The Boyhood of Washington. Bellefonte, Pa., Feb. 22, 1901. ————————————————— GRACE CHAPMAN'S BEQUEST. At the time of her christening Grace Chapman’s godmother gave her two silver halt dollars, with the injunction te the mother that the child was to spend the money as inclination led ber. Gracie kept the silver pieces, which she called her “‘pbaptize money,’ until the evening before her death. Then, calling for it, she said it was to be given to some child of the church who had suffered just as she had, adding : “J am going to Paradise to be with papa, and see th: Good Shepherd.”’ After her death the money wasgiven to the ‘‘Shelter- ing Arms,” and has been made a nucleus of an endowment fund for the support of the “‘Grace Chapman bed.’’ Sometimes I wonder if-God sends us Angel children in disguise, Perhaps to teach us faith and lend us New incentive, to arise Above earth clad conditions, Beyond these mortal ties, And bring to rich fruition Deeds of kindness, pure and wise, This thought impressed me strangely When I heard, not long ago, Of a child’s bequest and message Given her mother, left below. Living in yon pretty cottage Nestled "neath those grand old trees, Oft a little child at even Played bo-peep among the leaves. Such a dainty little darling ! Sunny hair and eyes of blue; Graceful form and bonny face, With loving heart most true. “I’m papa’s pet,” said little lady, “He's my. willing horse to ride, At other times I'm mama's baby Singing praises at her side.” In summer days beneath the branches Played this child with fairy tread, Whispering softly to the flowers As she kissed each dainty head. Then as evening bells came pealing Softly o’er the hills and moor. Finds the wee one meekly kneeling By her cot upon the floor. Lisping, “Gentle Shepherd, hear me, Bless Thy little lamb tonight, "Through the darkness be Thou near me, Keep me safe till morning light.” _ Oft the dear one quaintly questioned. Papa, do you Jesus love? And the lambkins in the sheepfold Of the paradise above #” +1 love Jesus, He's my Shepherd, T'm His darling little lamp. Some day 1 will go to see Him ¢ If His faithful child I am. Some He takes unto His bosom, When the wind is cold and bleak, Draws them close, like you do, papa, When 1 lie against your cheek.” Thus she prattled, ’till the Shepherd Called wee Gracie’s papa home, Then she grieved and questioned why She was left so sad and lone. Soon she languished, drooped and faded As rare flowers do, in the sun. ‘Though the milestone was but seven She this earthly race had run. She knew nothing of the goul, Nor where the gates of bliss, But gladly gave her spotless soul . To the angels’ wooing kiss. Ere the soul had spread its pinions, She asked her mamma near To bring her “baptize mouey** Given by her auntie dear. Feebly then she placed the silver In a wrapper small and white, And sealed it. Then with quivering lips And eyes most strangely bright She said: “I’m going to my papa. Soon in Hesven ‘1 will be, Give this dollar to some baby , Who has suffered just like me.” Years rolled on. The lonély mother Ne'er forgot her baby’s choice. Nobly tried she to discover A suffering child to make rejoice. At length she found a baby’s home Where they’re safe from all alarms, And gave the mite as a corner stone Of a fund for the “Sheltering Arms.” A lady suggests endowing a bed * That shall ever a monument be To the child who said, “When I am dead Forget not the afflicted like me.” Dead! Dead, did I say? Ah, no, She lives in the realms of day, Watching the seed of kindness grow, Yea, increase and endure alway. Baautiful thought! Herspizit lingers Around those who watch and pray, Who foster the seed that the delicat: fing rs , Sowed for some child who suffers today. Friends, lend aid to the “Shelting Arms,” Where wee lambs are fed, ‘And Gracie’s afflicted is safe from harm. In the dear lit:le “Gracie bed.” t ne — Cora WM’ Neill. USUNFLOWERS.” . The doctor lingered. He glanced at the man, who sat staring through the blurred, unwashed window glass into the noisy street—staring at nothing. The man’s face was full of the dumb grief of the un- cultured, thé grief that is dumb not be- causeit would not, but because it cannot speak the grief that needs the tenderest sympathy in the world. It was hurting - the man ; and the doctor understood, and lingered in silence. ‘The man turned his head restlessly ; and the doctor, sitting on'the'side of the tumb- led bed, with its:shabby coverings, lifted + in his arms asmall bundle of gray flannel that lay among the unattractive pillows. He loosened the folds of the flannel and touched the little pink face thus revealed. The baby stirred and smiled in its sleep. The doctor noted the dimple in its cheek "and ite fringé of yellow hair. He again glanced at the man’s averted face, sullen aod hard in its grief, | ‘What have you’ named, your little girl 2’? was his unexpected question. The doctor was a young man, but it happened that he understood the man’s sorrow for his wife, so lately dead, who had left the baby, with‘its dimple and its fringe of yel- low hair and its baby girlhood, for a keep- | 0 sake, for. a farewell gift. He offered his | sympathy very gradually and tenderly. | _"Nawe her? Idunno;, don’t care, If it hadn’t been for her, me woman wouldn’t have died!’ : He met the doctor’s:serious brown eyes with a defiant stare, which the doctor quite understood. * *‘I-don’t want to sée her |“ T'den’t wang to talk *bout her I? "The doctor looked ab the baby, ‘It isa pity not to, iname her,soon. | She is such a nice little girl, and she has a dimple in one cheek. My little girl has a dimple in one cheek. It is the prettiest way for a little girl to have dimples, I think—just one in one cheek.”” He looked at the child’s cheek, but he was thinking more of the man than of the little girl’s dimple. An’ ’ave you a little gurrl ?”’ asked the man, with his face turned still to the win- dow. “Yes. Didn’t I really tell you ?’’ said the doctor. ‘She is the dearest little girl in the world! There conldn’t possibly be another one half so nice.” An’ whatis thot makes her so out o’ the common? Sure, an’ likely there's others as foine,’”’ remarked the man, with more interest than the doctor had expect- ed. ‘There couldn’t be another so nice to me,” said the doctor turning his eyes to the man. ‘You see her mother died when she was even a tinier baby than your little girl; and she is the only child her mother and I had, and she looks like her mother.”’ The doctor’s voice was very low. His lit- tle girl was not yet 3 years old, and he had not learned to speak very often, even to her of her mother. The man’s face relaxed. ‘Well, now, an’ what's come to me come first to yom, an’ you know how ’tis,”” he said in won- der. Yes," said the doctor, *‘I know how it is. Yes, the same thing came to me.” He brought his lips very closely together and then he looked at the other man’s baby girl and smiled and said : “And your little girl has yellow hair and a dimple in one oheek—hy don’t you look at it 2—just as mine has.’’ The man looked for a moment at the baby; then bis face darkened and he said : «If it hadn’t heen for your little gurl, I suppose your —"’ “Yes,” the doctor interrupted, what yon are going tosay.’’ He bowed his head and was silent for a few moments. Then he lifted his eyes and said : ‘*Come here and hold your little girl and I will tell you about my sun- flowers.” ; “Sunflowers ?”’ “Yes; now you hold her while I tell you. Yes, that’s the way to hold her. Now if you touch her cheek she will smile in her sleep and you can see her dimple. See mn The man held the baby in an awkward bundle and fearfully touched her face. He smiled when the tiny dent came into the pink cheek. “Ig a dimple sich a nice thing for a gurrl to 'ave?’’ he asked the doctor. “Very nice,’’ said the doctor gravely. “I ain't never held the baby afore,” said the man. ‘‘You are the first person to notice the dimple,”’ he continued doubt- fully. ‘Perhaps no one else has seen her smile,’ said the doctor. “I ain’t held her,” the man repeated, unheeding the doctor’s explanation of the general ignorance regarding the baby’s dimple, ‘‘because—"’ I suppose you were afraid of dropping her,’’ the doctor interposed. ‘I used to e.”’? “No,” the man said, honestly, “it wasn’t that. I didn’t want to see her, be- cause if it hadn’t been for her, me woman wounldn’t have died. Ain’t you never felt that way 2’’ he asked the other father with sndden curiosity. The doctor’s voice had a slight quiver in it when finally he spoke. Had he under- stood less keenly the meaning of the other man’s bereavement, he perhaps might not have replied. : With the sympathy of a similar sorrow and a similar consolation, he bad heard of this man’s utter grief and of his unreason- ing resentment toward the child, to whose life the mother had given her own. The doctor had learned much in the three years of his little girl’s life, and he had come to tell it to the other man. He found it harder to tell than he had expected, but he did not shrink. vat first I think I did,” he said, gently, and then I saw how much my little girl’s mother had left to comfort me. She had left me her own little girl. She--couldn’t make up for—-"’ “Ah, no!’ the man murmured. ‘She couldn’t do that, but she could do a great deal,”’ went on the doctor. ‘You see, she needed my care. It’s the best comfort in the world really to be needed. She helped me to seebow much I might do —for her and for other people. She helped me to see that I might, perhaps, make my- self worth the—the gifé of love I had been given;and then, she ismy wife’s own little child—and mine,” the doctor concluded more simply. He waited for some comment, but the other man was looking into the face of his little girl. Do you see what I mean ?”’ the doctor asked. “Well, T dunno, I dunno,” the man said; but he wrapped the gray flannel more carefully aronud the baby and touched the pink cheek in which the one dimple hid. The doctor smiled; the other man was be- ginning to understand. “An’ what'd be her name ?’’ he asked. “That's just what I was going to tell you,”’ the doctor replied. ‘Her name is Clytie—for the maiden of olden times, who looked at the sun so often that she was changed into a sunflower. You see, I al- ways called my wife Clytie because—be- cause she was the bright glory of my life; she was truly a flower of sunlight. My mother and my sisters think Clytie a queer pame for my daughter, but you see she is my other sunflower; she bas made the sun shine still in my life.” The doctor again paused, but the other man did not speak; his eyes were bent with new interest upon the pink face of his daughter. The doctor did not hesitate now to offer the fall measure of his sympathy. **T have told you these things,”’ he said, ‘thecanse I was sorry when I heard of your loss, because I understand how you feel, and because I understand how bright a snn- flower the little child left by its mother may be to its father; how much it can help the loneliness.” . The doctor concluded the telling of his lesson with unfaltering faith in the other man’s power to learn it, It was this sim- ple greatness in dealing with the other per- son; this unfailing belief in the strong bond of a common humanity uniting the rich and the poor, the high and the less high, that had made the first appeal for the doc- tor to his first sunflower, and caused her to turn to bim her bright face. It was suffi- ciently strong to hold the other man’s at- tention to make him look with different eyes at his baby. “Faith, now, an’ it was thim things I was sayin’ to me woman ; that she was me “I know wn.” 4'Well,”’ said the doctor, ‘‘when I called my wife my sunflower, it was merely a way of saying that she was my own. And your little girl——="7 0 neti La, ‘An’ is yoursso much nicer than mine ?”’ the man aoxiously asked. ‘‘I don’t be- Hoveshe is ¥ hil it e doctor lau ‘softly. He knew now that Sopp ae a. ~ “She is the nicest little girl in the world I think.” he said. ‘‘Perbaps I can’t judge imparti- ally, but she seems nicer to me than any other little girl could be.” “An’ thot’s because she’s yours,” said the man, indulgently. **Now,’”” I'm think- in’ if put thim together mine'd be pretty near yours, le alone bein’ a little abead.’”’ He had forgotten that he had not wanted to see his baby, that he had refused to look at her. The doctor remembered, and he said, soberly, “Weshall see. When your girl isa little older you must bring her to see us, and then we will compare the two sun- flowers.” stAn? it’s Clytie yours is named 2 Well, now mine’ll be Nora. It was me woman's name, and it’s what I called her.” He looked at the doctor for approval. “Yes,” the doctor assented. ‘It means for you what Clytie means for me.” “‘An’ would you see thot dimple ?’’ said the man as the baby stirred. ‘‘I’m think- in’ your little gurrl’s aint much more that thot.” “You shall see for yourself,’ said the doctor, with a smile. ‘‘I must gonow and finish my calls, or I won’t get home before my sunflower is in bed,” he added, seeing that the other father no longer needed him. The man laid the baby among the pil- lows, and he went with the doctor to the door and down the first flight of narrow stairs. “Good day to you,” hesaid. ‘Sure, an’ you was kind to come—an’ you knowin’ how tis.” I came because I do know,’’ the young doctor said. ‘Good afternoon, and a good night to your sunflower.” He shook the man’s hand, and ran down the remaining flights of stairs. The other man went back to the sleeping baby. He stood gazing at its tiny form. He touched its cheek, and the baby smiled and moved one hand from beneath the flannel coverings. The man touched the little hand, and it softly closed around his finger. “‘Well, now, if yon’d see thot!’ he said. ** Ah, the docthur was right;she is me wom- an’s own gurrl, au’ a foine wan, too, wid one dimple! Sure and sunflower is a good name for her. Faith, but the docthur was consated over his gurrl ! An’ it’s me own as is as foine—like enough foiner! It was truth he said, knowin’ how ’tis; but faith, he was that consated over his own gurrl ! An’ me own like enough a foiner, bein’ me own Nora's—an’ her only wan !”