The Boyhood of Washington.
Bellefonte, Pa., Feb. 22, 1901.
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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.
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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.