We were strolling in his garden, where he had
invited me to look at some melons he was attempting to grow under
glass. He stopped, and turning round, looked me full in the face, and
asked me if I had not read the "Life of Washington."
"Not the private life," was the reply.
"Ah! a very laudable curiosity in one so young. I knew him well, and
can only say his private was very much like his public life. I do not
suppose there ever lived a man more natural in his deportment than
Washington. He did nothing for effect. He was more nearly the same man
on the street that he was in his night-gown and slippers, than any man
I ever knew; I can't say I was intimate with Washington; no man can or
ever could have said that. His dignity was austere and natural. It was
grand, and awed and inspired a respect from every one alike. You
breathed low in his presence--you felt uneasy in your seat, before him.
There was an inspiring something about him, that made you feel it was a
duty to, stand in his presence, uncovered, and respectfully silent. I
have heard this sternness attributed to his habit of command; not
so--it was natural, and he was unconscious of it.
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