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astonishment painted on her countenance at
the sight of Alonzo, who stood fixed as a
statue before her. She sprang from the
couch, and evidently her first feeling was to
run towards him, hut probably the strange
ness of his look and demeanor arrested her;
for she checked herself, and exclaimed,
“ Don Alonzo!”
“ Viola !*’ said he, seizing both her hands,
and gently forcing her to return to the seat
she had left: “ Viola!” (the word seemed
to choke him) “ I cannot live without you
—you are yet free, have pity on me !”
“ Alonzo,” she asked, in a tremulous
voice, “ are you free V’
“ 1 am not irrevocably hound.”
In a moment she seemed to recover her
self-possession, and replied, “ Then 1 must
tell you, that I am. You are laboring un
der a fatal error; you think I am but enga
ged— lam married. But stay !” she ex
claimed, alarmed at the effect of her com
munication,—“stay ! one moment! Alonzo !
I beseech you !”
It was in vain ; he almost shook her off,
rushed to his boat, and in a few minutes was
on board of his own vessel: he pushed by
Mr. Mordaunt, and every body and every
thing that impeded his way to his cabin,
where locking the door, he threw himself
on his bed, in a state of mind not to be de
scribed.
Mr. Mordaunt took possession of the boat
Alonzo bad quitted, went on board the Lis
bon packet, and had an interview with Don
na Viola.
At day-break the following morning, A
lonzo,‘wrapped in a cloak, and his bat slouch
ed over his brow stood on the deck, watch
ing with gloomy composure the Lisbon
packet gettiug under weigh ; she soon be
gan to move—a few minutes more and she
was dashing through the water close beside
him. Desperate thoughts for an instant
darkened his mind ; a feeling of revenge
and despair, beset him, and he felt a strong
temptation to plunge into the wake of the
flying vessel—when one of the latticed win
dows of the after-cabin was suddenly thrown
open : he saw a waving handkerchief and
then the form of Viola herself, her eye3
streaming with tears, kissing both her hands,
and waving them to him. He had just time
to return the salutation ; his dark purpose
vanished, the weakness of his mother came
over him, and he wept: “ She loves me !”
that thought alone, single and abstracted,
brought back the blood in a rush of trans
port to his heart: “ She loves me ! and no
bly seta me the example of a virtuous sub
mission to our fate!”
f A friendly band at that moment was laid
on his; Mr. Mordaunt drew him to his cab
in. “ Alonzo,” he said, “ I have been sad
ly to blame—l ought to have foreseen and
guarded against all this. Donna Viola,
whom I saw last evening, bade me give you
this note,” putting one into his bund.
Alonzo tore it open. “ Alonzo, I conjure
you, for the sake of your father—for my
sake—struggle against your fatal and hope
less passion! We shall very soon meet
again—let us meet in peace, in innocence,
and friendship! Heaven bless you, and
heaven forgive us both, for we have been
much to blame ! Viola.”
Viola was very inexperienced, and Mr.
Mordaunt knew very little about love, other
wise Alonzo had never received this note,
which only added fuel to the flame ; lie kept
it next his heart, and read it every day du
ring the passage. He questioned Mr. Mor
daunt closely concerning his interview with
Viola the preceding evening, and especial
ly inquired whether he could give him any
information concerning her husband. “ 1
am told,” he said, “ that he is a man of high
rank, very rich, old, and inferm. He has
married the orphan daughter of his friend,
merely as a safe-guard to her and her prop
erty in these dangerous times.” At this in
telligence, Alonzo’s heart bounded with se
cret joy: he became comparatively tranquil,
but lie would not analyse his feelings—he
dared not.
