowed lip his first success, in spite of urgent needs of men and money — and turning upon the enemy, defeated him at Princeton, drove him, in his turn, step by step, over the sandy roads of Kew Jersey, in full retreat. He closed the campaign by securing a favorable encampment for the winter among the heights of Morristown. But, my young friends, we are wandering too far. Time would fail us, were we to lin- ger at every striking event of that memorable war, m which General "Washington stands prominent in the foreground. You may find the record of these events already printed on many a page ; they are already written, it is to be hoj)ed, on your o^vn young hearts, be- yond the power of forgetfulness. A rapid glance is all we may novf allow ourselves. The gloomy months of the year 11 7Q reliev- ed by the daring victory at Trenton; the march through Philadelphia the following season, the ragged trooj^s wearing sprigs of evergreen in their hats as the best attempt at uniform their scanty clothing would allow ; the defeat on the Brandywine, where the MOITNT VERNON. 33 gallant and loyal Lafayette first fought by the side of Washington ; the loss of Philadel- phia ; the daring attack at Germantown ; a victory won — then vanishing as it were in the fog and smoke of the field : of all these you have read. Then we come to the wretched winter at Valley Forge — the frosty roads marked with the blood of the bare-footed soldiers; the narrow huts of logs, without food, without clothing, without blankets to keep the life-blood of the men from freezing in their veins ; nay, without straw for the sick to die on ! And darker still, let us not forget the cunning plotting, the undeserved blame, the cowardly abuse, which m those months of gloom were aimed at the noble head of "Washington. My children, the generous spirit is best known in the hour of trial. Undaunted, true to himself and to duty, devoted mth all his powers to the good of his country, the character of General Washington never ap- peared more truly great than during those darkest months of his life — ^the winter at Val- ley Forge. Then comes the French alliance — the 34 MOUNT VEENON. English leaving Philadelphia, General Wash- ington again in pursuit of their retreating army through the Jerseys; the battle of Monmouth, so nearly lost, so bravely won; the return of Sir Henry Chnton to New York; the hopes, the anxieties, the disap- pointments of General AVashmgton regarding the French fleet, and the winter encampment at Middlebrook. The winter of 1779 was marked as usual with grave cares and severe trials to the Commander-in-Chief. Little sympathy had his generous nature with the petty jealousies, the narrow selfishness, which now began to show themselves but too plainly among the inferior political men of the day. The best men of the country, the men uniting ability with high moral character, were no longer in Congress. Well did he, the noblest among them all, feel the great truth, that when such men — ^the upright, the loyal, the unselfish — are content to leave the public work of the coun- try in unworthy hands, more or less of public risk and public disgrace is inevitable. With the next year, 1780, we have Gen- MOUNT VERNON. 35 eral Washington on the Hudson, with his troops. And that most daring attack on Stony Point follows — a work so boldly plan- ned by the Commander-in-Chief, thoroughly prepared, and most gallantly achieved by General Wayne, "Mark Antony" of the army — a strong fort, garrisoned by six hun- dred men, surprised and stormed at midnight by two hundred men ! It was indeed a very gallant exploit — one of the most brilliant feats on record in the annals of war. The winter of 1780, so terribly cold, is again marked by the sufferings of the Ameri- can army, in their winter quarters at Morris- town. As before, these brave men were left by the careless public officers without clothing, without bread, without meat, without money, in their narrow huts. Perchance they might have starved but for the kindly sympathy of the people of 'New Jersey, who brought them supplies out of good-will. How many leaves of the history of the Revolution are marked with the bitter necessities of the army — with the wearing trials and anxieties of their chief, for the lack of that aid from the government 36 MOUNT VEENON. without whicli we should have supposed they must have been almost utterly powerless! There were times when the difficulties ap- peared all but overwhelming. There was a childish littleness of calculation, a narrowness of views in the proceedings of Congress con- nected with the army, quite disgraceful ; and when it is considered that the fate of the nation was at stake, such a course becomes culpable in the extreme. To a man of the singular discretion, forethought, and soundness of judgment of the Commander-in-Chief, such mismanagement must have been especially try- ing. Private affairs managed in the same way, must have brought utter ruin on any man. Happily the resources of nations are greater. When endangered by mismanagement they are often enabled to rally from what appears the brink of ruin. With republics this is espe- cially the case. The broad principles of general justice which make up their constitution, carry life farther and deeper into their system than into that of other nations ; they can bear with safety greater shocks, so long at least as the moral principles by which they exist are pre- MOUNT ViaiNOIT. 37 served with any degree of fidelity. They often appear strangely weak, while yet they have at the heart life-giving fountains of strength which enable them to rally and to act in time of need, with a vigor perhaps wholly unlooked for, and far beyond that of their adversary — startling the world by their proofs of power. Thus it was in the war of the Revolution. The great moral principles of simple justice, for which the people and their leaders were honestly contending, buoyed them up amid innumerable stormy perils. Spring found General Washington at West Point, anxious, as he had been for a long time, to attack ISTew York ; but he was not strong enough to undertake a step so important, un- supported by the allied forces of France. A French fleet was hourly expected at Newport. Meanwhile Sh' Henry Clinton had sailed south- w^ard, reduced Charleston, after a very gal- lant defence of that city by General Lincoln and his troops, and had again returned north- ward, leaving Lord CornwalUs in Carolina. There was now a seeming quiet in the English 38 MOUNT VEENON. camp. Sir Henry Clinton appeared idle. Ah, little did General Washington know the dan- ger which threatened him from that quarter ; little was he aware of the work now plotting under the eye of Sir Henry Clinton ! Letters were passing up and down the Hudson, of which he knew nothing — letters from his own camp at West Point to the British head-quar- ters ; one day borne stealthily in boats gliding under the shores — at another carried by land along the highways, passing from one treach- erous hand to another. A traitor stood by the side of the Commander-in-Chief, breakmg bread with him at the same board, sharing his secret counsels — a traitor far more guilty than the wild savage who had once fired upon him in the wilderness of Ohio. The French fleet arrived. Unsuspicious of evil. General Washington, anxious to prepare for the intend- ed attack on New York, left West Point for Hartford, to meet the commander of the allied forces just arrived. At the very hour when the Commander-in-Chief of the American army was sitting at the council-board in Hartford, in consultation with the Count de Rocham« MOUNT VEENON. 39 bean, treacnery was busily at work on the banks of the Hudson. The traitorous plan was completed. All was ready. At midnight, of a beautiful starlight night, the 21st of Sep- tember, an English officer landed from a boat at a solitary spot in Haverstraw Bay. It was at the foot of Long Clove Mountain, jjv^hich threw its starlight shadows over the wild spot. There, concealed in a thicket, shrinking from the dim face of night, as it were, like the guilty creature he was, stood an American general, come there with the vile purpose of selling on that spot, and at that hour, his comrades, his chief, his country, and his honor, for a few paltry pounds of gold. Wretched man that he was — you know his name already, my young friends, but too well. The guilty tale has been often told to you. Let us have done with it. But, as we pass up and down that grand river to-day, with a speed scarcely leaving time for thought, let us still send up to Heaven an aspiration of thankfulness for the protection vouchsafed in that evil hour to our country, her army, and her great leader. The plot was discovered. Benedict Ar- 40 MOUNT VERNON. nold escaped, safe in body, blasted in name forever. The luckless young Englisb officer, Andre, was executed, sternly, but justly, in accordance with well-established military law. General Washington's mind was scarcely relieved from this critical danger, ere his at- tention was again engrossed by the state of the army. Difficulties, as of old, want of men, and of means, beset his path. ISTot a month, not a week, scarcely a day, of those long years was free from trials of this nature. Time and again, well-formed plans of the Commander-in- Chief and his generals were abandoned, for the .ack of that aid they had every just reason to demand. Many a victory, many a gallant ex- ploit, my young friends, might have been added to the history of the devolution, as it now stands on record, had the men and means pledged to the Commander-in-Chief been faith- fully provided. But, as we look backward to- day, knowing that the great national battle was happily won at last, far higher than the renown of victory may we prize those grand lessons of wisdom, of prudence, of forti- tude, of unwavering devotion to duty, of faith MOUNT VEKKON. 