Harper's Round Table, June 23, 1896

The full flood of the sun, now low in the heavens, poured through the western windows upon the figure of the boy standing in the doorway. The room was beginning to darken, and the ruddy firelight, too, fell glowingly upon him.

The Earl was instantly roused, and could scarcely persuade himself that the boy before him was only fifteen; seventeen, or even eighteen, would have seemed nearer the mark, so tall and well-developed was he. Like all creatures of the highest breeding, George looked handsomer the handsomer his dress; and although his costume was really simple enough, he had the splendid air that made him always appear to be in the highest fashion. His coat and knee-breeches were of dark blue cloth, spun, woven, and dyed at home. His waistcoat, however, was of white brocade, and was made of his mother's wedding-gown, Madam Washington having indulged her pride so far as to lay this treasured garment aside for waistcoats for her sons, while Mistress Betty was to inherit the lace veil and the string of pearls which had gone with the gown.

George's shoebuckles and knee-buckles were much finer than the Earl's, being of paste, and having been once worn by his father. His blond hair was made into a club and tied with a black ribbon, while under his arm he carried a smart three-cornered hat--for the hat made a great figure in the ceremonious bows of the period. His dog; a beautiful creature, stood beside him.

Never in all his life had the Earl of Fairfax seen so noble a boy. The sight of him smote the older man's heart; it flashed through him how easy it would be to exchange all his honors and titles for such a son. He rose and saluted him, as Madam Washington said, in a tone that had pride in every accent,

"My lord, this is my son, Mr. Washington."

George responded with one of those graceful inclinations which, years after, made the entrance of Colonel Washington at the Earl of Dunmore's levee at Williamsburg a lesson in grace and good-breeding. Being "Mr. Washington" and the head of the house, it became his duty to speak first:

"I am most happy to welcome you, my lord, to our home."

"And I am most happy," said the Earl, "to meet once more my old friend Madam Washington, and the goodly sons and sweet daughter with which she has been blessed."

"My mother has often told us of you, sir, in speaking of her life during the years she spent in England."

"Ah, my lord," said Madam Washington, "I perceive I am no longer young, for I love to dwell upon those times, and to tell my children of the great men I met in England, chiefly through your lordship's kindness."

"It was my good fortune," said the Earl, "to be a humble member of the Spectator Club, and through the ever-lasting goodness of Mr. Joseph Addison I had the advantage of knowing men so great of soul and so luminous of mind that I think I can never forget them."

"I had not the honor of knowing Mr. Addison. He died before I ever saw England," replied Madam Washington.

"Unfortunately, yes, madam. But of those you knew, Mr. Pope, poor Captain Steele, and even Dean Swift, with all his ferocious wit, his tremendous invective, his savage thirst for place and power, respected Mr. Addison. He was a man of great dignity--not odd and misshapen, like little Mr. Pope, not frowsy like poor Dick Steele, nor rude and overbearing like the fierce Dean--but ever gentle, mild, and of a most manly bearing. For all Mr. Addison's mildness, I think there was no man that Dean Swift feared so much. When we would all meet at the club, and the Dean would begin his railing at persons of quality--for he always chose that subject when I was present--Mr. Addison would listen with a smile to the Dean as he lolled over the table in his huge periwig and roared out in his great rich voice all the sins of all the people, always beginning and ending with Sir Robert Walpole, whom he hated most malignantly. Once, a pause coming in the Dean's talk, Mr. Addison, calmly taking out his snuff-box and helping himself to a pinch, remarked that he had always thought Dean Swift's chiefest weakness, until he had been assured to the contrary, was his love for people of quality. We each held our breath. Dick Steele quietly removed a pewter mug from the Dean's elbow; Mr. Pope, who sat next Mr. Addison, turned pale and slipped out of his chair; the Dean turned red and breathed hard, glaring at Mr. Addison, who only smiled a little; and then he--the great Dean Swift, the man who could make governments tremble and Parliaments afraid; who made duchesses weep from his rude sneers, and great ladies almost go down on their knees to him--sneaked out of the room at this little thrust from Mr. Addison. For 'twas the man, madam--the honest soul of him--that could cow that great swashbuckler of a genius. Mr. Addison abused no one, and he was exactly what he appeared to be."

"That, indeed, is the highest praise, as it shows the highest wisdom," answered Madam Washington.

George listened with all his mind to this. He had read the Spectator, and Mr. Addison's tragedy of Cato had been read to him by Mr. Hobby, the Scotch schoolmaster who taught him, and he loved to hear of these great men. The Earl, although deep in talk with Madam Washington, was by no means unmindful of the boy, but, without seeming to notice him, watched every expression of his earnest face.