A few weeks brought them to Rio. On
entering its superb harbor. Mr. Mordaunt
was struck with admiration at the magnifi
cent and beautiful scenery that surrounded
him; but to the heart of Alonzo it spoke yet
more feelingly, entwined as it was with all
his dear and early associations. He could
have kissed the black and barren rock of the
Sugar-Loaf: it was passed, and threw open
the graceful sweep of the Bay of Botafogo,
surrounded with its wooded and lofty moun
tains : this too was passed, and the harbor
of Rio appeared. Great political changes
had taken place, and the imperial flag wav
ed upon every fort and hill. The visiting
boat approached, and by the side of the of
ficer sat Alonzo’s watchful and expecting
father, who in a few minutes more was lock
ed in the arms of his son. On their land
ing, friends crowded round them : in the
afternoon they visited the good kind Abbess:
and the evening was employed in renewing
Alonzo’s recollecctions of las young female
friends, most of whom had now became
wives and mothers; and those whom he
had known as children had started up into
young women, a process remarkably rapid
in that country. He was pleased to observe
the vast improvement, that, even during the
short period of his absence, had taken place
at Rio, as far as concerned the comforts and
refinement of domestic life. On the follow
ing morning he was presented at court i in
short, for two or three days he had not leis
ure even to look melancholy.
But one morning after breakfast, (a time
universally agreed upon for making disa
greeable communications,) his father in
formed him that in about a month, Donna
Isabella might be expected with her father
and aunt. “ 1 have taken a temporary resi
dence for you, which 1 think you will like,
at Botafogo—(I say temporary, for you will
soon be offered, what you most desire, a di
plomatic mission to Europe,) and the fui
nishing and art%nging this residence has
been my hobby for the last six months. If
you and Mr. Mordaunt have no objection,
we will ride to see it this afternoon.” “If
you please, sir,” was the ouly reply ; and,
accordingly, at the appointed time they ua
out. The house and situation were both
delightful; the furniture tasteful and costly.
The apartment peculiarly appropriated to
Donna Isabella, and called her garden-room,
opened into a delicious parterre, it contain
ed tables for needlework and drawing, book
| cases filled with a choice collection in Eng- j
! lish, French, and Italian; there were also j
! u piano, harp, and guitar.
“Is Donna Isabella such a proficient in ;
! music 1” asked Air nzo willi a sarcastic i
i smile. “ She is, I believe, very fond of it,”
I quietly ieplied the Marquess. Alonzo, with
I much warmth and sincerity, thanked his fa
ther for the kind pains he had taken ; then
sighed, and thought how happy be could be
here with—certainly not with Donna Isa
bella.
After the first novelty of bis arrival had
worn off, Alonzo relapsed into sadness; a
settled gloom was gathered on his youthful
blow, a sickening indifference to all around i
was gradually stealing over him. His fa
ther and Mr. Mordaunt did all they could to
arouse aud distract his attention. Excur
sions into the country were frequently made,
especially to the botanical garden about six
miles from the city. It is a*tanged with j
exquisite order and good taste,, encircled by
bold and tugged mountain-scenery, open
ing, towards the ocean, —reposing in all its
richness of floral beauty, with its shady and
stately trees, its leafy bowers and gushing
streams, like a gem in the wilderness—like
the decked and lovely bride of a dark-brow
ed warrior in those stern days of “auld lang
syne,” of which one loves to dream in spots
like these. Water-parties to the many beau
tiful islands—society and study—were all
tried, and in vain: every day, every hour,
seemed to increase the despondency of
Alonzo: but he never complained, never
even touched in any way upon the subject
that caused it. Upwards of three weeks
passed in this manner.
Alonzo was fond of the society of the Ab
bess : with the unerring tact of her 6ex, she
managed his present mood; she would sit
opposite to him, employed at her old fash
ioned embroidery frame, for an hour with
out speaking: this was just w hat he liked.
One afternoon he had ensconced himself in
his accustomed seat in her little grated par
lor : he scarcely observed her entrance, but
instead of seating herself at her frame, she
stepped towards him.
“ Alonzo, I am.glad you have come, for 1
was just going to send for you.”
“ To send tor me V’ repeated he listless
ly-
“ Yes, a friend of yours lias arrived at the
convent, and wishes to see you.”
“ A friend of mine !”
“ You recollect, I suppose, Donna Viola
de Montezuma 1”
He started from his seat —the shock was
electric.
“ Viola, did you say ! Donna Viola ! re
collect her—what of her—w hat of her 1”
“ She has become a widow’.”
“ Go on!”
“ She arrived at Lisbon just in time to re
ceive the last breath of her expiring hus
band. After the funeral, she consigned her
affairs there into proper hands, and delayed
not a moment in returning to this country,
I where they demaud (her instant attention.