41 in the power of truth and justice, as they are taught by the example of George Washing- ton, in those hours of severe trial. The attack on 'New York was still the project wMch the Commander-in-Chief had most at heart, believ- ing that one successful blow struck here by the united armies of America and France, must insure an early peace. But, as usual, there was delay. The armies were not yet ready for action. Meanwhile the brave States at the south- ward — ^the Carolinas and Virginia, had become the field of war. It was on that ground the great battle of the nation was now fought. The American troops in that quarter, like their brethren at the North, were often want- ing in almost every essential of war but gal-- lant hearts and brave leaders. The names of Lincoln, Greene, Sumter, Marion, Washing- ton, Morgan, and others, their comrades — how many daring exploits, under cloud or sunshine, do they recall to us ! How often have we read the story of those bold attacks, skilful retreats — the risino- of the rivers one o after another — the Catawba, the Yadkin, tha 4 42 MOUNT VEENON. Dan ; one army pursuing the other in quick succession, with rapid changes, until suddenly and unexpectedly General Greene moves southward, and Lord Cornwallis, after a brief and anxious lielay, fearing the loss of all he had hitherto won in Carolina, changes his di- rection also. And the two armies, which but a few days earlier were closely pursuing each other, one or the other in advance, according to the chances of war, were now seen flying far asunder, towards opposite points, each commander with an object of his own. Lord Cornwallis was eager to reach Virginia, to unite his own diminished forces with the British army already there. Little did he dream of the circumstances under which, ere many months had passed, he should again pass the bounds of that State ! For some time Arnold — the guilty Ar- nold — ^had been in command of the enemy's forces in Virginia, ravaging the country with a hear tie ssness that proved plainly that with his allegiance he had also forgotten the spirit of humanity which has marked American war- fare. The watchful eye of the Commander-in- MOUNT VEENON. 43 Chief, from his camp on the Hudson, took in the whole field of war. The movements of armies, to the utmost extent of the country, were often planned by him. He may have felt something of additional sympathy, as he saw now his native province laid waste by the enemy. A proof of the strength of his love of country, of his high sense of honor, is now given to the vv'orld, though at the moment known only to the man to whom his rebuke was addressed. Mount Vernon was threat- ened with fire by the enemy. Other country houses had been recently burned by the Brit- ish troops, in Vii'ginia. The agent, to save the house and the plantation from ruin, sent provisions to the enemy, and went himself on board their ship. The indignation of Gen. Washington, on learning this fact, was great indeed — he could not endure the thought that a person, representing him during his absence, should have taken a step so unworthy. Much as he loved Moimt Yernon, greatly as he longed to return there, he could not endure the idea that safety should have been pur- chased by an unworthy act : " It would have 44 MOUNT VEENON. been a less painful circumstance to me, to have heard that in consequence of your non- comphance with their request they had burned my house, and laid my plantation in ruins." Such was his private rebuke to his agent : strong language, but, Hke all lan- guage used by George Washington, the hon- est expression of his heart. He had long since deliberately declared himself ready to sacrifice life and property to the service of his country ; he now stood ready at any hour to carry out that pledge to the utmost — to preserve, at every cost, pure integrity of word and deed. General Washington was now encamped on the Hudson, among the Greenburg hills, about Dobb's Ferry, anxiously awaiting the arrival of additional troops before moving upon New York. The attack on that city was fully prepared. The French army under General de Rochambeau was lying among the Greenburg hills, in close neighborhood, and in good fellowship with the American troops. The generals had gone over the ground ; their plans were complete. They were only MOU^n: VERNON. 45 awaiting tlie reinforcements elcpected by the American army. But the fresh troops came in very slowly, and in small numlbers. Gene- ral Washington was pained and mortified by these delays, at a moment of the highest im- portance. At length, however, towards the middle of August, preparations were more actively carried on. A large encampment was marked out in the Jerseys — to surround New York by aU its approaches seemed the object ; ovens were built, fuel was provided for baking the bread needed by a large force ; pioneers were sent forward to break the roads leading towards IsTew York, and prepare them for the passage of troops and artillery. At length, on the 19th of August, the army was paraded, with their faces towards !N"ew York. The order to march was given — but, to the amaze- ment of the troops themselves, they were turned in the opposite direction from the Brit- ish posts. They had expected to attack. They moved to the northward some miles, then crossed the Hudson. The French forces fol- lowed in the same direction. The camp al- ready prepared in the Jerseys was supposed 4* 46 MOUNT VEENON. to be their goal." But such were not the views of their leaders. They marched through the