— From the Youth's Companion. Child Dies a Prisoner in Mine Hole. Fell into it and After Four Days is Discovered Frozen Just Beyond Reach. Torn and Bloody Fingers Bear Testimony to the Pluchy Little Fellow’s Efforts to Release Himsel}. Body Found by His Father. The discovery, in a mine breach near Hastings, Saturday, of the body of Charles Fetsco, the seven-year-old son of John Fetsco, a miner, disclosed a fate more hor- rible thau any imposed by Spanish in- quisitors. The boy hal been missing from home for four days, and the discovery of his almost nude corpse in the big hole showed that he starved and froze to death after making a most desperate attempt to escape. His feet and fingers were worn through in an effort to pull himself out of his awful prison. He had taken off all his clothes but his undershirt and piled them up in an effort to raise himself high enough to catoh the edge. FOUND BY AGONIZED FATHER. As though to make the case yet more pathetic it was the lad’s father who found his stiffened body, having tracked the dlit- tle fellow in the suow to the edge of , the hole, which was almost obliterated by a snow drift, through which the boy might have been struggling when he plunged in- to the hole. The hoie, which is about seven feet deep, with smooth, precipitous sides, was caused by the caving in of an old mine. Fetsco, by leaning over the edge, could see the body of his son, half-lying; hall-sitting, on the bottom of the pit, his face up-turned toward the opening of the pit and his eyes wide open. Fetsco called frantically, but the boy neither moved nor ‘answered, and the father feared the worst. He leaped into the hole, aud, clasping the body of his child in his arms, he crawled to the sur- face again and carried the corpse home. PLUCKY EFFORTS TO ESCAPE, Frozen drops of blood on the torn fingers and feet showed most painfully how the child had struggled to get out. A subse- quent, examination of the pit. showed marks on the frozen sides where the little fellow bad scratched and scratched, in the hope of getting hold sufficient to pull him- self ous. Patrick Kelly, who passed in the vicinity of the pit two days before, remem- bered having heard a child’s cries. He had stopped and listened, but the sounds were so indistinct and ‘broken that he con- cluded they were made by some children coasting on a hill not faraway. That it was the desperate and dying cries of the imprisoned lad Kelly is now certain. DIED KNEELING IN PRAYER. An examination of the pile of clothing and the shoes which Charles had made showed with’ what calculation the poor lit- sle fellow had set about to liberate himself. The shoes and clothing made a pile about 10 inches high. This he had placed in a small niche in the side of the pit, and standing (on ‘these he bad attempted to reach the edge. 'But.even with this addi- tional height his childish form was yet sev- eral feet below the edge, The end of the boy, judging from the face, must have been oie of acute mental and physical ‘agony. Death was due to starvation and cold. ‘The little fellow, at the last moment of consciousness, must have knelt in prayer. for his body was in a kneeling posture and the face turned ‘sky ward to the escape that was so temptingly near, and yet go terribly far, had upon it an expression of indescrib- able anguish. —————————— No Trouble to Show Something Else. An attempt was made on last Saturday to rob the diamond store of W. F. Kirk- patrick in St. Joseph, Mo., of a pair of valuable gems. A richly dressed young man asked the proprietor to show him some of the best stones in the store, and in a very familiar way expressed his opinion of the different gems displayed before him. He appeared to be a good judge of dia- monds, and as the proprietor turned his head for an instant two valuable loose stones disappeared from a paper. The dis- covery was instantly made by the proprie- tor. Very quietly he folded up the papers, leaving the one from which the stones had been stolen until last. Then saying care- lessly that he had something else to show him the proprietor turned to a drawer in his desk, and producing a revolver said : “This is the gem I want you to see. Please returns those diamonds.”’ The thief protested that he bad been in- sulted. bus simultaneously dropped the stones into the paper and was permitted to depart. Washington’s fliness and Death. The following circumstantial account of the last illness and death of Gen. Washing- ton was noted by Tobias Lear, his private secretary, on the Sunday following his death, which happened on Saturday even- ing, Deo. 14th, 1799, between the hours of 10 and 11, and is a very rare and valuable record. “On Thursday, Dec. 12th, the general rode out to his farms abort 10 o'clock and did not return home till past 3 o’clock. Soon after he went out the weather became very bad, rain, hail and snow falling alter- nately, with a cold wind. When he came in I carried some letters to him to frank, intending to send them to the post office in the evening. He franked the letters, but said the weather was too bad tosend a servant up to the office that evening. I observed to him that I was afraid he had gotten wet, the snow was hanging on his hair. He came to dinner without chang- ing his dress. “About 2 or 3 o’clock on Saturday