There was a prompt and large array of hands.

"Those who do not agree with George may raise their hands." Only three or four hands went up.

"I agree with George," added Mr. Hobby. "I think he has given us a reliable account of the trouble; and you all ought to be ashamed of yourselves that you did not heed his advice, and refuse to quarrel. I shall take time to consider my duty in the circumstances; meanwhile the fighting boys may reflect upon their disgrace."

This incident presents two qualities of George's character, always prominent from his earliest school-days. He was known as a truth-teller. His word could be depended upon. He would not tell a falsehood to shield his most intimate companion. His word was so reliable that when he gave an account of the quarrel, not a few of the scholars accepted it simply because it was the statement of truth-telling George. Even several whose sympathies were strongly with William or Lewis finally voted for George's version. It was their confidence in his adherence to truth that settled their opinion.

George was often called a "peace-maker." Mr. Hobby called him so. His associates and their parents called him so. There could be no hard words or quarrels among his schoolmates with his consent. Sometimes an angry boy would charge him with being a "coward" because he always pleaded for peace; but his accuser knew full well that George was no "coward." There was not a braver boy in that "field-school" than he. He proved his bravery by rebuking falsehood and fighting among his class-mates. A cowardly boy yields to the ruling spirit around him; but George never did, except when that spirit was in the interest of peace.

Soon after the death of George's father, of which we shall speak particularly in another place, his connection with Mr. Hobby's school was severed.

"How would you like to go to Mr. Williams' school at Bridge's Creek, George?" his mother inquired. "Mr. Williams is an excellent teacher, I suppose, the very best there is in Virginia."

"I should like it," George answered. "Can I go?"

"I have been thinking of it," his mother responded. "You can live with your brother Augustine; the school is not far from his house."

"Shall I go soon?" asked George.

"Yes, as soon as you can get ready. You are at an age now when you must attend to the higher branches of knowledge, if ever."

"What shall I study?" inquired George.

"Arithmetic, of course, and I have been thinking of book-keeping and surveying, very important studies for planters and everybody else in these parts."

"Then you mean I shall be a planter?" George inquired.

"Yes, there is not much but a planter that you can be in this State; and a good planter may be as useful and honored as a good merchant or lawyer."

"I would as soon be a planter as anything else," continued George "and I will try to make a good one."

"That is the main thing," responded his mother. "Planter, merchant or lawyer, become the best there is, and you will be both prospered and honored. You have learned about all you can at Mr. Hobby's school; it is time to go up higher."

"That will suit me as well as it will you," replied George. "I do not object to going up higher."

"Some boys act as if they do," rejoined Mrs. Washington; "but I hope you will never belong to that class. Do the best you can in every place, and you will never be ashamed of your conduct."

Within a few weeks George found himself a member of Mr. Williams' school, and a resident of his brother Augustine's family. Arithmetic and book-keeping engaged his attention at once, and, after a few months, surveying was added to his regular studies.

Mr. Williams was a thorough instructor, and believed that scholars should master one branch of study before they took up another. He paid much attention to reading, spelling and penmanship, encouraging his pupils to place a high value upon these common, but fundamental, studies.

"You are a good mathematician, George, and surveying will come easy to you," remarked Mr. Williams. "Surveyors will be in great demand in this country before it is many years older."

"I should like to understand it," replied George, "and I mean to understand it before I have done going to school."

"And the sooner you commence the study of it the better it will be for you," added Mr. Williams. "You are old enough, and sufficiently advanced to pursue it successfully. By and by you can survey the fields about here, by way of practising the art; and you will enjoy it hugely. It will be better than play."

"Better than playing soldier?" said George inquiringly, and in a tone of pleasantry. He had already organized the boys in Mr. William's school into two armies, and more than one mimic battle had been fought.

"Yes, better than any sham thing," answered Mr. Williams. "It will be study and diversion together—work and play—improving mind and body at the same time."

"I see, I see," responded George. "I can abandon soldiering for that." But he never did. There was too great fascination about military tactics to allow of that. He devoted himself to surveying with commendable application and rapid progress; but he continued, to some extent, the chief sport of his school-days—mimic war.

George was not more than thirteen or fourteen years of age when he surveyed the land about the school-house. He was the first pupil in Mr. Williams' school who had performed such a practical piece of work, and his school-mates were deeply interested in his exploit. He ranked high as a scholar, and his manly bearing made him appear several years older than he was. He led Mr. Williams' school, as he did that of Mr. Hobby, in scholarship, behavior and physical prowess. He seemed born to lead, and his associates were content to have it so.

One of his biographers speaks as follows of his first efforts at surveying:

"When he had advanced so far in his study as to give him some idea of the proper use and handling of the chain and compass, the two principal instruments employed in this art, he began to put his knowledge into practice by taking surveys of the farms lying in the immediate neighborhood of his school-house.

"Assisted by his school-mates, he would follow up and measure off, with the help of his long steel chain, the boundary lines between the farms, such as fences, roads, and water-courses; then those dividing the different parts of the same farm; determining at the same time, with the help of his compass, their various courses, their crooks and windings, and the angles formed at their points of meeting or intersection. This would enable him to get at the shape and size not only of each farm, but of every meadow, field and wood composing it. This done, he would make a map or drawing on paper of the land surveyed, whereon would be clearly traced the lines dividing the different parts with the name and number of acres of each attached, while on the opposite page he would write down the long and difficult tables of figures by which these results had been reached. All this he would execute with as much neatness and accuracy as if it had been left with him to decide thereby some gravely disputed land-claim."

Irving says of him as a surveyor: "In this he schooled himself thoroughly; making surveys about the neighborhood, and keeping regular field-books, in which the boundaries and measurements of the fields surveyed were carefully entered, and diagrams made with a neatness and exactness, as if the whole related to important land transactions instead of being mere school exercises. Thus, in his earliest days, there was perseverance and completeness in all his undertakings. Nothing was left half done, or done in a hurried and slovenly manner. The habit of mind thus cultivated continued through life; so that however complicated his tasks and overwhelming his cares, in the arduous and hazardous situations in which he was often placed, he found time to do everything, and to do it well. He had acquired the magic of method, which of itself works wonders."

One day a dispute arose between two pupils respecting a chapter of Virginia's early history—Captain Smith and Pocahontas.

"She saved his life," exclaimed one.

"Very true; but she was not the daughter of King Opechancanough, as you say," replied the other.

"Whose daughter was she, then?"

"She was Powhattan's daughter; and her father was going to kill Captain Smith."

"No, she was not Powhattan's daughter; I tell you that Opechancanough was her father," rejoined the other with some warmth.

"And I tell you that Powhattan was her father, and Opechancanough was her uncle. If you can't recite history more correctly than that you had better keep still. Anybody knows that Pocahontas was the daughter of Powhattan; and he was the greatest Indian chief in Virginia."

"And you are a conceited, ignorant fellow, to suppose that nobody knows anything but yourself."

And so the dispute became more heated, until both parties were greatly excited; whereupon a listening school-mate called out:

"Leave it to George; he will settle it."

"Agreed!" responded one.

"Agreed!" shouted the other.

And George was called in to settle the controversy, both parties acquiescing in his decision.

George often acted as umpire among the boys in Mr. Williams' school. Sometimes, as in the above instance, both parties chose him for umpire. Their confidence in his word and judgment led them to submit cases of trial or controversy to him, whether relating to studies or games. Many disputes were thus brought to a speedy termination by his discriminating and candid judgment.

Mr. Weems says of him at this time:

"He carried with him his virtues, his zeal for unblemished character, his love of truth and detestation of whatever was false and base. A gilt chariot with richest robes and liveried servants could not have befriended him so well; for, in a short time, so completely had his virtues secured the love and confidence of the boys, his word was just as current among them as a law. A very aged gentleman, formerly a school-mate of his, has often assured me that nothing was more common, when the boys were in high dispute about a question of fact, than for some little shaver among the mimic heroes, to call out:

"'Well, boys, George Washington was there; George Washington was there; he knows all about it; and if he don't say it was so, why, then we will give it up.'

"'Done,' exclaimed the adverse party.

"Then away they would run to hunt for George. Soon as his verdict was heard, the difficulty was settled, and all hands would return to play again."

Another biographer, Mrs. Kirkland, says, "It is recorded of his school days that he was always head boy; and whether this report be authentic or not, we can easily imagine the case to have been so, not exclusively by means of scholarship, perhaps, but by the aid of certain other qualities, very powerful in school as elsewhere, and which he so exhibited in after life. His probity, courage, ability and high sense of justice were probably evident, even then, for there is every reason to believe their foundations were laid very early. The boys would, therefore, respect him, and choose him for an umpire in their little troubles, as they are said to have done.... He was famous for hindering quarrels, and perhaps his early taste for military manoeuvers was only an accidental form of that love of mathematical combinations (the marked trait of Napoleon's earlier years) and the tendency to order, promptness and thoroughness, which characterized him so strikingly in after life. The good soldier is by no means a man with a special disposition to fight."

George was such an example of order, neatness, thorough scholarship and exact behavior in Mr. Williams' school that we shall devote the next chapter to these qualities.



IV.

METHOD AND THOROUGHNESS.

"These are finely done," remarked Lawrence Washington to George, after an examination of the maps, copy-books, and writing-books, which George brought with him from Mr. Williams' school. "It would be difficult for any one to excel them."

"It takes considerable time to do them," remarked George.

"It takes time to do anything well," responded Lawrence, "but the habit is worth everything to you."

"That is what Mr. Williams says," answered George. "He talks to the boys often about doing things well."