Jerseys without pausing, leaving IN'ew York in their rear. Now, at length, it became evi- dent that Yirgiuia was their object. Stirring events were taking place on that ground. Generals Lafayette and Wayne, by a series of skilful movements, had not only escaped from the pursuit of Lord Cornwallis, but, car- rying out the suggestions of General Wash- ington, had succeeded in throwing a mihtary net -work about the British army, confining it within narrow bounds by a skilful distribu- tion of the American forces. At the same moment, the expected French fleet was found to have changed its destination from New York to the Chesapeake — a fact which ren- dered it necessary to postpone the attempt on New York, while, on the other hand, it ren- dered the hope of capturing the British army in Virginia almost certain. This intelligence had caused the sudden movement of General Washington and Count de Kochambeau to the southward. Sir Henry Clinton was amazed when he learned the alUed armies had already MOUNT VEKNON. 4*7 reached the Delaware. They marched through Philadelphia ; they passed over much the same ground as in 1777, but under very different circumstances. Lord Cornwallis, finding it impossible to withdraw his army, prepared to defend himself at Yorktown, strengthening the place to the utmost of his power. On the 28th of September the allied Amer- ican and French armies, twelve thousand strong, began their work as besiegers. The Commander-in-Chief, the Coimt de Rocham- beau, Generals Lafayette, Wayne, Steuben, Lincoln, and many other distinguished soldiers of both armies, were on the ground. Gov- ernor IN'elson, of Virginia, brought the militia of that State into the field, raising the funds for their expenses by pledging his own private property for the purpose. The besieging works were commenced, stretching before Yorktown in a semicircle nearly two miles in length. General Washington closely superin- tended the labors of the troops. He was fre- quently exposed to great danger ; but, as usual, wholly forgetful of personal risks. His 48 MOUNT YEENON. generals, at times, remonstrated with him upon his want of caution. The English army, now closely shut in on all sides, soon became distressed. They were compelled to kill their horses for want of forage. Parties were sent out to j)rocure provisions ; skirmishes took place. In one of these Col. Tarleton, with his famous legion, mounted on race-horses, had a sharp melee with M. de Lauzun, and his brilliant French hussars. On the 6th of October, in the depths of a dark night. Gen. Lincoln, with a body of French and American troops, opened a par- allel — as it is called in the language of sieges — within six hundred yards of the enemy. It was nearly two miles in length. So silently, and so skilfully, was the work carried on, that the enemy was wholly unaware it was going on, until the morning light appeared. This work was soon completed. A terrible can- nonade followed ; General Washington firing the first gun. Gov. ISTelson was consulted as to the point toward which the cannonade should be directed, to do most effective work. A large house was quietly pointed out by him, MOUNT VEENON. 49 as the enemy's head-quarters. It was his own. Of course it was destroyed. All the usual glaring terrors of a regular siege followed. On the 11th, a second line, within three hun- dred yards of the enemy, was opened by General Steuben. Two British redoubts seri- ously retarded the work. They were most gallantly stormed in the same night — ^the 14th — one by a party of Americans under General Lafayette, the other by a French force under M. de Viomeiul. The Americans, headed by Colonel Hamilton, rushed upon the redoubt without firing, without awaiting the usual military approaches — the fatal work was done at the point of the bayonet. The French, having a stronger garrison to oppose them, advanced more regularly, but with equal gal- lantry. Both parties were entirely successful. The loss of these redoubts threw Lord Corn- wallis almost into despair. The British made a very spiiited attack on two American bat- teries — ^but they were forced to retreat. Lord Cornwallis could not endure the idea of sur- rendering. He sought to escape — to force an opening to the southward. The daring at- 50 MOUNT VEENON. tempt failed. Finding longer defence hope- less — at 10 o'clock on the morning of the I'Tth, a flag was sent to General Washington with proposals of surrender. Two days passed in the necessary consultations. On the 19th of October, Lord Cornwallis, and the British army under his command — some 7,000 in all — formally surrendered, with all due niihtar} observances, to General Washington, as Com- mander-in-Chief of the allied armies. The great struggle was nearly over — clos- ing, for General Washington, as it had begmi, with a siege. But very different was the management of the siege of Yorktown, carried on with every regular military proceeding, from the protracted labors, the dishe-artening delays and hinderances of that remarkable siege of Boston, in which the Commander-in- Chief first made proof of all his personal pow- ers, as an American general. With the fall of Yorktown the Enghsh Government abandoned all hope. Ere long rumors of peace were heard. StUl General Washington, ever watchful and provident, returned to his post on the Hudson, prepared MOUNT VEENON. 