She arrived yesterday, and remains here for
a short time. She wishes to see you.”
“I am ready,” 6aid Alonzo.
The Abbess left the room. “ This is too
—too much!” he exclaimed aloud, as he pa
ced the little parlor with hurried steps. A
slight rustling near the grate arrested him :
it was Viola in deep mourning, looking more
lovely and interesting than ever. She pie
sented him her hand through the grate —he
knelt, and prest it to his lips, to his heart, to
his burning forehead. “Alonzo,"’she said in
the kindest and most soothing tone, “ 1 have
heard frdm the Abbess of your marriage,
aud fear that I have innocently contributed
to lender that, which might have proved the
highest blessing, a source of bitter misery.
What can I do but to entreat you to arm
yourself with the resolution of acting right?
I confess that your forcing me to lose my
esteem for you, would be the greatest pain
you could inflict, even although your affec
tion for me were the cause. Promise me,
Alonzo—”
He hastily interrupted her: “I wi’l prom
ise nothing—nothing!—Heaven grant that
I may do what is right, but, in the present
state of my mind, I will pass my word for
nothing.”
Viola sighed. “ Well,” she resumed, “I
shall see whether Alonzo be really what I
believe him or not: I shall see whether he
be capable of sacrificing the happiness of his
young and innocent wife, aud of his doating
father—his own honor and principles, to
the shadow of a shade; for such is all hope
of me. Heaven bless you Alonzo! and sup
tiort you through this trial! deserve to be
lappy, and leave the rest to Providence.”
■ She disappeared: he still remained kneel
ing at the grate,apparently wrapt in thought:
at length a ray of light seemed to break
through the darkness that surrounded him ;
a single spark of hope saved him from utter
despair. He decided that in his first inter
view with Donna Isabella, he would reveal
every secret of his heart; he would conjure
her, as she valued their mutual happiness,
to assist him in breaking the tie tin. had
been made between them : he would recall
to her reflection the fatal hour of their
union, when reluctance on his side, and the
necessity of absolute force on hers, formed
but an evil omen of future concord. Since
that moment they had never met, had never
even corresponded ; he had formed else
where a deep and serious attachment, and
so perhaps had she. As to the debt he had
incurred towards her aud her family, with a
little time and indulgence it would be clear
ed, as the property in Portugal was on the
eve of being restored to his father. Thus,
if they acted with determination, and in
unison, there could be no doubt of their suc
ceeding in breaking the galling fetters in
which the mistaken zeal of their relatives
had bound them. “If,” he exclaimed, “she
be not utterly devoid of the common pride
and delicacy of her sex, thero is but one
step to take—she will—she must take it—
and I shall become free and happy!”
Full of this thought, he left the convent;
and, on his return home, sought Mr. Mor
daunt, and laid his project before him. Mr.
Mordaunt listened with the utmost kindness
and sympathy ; he saw but one objection to
the attempt: if Donna Isabella, in spite of
all he could urge, should refuse to enter in
to his views, how much wider would it make
the breach between them! how much would
it diminish their chance of happiness ! But !
QCDUnfIIEIBHSiST
I to this side of the picture, Alonzo
; ]y refused to turn ; and Mr. Mordaunt, sce
-1 iug him perfectly resolved, gave up the
point, glad, at all events that Alonzo Iran
j even this slight support to lean upon until
; the crisis arrived.
At the top of the Marquess’s small at id
rather inconvenient abode, was a room
which, on account of its height and airiness,
and the view of the harbor it commanded,
the gentleman preferred to breakfast, and
to spend the morning in: a spy-glass was
fixed here, to which of late the eye of the
Marquess had been often and anxiously ap
plied. One morning, about a week after
i the scene just described, the Marquess seem
ed more than usually on the alert, watching
the approach of a fine Brazilliun merchant
ship. “Is she near the fort ?”—“ here she
comes,” —“she is abreast of it,” —“ now for
it!” and as lie spoke, up flew a private sig-
I nal. The Marquess clasped bis hands, and
exclaimed in a half-whisper, to Mr. Mor
daunt, “ Thank heaven, there they are at
last!” and the two gentlemen instantly left
the room.
“ Well,” thought Alonzo, “ I am not
bound to know that there they are at last,
until I am informed of it;” and he tried a
gain to rivet his attention to his study.—
Three intolerably long hours passed awry ;
a note was then brought to him from the
Marquess : “ Donna Isabella, her aunt, mid
father, have arrived, and are now at B.ta
fogo. The two ladies are somewhat fa
tigued, and prefer not receiving you until
the evening; therefore between seven and
eight Mr. Moidaunt and the carriage will
be at your door.
Alonzo sent away bis untouched dinner,
he dressed en graude toillete ; and, taking
down Walter Scott’s last new novel, strove
to fix his attention on its delightful page-. —
Alonzo had generally the power of exercis
ing great mastery over his mind; to on in
different observer he would appear rather
cold, reserved, and not easily acted upon in
any way; but, when his feelings once burst
their barrier, it was with a violence propor
tioned to the restraint he hadjtbrown over
them.
At half-past seven, the carriage drew up
to the door, and Alonzo immediately de
scended to it. “ I am glad to see you are
quite ready,” said Mr. Mordaunt, as he en
tered : the door closed, and they drove off".
“ You have seen Donna Isabella ?” in
quired Alonzo.
“Yes, I have,” was the laconic reply,
with evidently a wish of saying no more.—
After a consider able pause, Mr. Mordaunt
asked whether he still kept to his purpose.
“ Certainly,” said Alonzo firmly—and no
further conversation passed.
Half an hour brought them to their desti
nation : with a throbbing heart, Alonzo de
scended from the carriage. They were
shown into the grand ala brilliantly lighted.
Here were assembled Senhor Josef and
Seuhora Theresa, the Marquess, and the
Abbess with an attendant nun ; the old lady
had not left her convent for many years, but
on this occasion she was determined to be
present.
Alonzo saluted Senhor Josef and his sis
ter, with gravity, but perfect and sincere
kindness; be kissed the hand of his aunt;
then, turning to his father, begged to know
where be might find Donna Isabella.
“ She waits for you ill her garden-room,”
replied the Marquess. Alonzo bowed, and
left the sala.
He struggled successfully to continue the
same appearance of composure, as he pass
ed along the coiridor which led to the gar
den-room : the door was ajar: he entered
and closed it.
The room was only lighted by a single
Grecian lamp, suspended from the centre;
the latticed doors leading to the garden were
thrown open, and the moon beams quivered
brightly on the rich festoons of flowers and
foliage that twined around them. Leaning
on the harp near the furthest door stood a
lady magnificently dressed as a bride ; one
hand hung listlessly at her side, in the other
were gathered the folds of her veil, in which
her face was buried. Alonzo advanced,
and although somewhat prepared for a fa
vorable alteiation, he was struck with aston
ishment at the exquisitely fine and graceful
form that stood befoie him. “Donna Isa
bella, 1 believe,,’ —no reply, and no change
of position. He approached a little nearer,
and ventured to take the unoccupied hand,
whose slight and delicate fingers were cov
ered with gems, but on the arm was only a
single hiacelct. and that was o {'pink iajntz.
“ Donna Isabella, I venture to claim a few
minutes’ private conversation with you, on
a subject that deeply concernsthe bappiaess
of us both : permit me to lead you to a sept.”
lie paused—the emotion that visibly perva
ded her whole frame convinced him dial at
least he was not addressing a statue. Sud
denly she raised her head, clasped her balds,
and sunk on her knees at his feet. Alonzo
recoiled, as though a supernatural appear
ance had presented itself, while with a tone
that thrilled through heart and brain, she ex
claimed—
“ Alonzo, canyon forgive me?” It was
Viola.
“ Can you forgive me for nil the decep
tion 1 have practiced, and caused others to
practise? May the prize I strove for—my
husband’s heart—plead my excuse ?—1
know it will!”
While she spoke, Alonzo in some degree
recovered himself. He raised up the beau
tiful supplant, and folding her in silence to
his breast, kissed her with pure, intense, and
devoted affection. He could not speak ; lie
thought not and cared not how it had all
been brought about; he only knew and felt
that bis wife was in his arms, and that that
irife was Viola.
The party in the drawing-room, to whom
the duenna was now added, were in an ag
ony of impatient expectation. Tho Mar
quess at length led the way, and they all
crept softly along xhe passage: “May we
come in ?”
“ Come in,” said Alonzo—the first words
he had spoken since the denouement.
Their entrance d : spersed,in a great meas
ure, the concentrated feelings of Alonzo,
and he became attentive to learn the me
chanism by which his present happiness
had been effected. It appeared that the
[ repossession Isabella had conceived for
ler husband at the altar had produced a
striking change on her, ns love did on Cy
mon. 11l health, the absence of the usual
means of education at St. Paul’s, the iguo
rancc and weak indulgence of those with
whom she resided, had allowed weeds to
| spring up and choke the rich treasure of I
her mind. However, she accompanied the
j Marquess from St. Paul’s and was placed by
I him under the charge of the Abbess, where,
in three years, her improvement in health,
beauty, and mental attainments astonished
all those who observed it. The two years
she passed in England, under the most ju
dii iejus care, had brought her to that point
| of perfection to which she had now arrived.
Alonzo had not the slightest recollection
: of rtv of her features except her eyes which
on the day of their union had that large size
! and troubled expression which usually at
tends ill-health. He could not account for
the startling recollection that had passed
over him one evening at the chessboard ;
| tho look she then gave and that with which
j she had impressed bitn oil her leaving the
i oratory, were the same,
j “ And you, my grave and worthy tutor,”
j said Alonzo, addressing Mr. Mordaunt, “did
you join in this powerful league against
me ?”
“ I confess,” replied Mr. Mordaunt, “that
I was iri the service of the enemy : so much
So, that on the evening you fiist met Donna
Viola, and were introduced to her at the op
era, I knew beforehand that such a meeting
” and such an introduction would take place.
I take this opportunity, however, of hinting,
that you may thank your own impetuosity
that the discovery was not prematurely ad
vanced on board of the Lisbon Packet; for
Donna Viola, terrified at your vehemence,
would have revealed the whole truth.
“Alas! for my vehemence,” exclaimed
Alonzo; and living to collect his puzzled
thoughts, he turned to the Abbess : “And
you too, my dear aunt—you too my lady
Abbess! it is well you have the power of
absolving yourself for all those little fibs you
told me the other day.”
“ May Our Lady grant me absolution,”
replied the good Abbess devoutly, “ for
whatever stain of sin I may have contracted
by playing a part in this masque !”
“ Supper ! supper !” cried out the Mar
quess, as he marshalled them the way.—
Alonzo seized his Viola (for thus he ever
after named her, as if he dreaded that some
magical delusion would again snatch her
from his sight)—and never did a set of hap
pier creatures meet than those which now
encircled the sumptuous banquet, prepared
in honor of this Brazilian Wedding.
iai©HL[LAMYa
HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES.
Tuesday, February 7.
Presentation of Washington's Sword and
Franklin’s Staff'.
Mr. G. W. Summers now rose, and ad
dressed the Speaker, who recognised the
honorable gentleman as in possession of the
floor ; and all eyes wore at once turned to
him and the whole House was at once hush
ed into silence. The galleries were dense
ly filled with an anxious and attentive audi
tory, which had collected in anticipation of
the interesting proceedings which wore
about to be witnessed. Many Senators oc
cupied seats amongst the members of the
House, and some of the representatives of
foreign powers, accredited to this Govern
ment in diplomatic relations, were ranged
below the bar; and all listened with pro
found stillness, while the honorable gentle
man of Virginia spoke as follows :
Mr. Speaker. I rise for the purpose of
discharging an office, not connected with
the ordinary business of the legislative as
sembly. Yet, in asking permission to in
terrupt, for a moment, the regular order of
parliamentary proceedings, 1 cannot doubt
that the proposition which I have to submit
will prove as gratifying as it may he unusu
al.
Mr. Samuel T. Washington, a citizen of
Kanawha county, in the Commonwealth of
Virginia, and one of my constituents, has
honored me with the commission of pre
senting, in his name, and on his behalf, to
the Congress of the United States, and,
through the body, to the people of the Uni
ed States two most interesting and valuable
relics, connected with the past history of
our country, arid with men whose achieve
ments, both in the field and in the cabinet,
best illustrate and adorn our aunals.
One is the sword worn by George Wash
j ington, first as a colonel in the colonial ser
! vice of Virginia, in Forbes’ campaign
against the French and Indians; and after
wards, during the whole period of the war
of Independence, as commander-in-cliief of
tho American army.
j It is a plain entleau, or hanger, with a
green hilt and silver guard. On the upper
ward of the scabbard is engraven “ J. Bai
ley, Fislikill.” It is accompanied by a buck
skin belt, which is secured by a silver buckle
and clasn; whereon are engraven the let
ters “ G. W.,” and the figures “ 1757.”
These are all of the plainest workmanship,
but substantial, and in keeping with the
man and with the times to which they be
longed.
The history of this sword is perfectly
authentic, and leaves no shadow of doubt
as to its identity.
Tlie last will and testament of General
Wnsiiington, bearing date on the Sth day
of Fcbruaty, 1799, contains, among a great
variety of bequests, the following clause :
“ To each of my nephews, William Augus
tine Washington, George Lewis, George
Steptoe Washington, Bushrod Washington
and Samuel Washington, I give one of the
swords or cutleaux of which I may die pos
sessed ; and they are to choose in the
order they are named.. These swords
are accompanied with an injunction, not to
I uusheath them for the purpose of shedding
blood, except it be for self-defence, or in
defence of their country and its rights ; and,
in the latter case, to keep them unsheathed,
and prefer falling with them in their hands,
to the relinquishment thereof.”
In the distribution of the swords, hereby
devised, among the five nephews therein
enumerated, the one now presented fell to
the share of Samuel Washington, the de
visee last named in the clause of the will
which 1 have just read.
This gentleman, who died a few years
.since, in the county of Kanawha, and who
was tlie father of Samuel T. Washington,
the donor, 1 knew well. 1 have often seen
this sword in his possession, and received
from himself the following account of the
manner in which it became his property, in
the division made among the devisees.
He said that he knew it to have been the
sidearms of General Washington during the
revolutionary war—not that used on occa
sions of parade and review, but the constant
service sword of the great chief; that ho
had himself seen Genera? Washington wear
tiiis identical sword, (lie presumed for the
last time,) when, in 1794, he reviewed the
Virginia and Maryland forces, then concen
trated at Cumberland, under the command
of General Lee, and destined to co-operate
with the Pennsylvania and New Jersey
troops, then assembled at Bedford, in sup
pressing what has been called “the whiskey
insurrection.”
Gen. Washington was nfilial time Presi
dent of the United States, and, ns such, was
commander-in-chief of the army. Itisknown
that it was his intention to lead the army in
person on that occasion, had lie found it ne
cessary ; and he went to Bedford and Cum
berland prepared for that event. The con
dition of things did not require if, and he
returned to his civil duties at Philadelphia.
Mr. Samuel Washington held the com
mission of a captain at that time himself, and
served in that campaign, many of the inci
dents of which he lips related to me.
He was anxious to obtain this particular
sword, and preferred it to all the others,
among which was the ornamented and cost
ly present from the great Ftederick.
At the time of the division among the ne
phews, without intimating what his prefer
ence was, he jocosely remarked, “ that, in
asmuch as he was the only one of them who
had participated in military service, they
ought to permit him to take choice.” This
suggestion was met in the same spirit in
which it was made ; and the choice being
awarded him, he chose this, the plainest and
intrinsically the least valuable of any, simp
ly because it was “ the battle sword.”
I am also in possession of the most satis
factory evidence, furnished by Col. George
Washington, of Georgetown, the nearest
male relative of General Washington now
living, as to the indentity of this sword.—
His information was derived from his father,
William Augustine W ashington, the devisee
first named in the clause of the will which
I have read, from his uncle, the late Judge
Busin od Washington, of the Supreme Court,
and Major Lawrence Lewis, the acting ex
ecutor of Genera] Washington’s will: all of
whom concurred in the statement, that the
true set vice sword was that selected by Cap
tain Samuel Washington. It remained in
this gentleman’s possession until his death,
esteemed by him the most precious memen
to of his illustrious kinsman. It then be
came tlie property of bis son, who, anima
ted by that patriotism which so characteriz
ed “ the father of his country,” lias consent
ed that such a relic oriylil not to be appro
priated by an individual citizen, and has in
structed me,his representative, to offer it to
the nation, to be preserved in its public de
positories, as the common property of all;
since its office has been to achieve and de
fend the common liberty of all.
He has, in like manner, requested me to
present tiiis cane to the Congress of the
United States, deeming it not unworthy the
public acceptance.
This was once the property of the philo
sopher and patriot. Benjamin Franklin.
By a codicil to his last will and testament,
we find it thus disposed of:
“ My fine crab tree walking stick, with a
gold head, curiously wrought iri the form of
the cap of liberty, J give to my friend, and
the friend of mankind, General Washing
ton. If it were a sceptre, he has merited it,
and would become it.”
General Washington, in bis will, devises
this cane as follows :
“Item. To my brother Charles Wash
ington, 1 give and bequeath the gold-head
ed cane left me by Dr. Franklin, in bis
will.”
Captain Samuel Washington was the on
ly son of Charles Washington, the devisee,
from whom he derived, by inheritance, this
interesting memorial; aud having trans
mitted it to his son, Samuel T. Washington,
the latter thus seeks to bestow it worthily,
by associating it witli the battle-sword, in a
gift to bis countrymen.
1 cordially concur with Mr. Washington
in the opinion that they each merit public
preservation ; ar.d I obey, with pleasure,
his wishes in here presenting them, in his
name, to the nation.
Let the sword of the hero and the staff
of the philosopher go together. Let them
have place among the proudest trophies and
most honored memorials of our national
achievements.
Upon that staff once leaned the sage of
whom it lias been said “He snatched the
lightning from heaven, and the sceptre from
tyrants.”
A mighty arm once wielded this sword
in a righteous cause, even unto the dismem
berment of empire. In the band of Wash
ington, this was “ the sword of the Lord arid
of Gideon.” It was never drawn, except
in defence of public liberty. It was never
sheathed until a glorious and triumphant
success returned it to the scabbard, without
a stain of cruelty or dishonor upon its blade.
It was never surrendered, except to that
country which bestowed it.
[Loud and long continued plaudits fol
lowed the delivery of this address.]
The Sergeant-at-Aims advanced to the
seat of the honorable gentleman, and re
ceived into his custody the interesting re
lics.
Mr. Adams then rose to submit a resolu
tion in relation thereto. He said :
Mr. Speaker. In presenting this
tion to the House, it may, perhaps, be ex
pected that I should accompany it with
some remarks suitable to the occasion;
and yet, sir, I never rose to address this
House under a deeper conviction of the
want of words to express the emotions that
I feel. It is precisely because occasions
like these are adapted to produce universal
sympathy, and little can be said by any one,
but what, in the language of tlie heart—in
tones not loud, but deep—every one pre
sent lias literally said to himself. My re
spected friend from Virginia, by whom this
offering of patriotic sentiment has been pi e .
sented to the Representative Assembly 0 f
the nation lias, it seems to me, already
said all that can be said suitable to this oc
casiori. In parting from him, as after a fevy
short days we must all'do,Jit will on'mypart
be with sorrow, as in all probability I s | la |]
see bis face and hcai his oice no more
But bis words of this day have been planted
in my memory, and will there remain till
tlie last pulsation of my heart. The sword
of Washington ! The staff of Frank]) - ,, •
Ob, sir, what associates are linked in ada
mant with those names. Washington t t |, e
warrior of human freedom—Wasl,itig) otl ,
whose sword my friend has said was never
drawn, hut in the cause of- his country, and
never sheathed when needed in his coun
try’s cause ! Franklin ! the philosopher of
the thunderbolt, the printing press, and the
ploughshare.
What names are these in the scanty caty
alogue of the benefactors of mankind
Washington and Franklin ! What other two
men, whose lives belong to the lSth centu
ry of Christendom, have left a deeper im
pression of themselves upon the age in which
they lived, and upon all after times ? Wash
ington, the warrior and legislator! In war
contending, by the wager of battle, for the
independence of Ids country, and for the
freedom of the human race—ever manifest
ing, amidst the horrors of war, by precept
and example, bis reverence for the laws of
peace and for the tenderest sympathies of
humanity. In peace, soothing the ferocious
spirit of discord among his own country
men into harmony, and giving to that very
sword now presented to his country a charm
more potent than that attributed iii ancient
time to the lyre of Orpheus. Franklin, the
mechanic of his own fortune, teaching, in
early youth,under the shackles of indigence,
the way of wealth, and, in the shade of ob
scurity, the path to greatness; in the ma
turity of manhood, disarming the thunder
of its terrors, tlie lightning of its futal blast;
and wresting from the tyrant’s band the
still more afflictive sceptre of oppression;
while descending- in the vale of years, tra
versing the Atlantic ocean, braving, in ilia
dead of winter, the battle and the breeze;
bearing in bis hand the charter of Inde
pendence, which he bad contributed to form,
and tendering, from the self-created nation,
to the mightiest monarchs of Europe, the
olive branch of peace, the mercurial wand
of commerce, and the amulet of protection
and safety to the man of peace on the path
less ocean from the inexorable cruelty and
merciless rapacity of war; and, finally, in
the last stage of life, with fourscore winteis
on his head, under the torture of an incur
able disease returning to his native land,
closing his days as the Chief Magistrate of
his adopted Commonwealth, after contribu
ting, by his councils, under the Presidency
of Washington, end recording his name un
der the sanction of devout’prayer, invoked
by him to God, to that Constitution, under
the authority of which we are here assem
bled as the Representatives of the North
American people, to receive, in their name,
and for them, these venerable relics of the
wise, tlie valiant, and the good founders of
our great confederated Republic, those sa
cred symbols of our golden age.
May they he deposited among the archives
of our Government ; and every American
who shall hereafter behold them, ejaculate
a mingled offering of praise to that .Supreme
Rub i of the Universe, by whose tender
mercies our Union lias been hitherto pre
served tinoiigli ail tlie vicissitudes and revo
lutions of this turbulent world, and of pray
er for the continuance of these blessings
by the dispensations of bis providence to
our beloved count ry fn <m age to age, till
time shall be no mote. (Great applause.)
Mr. Speaker, I submit the following joint
lesolution:
Resolved bv tho Senate and House of
Representatives of the United States in
Congress assembled, That the thanks of this
Congress he presented to Samuel T. Wash
ington of Kanawha county, Virginia, for
the present of the sword used by the illus
trious relative, George Washington, in the
military career of his early youth, in the sev
en years’ war, and thoughout the war of our
national independence; and to the staff’be
queathed by the patriot, statesman and sage,
Benjamin Franklin, to the same leader of
the armies of freedom in the revolutionary
war, George Washington.
That these precious relics are hereby ac
cepted in tlie name of the nation ; that they
be deposited for safekeeping iri the Depart
ment of State of the United States; and
that n copy of this resolution, signed by the
President of the Senate and Speaker of the
House of Representatives, be transmitted
to the said Samuel T. Washington.
The resolution was adopted unanimous
ly, and with loud acclamation.
Mr. McKeunan said, as it was evident,
after the interesting scene just witnessed,
that the House was not in a fit State for the
transaction of business, be would now move
that the House adjourn.
Mr. Hopkins requested the gentleman to
withdraw the motion for atnoment, in order
that it might be stated on the face of the re
solutions that they were unanimously
adopted.
The suggestion was acceded to, and the
resolutions amended accordingly.
Mr. Talinfero moved that the addresses
of Messrs. Summers and Adams, this morn
ing, he spread upon the journal; and also
that a copy be transmitted to Mr. Washing*
ton, of Kanawha, Virginia.
The motion was adopted, nem con.
The House then adjourned.
A young men and female stopped at a
country tavern to pass a day or two. Their
awkward appearance excited the curiosity
of one of the: family, who commenced a con
versation with the female by inquiring how
far she had travelled that day—“ Traveled,
repeated the stranger, somewhat indignant
ly, “ we didn’t travel, we rid.”
This year, there will no new moon in the
mouth in which the women talk the least,
(February,) but there will be two new moons
in March ; one on the Ist, and one on the
30tb. So say the almanac makers.