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3. The wretch, who, after having seen the consequen ces of a thousand errors, continues still to blunder, and whose age has only added obstinacy to stupidity, is surely the object of either abhorrence or contempt, and deserves not that his grey hairs should secure him from insult. Much more, Sir, is he to be abhorred, who, as he advanced in age, has receded from virtue, and becomes more wicked with less temptation; who prostitutes himself for money which he cannot enjoy, and spends the remains of his life in the ruin of his country.

4. But youth, Sir, is not my only crime; I have been accused of acting a theatrical part. A theatrical part may either imply some peculiarities of gesture, or a dissimulation of my real sentiments, and an adoption of the opinions and language of another man.

5. In the first sense, Sir, the charge is too trifling to be confuted, and deserves only to be mentioned, to be despised. I am at liberty, like every other man, to use my own language; and though, perhaps, I may have some ambition to please this gentleman, I shall not lay myself under any restraint, nor very solicitously copy his diction, or his mien, however matured by age, or modelled by experience.

6. If any man shall, by charging me with theatrical behavior, imply that I utter any sentiments but my own, I shall treat him as a calumniator and a villain; nor shall any protection shelter him from the treatment he deserves. I shall, on such an occasion, without scruple, trample upon all those forms with which wealth and dignity intrench themselves; nor shall any thing but age, restrain my resentment-age, which always brings one privilege, that of being insolent and supercilious without punishment.

7. But with regard, Sir, to those whom I have offended, I am of opinion, that if I had acted a borrowed part, I should have avoided their censure: the heat that offended them is the ardor of conviction, and that zeal for the service of my country, which neither hope nor fear shall influence me to suppress. I will not sit unconcerned while my liberty is invaded, nor look in silence, upon public robbery. I will exert my endeavors, at whatever hazard, to repel the aggressor, and drag the thief to justice, whoever

may protect them in their villainy, and whoever may par take of their plunder.

After Mr. Pitt, when he was a young member of the House of Commons, had finished a speech, delivered with great energy, on an exciting topic, Mr. Walpole rose, and among other things, in which he charged the young orator with youthful inexperience and theatrical enunciation, said: "Formidable sounds and furious declamation, confident assertions and lofty periods, may effect the young and inexperienced; and perhaps the honorable gentleman may have contracted his habits of oratory by conversing more with those of his own age, than with such as have had more opportunities of acquiring knowledge, and more successful methods of communicating their sentiments." The moment Mr. Walpole resunied his seat, Mr. Pitt made the above masterly and eloquent reply. The illustrious orator, no doubt, spoke on the occasion with more than his accustomed power, and probably with unusual rapidity. And as he delivered it, so should it be read or recited. It requires rather a high key, and a classical and manly style.

CHARACTER OF GEORGE WASHINGTON.

1. His mind was great and powerful, without being of the very first order; his penetration strong, though not so acute as that of Newton, Bacon, or Locke; and, as far as he saw, no judgment was ever sounder. It was slow in operation, being little aided by invention or imagination; but sure in conclusion. Hence it was the common remark of his officers, of the advantage he derived from the councils of war, where, hearing all suggestions, he selected whatever was best; and, certainly, no General ever planned his battles more judiciously.

2. But if deranged during the course of action; if any member of his plan was dislocated by sudden circumstances, he was slow in re-adjustment. The consequences were, that he often failed in the field; and rarely against an enemy in station, as at Boston and York. He was incapable of fear, meeting personal dangers with the calmest unconcern. Perhaps the strongest feature in his character, was prudence; never acting until every circumstance, every consideration, was maturely weighed; refraining, if

he saw a doubt; but when once decided, going through with his purpose, whatever obstacles opposed.

3. His integrity was the most pure; his justice, the most inflexible. I have never known any motives of interest, or consanguinity, or friendship, or hatred, being able to bias his decision. He was, indeed, in every sense of the word, a wise, a good, and a great man. His temper was naturally irritable and high toned; but reflection and resolution had obtained a firin and habitual ascendency over it. If ever, however, it broke its bounds, he was tremendous in his wrath.