51 to continue hostilities should it be necessary. The troops were marched to Newburgh. The army imder General Washington was not again called into the field. And yet his pres- ence in the camp was never more necessary. Now that the attention of the troops was no longer fixed upon the enemy, now that peace was at hand, a peace purchased by their gal- lantry, they began to turn a sullen eye upon the internal affairs of the country. The con- duct of Congress, and that of the State gov- ernments, with regard to all the interests of the troops — officers and men alike — had been strangely and culpably negligent. Even now, when the freedom of the country had been wrought out by their gallantry and fortitude, they were still but half fed ! Long arrears of pay were due to them. The murmuring and discontent increased to an alarming degree. The real danger to the nation was, perhaps, greater at that moment than at any period during the Revolution. — ^A secret proj^osition was made to General Washington: Why should he not assume the supreme command of affairs, and with the aid of the army crown 52 MOUNT VEENON. himself King ! A noble burst of indignation was the only reply of the Commander-in-Chief. N'ever, perhaps, was there a public man more free from the taint of petty personal ambition. Still the mutinous disposition of the army seemed to be gaining groimd. The great) degree of justice in their complaints increased the danger a thousand-fold. Disorder, vio- lence and anarchy threatened the country — and, like their sister republics at the south- ward, these States might have become a prey to successive military outbreaks, and military leaders. But the evil was wholly warded off, and the country saved from untold disorder and violence — ^the integrity, the wisdom and upright character of one man contributing, more, perhaps, than any other influence, to avert the imminent danger. Sharing, as he had done, all the trials and dangers of the army, feeling for the officers and the men with an interest almost fatherly in its warmth, by his calm wisdom, and generous example, he was enabled to control the stormy elements. "Blessed are the peace-makers, for they shall be called the children of God." If such MOUNT VEENON. 53 be the blessiug of the man who in private hfe seeks to cherish the lovely spirit of peace, how much greater must be the merit of the Christian patriot, who, in seasons of discord, promotes by word and by deed that unspeak- ably great blessing — ^national peace ! A close more, worthy of the great military career of the Commander-in-Chief could scarcely be named. And now, on the 19th of April, the eighth anniversary of the battle of Lexington, the close of the war with England was publicly proclaimed to the army. It was still some months, however, ere General Washington was released from public cares. The breaking up of the army; the fatherly leave-taking from the soldiers; the solemn parting with his officers, marked by manly grief; the careful and patient settle- ment of business questions with the British officials; his frequent communications with Congress, with the State authorities ; his sim- ply dignified resignation of the supreme com- mand at Annapolis — all these different duties delayed his homeward journey. 5 54 MOUNT VERNON. But at length, on Christmas Eve, 1783, came the happy hom*. Once more the gates of Mount Vernon opened to receive him ; he was once more at rest within those .honored walls. How simply true, that from early youth ■ he seemed never to have left those walls, save on some worthy errand — ever, as he returned to their shelter, bearing with him^* year after year, fresh claims upon the respect, the veneration, the gratitude of his country. Very happily must the early spring of Virginia have opened to the great and good man. His mind was given once more to the peaceful cares and genial toils of the husband- man. Ere long, loving country life as of old, we find him keeping a diary of all the little events of interest. As the months went round, the days, marked so often in past years with the gloomy trial, the terrible battle, are now given to the peaceful work of the farm and the garden. Jan. the 10th — the period of the stormy winter campaign in the Jerseys, he now quietly notes that the thorn is still in full berry. Jan. the 20th — the anniversary of the bitter hardships of Valley Forge, the suffer- MOUNT VEENON. 