Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1848-11-09
Legends Of the Revolution.
THE YOUTH OF WASHINGTON.


II is not the most difficult thing in the world
to write the history of battle The tramp of
legions, the crash of contending foemen, the
waving of banners-arms gIttering here, and
the cold faces of the dead glowing yonder, in
the battle hash-these form picture that strikes
the heart at once, and makes its mark forever
But who can write the history of soul.
Who can tell how the germ of herosm, the
idea of greatness, first swells in the mind of the
boy, and slowly ripens into life?
We have seen Washington the President
We have known Washington the General
Shall we look into the soul of Washington the
boyl Shall we behold the almost imperceptibe
gradations which marked the progress of that
soul, into manhood! Shall we witness the ST.
lent, gradual, ceaseess EDUCATION of that soull
How was Washington educated! Did he
lounge away five years of his life within the walls
OF college, occupied in removing the shrouds
from the mummies of Classic Literature busy
in famiarizing his mind with the elaborate
polluons OF Grecian mythology, or in anaIyz.
ing the hollow philosophers of the academy and
portico!
NO HIS education was on broader, vastel
scale AT seventeen he leaves the common
school, where he had received the plain rudi-
ments OF an English education, and with knap.
sack strapped to his shoulders, surveyors instru-
ments IN his hands, he goes forth, pilgrim a.
mong the mountains. Where there is blue skv.
where the tumultuous river hews its way through
colossal cliffs, where the great peaks of the AL,
leghanies rise like immense affairs into the heav.
ens-such were the scenesdn which the soul of
Washington was educated g.
He went forth n Wandarar into Tho mil Jorroaa
AT night he stretched his limbs in the depths Of
the forest or rose to look upon the stars, as
they shcne in upon the awful night of the will.
derness, or sat down with the red men by their
council fire, and learned from this strange race
the traditions of the lost nations of America,
Three years Of life glide away while he SO.
lOurhs among the scenes of natures grandeur.
Those three years form his character. and shane
his soul Glimpses of the future come mon
him like those bushes of radiance in the day.
break sky which announce the rising of the
sun.
Shall we learn the manner of his communion
with nature and with God?
We know it is beneath the dignity of history
to look even for an instant into the heart We
know that vague genel aties, misty outlines,
compact and well proportioned falsehoods, sprink
led with dash of what is called philosophy.
TOO often constitutes the object and the manner of
history.
Shall we depart for little while from the
respectable reguarties of history, which too
often resemble the regular tactics of Bfaddock
on his fatal field, and call tradition and legend
to our aid! Tradition and legend which, in
their vivid but irregular details, remind us forci
bly, OF the crude style of battle which Young
Washington so fruitlessIy commended to the no.
tee OF the regular general, on the battle day OF
Mohongahela?
Learn, then, the manner of young Washing
toms communion with nature and with God !:
but first learn and know by heart the scenes in
which his boyhood passed away
Over tumultuous torrent, high in the upper
air, there hangs bridge of rock, fashioned by
the hand of nature, with the peaks of granite
mountains for its horizon. Two hundred feet
above the foaming waves you behold this arch.
which in its very ruggedness, looks graceful as
floating scarf Over the wave, looking through
the arch, you catch vision of colossal cliffs.
with glimpse of smiling sky Advance to the
parpet of this brfdge-cling to the shrubs that
grow there-look below Your heart grows
siCk--your brain reels.
Stand IN the shadow of the arch, and look
above. How beautiful! While the torrent snayk.
les at your feet, yonder, in the very Heaven, the
Arch OF Rock fills your eye, and spans the abyss,
with giant trees upon its brow
10 the Natural Bridge, Washington, the
young pilgrim came. He stood by the waves at
sunset-he drank in the rugged sublimity Of the
scene. And when the morning came, with an
unfalterlng STEP and hand that never shook.
not for an instant with one pulse of fear he
climbed the awful height--he wrote his name
upon the rock-he stood upon the summit he,
meath the tall pines, and saw the march oc dav
among the mountains.
Who shall picture his emotions in that hour!
AS his unfatering hand traced the name upon
the rock, did he dream of the day when that
name should be stamped upon the history of the
country, and written not in stone, but in the
throbs Of living hearts!
As he stood upon the arch, and saw the tor
rent sparkle dimly far below while the kiss of
light was glittering over the mountain tops. did
no vision of the battlefield, no shadow presen.
/. timent Of glory, CLEAN awfuy before his flashing
syes2
Again: another scene of Washington's edu.
cation.
There is river, which sparkes beautifully a.
long its eafy banks-glides on as smoothly as
the dream OF sness slumber; but even as you
gaze upon its CLASSY waves, it rushes from your
sight. Ii gdes over bed of rocks. and then
through yawning abyss sinks with one sullen
plunge INTO the bosom Of the earth On one
sue Aap 0eseld Ms s'CesSSesshh waters at your feet