"And no matter what it is that a boy is doing, if it is nothing more than chopping wood, it pays to do it as well as he can," added Lawrence. "Mr. Williams is an excellent teacher."

"I think so," responded George. "He makes everything so plain that we can understand him; and he makes us feel that we shall need all we learn most when we become men."

"Well, if you learn that last lesson thoroughly it will be of great service to you every day," remarked Lawrence. "Many boys never stop to think that they will soon be men, and so they are not fitted for the duties of manhood when it comes."

"Mr. Williams talks much about method in study and work," continued George. "He says that many persons accomplish little or nothing in life because they are neither systematic nor thorough in what they do. 'A place for everything and everything in its place,' is one of his frequent remarks."

"And you must have produced these maps and copy-books under that rule," suggested Lawrence. "They are as excellent in orderly arrangement as they are in neatness."

George spent his vacation with Lawrence, who really had charge of his education after Mr. Washington died. Lawrence married the daughter of William Fairfax three months after the death of his father, and settled on the plantation which his father bequeathed to him, near Hunting Creek, and to which Lawrence gave the name of Mount Vernon, in honor of Admiral Vernon, under whom he did military service in the West Indies, and for whom he cherished profound respect.

Lawrence was strongly attached to his young brother in whom he discovered the elements of a future noble manhood. He delighted to have him at his Mount Vernon home, and insisted that he should spend all his time there when out of school. It was during a vacation that Lawrence examined his maps and copy-books, as narrated, George having brought them with him for his brother to inspect.

One of George's copy-books attracted much attention in school, because it was unlike that of any other scholar, and it was an original idea with him.

"What do you call it, George, and what do you ever expect to do with it?" inquired a school-mate.

"You can call it what you please," replied George. "I expect that it will be of great service to me when I become a man."

"That is looking a long way ahead, it seems to me," rejoined his companion. "I prefer to know what will be of service to me now. You can scarcely tell what will be best for you when you become a man."

"I know that what I am copying into that book will be of use to me in manhood, because men use these forms. I call it a 'Book of Forms' for the want of a better name." And George's words denoted entire confidence in his original idea of the use of forms.

"Well, the book looks well anyway," continued his school-mate holding the copy-book up to view. "As to that, I should like to see any work of yours that does not look well. But what are these forms, anyhow?"

"They are receipts, bills of exchange, notes of hand, deeds, wills, land-warrants, bonds and useful forms of that kind," answered George. "If I have them here in this book together, they will be convenient for use ten or twenty years hence."

"Yes, I see; you can run a lawyer's office on that book," suggested his friend.

"A farmer's office, you mean. A farmer may find use for every form there is in that book; and if he does not, it will be no disadvantage to him to understand them."

"You are right, George, as you are usually. I shall know where to go for a form when I want to make my will," remarked his companion in a complimentary way.

"And I shall be glad to serve you without charge provided you remember me," responded George. "I predict that many men will live who will be glad to consult this book to help them out of difficulties."

Perhaps the forethought and sagacity of George were foreshadowed more clearly by this copy-book than by any other. Its reference to the necessities of manhood was so plain and direct as to prove that he kept preparation for that period of life constantly in view. This book has been carefully preserved, and may be seen to-day at Mount Vernon.

Another manuscript volume of his which has been preserved is a book of arithmetical problems. It was customary, when George attended school, to write the solution of problems in arithmetic in a blank-book—not the result merely, but the whole process of solution. Sometimes the rules were copied, also, into the book. It was a very good practice for a studious, persevering, conscientious boy like George; but the method was a wretched one for certain indolent pupils to whom study was penance; for this class often relied upon these manuscript volumes to furnish problems solved, instead of resorting to hard study. They were passed around among the idle scholars clandestinely, to help them over hard places without study. Mr. Williams forbade the deceitful practice, and punished pupils who were discovered in the cheat; nevertheless, poor scholars continued to risk punishment rather than buckle down to persistent study. There is no doubt that George's book of problems, copied in his clear, round hand, did considerable secret service in this way. But the preparation of it was an excellent discipline for George. Neatness, application, perseverance, thoroughness, with several other qualities, were indispensable in the preparation of so fair a book.

In another copy-book George displayed a talent for sketching and drawing, which elicited Mr. Williams' commendation.

"That portrait is well executed," he said. "You have a talent in that direction, evidently; the likeness is good." It was the face of one of the scholars, drawn with his pen.

"Have you practised much in this art?" continued Mr. Williams.

"No, sir; only a little, for amusement."

"Just to see what you could do?" added Mr. Williams, inquiringly.

"Yes, that is all."

"Well, I advise you to cultivate your talent for drawing. These animals are well done, too. Practise will give you an ability in this line, which may prove of real service to you in future years."

George had drawn animals, also, in the book, and he had given wings to some birds with a flourish of his pen, showing both taste and tact in the use of the pen. George was not a boy who believed in flourishes, except those executed in ink. His interest in the art of penmanship drew his attention to these as ornamental and ingenious.

"A facile use of the pen will always be serviceable to you," he said to George. "No one can become too skilful in wielding it. But it requires much careful practise."

"I have discovered that," answered George. "I do not expect to excel in the art of penmanship."

"You may, with your application and perseverance," responded his teacher. "'Perseverance conquers all things,' it is said, and I believe it."

"But I have not time for everything," remarked George. "Odd moments are all the time I can devote to such things."

"And odd moments have done much for some boys," added his teacher. "Fragments of time well improved have made some men illustrious."

"It will take larger fragments of time than I have to make me illustrious," suggested George, dryly.

"Perhaps not; you are not authorized to come to such a conclusion. There are too many facts known to warrant it. Your industry and resolution are equal to it."

George accepted the compliment in silence with his usual modesty, considerably encouraged by his teacher's words to persevere in doing things well.

This copy-book, containing sketches of his companions and pen-pictures of birds and beasts, has been carefully preserved with others. It is a valuable relic, too, as showing that George was not always the sedate, serious boy he has generally been represented to be; for some of these sketches border upon the comical, and evidently were intended to bring a smile over the faces of his school-mates. Mixed with his usually grave and practical way of doing things, they show more of the cheerful, roguish boy than is accorded to George by writers in general.

Another copy-book contains many extracts, in prose and poetry, which particularly interested George at the time. He was in the habit of preserving in this way choice bits of prose and poetry for future use. They were copied in his clear, fair handwriting, with every i dotted and every t crossed, and every comma and period nicely made and placed.

All these copy books, with other proofs of George's thorough scholarship and progress, can now be seen at Mount Vernon, where he lived and died.

Irving says of these: "His manuscript school-books still exist, and are models of neatness and accuracy. One of them, it is true, a ciphering book, preserved in the library at Mount Vernon, has some school-boy attempts at calligraphy; nondescript birds, executed with the flourish of a pen, or profiles of faces, probably intended for those of his school-mates; the rest are all grave and business-like. Before he was thirteen years of age he had copied into a volume forms for all kinds of mercantile and legal papers, bills of exchange, notes of hand, deeds, bonds and the like. This early self-tuition gave him throughout life a lawyer's skill in drafting documents, and a merchant's exactness in keeping accounts; so that all the concerns of his various estates, his dealings with his domestic stewards and foreign agents, his accounts with governments, and all the financial transactions, are to this day to be seen posted up in books, in his own handwriting, monuments of his method and unvaried accuracy."

There was yet another manuscript more important, really, than those of which we have spoken. It contained one hundred and ten rules for regulating his conduct, to which he gave the title, "RULES OF BEHAVIOR IN COMPANY AND CONVERSATION."

When Lawrence Washington examined this manuscript he remarked to his wife, "It is remarkable that a boy of his years should make such a collection of rules as this. They are creditable to a much older head than his."

"They are not original with him, are they?" responded his wife.

"I think not; they must be a collection which he has made from time to time. It would not be possible for a boy of his age to produce such a code of manners and morals out of his own brain. Hear this," and he proceeded to read some of the "Rules."

"Associate yourself with men of good quality if you esteem your reputation, for it is better to be alone than in bad company."

"Good counsel, surely, and well expressed," remarked Mrs. Washington.

"It shows a degree of thoughtfulness and desire to be correct, beyond his years," added Lawrence. "The other rules are no less practical and significant." He continued to read:

"Every action in company ought to be with some sign of respect to those present.

"Speak not when others speak; sit not when others stand. Speak not when you should hold your peace. Walk not when others stop."

"That is paying attention to little things with a will," remarked Mrs. Washington.

"And that is what impresses me," responded Lawrence. "Most boys think that such small matters are beneath their notice, when attention to these secures attention to more important things."

"Very true," replied his wife; "and it certainly shows a desire to be correct in behavior that is commendable."

"And as unusual as it is commendable," added Lawrence. "It is such a manly view of life as we seldom meet with, except in ripe manhood."

"Well, read more of his rules," suggested Mrs. Washington.

Lawrence continued to read, "In your apparel, be modest, and endeavor to accommodate yourself to nature rather than to procure admiration; keep to the fashion of your equals, such as are civil and orderly, with respect to times and places.

"Wherein you reprove another, be unblamable yourself, for example is better than precept.

"When a man does all he can, though it succeeds not well, blame not him that did it."

"Not many men reduce these rules to practise very thoroughly," remarked Lawrence. "To square one's life by these rules requires uncommon circumspection and decision. Few are equal to it."

"I think that George comes as near doing it as any one," suggested Mrs. Washington.

"I was just thinking of that," replied Lawrence. "I am not sure but his manly bearing is owing to these rules. No one can think enough of them to write them down carefully in a book without being more or less influenced by their lessons."