65 ings of his army, the plottings of his secret ene- mies in the Conway cabal — we now follow him into his pine groves, where he is happily busy clearing openings among the midergrowth. In February, the moment when, during a previous year, the threatening military out- break was gathering to a head in the Highland camp, he is pleasantly engaged in transplant- ing ivy. In March, when the siege of Boston was drawing to a close, engrossing every fac- ulty, he is setting out evergreens — the spruce which throws its dark shadows over many a hillside in our country. In April, the month of Lexington, he sets out willows and lilacs — he sows hoUy-berries for a hedge near the garden-gate, and on the lawn. He rides over his farms, choosing young trees, elms, ashes, maples, mulberries, for transplanting. He sows acorns and buck-eye, brought by himself from the banks of the Monongahela. He twines honeysuckles around the columns of his j)iazza — the ever-blooming scarlet honey- suckle which the little humming-bird loves so well. The first months of peace, which follow a 56 MOUNT VEENON. long war, are often perilous to a nation. The excitement of conflict is over, and there re- mains many a deep wound to he healed. But there were especial dangers connected witk the first movements of a young nation like our own, with a form of government still untried. There was naturally much of evil passion, of prejudice, of folly, astir. " What, Gracious God ! is man, that there should be such incon- sistency and perfidiousness in his conduct ? " was the heartfelt exclamation of General Washington, amid the discord and disorder which in 1786 were threatening the very life of the nation. You know already, my young friends, how by thoughtful prudence, plain justice, and a wise conciliation, the evils so much dreaded by every good man were warded off. A wisely framed Constitution for the nation was drawn up, and in 1788 happily ratified. " We may, with a kind of pious and grateM exultation, trace the finger of Provi- dence through these dark and mysterious events * * " again writes General Washing- ton, " in all human probability laying a lasting foundation for tranquillity and happiness, when MOUNT VEENON. 57 we had but too much reason to fear that con- fusion and misery were conung rapidly upon us." A permanent government was now formed. It remained to choose a President. The eyes of the whole nation were again turned towards Mount Vernon. General Washington had not one secret wish for the honors of the high dig- nity. To General Lafayette he wi'ote that he had no desire " beyond that of living and dy- ing, an honest man, on my own farm." The election took place. From the very heart of the nation, George Washington was chosen President of the United States. 'Never was there a public choice more honorable to a peo- ple, or to the individual chosen. With noble humility, with virtuous resolution, with manly dignity, the weighty charge was accepted. Seldom indeed has a position of such high honor been assumed from motives so simply pure and disinterested. On the morning of the 16th of April, General Washington again crossed the thresh- old of Mount Vernon, again sacrificing the peaceful life he loved, to high pubhc duty. 5* 58 MOUNT VERNON. Childhood may love its home, as the fledging bird loves the nest where it is fed ; and fondled youth may love its home, as the young bird flutters joyously about the tree whence it first took wiug. But as the shadows of life lengthen, home becomes far more dear. It is iu maturer life, when a knowledge of the vanities of the world without has forced itself clearly upon the mind, that the family hearthstone of a vir- tuous house becomes to the wise man the dearest spot on earth. It is there that, next to Heaven, the heart centres. And when we behold a man clothed with years, and well- earned honors, the rich iruits of a lifetime of virtuous action, deliberately leaving his peace- ful roof, to enter once more the toilsome path of public life — a path whose severe labors, whose weight of care, whose risks, whose empty returns, he already knows to the ut- most — our hearts are deeply moved at the spectacle, with feelings of reverence and grati- tude. Four long years of weighty care and labor passed over. The work of the nation went on. Laws were enacted. Treaties were made. MOUlSfT VEENON. 59 An Indian war was carried on. Taxes were laid. Opposition awoke. Party spirit became active and violent. And amid the turmoil and uproar of political life, General Washing- ton moved on his course, calm, firm, just, up- right as ever. The period for another election came round. He was again unanimously elected President. The first term of his ser- vice had been chiefly occupied with the regu- lation of internal affairs. Meanwhile great revolutions were breaking out in Europe; their natural effects on America were soon felt. War was declared between Great Britain and France. The government of the United States, with General Washington at its head, wisely resolved to remain neutral. But party feeling ran high — its spirit was never more bitter, dividing the nation into rival adherents of England or of France; as though we were no longer the independent people we had so lately proclaimed ourselves to be. But where two powerful countries are at war, the posi- tion of a neutral people of less power, and in any manner connected with them, becomes full of diflaculties. The United States suffered 60 MOUNT VERNON. in many ways by tliis state of things. Eng- land boldly impressed seamen from American ships, arrogantly insisting on a right to do so. France, with equal disregard of all national laws, openly interfered