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arms throw a darkening shade over distant acres, oi whose single trunk lays the keel of a man of war, cannot bear to hear of the time when this mighty plant was but an acorn, which a pig could have demolished. But others, who know their value, like to learn the soil and situation which best produces such noble trees. Thus, parents that are wise, will listen, well pleased, while I relate how moved the steps of the youthful Washington, whose single worth far outweighs all the oaks of Bashan and the red spicy cedars of Lebanon. Yes, they will listen delighted while I tell of their Washington in the days of his youth, when his little feet were swift towards the nests of birds; or when, wearied in the chase of the butterfly, he laid him down on his grassy couch and slept, while ministering spirits, with their roseate wings, fanned his glowing cheeks, and kissed his lips of innocence with that fervent love which makes the Heaven !
Never did the wise Ulysses take more pains with his beloved Telemachus, than did Mr. Washington with George, to inspire him with an early love of truth. “Truth, George,” said he, “is the loveliest quality of youth. I would ride fifty miles, my son, to see the little boy whose heart is so honest, and his lips so pure, that we may depend on every word he says. O how lovely does such a child appear in the eyes of every body! his parents doat on him. His relations glory in him. They are constantly praising him to their children, whom they beg to imitate him. They are often sending for him to visit them; and receive him, when he comes, with as much joy as if he were a little angel, come to set pretty examples to their children.
“But, Oh ! how different, George, is the case with the boy who is so given to lying, that nobody can believe a word he says! He is looked at with aversion wherever he goes, and parents dread to see him come among their children. Oh, George ! my son! rather
than see you come to this pass, dear as you are to my heart, gladly would I assist to nail you up in your little coffin, and follow you to your grave. Hard, indeed, would it be to me to give up my son, whose little feet are always so ready to run about with me, and whose fondly looking eyes, and sweet prattle make so large a part of my happiness. But still i would give him up, rather than see him a common liar."
“Pa," said George very seriously,“ do I ever tell Jies?”
“No, George, I thank God you do not, my son; and I rejoice in the hope you never will. At least, you shall never, from me, have cause to be guilty of so shameful a thing. Many parents, indeed, even compel their children to this vile practice, by barba rously beating them for every little fault : hence, on the next offence, the little terrified creature slips out a lie! just to escape the rod. But as to yourself George, you know I have always told you, and now tell you again, that, whenever by accident, you do any thing wrong, which must often be the case, as you are but a poor little boy yet, without experience or knowledge, you must never tell a falsehood to conceal it; but come bravely up, my son, like a little man, and tell me of it: and, instead of beating you, George, I will but the more honour and love you for it, my dear."
This, you'll say, was sowing good seed !-Yes, it was: and the crop, thank God, was, as I believe it ever will be, where a man acts the true parent, that is, the Guardian Angel, by his child.
The following anecdote is a case in point. It is too valuable to be lost, and too true to be doubted; for it was communicated to me by the same excellent lady to whom I am indebted for the last.
66 When George,” said she, “ was about six years old, he was made the wealthy master of a hatchet ! of which, like most little boys, he was immoderately fond, and was constantly going about chopping every thing that came in his way. One day, in the garden, where he often amused himself hacking his mother's pea-sticks, he unluckily tried the edge of his hatchet on the body of a beautiful young English cherry-tree, which he barked so terribly, that I don't believe the tree ever got the better of it. The next morning the old gentleman, finding out what had befallen his tree, which, by the by, was a great favourite, came into the house; and with much warmth asked for the mischievous author, declaring at the same time, that he would not have taken five guineas for his tree. Nobody could tell him any thing about it. Presently George and his hatchet made their appearance. “George,” said his father, “ do you know who killed that beautiful little cherry tree yonder in the garden ?” This was a tough question; and George staggered under it for a moment; but quickly recovered himself: and looking at his father, with the sweet face of youth brightened with the inexpressible charm of allconquering truth, he bravely cried out, “I can't tell a lie, Pa; you know I can't tell a lie. I did cut it with
my hatchet.”Run to my arms, you dearest boy, cried his father in transports, run to my arms; glad am I, George, that you killed my tree; for you have paid me for it a thousand fold. Such an act of heroism in my son is more worth than a thousand trees, though blossomed with silver, and their fruits of purest gold.”
It was in this way by interesting at once both his heart and head, that Mr. Washington conducted George with great ease and pleasure along the happy paths of virtue. But well knowing that his beloved charge, soon to be a man, would be left exposed to numberless temptations, both from himself and from others, his heart throbbed with the tenderest anxiety to make him acquainted with that great being, whom to know and love, is to possess the surest defence against vice, and the best of all motives to virtue and
happiness. To startle George into a lively sense of his Maker, he fell upon the following very curious, but impressive expedient:
One day he went into the garden, and prepared a little bed of finely pulverized earth, on which he wrote George's name at full, in large letters
then strewing in plenty of cabbage seed, he covered them up, and smoothed all over nicely with the roller. This bed he purposely prepared close along side of a gooseberry walk, which happening at this time to be well hung with ripe fruit, he knew would be honoured with George's visits pretty regularly every day. Not many mornings had passed away before in came George, with eyes wild rolling, and his little cheeks ready to burst with great news.
“O Pa! come here ! come here !" “ What's the matter, my son? what's the matter ?"
“O come here, I tell you, Pa: come here ! and I'll shew you such a sight as you never saw in all your life time.”
The old gentleman suspecting what George would be at, gave him his hand, which he seized with great eagerness, and tugging him along through the garden, led him point blank to the bed whereon was inscriba ed, in large letters, and in all the freshness of newly sprung plants, the full name of
GEORGE WASHINGTON. « There Pa?" said George, quite in an ecstacy of astonishment, “ did you ever see such a sight in all your life time ?"
“ Why it seems like a curious affair, sure enough, George!"
“But, Pa, who did make it there? who did make it there?"
“ It grew there by chance, I suppose, my son.”
6 By chance, Pa! O no! 10! it never did grow there by chance, Pa. Indeed that it never did ?" - High ! why not, my son?”
“Why, Pa, did you ever see any body's name in a plant bed before ?
“Well, but George, such a thing might happen, though you never saw it before.
« Yes, Pa; but I did never see the little plants grow up so as to make one single letter of my name before. Now, how could they grow up so as to make all the letters of my name ! and then standing one after another, to spell my name so exactly and all so neat and even too, at top and bottom ! ! 0 Pa, you must not say chance did all this. Indeed somebody did it; and I dare say now, Pa, you did it just to scare me, because I am your little boy."
His father smiled; and said, “Well George, you have guessed right. I indeed did it; but not to scare you, my son; but to learn you a great thing which I wish you to understand. I want, my son, to introduce
you to your true Father.” “ High, Pa, an't you my true father, that has loved me, and been so good to me always ?”
“ Yes George, I am your father, as the world calls it: and I love you very dearly too. But yet with all my love for you, George, I am but a poor goodfor-nothing sort of a father in comparison of one you
“Aye! I know, well enough whom you mean, Pa. You mean God Almighty ; don't you ?”
“ Yes, my son, I mean him indeed. He is your true Father, George.”
“ But, Pa, where is God Almighty! I did never see him yet.”
« True my son; but though you never saw him, yet he is always with you. You did not see me when ten days ago I made this little plant bed, where you see your name in such beautiful green letters : but though you did not see me here, yet you know I was here!!”
“Yes, Pa, that I do. I know you was here." “Well then, and as my son could not believe that