morn- ing he awoke Mrs. Washington and told her he was very unwell and had an ague. She observed that he could scarcely speak and breathed with difficulty, and would have gotten up to call a servant, but he would not permit her lest she should take cold. As soon as the day appeared the woman Caroline went into the room to make a fire and he desired that Mr. Raw- lins, one of the overseers who was ured to bleeding the people, might be sent for to bleed him before the doctor could arrive. The woman Caroline came to my room re- questing I might go to the general, who was very ill. I got up, put on my clothes as quickly as possible and went to his chamber. Mrs. Washington was then up and related to me his being taken ill about 2 or 3 o'clock, as before stated. I found bim breathing with difficulty and hardly able to utter a word intelligibly. I went out instantly and wrote a line to Dr. Craik, which I sent off by my servant, ordering him to go with all the swiftness his horse could carry him, and immediately return- ed to the general’s chamber, where I found him in the same situation I had left him. “A mixture of molasses, vinegar and butter was prepared to try its effect in the throat, but he could not swallow a drop. Whenever he attempted it he appeared to be distressed, convulsed and almost suffo- cated. Mr. Rawlins came in soon after sunrise and prepared to bleed him. When the arm was ready the general, observing that Rawlins appeared to be agitated, said, as well as he could speak ‘Don’t be afraid,’ and after the incision was made he observ- ed : ‘The orifice is not large enough.’ However, the blood ran pretty freely. Mrs. Washington, not knowing whether bleed- ing was proper or not in the general's situation, begged that much might not be taken from him lest it should be injurious and desired me to stop it, but when I was about to untie the string the general put up his hand to prevent it, and as soon as he could speak he said : ‘More.’ Mrs. Washington, being still uneasy lest too much blood should be taken, it was stop- ped after about half a pint was taken from him. “Finding that no relief was obtained from bleeding, and that nothing would go down the throat, I proposed bathing the throat externally with Salvalattita, which was done, and in the operation, which was with the hand and in the gentlest manner, he observed : ‘Tis very sore.’ A piece of flannel was then put round his neck. His feet were also soaked in warm water. This, however, gave no relief. In the meantime, before Dr. Craik ar- rived, Mrs. Washington requested me to send for Dr. Brown, of Port Tobacco, whom Dr. Craik had recommended to be called if any case should ever occur that was seri- ously alarming. I dispatched a messenger, Cyrus, to Dr. Brown immediately (about 9 o'clock). Dr. Craik came in soon after, and upon examining the general he put a blister of cantharides on the throat and took some more blood from him and had some vinegar and hot water put into a tea- pot for the general to draw in the steam from the nozzle, which he did as well as he was able. He also ordered sage tea and vinegar to be mixed for a gargle. ‘This the general used as often as desired, but when he held back his head to let it run down it put him into great distress and almost produced suffocation. When the mixture came out of his mouth some phlegm followed it and he would attempt to cough, which the doctor encouraged him to do as much as he could, but without ef- fect—he could only make the attempt. About 11 o'clock Dr. Dick was sent for. Dr. Craik bled the general again about this time. No effect, however, was produced by it and he continued in the same state, unable to swallow anything. Dr. Dick came in about 3 o'clock and Dr. Brown ar- rived soon after. . Upon Dr. Dick’s seeing the general and consulting a few minutes with Dr. Craik he was bled again. blood ran slowly and appeared very thick, but did not produce any symptoms of faint- ing. Dr. Brown came into the chamber room soon after, and upon feeling the gen- eral’s pulse the physicians went out t7- gether. Dr. Craik soon after returned. “The General could now swallow a lit- tle (about 4 o’cleck). Calomel and tartar emetics were administered, but without any effect. About half past 4 o'clock he desired me to ask Mrs. Washington to come to his bedside, when he’ requested her to go down into his room and take from his desk two wills which she would find there and bring them to him, which she did. Upon looking at them he gave her one, whieh, he observed, was useless, as it was superseded ‘by the other, and desired her to.burn it, which: she did, and then took the other and put it away. After this was done I returned again to his bed- side’abd took his'hand. He said to me: ‘I ind I am going. My breath canuot con- tinue long. I believed from the fist at- tack it would be fatal. Do you arrange and record all my late military letters and papers, arrange my accounts and settle my books, as you know more ahout my ac- counts than anyone else, aud let Mr. Raw- lins finish recording my other letters, which he has began.’ He asked when Mr. Lewis T. Washington would return. I told him I believed about the 20th of the month. He made no reply to it. “The physicians again came in between 5 and 6 o'clock, and when they came to his bedside Dr. Craik asked him if he conld sit npin bed. He held out his hand to me and was raised up, when he said to the physicians : ‘I feel myself going. You bad better not take any more trouble about me, but let me go off quietly. I cannot last long.’ They found what had been done was without effect. He laid down again and they retired, excepting Dr. Craik. He then said to him : ‘Doctor, I die hard, but Y am not afraid to go. I believed from the first attack that I would not survive it. My breath cannot last long.’ The doctor pressed his hand, but could not utter a word. He retired from the bedside and sat by the fire absorbed in grief. | *‘About 8 o’clock the physicians again came into the room and applied blisters to, his legs, but without a ray of hope. From The this time he appeared to breathe with less difficulty than he had done, but was very restless, constantly changing his position to endeavor to get ease. Iaided him all in my power, and was gratified in believ- ing he felt it, for he would look upon me with gratitude, but unable to utter a word | without great distress. About 10 o’clock he made several attempts to speak to me before he could effect it. At length he said : ‘I am just going. Have me decent- ly buried and do net let my body be put into the vault in less than two days after I am dead.” I bowed assent. He looked at me again and said : ‘Do you understand me?’ I replied, ‘Yes, sir.” ‘’Tis well,’ said he. About ten minutes before he expired his breathing became much easier and he lay quietly. He withdrew his hand from mine and felt his own pulse, I spoke to Dr. Craik, who sat by the fire. He came to the bedside. The General’s band fell from his wrist. I took it in mine and he ex- pired without a struggle or a sigh. While we were fixed in silent grief Mrs, Wash- ington asked with a firm and collected voice : ‘Is he gone?’ I could not speak, bnt held up my hand as a signal that he was. ¢ "Tis well,’ said she in a plain voice, ‘all is now over. I have no more trials to pass through. I shall soon follow him.” In a succeeding manuscript Col. Lear notes the following additional details : ‘The General’s servant Christopher, at- tended his bedside and was in the room when he was sitting up through bis whole illness. About 8 o’clock in the morning the General expressed a wish to get up. His clothes were put on and he was led to a chair by the fire. He lay down again about two hours afterwards. A blister was administered to him by Dr. Craik’s directions about 1 o'clock, but produced no effect. He was helped up again about 5 o'clock, and after sitting about one hour he desired to be undressed and put in bed, which was done. Between the hours of 6 and 9 o'clock he several times asked what hour it was. During his whole illness he spoke but seldom and with great difficulty and distress, and in so low and broken a voice as at times hardly to be understood. His patience, fortitude, resignation never forsook him for a moment. In all his dis- tress he uttered not a sigh nor a complaint, always endeavoring to take what was of- fered him or to do what was desired. AS the time of his decease Dr. Craik and I myself were in the situation before men- tioned. Christopher was standing by the bedside. Mrs. Washington was sitting near the foot of the bed. Caroline,Charlotte and some of the other servants were stand- ing in the room near the door, Mrs. Forbes, the housekeeper, was frequently in the room in the day and evening. As soon as Dr. Craik could speak, after the distressful scene was closed, he desired one of the servants to ask the gentlemen below to come npstairs. When they came around the bed I kissed the cold hand, which I bad till then held, laid it down, went to the fire and was for some time lost in profound grief, until aroused by Chris- topher, desiring me to take care of the General's keys and things which he had taken out of his pockets, and which Mrs. Washington directed him to give to me. I wrapped them up in the General’s hand- kerchief and took them with me down stairs. About 12 o'clock the corpse was brought down and laid out in the large room. Sunday, Dec. 15th, Mrs. Washing- ton sent for me in the morning and desired I would send up to Alexandria and have a coffin made, which I did. Dr. Dick meas- ured the body, which was as follows: In length, 6 feet 63 inches exact; across the shoulders, 1 foot 9 inches; across the elbows, 9 feet 1 inch. After breakfast I