in the internal affairs of the Union. In the midst of these embar- rassments, of the gravest character, the Presi- dent earnestly sought to preserve national jus- tice and national dignity. " I wish to estab- lish an American character." This impartial and independent course exposed him to much of the grossest abuse. Even his personal character was assailed — and by his owti coun- trymen ! Of so little true value may popular favor or popular abuse become. The truly great man must know how to rise far superior to either in the hour of need. " I -prize as I ought the good opinion of my fellow-citizens ; yet, if I know myself, I would not seek popu- larity at the expense of one social duty or moral virtue." Such were his words. Such was his course. At the close of the second term of his ser- vice, he announced to the country his resolu- tion to withdraw into private life. It was on MOUNT VEENON. 61 that occasion, as you remember, that he wrote the Farewell Address, which, with Laws, and Constitutions, and Treaties, has a place in the archives of the nation. How much of unde- niable truth, of pure wisdom, of sound judg- ment — how much of warm love of country, assuming in the venerable man a touching paternal character, is found in that paper. How earnestly he desires we might shun every peculiar danger of our position — ^with what fatherly foresight he warns us against the most threatening evils. Speaking of a free government, he plainly declares a very great truth : " Respect for its authority, compliance with its laws, acquiescence in its measures, are duties enjoined by the fimdamental max- ims of true liberty. The Constitution which at any time exists, until changed by an ex- plicit and authentic act of the whole people, is sacredly obligatory upon aU. The very idea of the*power and the right of the people to establish government, pre-supposes the duty of every individual to obey the estab- lished government." How justly he valued true freedom, and how clearly he saw the 62 MOUNT YERNON. fact, that it can never exist on earth without the restraint of law and justice, duly observed: " It is indeed little else than a name, where the government is too feeble to withstand the enterprises of faction, to confine each member of society within the limits prescribed by the laws, and to maintain all in the secure and tranquil enjoyment of the rights of person and property." How well he describes party spirit, as often a small, but artful and en- croaching, minority of the community. " It exists under different shapes m all govern- ments * * but in those of a popular form it is seen in its greatest rankness, and is truly their worst enemy." How plainly he urges the great truth, that there can be no sound, no lasting popular government, without a liv- ing spirit of virtue and religion in the hearts of the community. How carefully he teaches the importance of pubHc honesty — the up- right discharge of debt. How^ nobly he would impress upon the country the observ- ance of good faith and justice towards all na- tions, " cultivating peace and harmony with aU." MOUNT VEKNON. 63 While the nation were still reading this noble address, the venerable man was gladly- preparing to lay aside his pubUc honors, and thankfully turning his face again toward his own quiet roof. It was a happy moment of the year for the aged patriot to enter his o^ti gates. With returning spring, his stately person, now vene- rable with years, was agaia seen mo"sdng about his fields, directing the work of his laborers, passing along familiar paths, overshadowed by the trees he loved so well. His doors were once more thrown wide with the olden hospi- tahty, generous in spirit, simple in form. His barns and storehouses were again opened to relieve the poor, as in previous years, when he wrote, during the trials of the siege of Bos- ton : " Let the hospitality of the house with respect to the poor be kept up. Let no one go hungry away. If any of this kind of peo- ple should be in want of corn, supply their ne- cessities, provided it does not encourage them to idleness." He who in early youth, before he was yet of age, was the chosen guardian of the fatherless little girl, was now the friend 64 MOUNT VEENON. to whom more than one widow, more than one orphan flock, looked for aid, and guidance, and protection. Ere long, public cares followed him again to his plantation. The difficulties with France were gradually becoming more grave. It be- came necessary to prepare for war. So long as General Washington lived, the people were unwilUng to trust their armies to another chief. " In the event of an open rupture with France, the public voice wUl again call you to command the armies of your country," writes General Hamilton. "We must have your name," writes the President ; " there wiU be more efficiency in it than in many an army." With deep regret General Washington again saw the toUs of pubHc life spreadiag be- fore him. But true to duty as ever, unselfish in his noble old age as in ardent youth, he declared himself reluctant to leave his retire- ment, yet ready to serve his country, if need- ed : " The principle by which my conduct has been actuated through life would not suffer me, in any great emergency, to withhold any MOUNT VEENON. 