fast clinched, the thumbs are extended each way to the nose, and the eyes gently turned out of their sockets. The victor, for his expertness, receives shouts of applause from the sportive throng, while his poor eyeless antagonist is laughed at for his misfortune.” The italics are not ours, but are used by that “sportive” Doctor of Divinity, Jedediah Morse, to add zest to his description. We do not believe Morse: we think he is exaggerating; yet there comes a time when, passing with other travellers through the State of Georgia, we find two combatants, as Morse describes, fast clinched by the hair, and their thumbs endeavouring to force a passage into each other’s eyes, while several of the bystanders are betting upon the first eye to be turned out of its socket. For some time the combatants avoid the thumb-stroke with dexterity. At length they fall to the ground, and in an instant the uppermost springs up with his antagonist’s eye in his hand! The exulting crowd applaud, while we, sick with horror, gallop away with all speed from the infernal scene.
Let us turn to more agreeable incidents. We must not forget that we are still at Philadelphia, where we find that the great heat of the city but ill suits our enfeebled frame. The poor French duke, whose acquaintance we had made, in the stage, advises us to try country air for a few weeks. We will do as he suggests. This same duke is a thorough gentleman, and completely disarms all our preconceived British prejudices against Frenchmen. He has been reduced from princely affluence to a condition which, by comparison, is almost poverty. But he rarely makes any allusion to former days. On one occasion he described to us a singular rencontre he had with an alderman of Newhaven. The duke had, some years before, been made a citizen of that city, and when he passed through, as we have, on his way to New York, he did not neglect to call and thank the mayor and municipality for the honour they had done him. Among the aldermen he recognised one who had last seen him at the head of his table in his French chateau, when he had kindly accorded permission to the worthy alderman and his party to view his house and grounds. We learned from a mutual friend that, when the Revolution drove this duke, who inherited an historical name, from France, he fled to England, and resided for some time at Bury St. Edmunds. While there, an old maiden lady died and left him a moderate fortune, which would have been of great service to him in his very straitened circumstances, but he found out her relations, and restored the money to them, reserving to himself one shilling as a souvenir!
In the course of our excursion into the country we have to cross a ferry,—no very uncommon occurrence in the States. We have bought a carriage, and are travelling, by easy stages, along a route but little used. This ferry belongs to General Washington. Being unprovided with smaller coin, we are compelled to offer the ferryman a gold moidore in payment of this unforeseen charge. He refuses to take it, and, on our inquiring his reason, he replies: “I’ve no weights to weigh it with, and when I take it to the general, he’ll weigh it, and if it shouldn’t be weight, he’ll not only make me lose the difference, but he’ll be angry with me.” After much persuasion, and on our offering to lose threepence on its value, the ferryman consents to take it. A few days later we return by the same route, when, to our astonishment, the ferryman presents us with three halfpence wrapped up in a piece of paper. It seemed that he had taken it to the general, who, on weighing it, found it was not weight to the value of three halfpence; so the great man himself had put the balance of our threepence in paper, with strict injunctions to the ferryman to return it to us, if we returned that way, as he felt almost certain we must.
This quaint example of the general’s exact and methodical habits amuse us greatly, and we mentioned it to the keeper of the tavern where we lodge the same evening. “Wal, yes, I calculate our Gin’ral Washington is about as reg’lar in his habits as any man you ever heerd on. He weighs or counts everything as is bought at Mount Vernon. He is quite as partic’lar about payin’ as receivin’. He and his man breakfasted here one mornin’, and I charged three-and-ninepence for the gin’ral. and only three shillings for the man; but the gin’ral, he says to me, ‘I make no doubt my man has eaten as much as I have, and I shall thank you to charge us both the same.’” We have been told before that it was the general’s custom, when he travelled, to pay as much for his servants’ meals as for his own.
We have not yet seen President Washington, but on our return to Philadelphia we have the honour not only of an interview with him, but, on presenting our letters of introduction, of an invitation to breakfast. He is tall and thin, but erect; rather of an engaging than a dignified presence. A mild, friendly man, very thoughtful and slow in speech, which makes some to think him reserved. His temperate life makes him bear his years well, though he is past sixty. We mark a certain anxiety in his countenance, the natural result of his many cares. His behaviour to us is so kind and courteous that we shall ever revere his name.
Mrs. Washington herself makes tea and coffee for us. On the table are two small plates of sliced tongue, dry toast, bread and butter, &c., but no broiled fish, as is the general custom. Next to Mrs. Washington sits her grand-daughter, Miss Custiss, a very pleasing young lady of about sixteen, and her brother, George Washington Custis, about two years older. There is but little appearance of form, one negro servant only attending, and he has no livery: a silver urn for hot water is the only article of expense on the table. Mrs. Washington appears somewhat older than the President, though we understand they were both born in the same year. She is short in stature, rather stout, and very simply clad, wearing a very plain cap, with her grey hair closely turned up under it. Mrs. Washington holds levees every Wednesday and Saturday at Philadelphia, during the sitting of Congress. On these occasions the ladies are seated in great form round the apartment, and have tea and coffee served to them. The President has a reception once a week, between the hours of three