Puslapio vaizdai

I tell you that that yonng man is my own son, you will see that I may well say, God bless the Sailors' Friend!"


GEORGE Washington, the celebrated commander of the American army, was born in 1732, in Virginia. Died, Dec. 14, 1799, in his 68th year.


Con'gress, n..............grădi.
Pres'i-dent, n............sedĕre.

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Mor'ti fy, n...............mors, facère.
Vol-un-teered', v.........velle.

WHEN General Washington assigned to meet Congress at noon, he never failed to be passing the door of the hall while the clock was striking twelve.-Whither his guests were present or not, he always dined at four. Not unfrequently new members of Congress, who were invited to dine with him, delayed until dinner was half over, and he would then remark, “Gentlemen, we are punctual here.' When he visited Boston in 1788, he appointed eight A.M. as the hour when he should set out for Salem, and while the Old South church clock was striking eight, he was mounting his horse. The company of cavalry, which volunteered to escort him, were parading in Tremont-Street, after his departure, and it was not until the President reached Charles River Bridge, that they overtook him. On the arrival of the corps, the President, with perfect good nature, said, "Major, I thought you had been too long in my family, not to know when it was eight o'clock." Captain Pease, the father of the stage establishment in the United States, had a beautiful pair of horses which he wished to dispose of to the President, whom he knew to be an excellent judge of horses. The President appointed five o'clock in the morning to examine them. But the captain did not arrive with the horses until a quarter after five, when he was told by the groom that the President was there at five, and was then fulfilling other engagements. Pease, much mortified, was obliged to wait a week for another opportunity, merely for delaying the first quarter of an hour.

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THE Hall was thrown into some little agitation, a few days since by the arrival of General Harbottle. He had been expected for several days, and looked for, rather impatiently, by several of the family. Master Simon assured me that I would like the general hugely, for he was a blade of the old school, and an excellent table companion. Lady Lillycraft, also appeared to be somewhat fluttered, on the morning of the general's arrival, for he had been one of her early admirers; and she recollected him only as a dashing young ensign, just come upon the town. She actually spent an hour longer at her toilette, and made her appearance with her hair uncommonly frizzed and powdered, and an additional quantity of rouge. She was evidently a little surprised and shocked, therefore, at finding the lithe dashing ensign transformed into a corpulent old general, with a double chin; though it was a perfect picture to witness their salutations; the graciousness of her profound courtesy, and the air of the old school with which the general took off his hat, swayed it gently in his hand, and bowed his powdered head.

All this bustle and anticipation has caused me to study the general with a little more attention than, perhaps, I should otherwise have done; and the few days that he has already passed at the Hall have enabled me, I think, to furnish a tolerable likeness of him to the reader.

He is, as Master Simon observed, a soldier of the old school, with powdered head, side locks, and pigtail. His face is shaped like the stern of a Dutch man-of-war, narrow at top, and wide at bottom, with full rosy cheeks and a double chin; so that to use the cant of the day, his organs of eating may be said to be powerfully developed.

The general, though a veteran, has seen very little active service, except the taking of Seringapatam, which forms an era in his history. He wears a large emerald in his bosom, and a diamond on his finger, which he got on that occasion, and whoever is unlucky enough to notice either, is sure to involve himself in the whole history of the siege. To judge from the general's conversation, the taking of Seringapatam is the most important affair that has occured for the last century. On the approach of warlike times on the continent, he was rapidly promoted to get him out of the way of younger officers of merit; until, having been hoisted to the rank of general, he was quietly laid on the shelf. Since that time


his campaigns have been principally confined to wateringplaces; where he drinks the waters for a slight touch of the liver which he got in India; and plays whist with old dowagers, with whom he has flirted in his younger days. Indeed he talks of all the fine women of the last half-century, and according to hints which he now and then drops, has enjoyed the particular smiles of many of them.

He has seen considerable garrison duty, and can speak of almost every place famous for good quarters, and where the inhabitants give good dinners. He is a diner-out of firstrate currency, when in town; being invited to one place, because he had been seen at another. In the same way he is invited about the country-seats, and can describe half the seats in the kingdom, from actual observation; nor is any one better versed in court gossip,, and the pedigrees and intermarriages of the nobility.