"It would seem so," remarked Mrs. Washington; "but are there no rules relating to our higher duties to God among the whole number?"

"Yes, several; but you should remember that these are rules of behavior in company and conversation alone, and not our religious duties. But here is one rule that lies in that direction":

"Labor to keep in your heart that little spark of celestial fire called conscience."

"And here is another":

"If you speak of God or His attributes, let it be seriously, in reverence; and honor and obey your parents."

"George has done that to perfection," remarked Lawrence. "Profanity and disobedience, even in their least offensive form, he was never guilty of. And here is still another rule having reference to our higher obligations, which he has observed with commendable carefulness":

"Let your recreations be manful, not sinful."

"I think it is remarkable, as you say, that one so young as George should make such a collection of rules," said Mrs. Washington. "May it not be that a remarkable future is before him?"

"It may be, and I am inclined to think it will be," answered Lawrence. "If a bright spring-time is the harbinger of an ample harvest, such a youth must foreshadow noble manhood."

Thus were George's "Rules of Behavior in Company and Conversation" discussed at Mount Vernon, and the young author of them was more admired in consequence.

We will furnish our readers with more of his "Rules," since all of them are important, and had much to do, doubtless, with the formation of George's character.

"Speak not of doleful things in time of mirth, nor at the table; speak not of melancholy things, as death and wounds; and if others mention them, change, if you can, the discourse. Tell not your dreams but to your intimate friend.

"Break not a jest when none take pleasure in mirth; laugh not loud, nor at all, without occasion; deride no man's misfortune, though there seem to be some cause.

"Speak not injurious words, neither in jest nor earnest; scoff at none, although they give occasion.

"Seek not to lessen the merits of others; neither give more than due praise.

"Go not thither where you know not whether you shall be welcome.

"Give not advice without being asked; and when desired, do it briefly.

"Reprove not the imperfections of others, for that belongs to parents, masters and superiors.

"Gaze not on the marks and blemishes of others, and ask not how they came. What you may speak in secret to your friend, deliver not before others.

"Think before you speak; pronounce not imperfectly, nor bring out your words too hastily, but orderly and distinctly.

"When another speaks, be attentive yourself, and disturb not the audience. If any hesitate in his words, help him not, nor prompt him, without being desired; interrupt him not, nor answer him, until his speech be ended.

"Treat with men at right times about business, and whisper not, in the company of others.

"Be not in haste to relate news if you know not the truth thereof.

"Be not curious to know the affairs of others, neither approach those that speak in private.

"Undertake not what you cannot perform, but be careful to keep your promise.

"Speak not evil of the absent, for it is unjust.

"Make no show of taking delight in your victuals. Feed not with greediness. Cut your food with a knife, and lean not on the table; neither find fault with what you eat.

"Be not a flatterer; neither play with any one that delights not to be played with.

"Show not yourself glad at the misfortune of another, though he were your enemy.

"It is good manners to prefer them to whom we speak before ourselves, especially if they are above us; with whom in no sort ought we to begin.

"Strive not with your superiors in an argument, but always submit your judgment to others with modesty.

"Undertake not to teach your equal in the art him self professes, for it is immodest and presumptuous.

"Before you advise or find fault with any one, consider whether it ought to be in public or in private; presently, or at some other time; in what terms to do it; and, in reproving, show no sign of anger, but do it with sweetness and mildness.

"Use no reproachful language against any one, neither curse nor revile.

"Be not hasty to believe flying reports to the injury of any.

"Play not the peacock, looking everywhere about you to see if you be well-decked; if your shoes fit well; if your pantaloons sit neatly, and clothes handsomely.

"Let your conversation be without malice or envy, for it is a sign of a kindly and commendable nature; and in all cases of passion, admit reason to govern.

"Utter not base and frivolous things amongst grave and learned men, nor very difficult questions or subjects among the ignorant, nor things hard to believe."

These are only a part of the Rules which George adopted for his instruction and guidance through life. In weighing them, the reader must feel the force of Everett's remarks, who said of them, "Among his manuscripts still in existence, there is one, written under thirteen years of age, which deserves to be mentioned as containing striking indications of early maturity. The piece referred to is entitled 'Rules of Behavior in Company and Conversation.' These rules are written out in the form of maxims, to the number of one hundred and ten." "They form," says Mr. Sparks, "a minute code of regulations for building up the habits of morals and manners and good conduct in very young persons." Whether they were taken in a body from some manual of education, or compiled by Washington himself from various books, or framed from his own youthful observation and reflection, is unknown. The first is, perhaps, the more probable supposition. If compiled by a lad under thirteen, and still more, if the fruit of his own meditations, they would constitute a most extraordinary example of early prudence and thoughtfulness. Some of the rules which form a part of this youthful code of manners and morals had their influence over Washington, and gave a complexion to his habits through life.

That a boy of twelve or thirteen years should compile such a code of manners and morals, shows, unmistakably, the bent of his mind. We discover valuable elements of character in the formation and execution of such a purpose. It is equally true, also, that his book of prose and poetical extracts reveals his taste and aims no less surely than his "Rules." The following extract, taken from that manuscript volume, tells about the same story of the boy as his "Rules of Behavior" tell:—

"These are the things, which, once possessed, Will make a life that's truly blest; A good estate on healthy soil, Not got by vice, nor yet by toil; Round a warm fire a pleasant joke, With chimney ever free from smoke; A strength entire, a sparkling bowl, A quiet wife, a quiet soul; A mind, as well as body, whole; Prudent simplicity, constant friends, A diet which no art commends, A merry night without much drinking, A happy thought without much thinking. Each night by quiet sleep made short, A will to be but what thou art: Possessed of these, all else defy, And neither wish nor fear to die; These are the things, which, once possessed, Will make a life that's truly blest."

His strong love for simple, pure, domestic life appears in this selection—a love for which he was distinguished to the day of his death.

The school-days of George ended one month before he was sixteen years of age. Mr. Hobby and Mr. Williams were his only teachers, except his parents. "Not very rare opportunities," the reader will say. No larger opportunities for mental culture now would be considered meagre indeed. But he made the most of what he had, so that his small advantages did more for him than the best opportunities do for less industrious and noble boys.

A strong bond united him to his teacher and schoolmates. It was not so much his scholarship as his character that endeared him to both teacher and pupils. The secret of it was found in his heart rather than his head. His school-mates were moved to tears on parting with him, and so was his teacher. And those tears were a sincere tribute to the unsullied character of the boy.



V.

FOUR INCIDENTS AND THEIR LESSONS.

Certain incidents occurred in the young life of our hero, which so forcibly illustrate leading elements of his character that we stop here to record them.

His father came home one day so sick that he took to his bed at once. It was a severe attack of an old complaint, which he had vainly tried to remove.

"You must have the doctor," said Mrs. Washington, somewhat alarmed by the severity of the attack.

"Wait a little, and see," replied her husband; "perhaps the usual remedies will relieve me." He kept remedies in the house for such attacks, and Mrs. Washington soon administered them. But the relief was only partial, and a servant was sent for the doctor.

"Go in haste," said Mrs. Washington, as Jake mounted the horse and galloped away. "Tell the doctor to come as soon as possible," were the last words that Jake heard as he dashed forward. Mrs. Washington was thoroughly alarmed. Returning to her husband's bedside, she said:

"I want to send for George."

"Not now," her husband answered. "I think the doctor will relieve me. Besides, George has only just got there, and it is not well to disturb him unnecessarily."

George had gone to visit friends at Chotana, about twenty miles distant, where he proposed to spend his vacation.

Mrs. Washington yielded to her husband's desire, although intense anxiety filled her heart. She seemed to have a presentiment that it was her husband's last sickness. Back and forth she went from door to bedroom, and from bedroom to door, awaiting with tremulous emotion the coming of the physician, at the same time employing such remedies as she thought might afford relief.

"A very sick man," was the doctor's verdict, "but I think we can relieve him soon." His encouraging words lifted a burden from Mrs. Washington's heart, although she still apprehended the worst, and yet she could scarcely tell why.

"You think that he will recover?" she said to the doctor, as he was leaving the house.

"I think so; he is relieved for the present, and I hope that he will continue to improve," the doctor answered; and he answered just as he felt.

Still Mrs. Washington could not disguise her fears. She was a devout Christian woman, and she carried her burden to the Lord. She found some relief in laying her anxieties upon the great Burden-bearer. She came forth from communion with the Father of mercies more composed if not more hopeful. She possessed a degree of willingness to leave her companion in God's hand.

Mr. Washington was relieved of acute pain, but further than that he did not improve. After continuing several days in this condition, he said to his wife one morning:

"You may send for George to-day."

"I will," Mrs. Washington replied, bursting into tears. "I wish I had sent before."

"It might have been as well had we known," Mr. Washington responded, in a suggestive way.

"Do you think that your sickness will prove fatal?"

"I fear so. I think I am losing ground fast. I have failed very much in strength the last twenty-four hours. God's will be done."

"I hope I shall have grace to say so honestly."

"And I trust that God will give me grace to say so with true submission," continued Mr. Washington. "I should like to live if it is God's will; but if He orders otherwise, we must accept His ordering as best."

Mrs. Washington could say no more. Her cup of sorrow was full and running over. But she sorrowed not as one without hope. Both she and her husband had been active Christians. They were prominent working members of the Episcopal Church. They knew, from happy experience, that solace and support were found in divine grace, so that this sudden and terrible affliction did not overtake them unawares, really. They were prepared for it in an important sense.

The doctor called just as this interview closed, and he seconded Mr. Washington's request to send for George.