65 services I could render, when required by my country." In July, IVGS, the Secretary of War was sent by the President to wait on General Washington, at Mount Yernon, bearing with him the commission of Lieutenant-General, and Commander-in-Chief of the armies of the Re- public. From that moment, the summer days were divided between the necessary prepara- tions for the duty before him, and the lighter labors of the fields, which he ever loved so well. As he rode over the hills, and through the woods, on the banks of the Potomac, his mind was filled with plans for the war which seemed so near. Yet, to his experienced eye, that cloud of war appeared more hkely to pass away. He never beheved that France would actually bring on hostilities. Still, with his usual forethought, he would have every preparation made — these, ui themselves, being often the best means of averting bloodshed. It is a suigular fact that he, who in compara- tive youth was so cautiously prudent, so de- liberate in all his military steps, now, at three- score and ten, proposed an entirely different 6 66 MOUIsT VERNON. course. Tiie French soldier was a different man from the British soldier ; a different course must be adopted with him. He chose for his generals the boldest and most daring spirits among the military men of the country, to plan a series of rapid movements, continued attacks : " The enemy must never be permit- ted to gain foothold on our shores." Thus passed away the months of summer and of autumn. With early winter a solemn change was at hand. On Friday, the 13th of December, hght clouds were gathering over the banks of the Potomac, and the plantation of Mount Ver- non. A gentle rain fell. It was the v/ill of Providence that those clouds should, become to George Washington the shadows of death. He was abroad, as usual, in the fields, direct- ing the farm-work of the plantation. His long gray locks, falling about his throat, were wet with the rain. Heedless of the fact,- he re- turned home, passing the remaining hours of the day in his accustomed peaceful manner, at che family fire-side. During the night he be- came alarmingly ill. A very severe affection MOUNT VERNO:jf. 67 of the throat came on. From the first he believed that he should die. The usual reme- dies were employed, but without avail. He lingered some twenty-four hours, and near midnight of Saturday, December 14th, in full possession of his faculties, and in the calmness of Christian faith, he closed his eyes on this world. The following week, on Wednesday, the 18th of December, he was borne to his grave — a grave opened at a spot chosen by himself, on the grassy hill-side, overshadowed by trees — the Potomac flowing below — the home in which so many honored days had been passed, rising from the brow of the hill above. There may he lie in peace, guarded by the love of a grateful nation, until the Resurrec- tion of the Just ! Children of America ! brief and imperfect as this rapid sketch of a great life must ap- pear to you, it may yet serve in some degree to warm anew your young hearts towards one of the greatest Christian patriots the world has ever seen. In some beautiful coun- tries of the earth, my young friends, there 68 MOUNT VEENON. are mountain heights, raising their hoary heads heavenward with so much of majesty, that even a dim and distant view, even a cloudy vision of their greatness, will deeply impress the beholder. Thus it is with the character of George "Washington. The more we examine its just proportions, its beautiful points, its great moral power, the more deeply shall we become impressed with its admirable excellence. But even a brief and imperfect view must reveal enough to fill the thoughtful mind w?th feehngs of very deep reverence. Children of America! We come to you to-day, affectionately invitmg you to take part in a great act of national homage to the memory, to the principles, to the character of George Washmgton. The solemn guard- ianship of the home, and of the grave, of Gen- eral Washington is now offered to us, the women of the country. . Happy are we, women of America, that a duty so noble is confided to us. And we, your country- women — your mothers, your sisters, your friends — would fain have you share with us MOUNT VEENON. 69 this honorable, national service of love. From those of you into whose hands Prov- idence has thrown com, be it gold, or silver, or copper, we would ask a gift for the purse we are seeking to fill. More than a gift of small amoimt we should not consent to re- ceive from either of your number. But with far more of earnestness we seek your warm and real sympathy. "Whatever you may be enabled to give, be it bright dime, or clean copper, fresh from the mint, we ask that you give it feelmgly — as a simple act of love and respect for the memory of the great man. It is the spiiit thro^vn into every work which can alone give it true value. Let us then, my young fi-iends, give to the pious task in which we are workuig together, a lieart and soul, as it were, in some degree