As the general is an old bachelor, and an old beau, and there are several ladies at the Hall, especially his quondam flame Lady Lillycraft, he is put rather upon his gallantry. He commonly passes some time, therefore, at his toilette, and takes the field at a late hour every morning, with his hair dressed out and powdered, and a rose in his button-hole. After he has breakfasted, he walks up and down the terrace in the sunshine, humming an air, and hemming between every stave, carrying one hand behind his back, and with the other touching his cane to the ground, and then raising it up to his shoulder. Should he, in these morning promenades, meet any of the elder ladies of the family, as he frequently does Lady Lillycraft, his hat is immediately in his hand, and it is enough to remind one of those courtly groups of ladies and gentlemen, in old prints of Windsor-terrace, or Kensingtongarden.

He talks frequently about "the service," and is fond of humming the old song,

Why, soldiers, why,

Should we be melancholy boys!
Why, soldiers, why,

Whose business 'tis to die.

I cannot discover, however, that the general has ever ran any great risk of dying, except from an apoplexy, or an indigestion. He criticises all the battles on the continent, and discusses the merits of the commanders, but never fails to

bring the conversation, ultimately, to Tippoo Saib and Seringapatam. I am told that the general was a perfect champion at drawing-rooms, parades, and watering-places, during the late war, and was looked to with hope and confidence by many an old lady, when labouring under the terror of Bonaparte's invasion.

He is thoroughly loyal, and attends punctually on levees when in town. He has treasured up many remarkable sayings of the late king, particularly one which the king made to him on a field-day, complimenting him on the excellence of his horse. He extols the whole royal family, but especially the present king, whom he pronounces the most perfect gentleman and best whist-player in Europe.


At table his royalty waxes very fervent with his second bottle, and the song of " God save the King" puts him into a perfect ecstasy. He is amazingly well contented with the present state of things, and apt to get a little impatient at any talk about national ruin and agricultural distress. says he has travelled about the country as much as any man, and has met with nothing but prosperity; and to confess the truth, a great part of his time is spent in visiting from one country-seat to another, and riding about the parks of his friends. "They talk of public distress," said the general this day to me at dinner, as he smacked a glass of rich burgundy, and cast his eyes about the ample board; "they talk of public distress, but where do we find it, sir? I see none. I see no reason any one has to complain. Take my word for it, sir, this talk about public distress is all humbug!"

Washington Irving.



Pre'cept, n................capĕre.
Re-sent'ment, n.........sentire.

Prima-ry, adj............primus.

I ONCE lived in Boston, says Mr. Wright, and was one of the city School Committee.

One day I visited one of the primary schools. There were about fifty children in it, between four and eight years old. "Children," said I, "have any of you a question to ask today?"


Please tell us," said a little boy, "what is meant by overcoming evil with good?'

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"I am glad,” said I, "you have asked that question; for I love to talk to you about peace, and show you how to settle all difficulties without fighting."

I went on, and tried to show them what the precept meant, and how to apply it, and carry it out. I was trying to think of something to make it plain to the children, when the following incident occured.

near me.

A boy about seven, and his sister about five years old, sat As I was talking, George doubled up his fist, and struck his sister on her head, as unkind and cruel brothers often do. She was angry in a moment, and raised her hand to strike him back. The teacher saw her, and said, “Mary, you had better kiss your brother." Mary dropped her hand, and looked up at the teacher as if she did not fully understand her. She had never been taught to return good for evil. She thought if her brother struck her, she of course, must strike him back. She had always been taught to act on this savage maxim, as most children are. Her teacher


looked very kindly at her, and at George, and said again, My dear Mary, you had better kiss your brother. See how angry and unhappy he looks!" Mary looked at her brother. He looked very sullen and wretched. Soon her resentment was gone, and love for her brother returned to her heart. She threw both her arms about his neck, and kissed him! The poor boy was wholly unprepared for such a kind return for his blow. He could not endure the generous affection of his sister. It broke his heart, and he burst out crying. The gentle sister took the corner of her apron and wiped away his tears, and sought to comfort him, by saying, with most endearing sweetness and generous affection, "Don't cry, George; you did not hurt me much." But he only cried the harder. No wonder. It was enough to make any body cry.


MUNGO Park, the African traveller, was born near Selkirk, Scotland, September 10 1771. In 1790 he repaired to London, and was introduced to Sir Joseph Banks, who recommended him to the members of the Atrican Association, as a fit person to undertake a journey to the interior of Africa. He undertook his first voyage in 1795. After innumerable hardships and privations, and an absence of more than two years and a half, he arrived in England in December, 1797. In January, 1806, he undertook a second expedition marked with as many painful and disastrous circumstances as the former, and which terminated his life. By the following November, he had reached the banks of the Niger. His last letter was dated the 19th of that month, when he was committed, in a nearly defenceless state, to the river, to the Moors, and to the immensity and perils of an unknown region, where he perished at the end of the same year.

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