"A great change has come over him since yesterday," he said to Mrs. Washington.

"He just told me that he was sinking," replied Mrs. Washington.

"I fear it is so; and George better be sent for at soon as possible. A few hours may bring the end." The physician spoke as if there were no more ground for hope.

"May God have mercy on us," responded Mrs. Washington, as she hastened from the room, with deep emotion, to despatch a servant for George.

Mr. Washington continued to sink rapidly during the day, his reason at times wavering, though his distress was not acute. Conscious that he could not survive many hours, he expressed an anxiety to see George once more, and seemed impatient for his arrival.

It was almost night when George arrived, and his father was dying. His mother met him at the door, with emotion too deep for utterance. Her tears and despairing look told the story more plainly than words to George. He knew that there was no hope.

Hastening into his father's presence he was appalled by the change. That cheerful, loving face was struck with death. Fastening his eyes upon his son, as if he recognized him, the dying man looked his last farewell. He could not speak nor lift a finger. He was almost "beyond the river."

George was completely overcome. Throwing himself upon his father's neck, he broke into convulsive sobs, kissing him again and again, and giving way to the most passionate grief. The scene was affecting beyond description. All hearts were melted by the child's artless exhibition of filial love and sorrow. He loved his father with a devotion that knew no bounds, as he had reason to love him. Without this paternal friend, life would lose its charm to him, and he "would never be glad any more." So it seemed to him when he first was made conscious that his father was dying. The great sorrow seemed too great for him to bear. His young heart well nigh burst.

Here we have evidence of what George was as a son. He had not only loved and reverenced his father, but he had obeyed him with true filial respect. Obedience was one of his leading virtues. This endeared him to his father. Their tender love was mutual. "George thought the world of his father and his father thought the world of him." That dying scene in the family was proof of it.

In a few days all that was mortal of Augustine Washington was committed to the dust, and George was a fatherless boy. As we have already intimated, this sudden affliction changed the current of George's life. Different plans and different experiences followed.

Mr. Washington, with characteristic foresight, had made his will. Irving says of it, "To Lawrence he gave the estate on the banks of the Potomac, with other real property, and several shares in iron-works. To Augustine, the second son by the first marriage, the old homestead and estate in Westmoreland. The children by the second marriage were severally well provided for; and George, when he became of age, was to have the house and lands on the Rappahannock."

Mrs. Washington assumed the care of the estate after the death of her husband, and continued her love of fine horses. She possessed several of rare beauty and fleetness. Among them was an Arabian colt, full grown, broken to the harness, but not to the saddle. He would not allow a man to ride him. He was so high strung, and so fractiously opposed to any one getting upon his back, that Mrs. Washington had forbidden any one on the farm attempting the feat.

George had two or three young friends visiting him, and they were admiring the antics of the colt in the meadow in front of the house.

"I should like to ride him," remarked George.

"Ride him!" exclaimed one of the number. "I thought nobody could ride him. That is what I have heard."

"Well, I should like to try," continued George. "If I could once get upon his back, I would run the risk anyway. He would prance some, I guess."

"I should like to see you try, George," remarked another of his friends present. "You can ride him if any one can. But how do you know that you can't ride him? Have you ever tried?"

"No."

"Did any one ever try?"

"I believe Jake has; or, at least, he has tried to get on his back."

"If I were in your place I would see whether I could ride him or not," suggested his friend. "What's the harm?"

"Mother would not allow it," answered George; "She would expect to see my brains beat out if I should attempt it."

"But your mother would like it if you succeeded in riding him," rejoined his friend, by way of inducing him to make the attempt.

"I have no doubt she would; but if I should break my neck, instead of the colt, she would not be glad at all."

"Of course not; but I don't see any particular need of breaking your neck or limbs by making the attempt; and it would be a feather in your cap to manage the colt. Suppose we try;" and this proposition was made by George's companion in good faith.

"I have no fears for myself," answered George; "there is no danger in trying to get upon his back that I see, and once there, I will risk being thrown."

"That is so," continued his friend, "and suppose we try it some day."

After some more discussion upon the subject, George agreed to make the attempt to mount the colt early the following morning, and his young friend seconded his decision heartily.

The next morning, a full hour before breakfast-time, the boys were out, eager to participate in the sport of conquering a wild colt. The colt appeared to snuff trouble, for he was unusually gay and crank that morning. His head and tail were up, as he went prancing around the field, when the boys put in their appearance.

"Drive him into a corner!" exclaimed George.

"Drive the wind into a corner as easily," replied one of the boys, just beginning to appreciate the difficulties of the situation.

"Well, he must be caught before he can be mounted," said George, philosophically. "I did not promise to mount him until he was bridled."

"That is so," responded another boy, more hopeful of results. "That corner yonder is a good place for the business," pointing to the eastward.

So they all rallied to drive the colt into the proposed corner; and, in the language of another who has described the scene, "after a deal of chasing and racing, heading and doubling, falling down and picking themselves up again, and more shouting and laughing than they had breath to spare for, they at last succeeded in driving the panting and affrighted young animal into the corner. Here, by some means or other (it was difficult to tell precisely how) they managed to bridle him, although at no small risk of a broken head or two from his heels, that he seemed to fling about him in a dozen different directions at once."

"Lead him away from this corner," said one of the boys.

"Yes," answered George, "we must go well toward the centre of the field; he will want room to throw me."

So, throwing the bridle-reins over the colt's neck, and taking hold of the bridle close by the bits, the animal was led toward the centre of the field.

Before the boys or the colt were aware of George's purpose, with one bound he leaped upon the colt's back, and, seizing the reins, was prepared for the worst. His playmates were as much astonished as the animal was at this unexpected feat, and they rushed away to escape disaster.

"Look out, George!" shouted one, as the colt reared and stood upon his hind legs.

"He'll throw you, George, if you don't look out!" screamed another, as the animal reversed his position and sent his hind legs high into the air.

"Stick, George, stick!" they cried, as the colt dashed forward like the wind a few rods, then stopped, reared, and kicked again, as if determined to throw the rider. All the while George's companions were alarmed at the fearful plunges of the animal, fearing that he would dash him to the ground.

At length the furious beast took the bits between his teeth and plunged forward upon the "dead run." George had no control over him as he dashed forward like mad. He hung to the reins like a veteran horseman as the wild creature leaped and plunged and kicked. His companions looked on in breathless interest, expecting every moment to see the young rider hurled to the ground. But, to their surprise, the colt stumbled, staggered a few steps, and fell, George still upon his back. They ran to the rescue, when George exclaimed, "The colt is dead!"

"Dead?" responded one of the boys in astonishment, "more likely his leg is broken."

"No, he is dead, sure. See the blood running from his mouth."

Sure enough, the animal was dying. In his fearful plunging he had ruptured a blood-vessel, and was bleeding to death. In a few moments the young Arabian colt was dead.

"Too bad!" mournfully spoke George, with big tears starting to his eyes. "I wish I had never made the attempt to ride him."

"I wish so now," answered one of his companions; "but who ever thought that the colt could kill himself?"

"Mother will feel bad enough now," continued George. "I am sorry that I have caused her so much trouble."

"What shall you tell her?" inquired a companion.

"I shall tell her the truth," manfully answered George; "that is all there is to tell about it."

The boys were soon at the breakfast-table, as cheerful as the circumstances would permit.

"Well, boys, have you seen the Arabian colt in your walks this morning?" Mrs. Washington inquired.

There was no reply for a moment. The boys looked at each other as if the crisis had come, and they were not quite prepared for it. At length George answered frankly:

"Mother, the colt is dead."

"Dead!" his mother exclaimed, "what can you mean, George?"

"He is certainly dead, mother."

"Have you seen him?"

"Yes; and I know that he is dead."

"How could such a thing happen?" said his mother, sadly and musingly.

"I will tell you all about it, mother," replied George, resolved upon making a clean breast of the affair. He went on to narrate how he arrived at the conclusion to ride the colt, not forgetting to say that he thought his mother would be pleased with the act if he succeeded in riding the fractious animal successfully. He described the manner of catching, bridling, and mounting the colt, as well as his furious plunging, rearing, and running; and he closed by the honest confession, "I did wrong, mother, and I am very sorry that I attempted to ride the colt. I hope that you will forgive me, and I will never be so disobedient again."

"Forgive you, my son," his mother answered, evidently too well satisfied with the truthfulness of her boy to think much of her loss, "your frankness in telling me the truth is worth a thousand colts to me. Most gladly do I forgive you, and trust that the lesson you are taught by this unfortunate affair will go with you through life."

In this incident we discover the daring, adventurous spirit of George. His courage was equal to his honesty. No act of his life approached so nearly to disobedience as this. Yet the spirit of disobedience was not in his heart. His mother had forbidden any one to ride the colt, but it was because she feared the colt would injure them. "If I can ride him successfully, and prove that he can be broken to the saddle, mother will be delighted," he reasoned. His thoughts were of pleasing instead of disobeying his mother. Were there any doubt on this point, his rehearsal of the whole story, with no attempt to shield himself from censure, together with his sincere desire to be forgiven, settles the question beyond controversy.

After George left Mr. Williams' school, and had gone to reside with his brother Lawrence at Mount Vernon, a companion discovered in his journal several verses that breathed love for an unknown "lowland beauty."

"What is this, George?" he asked. "Are you the poet who writes such lines as these?" And he read aloud the verses.

"To be honest I must acknowledge the authorship," George answered, with his usual frankness. "But there is more truth than poetry in the production, I imagine."