4. His heart was not warm in its affections; but he exactly calculated every man's value, and gave him a solid esteem, proportionate to it. His person, you know, was fine; his stature, exactly what one would wish; his deportment, easy, erect, and noble; the best horseman of his age; and the most graceful figure that could be seen on horseback. Although, in the circle of friends, where he might be unreserved with safety, he took a free share in conversation, his colloquial talents were not above mediocrity, possessing neither copiousness of ideas, nor fluency of words.

In public, when called upon for a sudden opinion, he was unready, short and embarrassed. Yet he wrote readily, rather diffusely, in correct style. This he had acquired by conversation with the world; for his education was merely reading, writing, and common arithmetic, to which he added surveying, at a later day. His time was employed in action chiefly, reading little, and that only in agricultural and English history.

6. His correspondence became necessarily extensive, and, with journalizing his agricultural proceedings, occupied most of his leisure hours within doors. On the whole, his character was, in its mass, perfect; in nothing, bad; in few points, indifferent; and, it may, truly be said, that never did nature and fortune combine more perfectly, to make a great man, and to place him in the same constellation with whatever worthies have merited from man, and everlasting remembrance.

7. For his was the singular destiny of leading the armies

of his country successfully through an arduous war, for the establishment of its independence; of conducting its councils through the birth of a government, new in its forms and principles, until it had settled down in a quiet and orderly train; and of scrupulously obeying the laws through the whole of its career, civil and military, of which the history of the world furnishes no other example.-Jefferson.

THE LAST HOURS OF WASHINGTON; FROM CUSTIS' RECOLLECTIONS AND PRIVATE MEMOIRS OF THE GENERAL'S LIFE.

1. Twenty-eight years have passed since an interesting group were assembled in the death-room, and witnessed the last hours of Washington. So keen and unsparing hath been the scythe of time, that of all those who watched over the patriarch's couch, on the 13th and 14th of December, 1799, but a single personage survives.

2. On the morning of the 13th, the General was engaged in making some improvements in the front of Mount Vernon. As was usual with him he carried his own compass, noticed his observations, and marked out the ground. The day became rainy, with sleet; and the improver re. mained so long exposed to the inclemency of the weather, as to be considerably wetted before his return to the house. About one o'clock, he was seized with chillness and nausea, but having changed his clothes, he sat down to his in-door work-there being no moment of his time for which he had not provided an appropriate employment.

3. At night, on joining his family circle, the General complained of a slight indisposition; and after a single cup of tea, repaired to his library, where he remained writing until between 11 and 12 o'clock. Mrs. Wash. ington retired about the usual hour, but becoming alarmed at not hearing the accustomed sound of the library door as tt closed for the night, and gave signal for rest in the well regulated mansion, she rose again, and continued sitting up, in much anxiety and suspense. At length, the well

known step was heared on the stair, and upon the General's entering his chamber, the lady chided him for staying up so late, knowing him to be unwell; to which Washington made this memorable reply: "I came as soon as my business was accomplished. You well know, that through a long life, it has been my unvaried rule, never to put off till the morrow, the duties which should be performed to

day."

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4. Having first covered the fire with care, the man of mighty labors sought repose; but it came not, as it long had been wont to do, to comfort and restore after the many earnest occupations of the well spent day. The night was passed in feverish restlessness and pain. "Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep," was destined no more to visit his couch; yet the manly sufferer uttered no complaint, would permit no one to be disturbed in their rest, on his account; and it was only at day-break he would consent that the overseer might be called in, and bleeding resorted to. A vein was opened, but no relief afforded.

5. Couriers were despatched to Dr. Craik, the famly physician, and Drs. Dick and Brown, as consulting physicians, all of whom came with speed. The proper remedies were administered, but without producing their healing effects; while the patient, yielding to the anxious looks of all around him, waived his usual objections to medicines, and took those which were prescribed, without hesitation or remark. The medical gentlemen spared not their skill, and all the resources of their art were exhausted in unweared endeavors to preserve this noblest work of nature.

6. The night approached the last night of Washington; the weather became severely cold, while the group gathered nearer to the couch of the sufferer, watching with intense anxiety for the slightest dawning of hope. He spoke but little. To the respectful and affectionate inquiries of an old family servant, as she smoothed down his pillow, how he felt, he answered: "I am very ill." To Dr. Craik, his earliest companion in arms, longest tried and bosom friend, he observed: "I am dying, Sir-but I am not afraid to die."

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