gave Dr. Dick and Dr. Brown $40 each, which sum Dr. Craik advised me as very proper, and they left us, In the diary of his faithful secretary, Col. Lear, was also found what is conceded by authorities to be the best description of Washington’s funeral. The original is now in the possession of his grand-daugh- ter, Mrs, Wilson Eyrie, of New York, and the following is the complete entry for the day of the funeral : Wednesday, December 18th, 1799. Ahout 11 o'clock numbers of people be- an to assemble to attend the funeral, which was intended to have been at 12, but as a great part of the troops expected could: nos get down in time, it did not take place until 3. "Eleven pieces of artillery were brought from Alexandria and a schooner belonging to Mr. Hamilton came down and lay oft Mount Vernon to fire minute guns, About 3 o'clock the procession began to move. The arrangements of the procession were niade by ‘Colonels Little, Sims, Deneale and Dr. Dick. The pall-bearers were Col- onels Simms, Payng, Gilpin, Ramsay and Manteler. Colonel Blackburn preceded the corpse. of thie gate at the left wing of the house and proceeded in front of the lawn down to the vault on the right wing of the house. The procession was as follows : : The troops, horse and foot. Music playing a solemn dirge. : The clergy. +3 The General's horse, with his saddle, hoisters, pistols, etc., led by his two grooms, Cyrus and Wilson, in black. The body, borne by the Free Masons and of- ficers. Principal moRIgsS, viz., Mrs. Stuart and Mrs. Lear, Misses Nanoy and Sallie Stuart, Miss Fairfax and Miss Den- ison, Mr. Law and Mr. Peter, Mr. Lear and Dr. Craik, Lord Fairfax and Ferdo Fairfax, Lodge No. 23, Corporation of Alexandria; all other persons preceded by Mr. Anderson and overseers. : When the hody arrived at the vault, the Rev. Mr. Davis read the service and. pro- nounced a short extempore speech. The Masons performed their “ceremonies and the body was deposited in the vault. ‘When the procession had arrived at ‘the: bottom of the elevated lawn, on the banks of the Potomac, where the family vault is placed, the cavalry halted, the infantry marched towards the Mount and ‘formed their lines—the clergy-—the Masonic broth-: ers and the citizens descended to the vault and the funeral service of the church was performed. The firing was repeated from the vessels in the river, and the sounds echoed from the woods and hills around. Three general discharges by the infantry— the cavalry and eleven pieces of artillery, which lined the banks of the Potomac, back of the vault, paid the last tribute to the entombed Commander-in-Cbief of the armies of the United States and the vener- able departed hero. Washington Conundrums. “Where did Washington take his first ride 2”? “When he took a hack at the tree.” ‘‘How do we know he slept in an upright position?’ “Because he could not lie.” “When was he’ apprenticed to a blacksmith 2”? ‘When he spent a winter at Valley Forge.” ‘‘Where would be al- ways meet defeat ?”’ ‘''‘On a postage stamp —anyone could lick him.” “Why was be, like a piano?’ ‘Because he was grand, upright and square.” : . Colonel Deneale marched with the military. The procession moved out We usually think of George Washington as a general, or a President; but he was once a boy like other boys, and whether the story about the hatchet be true or not, it is certain he was once a boy, and was not born a full-grown man, nor without the traits and tendencies peculiar to boy- hood. From authentic sketches of his boy- hood we may have many interesting facts. His father died when he was eleven years old. George was horn down near the southern banks of the Potomac river, ina parish which had been named Washington in honor of George's great-grandfather, John Washington. Nothing remains now of the boy's birthplace: but a stone slab marks the spot, on which is inscribed : Here The 11th Day of February, 1732, George Washington Was Born. This slab lies on a bed of bricks, the re- mains of the old chimney of the house. The ‘old style’’ of reckoning dates was still in voge to some extent, but the new calendar of Pope Gregory had already been adopted by the English, and according to this, the date was eleven days later, or the 22nd of February. Not long after his birth the house was burned, and the family moved to the banks of the Rappahannock river opposite Fred- ericksburg. This house had great outside chimneys at each end, and four rooms on a floor. This was George’s childhood home. Here he attended a private school and learned to read, write and ‘‘cipher.”’ We know of only a few stories about his boyhood. According to Scudder, the fol- lowing is one of them. ‘‘His father bad taken a great deal of pride in his blooded horses, and his mother afterwards took great pains to keep the stock pure. She bad several young horses that had not yet been broken, and one of them in particu- lar, a sorrel, was extremely spirited. No one had been able to do anything with is, and it was pronounced thoroughly vicious, as people are apt to pronounce horses which they have not learned to master. George was determined to ride this colt, and told his companions that if they wouid help him catch it he would ride and tame it. “Early in the morning they set out for the pasture, where the boys managed to surround the sorrel, and then to put a bit into his mouth. Washington gprang upon its back, the boys dropped the bridle, and away flew the angry animal. Its rider at once hegan to command; the horse resisted, backing about the field, rearing and plung- ing. The boys became thoroughly alarm- ed, but Washington kept his seat, never once losing his self-control or his mastery of the colt. The struggle was a sharp one; when suddenly, as if determined to rid it- self of its rider, the creature leaped into the air with a tremendous bound. It was its last; the violence burst a blood vessel and the noble horse fell dead. “Before the boys could sufficiently re- cover to consider how they could extricate themselves from the scrape, they were call- ed to breakfast; and the mistress of the house, knowing that they had been in the fields, began to ask after her stock. ‘Pray, young gentlemen,’ said she, ‘have you seen my blooded colts in your rambles? I 'hope they are well taken care of. My favorite, I am told, is as large as his sire.’ “The boys looked at one another, and no one liked to speak. Of course the moth- er repeated ‘her question. ¢ ‘The sorrel is dead, madam,’ said her son; ‘I killed him.’ “And then he told the whole story. They say that his mother flushed with anger, as her son used to. and then, like him, controlled herself, and presently said, quietly : 4 ¢[t is well; but while I regret the loss of my favorite, I rejoice in my son who al- ways speaks the truth.’ Washington was, as may be seen from this incident, a strong and daring youth, and was generally a leader among the boys in their athletic sports. Woman Almost Killed Saloon Keeper: The ladies of Jacksouville, Ind., recently organized a Carrie Nation club. Monday night the members decided to clean out. the three saloons in the place and every hatchet, axe. ‘club and brick in the neigh- boring was speedily collected. With Mrs. James Snyder in she lead this army advanced to the saloon of Aaron Grimes, who had just opened a new place with all modern improvements. The glaes- front was mashed with bricks and the wom- en rushed into the place. They demolish- ed the mirror and emptied all the bottles upon the floor. Faucets in whiskey bar- rels were turned open and the liguor and wines were soon ankle deep. ‘Grimes choked Mrs. Snyder almost into insebsibility and dragged her from the place, Her army went quickly to the res- cue, however, and with clubs and bricks beat him almost to death. A large crowd soon gathered upon the scene and a free- for-all: fight ensued. A man named Ryan, one of the saloon adherents, was knocked down and kicked insensible by the hus- band of Mrs. Snyder. : : Mis. Stephen Garrett was struck in the face by a thrown beer bottle and her head badly mashed. In ‘the meantime ‘ the women took to their heels and’ left the fight between the . enranged combatants. Ryan may not recover from his injuries. Mrs. Snyder is also in a critical condi- tion. ‘The saloons have’ closed and the: citizens say il they attempt to re-open they will be dynamited. Servant Girl Whips a Doctor. Mary Murphg Publicly. Cowhides a Man Standing Six Feet Four For Alleged Flirting. : Dr. Warwick Cawgill, an oculist, of Paducah, Ky., washorsewhipped Saturday by Mary Murphy, a servant girl. The in- cident. occurred in, front of Dr. Cawgill’s office and drew hundreds of people, who afterward followed to city court, where both the young woman and doctor were taken for trial, ‘each having sworn out a warrant for the other. ; Miss Murphy is a frail little woman of 19, while Dr. Cawgill is an athlete weigh-- ing 215 pounds and standing 6 feet 4 inches. The girl drew from under her wrap a long riding whip and begau applying it. He: was cut on the face and the left hand, but he seized and disarmed the girl, When seen by a reporter Miss Murphy said :— “I was passing Dr. Cawgill’s office this morning and he made eyes at me. He had: tried to flirt with me several times and I knew it would do no good to complain to: the police, so. I resolved to fight my own battles. I went to his office one day last week to have a cinder removed from my eye. He tried to flirt with me then and every time I have passed him since he has been winking at me.’” i Dr. Cawgill would say nothing of the: affair save that he was not flirting with the: gir). ‘He denied also ‘‘making eyes.”’ ——Suboribe for the WATCHMAN.
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