"I was suspicious of that," responded his friend. "That means that you fell in love with some bewitching girl, I conclude."

"All of that," answered George, with no disposition to conceal anything.

"That accounts for your poetical turn of mind," continued his friend. "I have heard it said that lovers take to poetry."

"I don't know about that; but I confess to being smitten by the 'lowland beauty,'" was George's honest answer.

"Who is she, and where does she live?"

"That is of no consequence now; she is nothing to me, although she is much in my thoughts."

"Did she respond to your professions of love?"

"I never made any profession of love to her."

"How is that?"

"I am too young and bashful to take such a step; it would be foolish indeed."

"Well, to love and keep it to one's self must be misery indeed," continued his companion.

"There is something in that," answered George, "and I shall not conceal that it has made me unhappy at times."

"And it was a kind of relief to let your tender regard express itself in poetry?" suggested his friend.

"Exactly so; and you are the only person in the world to whom I have spoken of the affair."

We have introduced this incident to show the tender side of George's heart. His gravity, decorum, and thoughtful habit were such as almost to preclude the possibility of his being captivated by a "lowland beauty." But this incident shows that he was much like the average boy of Christendom in this regard.

Irving says: "Whatever may have been the reason, this early attachment seems to have been a source of poignant discomfort to him. It clung to him after he look a final leave of school in the autumn of 1747, and went to reside with his brother Lawrence at Mount Vernon. Here he continued his mathematical studies and his practice in surveying, disturbed at times by recurrences of his unlucky passion. Though by no means of a poetical temperament, the waste pages of his journal betray several attempts to pour forth his amorous sorrows in verse. They are mere common-place rhymes, such as lovers at his age are apt to write, in which he bewails his

"'Poor, restless heart, Wounded by Cupid's dart;'

and 'bleeding for one who remains pitiless of his griefs and woes.'

"The tenor of some of the verses induce us to believe that he never told his love; but, as we have already surmised, was prevented by his bashfulness.

"'Ah, woe is me, that I should love and conceal! Long have I wished and never dare reveal.'

"It is difficult to reconcile one's self to the idea of the cool and sedate Washington, the great champion of American liberty, a woe-worn lover in his youthful days, 'sighing like a furnace,' and inditing plaintive verses about the groves of Mount Vernon. We are glad of an opportunity, however, of penetrating to his native feelings, and finding that under his studied decorum and reserve he had a heart of flesh throbbing with the warm impulses of human nature."

In another place, Irving refers to the affair again, and furnishes the following bit of information:

"The object of this early passion is not positively known. Tradition states that the 'lowland beauty' was a Miss Grimes of Westmoreland, afterwards Mrs. Lee, and mother of General Henry Lee, who figured in Revolutionary times as Light Horse Harry, and was always a favorite with Washington, probably from the recollections of his early tenderness for the mother."

George, as we have already intimated, spent his time out of school at Mount Vernon, with his brother Lawrence, who had become a man of considerable repute and influence for one of his years. Here he was brought into contact with military men, and occasionally naval officers were entertained by Lawrence. Often vessels anchored in the river, and the officers enjoyed the abundant hospitality of the Mount Vernon mansion. George was a close observer of what passed in his new home, and a careful listener to the tales of war and a seafaring life frequently told in his hearing. The martial spirit within him was aroused by these tales of adventure and glory, and he was prepared for almost any hardship or peril in the way of the object of his ambition. Besides, his brother was disposed to encourage his aspirations in the direction of a military life. He discovered the elements of a good soldier in the boy, and really felt that distinction awaited him in a military career.

"How would you like a midshipman's berth on a British man-of-war?" inquired Lawrence.

"I should like nothing better," George answered.

"You would then be in the service of the king, and have a chance to prove your loyalty by your deeds," added Lawrence. "Your promotion would be certain."

"If I deserved it," added George, with thoughtful interest.

"Yes, if you deserved it," repeated Lawrence; "and I have no doubt that you would deserve it."

"But I fear that mother will not consent to such an arrangement," suggested George.

"I will confer with her upon the subject," replied Lawrence. "I think she will take the same view of it that I do."

Lawrence did confer with his mother concerning this venture, and found her wholly averse to the project.

"I can never consent that he should follow such a life," she said.

"But I am sure that he would distinguish himself there, and bring honor to the family," urged Lawrence.

"Character is worth more than distinction," responded Mrs. Washington. "I fear the effect of such a life upon his character."

"George can be trusted in any position, no matter what the temptations may be," Lawrence pleaded.

"That may be true, and it may not be true," remarked Mrs. Washington. "We ought not to incur the risk unless absolutely obliged to do it."

"If there be a risk," remarked Lawrence, doubtfully.

"Besides," continued Mrs. Washington, "I could not consent to his going so far from home unless it were impossible for him to gain a livelihood near by."

She was unyielding in this interview, and could see no reason why she should consent to such a separation. But Lawrence persevered in his efforts to obtain her consent, and finally it was given with manifest reluctance. A writer describes what followed thus:

"Within a short time a British man-of-war moved up the Potomac, and cast anchor in full view of Mount Vernon. On board of this vessel his brother Lawrence procured him a midshipman's warrant, after having by much persuasion gained the consent of his mother; which, however, she yielded with much reluctance and many misgivings with respect to the profession her son was about to choose. Not knowing how much pain all this was giving his mother, George was as near wild with delight as could well be with a boy of a nature so even and steady. Now, what had all along been but a waking dream was about to become a solemn reality. His preparations were soon made: already was his trunk packed, and carried on board the ship that was to bear him so far away from his native land; and nothing now remained but to bid farewell to the loved ones at home. But when he came and stood before his mother, dressed in his gay midshipman's uniform, so tall and robust in figure, so handsome in face, and so noble in look and gesture, the thought took possession of her mind, that, if she suffered him to leave her then, she might never see him more; and losing her usual firmness and self-control, she burst into tears.

"'I cannot consent to let you go,' she said, at length. 'It will break my heart, George.'

"'How can I refuse to go now that I have enlisted, and my trunk is on board?' pleaded George.

"'Order your trunk ashore, and return your uniform, my son, if you do not wish to crush your mother's heart,' responded Mrs. Washington. 'I cannot bear the thought.'"

George was overcome by the spectacle of his mother's grief, and with the tears running down his cheeks he replied, like the young hero that he was:

"'Mother, I can never go and cause you so much grief. I will stay at home.'"

His trunk was brought ashore, his uniform was returned, his tears were wiped away, and he was happier in thus yielding to his mother's reasonable request than he could or would have been in gratifying his own wishes.

The higher and nobler qualities of manly character here triumphed over the lower passions and desires. It was an excellent discipline for George, while, at the same time, the incident exhibits the sterling qualities of his heart.

The four incidents narrated present different aspects of George's character, and show, without additional proof, that he was an uncommon boy. The several qualities displayed in these experiences lie at the foundation of human excellence. Without them the future career of a youth may prove a failure. With them, a manly, virtuous character is well nigh assured.



VI.

HIS MOTHER.

"Obedience and truthfulness are cardinal virtues to be cultivated," remarked Mrs. Washington to her husband, with whom she frequently discussed the subject of family government. "No son or daughter can form a reliable character without them."

"There can be no question about that," answered Mr. Washington; "and for that reason these virtues are just as necessary for the state as they are for the family; reliable citizens cannot be made without them any more than reliable sons and daughters."

"I suppose that God means to make reliable citizens out of obedient and truthful children," continued Mrs. Washington. "Good family government assures good civil government. We must learn to obey before we know how to govern."

"And I think that obedience to parents is likely to be followed by obedience to God," responded Mr. Washington. "Disobedience is attended by a state of mind that is inimical to sincere obedience to God."

"The Bible teaches that plainly," replied Mrs. Washington. "There is something very tender and impressive in the lesson, 'Children, obey your parents in the Lord: for this is right. Honor thy father and mother; which is the first commandment with promise; that it may be well with thee, and thou mayst live long on the earth.' A longer and better life is promised to those who obey their parents, and it must be because they are led to God thereby."

"Obedience is the first commandment, according to that," remarked Mr. Washington, "the most important of all, and I have no doubt of it. We are to begin there in order to make children what they ought to be."

"The consequences of disobedience as threatened in the Scriptures are fearful," added Mrs. Washington. "There could scarcely be more startling words than these: 'The eye that mocketh at his father, and despiseth to obey his mother, the ravens of the valley shall pick it out, and the young eagles shall eat it.' Disobedience to and irreverence for parents must be wicked, indeed, to warrant such a threatening."

Here was the secret of Mrs. Washington's successful family government. That George owed more to faithful maternal example and training than he did to any other influence, he always believed and acknowledged. And OBEDIENCE was the first commandment in the Washington family. George Washington Parke Custis, a grandson, said:

"The mother of Washington, in forming him for those distinguished parts he was destined to perform, first taught him the duties of OBEDIENCE, the better to prepare him for those of command. In the well-ordered domicile where his early years were passed, the levity and indulgence common to youth was tempered by a deference and well-regulated restraint which, while it curtailed or suppressed no rational enjoyment usual in the spring-time of life, prescribed those enjoyments within the bounds of moderation and propriety.

"The matron held in reserve an authority which never departed from her; not even when her son had become the most illustrious of men. It seemed to say, 'I am your mother, the being who gave you life, the guide who directed your steps when they needed the guidance of age and wisdom, the parental affection which claimed your love, the parental authority which commanded your obedience; whatever may be your success, whatever your renown, next to your God you owe them most to me.' Nor did the chief dissent from these truths; but to the last moments of the life of his venerable parent, he yielded to her will the most dutiful and implicit obedience, and felt for her person and character the most holy reverence and attachment."