"I once saw Dean Swift," continued Madam Washington. "It was at a London rout, where I went with my brother's wife, Madam Joseph Ball, when we were visiting in London. He had great dark eyes, and sat in a huge chair, and called ladies of quality 'my dear,' as if they were dairy-maids. And the ladies seemed half to like it and half to hate it. They told me that two ladies had died of broken hearts for him."

"I believe it to be true," replied the Earl. "That was the last time the Dean ever saw England. He went to Ireland, and, as he said, 'commenced Irishman in earnest,' and died very miserably. He could not be bought for money, but he could very easily be bribed with power."

"And that poor Captain Steele?"

The Earl's grave face was suddenly illuminated with a smile.

"Dear Dick Steele--the softest-hearted, bravest, gentlest fellow--always drunk, and always repenting. There never was so great a sermon preached on drunkenness as Dick Steele himself was. But for drink he would have been one of the happiest, as he was by nature one of the best and truest gentlemen in the world; but he was weak, and he was in consequence forever miserable. Drink brought him to debts and duns and prison and rags and infamy. Ah, madam, 'twould have made your heart bleed, as it made mine, to see poor Dick reeling along the street, dirty, unkempt, his sword bent, and he scarce knowing what he was doing; and next day, at home, where his wife and children were in hunger and cold and poverty, behold him, lying in agony on his wretched bed, weeping, groaning, reproaching himself, and suffering tortures for one hour's wicked indulgence! Then would he turn gentleman again, and for a long time be our own dear Dick Steele--his wife smiling, his children happy. I love to think on honest Dick at these times. It was then he wrote that beautiful little book, which should be in every soldier's hands, The Christian Hero. We could always tell at the club whether Dick Steele were drunk or sober by Mr. Addison's face. When Steele was acting the beast, Mr. Addison sighed often and looked melancholy all the time, and spent his money in taking such care as he could of the poor wife and children. Poor Dick! The end came at last in drunkenness and beastliness; but before he died, for a little while, he was the Dick Steele we loved, and shall ever love."

"And Mr. Pope--the queer little gentleman--who lived at Twickenham, and was so kind to his old mother?"

"Mr. Pope was a very great genius, madam, and had he not been born crooked he would have been an admirable man; but the crook in his body seemed to make a crook in his mind. He died but last year, outliving many strong men who pitied his puny frame. But let me not disparage Mr. Pope. My Lord Chesterfield, who was a very good judge of men, as well as the first gentleman of his time, entertained a high esteem for Mr. Pope."

"I also had the honor of meeting the Earl of Chesterfield," continued Madam Washington, with animation, "and he well sustained the reputation for politeness that I had heard of him, for he made as much of me as if I had been a great lady instead of a young girl from the colonies, whom chance and the kindness of a brother had brought to England, and your lordship's goodness had introduced to many people of note. 'Tis true I saw them but for a glimpse or two, but that was enough to make me remember them forever. I have tried to teach my son Lord Chesterfield's manner of saluting ladies, in which he not only implied the deepest respect for the individual, but the greatest reverence for all women."

"That is true of my Lord Chesterfield," replied the Earl, who found it enchanting to recall these friends of his youth with whom he had lived in close intimacy, "and his manners revealed the man. He had also a monstrous pretty wit. There is a great lumbering fellow of prodigious learning, one Samuel Johnson, with whom my Lord Chesterfield has become most friendly. I never saw this Johnson myself, for he is much younger than the men of whom we are speaking; but I hear from London that he is a wonder of learning, and although almost indigent, will not accept aid from his friends, but works manfully for the booksellers. He has described my Lord Chesterfield as 'a wit among lords, and a lord among wits.' I heard something of this Dr. Johnson, in a late letter from London, that I think most praiseworthy, and affording a good example to the young. His father, it seems, was a bookseller at Lichfield, where on market-days he would hire a stall in the market for the sale of his wares. One market-day, when Samuel was a youth, his father, being ill and unable to go himself, directed him to fit up the book-stall in the market and attend to it during the day. The boy, who was otherwise a dutiful son, refused to do this. Many years afterwards, his father being dead, Johnson, being as he is in great repute for learning, was so preyed upon by remorse for his undutiful conduct that he went to Lichfield and stood bareheaded in the market-place, before his father's old stall, for one whole market-day, as an evidence of his sincere penitence. I hear that some of the thoughtless jeered at him, but the better class of people respected his open acknowledgment of his fault--the more so as he was in a higher worldly position than his father had ever occupied, and it showed that he was not ashamed of an honest parent because he was of a humble class. I cannot think, madam, of that great scholar, standing all day with bare, bowed head, bearing with silent dignity the remarks of the curious, the jeers of the scoffers, without in spirit taking off my hat to him."

During this story Madam Washington fixed her eyes on George, who colored slightly, but remarked, as the Earl paused: