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It is in vain, I perceive, to look for ease and happiness in a world of troubles.


In looking forward to that awful moment when I must bid adieu to sublunary things, I anticipate the consolation, of leaving our country in a prosperous condition.

And while the curtain of separation shall be drawing, my last breath will, I trust, expire in a prayer for the temporal and eternal felicity of those, who have not only endeavored to gild the evening of my days with unclouded serenity, but extended their desires to my happiness hereafter, in a brighter world.



Do not flatter me with vain hopes. I am not afraid to die, and therefore can hear the worst.

Whether to-night, or twenty years hence, makes no difference. I know, that I am in the hands of a good Providence.


* He was dangerously ill, at New York, and he addressed tl cso words to his attending physician, Doctor Bard.


The want of regular exercise, and the cares of office, will, I have no doubt, hasten my departure for that country from which no traveller returns.

But a faithful discharge of whatever trust I accept, as it ever has been, so it always will be, the primary consideration, in every transaction of my life, be the consequences what they may.



I intend to place it there. [Pointing to the spot where the new vault now stands.]

First of all, I shall make this change; for, after all, I† may require it before the rest.

Dec., 1799.

"During my last visit to the General,” [in December 1799,] says one of his nephews, "we walked together about the grounds, and talked of various improvements he had in contemplation. The lawn was to be extended to the river, in the direction of the old vault, which was to be removed, on account of the inroads made by the roots of the trees with which it was crowned, which caused it to oreak." He then pointed out the spot where the new vault now stands.

These words were uttered, when he appeared to be in perfect health, a few days only before his death. Some of his guests remarked, at the time, "We never saw the General look so well." "A few days afterwards," says his nephew, “being on my way home in company with others, while we were conversing about Washing. ton, I saw a servant rapidly riding towards me. On his near ap

The family vault at Mount Vernon requiring repairs, and being improperly situated besides, I desire that a new one of brick, and upon a larger scale, may be built at the foot of what is commonly called the Vineyard Enclosure, on the ground which is marked out; in which my remains, with those of my deceased relations, (now in the old vault,) and such others of my family as may choose to be entombed there, may be deposited.

And it is my express desire, that my corpse may be interred in a private manner, without parade or funeral oration.

July, 1799.


His death was sudden, but he was ready. . . . We have seen his end, and it was peace. JEDIDIAH MORSE, D. D., 1800.

We will watch with pious care the laurels which shade thy urn, and wear thy naine engraven on our hearts. Oh, yet protect thy country! Save her! She is an orphan. Her father is mingled with the dust. GOUVERNEUR Morris, 1800.

You would have thought, the Americans were speaking of their father.


Mr. Lear, in his description of the closing scene, has these words: "Dr. Craik placed his hands over his eyes, and he expired without a struggle or a sigh." This statement is no doubt true, but it does not contain the whole truth. It was said and believed, at the time, that General Washington closed his own eyes; and the writer is assured, that such was the fact, since he heard it asserted by one who had the best opportunity of knowing the certainty of it

proach, I recognized him as belonging to Mount Vernon. He rode up, his countenance told the story, he handed me a letter. Washington was dead."

The matter, indeed, is one of no great importance; but serves to show, that some things escaped the notice of Mr. Lear, or were thought too trivial for record by him. This circumstance, however, is not without interest, as indicating a perfect self-possession and composure of mind. E. C. M'GUIRE, D. D.

See him on his dying couch, calm and dignified in his distress. IIe has fought the good fight, and death has to him no terrors. With his own firm hand he closes his eyes, and is gono. J. DUNHAM, A. M., Capt. 16th U. S. Regiment, 1800.

The illness was short and severe. Mrs. Washington left not the chamber of the sufferer, but was seen kneeling at the bedside, her head resting upon her Bible, which had been her solace in the many and heavy afflictions she had undergone. Dr. Craik, the early friend and companion in arms of the Chief, replaced the hand, which was almost pulseless, upon the pillow, while he turned away to conceal the tears that fast chased each other down his furrowed cheeks.

The last effort of the expiring Washington was worthy of the Roman fame of his life and character. He raised himself up, and casting a look of benignity on all around him, as if to thank them for their kindly attentions, he composed his limbs, closed his eyes, and folding his arms upon his bosom, the Father of his country expired, gently as though an infant died! GEORGE W. P. CUSTIS, grandson of Mrs. Washington.

Feeling, that the silver cord of life is loosing, and that his spirit is ready to quit her old companion the body, he extends himself on his bed, closes his eyes for the last time with his own hands, folds his arms decently on his breast; then, breathing out, "Father of mercies, take me to thyself," he fell asleep.

REV. M. L. WEEMS, 1808, Rector of Mount Vernon Parish. "He was at much pains to ascertain the most interesting events of Washington's life and death.”—M‘Guire.


I find I am going. My breath cannot last long. I believed from the first, that the disorder prove fatal.


Do you † arrange and record all my late military

* A cold, a sore throat, difficulty of breathing and of swallowing, on Friday, December 13th, 1799.

Tobias Lear, his private secretary.

letters and papers. Arrange my accounts, and settle my books, as you know more about them than any one else; and let Mr. Rawlins finish recording my other letters, which he has begun.*

I am afraid I fatigue you too much.†

Well, it is a debt we must pay to each other and I hope, when you want aid of this kind, you will find it.

Doctor,‡ I die hard, but I am not afraid to go. I believed, from my first attack, that I should not survive it. My breath cannot last long.

5 P. M.

I feel myself going. I thank you for your attention. But I pray you to take no more trouble

*"He then asked, if I recollected any thing which it was essential for him to do, as he had but a very short time to continue with us. I told him, that I could recollect nothing, but that I hoped he was not so near his end. He observed, smiling, that he certainly was, and that, as it was the debt which we must all pay, he looked to the event with perfect resignation."-TOBIAS LEAR.

"In the course of the afternoon, (Saturday,) he appeared to be in great pain and distress, from the difficulty of breathing, and frequently changed his posture in the bed. On these occasions, I lay upon the bed and endeavored to raise him, and turn him with as much ease as possible. He appeared penetrated with gratitude for my attentions."-TOBIAS LEAR.

Dr. Craik, his family physician.

The three physicians at his bedside,-Dr. Craik, Dr. Dick, and Dr. Brown.

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