Lawrence Washington, Esq., of Chotauk, a relative and playmate of George in boyhood, described the home of the mother as follows:

"I was often there with George, his playmate, school-mate, and young man's companion. Of the mother I was ten times more afraid than I ever was of my own parents. She awed me in the midst of her kindness, for she was, indeed, truly kind. I have often been present with her sons, proper, tall fellows, too, and we were all as mute as mice; and even now, when time has whitened my locks, and I am the grandparent of a second generation, I could not behold that remarkable woman without feelings it is impossible to describe. Whoever has seen that awe-inspiring air and manner so characteristic in the Father of his Country will remember the matron as she appeared when the presiding genius of her well-ordered household, COMMANDING AND BEING OBEYED."

Mrs. Washington commanded obedience of her servants and agents as she did of her children. On one occasion she ordered an employee to perform a certain piece of work in a prescribed way. On going to the field she was disappointed.

"Did I not tell you to do that piece of work?" she inquired of him.

"Yes, madam."

"Did I not direct you how to do it?"

"Yes, madam."

"Then why have you not done as you were directed to do?"

"Because I thought my way of doing it was better than yours," the servant answered.

"Pray, tell me, who gave you any exercise of judgment in the matter? I command you, sir; there is nothing left for you but to obey."

So obedience was the law of her homestead. Outside and inside it seemed order, harmony, and efficiency.

There was one volume upon which she relied next to the Bible,—"Sir Matthew Hale's Contemplations, Moral and Divine."

Everett said of the influence of this book upon the life of Washington, "It would not be difficult to point out in the character of Washington some practical exemplification of the maxims of the Christian life as laid down by that illustrious magistrate."

That Mrs. Washington made this volume the basis of her home instruction, there is ample proof. The character of her son bore faithful witness to the fidelity with which she taught and enforced the excellent counsels which the distinguished author gave in his "Contemplations." It will assist our purpose to cite some of its lessons in brief, as follows:

"An humble man leans not to his own understanding; he is sensible of the deficiency of his own power and wisdom, and trusts not in it; he is also sensible of the all-sufficient power, wisdom, and goodness of Almighty God, and commits himself to Him for counsel, guidance, direction, and strength."

"Consider what it is thou pridest thyself in, and examine well the nature of the things themselves, how little and inconsiderable they are; at least how uncertain and unstable they are."

"Thou hast, it may be, wealth, stores of money; but how much of it is of use to thee? That which thou spendest is gone; that which thou keepest is as insignificant as so much dirt or clay; only thy care about it makes thy life the more uneasy."

"Thou has honor, esteem; thou art deceived, thou hast it not. He hath it that gives it thee, and which He may detain from thee at pleasure."

"Much time might be saved and redeemed, in retrenching the unnecessary waste thereof, in our ordinary sleep, attiring and dressing ourselves, and the length of our meals as breakfasts, dinners, suppers; which, especially in this latter age, and among people of the better sort, are protracted to an immoderate and excessive length."

"Gaming, taverns, and plays, as they are pernicious, and corrupt youth; so, if they had no other fault, yet they are justly to be declined in respect to their excessive expense of time, and habituating men to idleness and vain thoughts, and disturbing passions, when they are past, as well as while they are used."

"Be obstinately constant to your devotion at certain times, and be sure to spend the Lord's Day entirely in those religious duties proper for it; and let nothing but an inevitable necessity divert you from it."

"Be industrious and faithful to your calling. The merciful God has not only indulged us with a far greater portion of time for our ordinary occasions than he has reserved for himself, but also enjoins and requires our industry and diligence in it."

"Honesty and plain dealings in transactions, as well public as private, is the best and soundest prudence and policy, and overmatch craft and subtlety."

"To rob for burnt offerings, and to lie for God, is a greater disservice to His Majesty than to rob for rapine or lie for advantage."

"As he is overcareful that will not put on his clothes for fear of wearing them out, or use his axe for fear of hurting it, so he gives but an ill account of a healthy body that dares not employ it in a suitable occupation for fear of hurting his health."

"Improve the opportunity of place, eminence, and greatness to serve God and your country, with all vigilance, diligence, and fidelity."

"Reputation is not the thing primarily to be looked after in the exercise of virtue, for that is to affect the substance for the sake of the shadow, which is a kind of levity and weakness of mind; but look at virtue and the worth of it, as that which is first desirable, and reputation as a fair and useful accession to it."

"Take a man that is employed as a statesman or politician, though he have much wisdom and prudence, it commonly degenerates into craft and cunning and pitiful shuffling, without the fear of God; but mingle the fear of Almighty God with that kind of wisdom, and it renders it noble and generous and honest and stable."

"Whatever you do, be very careful to retain in your heart a habit of religion, that may be always about you, and keep your heart and life always as in His presence, and tending towards Him."

We might quote much more of equal value from this treasury of wisdom. The book touches humanity at almost every point, and there is scarcely any lesson, relating to the elements of success in life, which it does not contain. Industry, perseverance, self-denial, decision, energy, economy, frugality, thoroughness, magnanimity, courage, fidelity, honesty, principle, and religion,—these, and all other indispensable human qualities, receive careful and just attention. And we repeat, George Washington's character was formed upon the basis of those instructions, under the moulding power of a superior mother.

Mrs. Washington descended from a family of distinction among the Virginia colonists. Mr. Paulding says of her: "As a native of Virginia, she was hospitable by birthright, and always received her visitors with a smiling welcome. But they were never asked to stay but once, and she always speeded the parting guest by affording every facility in her power. She possessed all those domestic habits and qualities that confer value on women, and had no desire to be distinguished by any titles but those of a good wife and mother."

She was a very resolute woman, and exercised the most complete self-control in the presence of danger and difficulties. There was but a single exception to this remark, she was afraid of thunder and lightning. At fifteen years of age she was walking with a young female friend, when they were overtaken by a fearful thunder-shower, and her friend was struck by lightning at her side and instantly killed. The terrible calamity wrought seriously upon her nervous system, and from that time she was unable to control her nerves during a thunder-storm. Otherwise she was one of the most fearless and resolute women ever born in Virginia.

Mrs. Washington was not regarded as a superstitious woman, yet she had a dream when George was about five years old which so deeply impressed her that she pondered it through life. Mr. Weems gives it as she told it to a neighbor more than once, as follows:

"I dreamt," said the mother of Washington, "that I was sitting on the piazza of a large new house, into which we had but lately moved. George, at that time about five years old, was in the garden with his corn-stalk plough, busily running little furrows in the sand, in imitation of Negro Dick, a fine black boy, with whose ploughing George was so taken that it was sometimes a hard matter to get him to his dinner. And so, as I was sitting on the piazza at my work, I suddenly heard in my dream a kind of roaring noise on the eastern side of the house. On running out to see what was the matter, I beheld a dreadful sheet of fire bursting from the roof. The sight struck me with a horror which took away my strength, and threw me, almost senseless, to the ground. My husband and the servants, as I saw in my dream, soon came up; but, like myself, were so terrified at the sight that they could make no attempt to extinguish the flames. In this most distressing state the image of my little son came, I thought, to my mind, more dear and tender than ever, and turning towards the garden where he was engaged with his little corn-stalk plough, I screamed out twice with all my might, 'George! George!' In a few moments, as I thought, he threw down his mimic plough, and ran to me, saying, 'High! ma! what makes you call so angry! ain't I a good boy? don't I always run to you soon as I hear you call?' I could make no reply, but just threw up my arms towards the flame. He looked up and saw the house all on fire; but instead of bursting out a-crying, as might have been expected from a child, he instantly brightened up and seemed ready to fly to extinguish it. But first looking at me with great tenderness, he said, 'O ma, don't be afraid! God Almighty will help us, and we shall soon put it out.' His looks and words revived our spirits in so wonderful a manner that we all instantly set about to assist him. A ladder was presently brought, on which, as I saw in my dream, he ran up with the nimbleness of a squirrel and the servants supplied him with water, which he threw on the fire from an American gourd. But that growing weaker, the flame appeared to gain ground, breaking forth and roaring most dreadfully, which so frightened the servants that many of them, like persons in despair, began to leave him. But he, still undaunted, continued to ply it with water, animating the servants at the same time, both by his words and actions. For a long time the contest appeared very doubtful; but at length a venerable old man, with a tall cap and an iron rod in his hand, like a lightning-rod, reached out to him a curious little trough, like a wooden shoe! On receiving this he redoubled his exertions, and soon extinguished the fire. Our joy on the occasion was unbounded. But he, on the contrary, showing no more of transport now than of terror before, looked rather sad at the sight of the great harm that had been done. Then I saw in my dream that after some time spent as in deep thought, he called out with much joy, 'Well ma, now if you and the family will but consent, we can make a far better roof than this ever was; a roof of such a quality that, if well kept together, it will last forever; but if you take it apart, you will make the house ten thousand times worse than it was before.'"

Mr. Weems adds: "This, though certainly a very curious dream, needs no Daniel to interpret it, especially if we take Mrs. Washington's new house for the young colony government; the fire on its east side for North's civil war; the gourd, which George first employed, for the American three and six months' enlistments; the old man, with his cap and iron rod, for Dr. Franklin; the shoe-like vessel which he reached to George for the sabot, or wooden-shoed nation, the French whom Franklin courted a long time for America; and the new roof proposed by George for a staunch, honest Republic, that 'equal government' which, by guarding alike the welfare of all, ought by all to be so heartily beloved as to endure forever."

There are many anecdotes told of her which illustrate her character better than plain statement.

The death of her husband was a crushing blow to her; yet, on the whole, her Christian hope triumphed. Friends offered to assist her in the management of her large estate, for all the property left to her children was to be controlled by her until they each one became of age.

"No," she answered, "God has put the responsibility upon me by the death of my husband, and I must meet it. He will give me wisdom and strength as I need it."

"But it is too much care and labor for a woman," suggested one, thinking that what had required the constant and careful attention of a man could not be added to the cares of a woman, whose hands were full with household duties before.

"We can bear more and do more than we think we can when compelled by the force of circumstances," replied Mrs. Washington. "In ourselves we are weak, and can do but little; but by the help of God we are made equal to the demands of duty."

"Equal to all that comes within the bounds of reason," responded the relative, intending that it was unreasonable for the mother of five young children, the eldest but eleven years old, to undertake so much.

"Certainly; and the demands of duty are always within the bounds of reason," answered Mrs. Washington; "that was what I said. Providence has laid this burden of care and labor upon me, and upon no one else. While I shall be very thankful for advice and assistance from my friends, I must not shrink from the cares of this new position."

It was in this spirit that Mrs. Washington took up the additional duties devolved upon her by the sudden death of her husband. In view of this fact, Mr. Sparks paid her the following just tribute:

"In these important duties Mrs. Washington acquitted herself with great fidelity to her trust, and with entire success. Her good sense, assiduity, tenderness, and vigilance overcame every obstacle; and, as the richest reward of a mother's solicitude and toil, she had the happiness to see all her children come forward with a fair promise into life, filling the sphere allotted them in a manner equally honorable to themselves, and to the parent who had been the only guide of their principles, conduct, and habits. She lived to witness the noble career of her eldest son, till, by his own rare merits, he was raised to the head of a nation, and applauded and revered by the whole world. It has been said that there never was a great man, the elements of whose greatness might not be traced to the original characteristics or early influence of his mother. If this be true, how much do mankind owe to the mother of Washington?"

Irving said: "She proved herself worthy of the trust. Endowed with plain, direct, good sense, thorough conscientiousness, and prompt decision, she governed her family strictly, but kindly, exacting deference while she inspired affection. George, being her eldest son, was thought to be her favorite, yet she never gave him undue preference; and the implicit deference exacted from him in childhood continued to be habitually observed by him to the day of her death. He inherited from her a high temper and a spirit of command, but her early precepts and example taught him to restrain and govern that temper, and to square his conduct on the exact principles of equity and justice.

"Tradition gives an interesting picture of the widow, with her little flock gathered round her, as was her daily wont, reading to them lessons of religion and morality out of some standard work. Her favorite volume was Sir Matthew Hale's 'Contemplations, Moral and Divine.' The admirable maxims therein contained for outward actions, as well as for self-government, sank deep into the mind of George, and doubtless had a great influence in forming his character. They certainly were exemplified in his conduct throughout life. This mother's manual, bearing his mother's name, Mary Washington, written with her own hand, was ever preserved by him with filial care, and may still be seen in the archives of Mount Vernon."

When her son first engaged in the war against the French and Indians, she appeared to be indifferent to the honor conferred upon him.

"You must go at the call of your country, but I regret that it is necessary, George," she said, when he paid her his farewell visit. "May the Lord go with you, and preserve you and the country!"

"And may He preserve and bless you, whether He preserves me or not!" answered her son. "The perils of war render my return uncertain, to say the least; and it is always wise to be prepared for the worst."

"I trust that I am prepared for anything that Providence orders," responded Mrs. Washington, "though it is with pain that I approach this separation. These trying times require great sacrifices of all, and we must make them cheerfully."

"Victory would not be far away if all possessed that spirit," answered the young commander. "If there is patriotism enough in the country to defend our cause, the country will be saved."

That Washington himself was deeply affected by this interview, his own tears, when he bade his mother final adieu, bore unmistakable witness.

When the news of his crossing the Delaware, at a time of great peril and gloom in the land, was brought to her, she exclaimed, raising her hand heavenward, "Thank God! thank God for the success!"

There appeared to be no recognition of peculiar wisdom and skill on the part of her son, though the friends gathered were full of his praise.

"The country is profoundly grateful to your son for his achievements," suggested one; "and the praise of his countrymen knows no bounds."

"I have no doubt that George deserves well of his country," Mrs. Washington replied, "but, my good sir, here is too much flattery."

"No flattery at all, but deserved praise," her friend and neighbor retorted.

"Well, I have no fears about George," she replied. "He will not forget the lessons I have taught him; he will not forget himself, though he is the subject of so much praise."

After her son had left for Cambridge, Mass., to take charge of the troops, her son-in-law, Mr. Fielding Lewis, offered to lighten her labors by taking care of her property, or some part of it at least.

"No, Fielding, it is not necessary; I am competent to attend to it myself," she answered.

"I did not question your competency; I only wanted to relieve you of some care," the son-in-law answered.

"I understand and appreciate your kindness," she said; "but, nevertheless, I must decline your offer. My friends are all very kind to me, and I feel very grateful, but it is better for me to bear this responsibility as long as I can."

After discussing the subject still further, Mrs. Washington yielded in part to his request; she said:

"Fielding, you may keep my books in order, as your eyesight is better than mine, but leave the executive management to me."

When Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown, Washington despatched a messenger to convey the glad tidings to his mother at Fredericksburg. At once her friends and neighbors called with great enthusiasm to honor her as the mother of the conqueror of England.

"Bless God!" she exclaimed, on receipt of the news. "The war will now be ended, and peace and independence and happiness bless the country."

"Your son is the most illustrious general in the world," remarked one.

"The nation idolizes him," said another.

"The soldiers almost worship him," still another.

"The saviour of his country," announced a fourth in jubilant state of mind, desiring, at the same time, to gratify his mother.

But none of these lofty tributes to her son afforded her pleasure; they seemed to annoy her by causing her to feel that the divine blessing was overlooked.

"We must not forget the great Giver, in our joy over the success of our arms," she said.

She had never forgotten Him. During those six long years of conflict, her hope had been inspired, and her comfort found, at the mercy-seat. Daily, during the warm season of the year, she had repaired to a secluded spot near her dwelling to pray for her George and her country. At other seasons of the year she daily remembered them within her quiet home. However gratified she may have been with the honors lavished upon her son, she would not allow herself to honor the creature more than the Creator.

As soon as possible after the surrender of Cornwallis, Washington visited his mother at Fredericksburg, attended by his splendid suite. The latter were extremely anxious to behold and honor the aged matron, whom their illustrious chief respected and loved so sincerely.

On arriving at Fredericksburg, he quartered his suite comfortably, and then repaired alone and on foot to see his mother, whom he had not seen for over six years. She met him at the door with feelings we cannot conceive, much less describe.

In silence and tears they embraced each other, with that tender, mutual pledge of undying love—a kiss.

"God has answered my prayers, George, and I praise Him that I see your face again," she said.

"Yes, my dear mother, God has indeed heard your prayers, and the thought that you were interceding for me at the throne of grace was always an inspiration to me," answered the son.

"How changed, George!" the mother remarked, scanning his face closely, and noticing that he had grown old rapidly. "You bear the marks of war."

"True, men grow old fast in war," the son replied; "but my health is good, and rest and peace will soon make me as good as new."

"For that I shall devoutly pray," Mrs. Washington responded.

For an hour, and more, the conversation continued, the mother making many inquiries concerning his health and future plans, the prospects of peace and prosperity to the country, and kindred subjects; but she did not drop a single word respecting his fame.

The inhabitants of Fredericksburg and vicinity immediately arranged for a grand military ball in honor of Gen. Washington and his staff. Such an occasion would furnish a favorable opportunity for the members of Washington's staff to meet his mother.

At that time, as now, it was customary for military and civic leaders to allow their joy over happy occasions to ooze out through their heels. We are unable to explain the phenomenon; but the fact remains, that a ball on a grand scale was planned, to which Washington's mother was specially invited. Her reply to the flattering invitation was characteristic.

"Although my dancing days are pretty well over, I shall be most happy to contribute what I can to the general festivity."

Mrs. Washington was then over seventy years of age.

It was the gayest assembly ever convened in Virginia at that time, and perhaps the occasion was the merriest. Gay belles and dignified matrons graced the occasion, arrayed in rich laces and bright brocades, the well preserved relics of scenes when neither national misfortune nor private calamity forbade their use.

In addition to Washington's staff, many other military officers were present, all gorgeously dressed, contributing largely to the beauty and grandeur of the scene.

"But despite the soul-soothing charm of music," says a writer, "the fascinations of female loveliness, and the flattering devotion of the gallant brave, all was eager suspense and expectation, until there entered, unannounced and unattended, the mother of Washington, leaning on the arm of her son.

"The large audience at once paid their respects to the honored guests, the mother of the chief being the central figure of the occasion. Washington presented American and European officers to his mother, who wore the simple but becoming and appropriate costume of the Virginia ladies of the olden time, while the sincere congratulations of the whole assembly were tendered to her."

The writer just quoted continues:

"The European strangers gazed long in wondering amazement upon the sublime and touching spectacle. Accustomed to the meretricious display of European courts, they regarded with astonishment her unadorned attire, and the mingled simplicity and majesty for which the language and manners of the mother of Washington were so remarkable."

When the clock struck nine, the venerable lady arose, and said:

"Come, George, it is time for old people to be at home."

Then expressing her gratification at being able to be present on so extraordinary an occasion, and wishing the company much joy, she retired, as she came, leaning on the arm of her son.

This picture of beautiful simplicity and absence of pride, in the midst of distinguished honors, contrasts finely with a scene in the life of another great general, Napoleon. On one occasion, when Napoleon gave audience to famous guests, together with several members of his family, his mother advanced towards him. According to a royal custom, the emperor extended his hand to her to kiss, as he had done when his brothers and sisters approached him.

"No," responded his mother; "you are the king, the emperor of all the rest, but you are my son."

Mrs. Washington was always actuated by a similar sense of propriety; and her demeanor towards the general seemed to say, "You are my son." And the general accepted that exhibition of maternal dignity and love as proper and honorable.

At the close of the Revolution, Lafayette, before leaving the country, visited Mrs. Washington at her home. One of her grandsons accompanied him to the house. As they approached, the grandson said, pointing to an old lady in the garden:

"There is my grandmother in the garden."

"Indeed!" answered Lafayette. "I am happy to find her able to be out."

Lafayette saluted her in his cordial way on coming up to her, when she replied:

"Ah, Marquis, you see an old woman; but come, I can make you welcome to my poor dwelling without the parade of changing my dress."

"I come to bid you adieu before leaving the country," remarked Lafayette, when they were seated in the house. "I desired to see you once more."

"I assure you that nothing could afford me more real pleasure than to welcome once more to my home so distinguished a friend of my son and my country," Mrs. Washington answered.

"I congratulate you upon having such a son and such a country," continued Lafayette.

"I trust that I am grateful for both," Mrs. Washington replied.

"I rejoice with you in your son's well-earned fame," continued the distinguished Frenchman, "and I am glad that you have lived to see this day."

Lafayette proceeded to rehearse the patriotic deeds of Washington for his country, growing more and more enthusiastic in his praise as he continued, until finally Mrs. Washington remarked:

"I am not surprised at what George has done, for he was always a good boy."

Washington retired to his home at Mount Vernon at the close of the war, and earnestly entreated his mother to take up her abode with him.

"You are too aged and infirm to live alone," he said, "and I can have no greater pleasure than to have you in my family."

"I feel truly grateful for your kindness, George, but I enjoy my mode of life," she answered. "I think it is according to the direction of Providence."

"It would not be in opposition to Providence if you should come to live with me," responded Washington with a smile.

"Nevertheless, I must decline. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your interest and love, but I feel fully competent to take care of myself."

That settled the question, and she remained at Fredericksburg.

When Washington was elected President of the United States, he paid a farewell visit to his mother. He was about to depart for the seat of government, which was in New York City.

"I would gladly have avoided this responsibility for your sake, as well as mine," remarked Washington; "but Providence seemed to leave me no way of escape, and I have come to bid you an affectionate farewell."

"You are in the way of duty, George, and I have no desire to interpose," his mother answered. "My race is almost run, and I shall never see you again in the flesh."

"I hope we shall meet again; though at your great age, and with such a serious disease upon you, the end cannot be far away," replied the son.

Mrs. Washington was then eighty-three years of age, and was suffering from a cancer in the breast.

"Yes, I am old and feeble, and growing more so every day," continued his mother; "and I wait the summons of the Master without fear or anxiety."

Pausing a moment, as if to control emotion, she added, "Go, George, and fulfil the high destiny to which Providence calls you; and may God continue to guide and bless you!"

At this point let Mr. Custis speak:

"Washington was deeply affected. His head rested upon the shoulder of his parent, whose aged arm feebly, yet fondly, encircled his neck. That brow, on which fame had wreathed the purest laurel virtue ever gave to created man, relaxed from its lofty bearing. That look, which would have awed a Roman senate in its Fabrician day, was bent in filial tenderness upon the time-worn features of the aged matron. He wept. A thousand recollections crowded upon his mind, as memory, retracing scenes long passed, carried him back to the maternal mansion and the days of juvenility, where he beheld that mother, whose care, education, and discipline caused him to reach the topmost height of laudable ambition. Yet, how were his glories forgotten while he gazed upon her whom, wasted by time and malady, he should part with to meet no more!"

Washington never saw his mother again. She died Aug. 25, 1789. Her last days were characterized by that cheerful resignation to the divine will for which she was ever distinguished, and she passed away in the triumphs of Christian faith.

Her remains were laid in the burial ground of Fredericksburg, in a spot which she selected, because it was situated near the place where she was wont to retire for meditation and prayer. For many years her grave was unmarked by slab or monument; but in 1833, Silas E. Barrows, Esq., of New York City, undertook the erection of a monument at his own expense.

On the seventh day of May of that year, President Jackson laid the corner-stone in the presence of a great concourse of people. It was estimated that more than fifteen thousand persons assembled to honor the dead.

The plan of the monument was pyramidical, and the height of the obelisk forty-five feet. A colossal bust of Washington adorned the shaft, surmounted by the American eagle sustaining a civic crown above the hero's head, and with the simple inscription:

MARY, THE MOTHER OF WASHINGTON.

From President Jackson's eulogy on the interesting occasion, we make the following brief extract:

"In the grave before us lie the remains of his mother. Long has it been unmarked by any monumental tablet, but not unhonored. You have undertaken the pious duty of erecting a column to her name, and of inscribing upon it the simple but affecting words, 'Mary, the Mother of Washington.' No eulogy could be higher, and it appeals to the heart of every American.... The mother and son are beyond the reach of human applause, but the bright example of paternal and filial excellence which their conduct furnishes cannot but produce the most salutary effects upon our countrymen. Let their example be before us from the first lesson which is taught the child, till the mother's duties yield to the course of preparation and action which nature prescribes for him....

"Fellow citizens, at your request, and in your name, I now deposit this plate in the spot destined for it; and when the American pilgrim shall, in after ages, come up to this high and holy place, and lay his hand upon this sacred column, may he recall the virtues of her who sleeps beneath, and depart with his affections purified and his piety strengthened, while he invokes blessings upon the mother of Washington."

John Adams wrote to his wife concerning a certain statesman: "In reading history, you will generally observe, when you find a great character, whether a general, a statesman, or a philosopher, some female about him, either in the character of a mother, wife, or sister, who has knowledge and ambition above the ordinary level of women; and that much of his eminence is owing to her precepts, example, or instigation in some shape or other."

This remark was remarkably illustrated in the career of Washington. He always acknowledged his indebtedness to maternal influence. He could say, with John Quincy Adams, "Such as I have been, whatever it was; such as I am, whatever it is; and such as I hope to be in all futurity, must be ascribed, under Providence, to the precepts and example of my mother."

Historians and poets, statesmen and orators, have ever accorded to the mother of Washington a signal influence to determine his character and career. And so universal is this sentiment, that the American people consider that the noblest tribute to her memory is the inscription upon her monument:

MARY, THE MOTHER OF WASHINGTON.



VII.

YOUNG SURVEYOR.

"George can make his home with me, now that his school-days are over," said Lawrence to his mother, anxious to keep his young brother in his own family at Mount Vernon.

"But I need him more than you do," objected Mrs. Washington; "you can hardly imagine how I miss him."

"So do we miss him when he is not here," responded Lawrence. "George is good company, as much so as a man of twenty-five years of age. I want very much that he should make his home with me."

"I thought he might be of service to me in running the farm, and, at the same time, pursue his studies by himself," continued Mrs. Washington.

"He can study better with me," suggested Lawrence, "because I can assist him as well as not."

"There is no doubt of that," replied the mother, "and that is the only reason I can see why he should make his home with you."

"There is one other reason, mother, and a good one, too."

"What is it?"

"He will have a better opportunity to get into business if he lives with me. I have much company, and just the class of men to introduce a capable youth like George into some good pursuit."

"There is something in that," responded Mrs. Washington.

"There is much in it every way," added Lawrence. "George is now at an age when his plans for life should be forming. He is competent to occupy almost any position that offers, and I can be of real service to him in directing and advising him."

There is evidence to believe that Lawrence had not wholly abandoned the idea of introducing George into military life. He himself had become a man of influence in the State. He was a member of the House of Burgesses, and adjutant-general of his district; a gentleman of acknowledged ability and position. He saw in George the foreshadowing of a distinguished man. He had more exalted ideas than his mother of the boy's ability and promise. If he could have him in his family, he could assist him onward and upward, beyond what would be possible if he remained with his mother.

It was finally settled that George should take up his abode with Lawrence at Mount Vernon. We need not say that this decision was congenial to George. He was so strongly attached to Lawrence, and enjoyed being at Mount Vernon so much, that he found great delight in removing thither permanently. It proved to be a very important step in his career, as Lawrence prophesied it would be.

George had not passed his sixteenth birthday. Though still a boy, his views and aims of life were those of a man. He pursued arithmetic and surveying under the direction of his brother, with reference to future manhood. Nor was that all.

One day Lawrence surprised him by the inquiry, "George, how would you like to take lessons in the manual exercise of Adjutant Muse?"

"I should like it," George replied.

"It may be of service to you at some future day," Lawrence continued. "It will do you no harm, surely."

"I am ready for the lessons any time," added George. "I have always had a desire to know something in that line."

Adjutant Muse served with Lawrence in the war against the Spaniards in the West Indies, and he was a competent teacher of the manual exercise. It was arranged that he should instruct George in the art.

Subsequently, also, Lawrence made arrangements with Monsieur Van Braam to instruct George in the art of fencing. He had an idea that dexterity in the use of his limbs, as well as fire-arms, would be of future use to him. These facts indicate that Lawrence did not expect that his young brother would become a farmer. There is traditional evidence that he stated as much to George, whose military aspirations were nurtured in the Mount Vernon home.