Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1916-02-17
The Original
hatchet Story

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~ OF humor, coupled with a love
OF old books, let him read 1.-THE Life
Of George Washington; With Curl
GUS Anecdotes, Equally Honorable
to Himself and Exemplary to His
Young Country. BY l.. Weems,
Formerly Rec, Of Mount Vernon
Parish, 1903.
He will fiSd this quaint, unau-
thentic history constant source OF
amusement from cover to cover.
The author begins with the boy
hood Of the Father of His Country,
and the Ratchet story is told, proba-
bly, for the first time in print, as he
says the anecdote was related to him
twenty years before by IAN aged lady,
who was a distant relative. and when
q girl spent much Of her time in the
(Washington) family" 1T is." he
adds, too valuable to be lost. and
too true to be doubted"
The story. with its original pune
tuation, is as follows:
When George was about six years
old, he vas made the wealthy mas
ter OF hatchet! of which, like most
little boys. he Was immoderately
tuAd; ana was constantly going
abo"t c.-,ppIug everything that
vh-I,e lii nls way.
One -. .a the garden, where
lie ui,rn amused himself hacking
his nutners pc sticks, he unluckily
lried the edge vi ms hatchet ON the
bouy OF beautiful young English
cherry Tree. Wnicn ne barked SO ter
ribiy, that | don't believe the tree
ever got the better of 1t.
The next morning the old gen.
ueman, finding out what had befal-
len his tree. whica, by the by, was
q great favorite, came into the
house; and with much warmth asked
for the misohievous author. declar-
| Ing at the same time, that he would
not have taken Ave guipeas for his
tree. Nobody could tell anything
about 1t.
| Presently George and his hatchet
made their appearance. George.
said his father, do you know who
killed that beautiful little cherry
tree yonder in the garden? This
was 2 tough question; and George
staggered under 1t for a moment;
but quickly recovered himself; and
| looking at his father, with the sweet
face of youth frightened with the in
expressible charm of all-conquering
truth, he bravely cried out, L can't
tell a lie, Pa; you know i can't tell
q lie. / did cut 1t with my hat 'het.
Run to my arms, you dearest boy.
cried his father in transports, run
to my arms; glad am l, George, that
you killed my tree; for you have
paid me for 1t thousand fold. Such
an act of heroism in my son is more
worth than thousand trees. though
blossomed with silver, and their
fruits Of purest gold.
Perhaps a word about the author
of this nearly forgotten history
would not be amiss just here.
The Rev. NJ. l.. Weems, a native
of Virginia, was an Episcopal clergy
man, whose circuit at one time ex-
tended over a goodly portion of Vir-
Einia and North Carolina.
The circuit riders life seventy
Ave years ago was not an easy one,
but though the summer sun poured
down its blistering rays or the cold
winds of winter swept round the old
parsons nigh seated gig. still he
logged contentedly along, for he
found many drops of sweetness in
life's cup. And first Of all was his
cherished fiddle, snugly stored un-
der his old gigs seat.
The writer's great uncle kept open
house, as was usual at that day, for
the wayfaring stranger, and no one
was more welcome than this CHEEKY
old minister. When supper was
over, with many a jest. he would
tune his fiddle and play, while the
young folk, with blithesome hearts
danced TO his merry tunes.
Then resting by the fire he would
entertain them with stories whose
rare humor never failed to hold the
attention.
And when facts gave out, he would
all unconsciously, wander into the
realms of fancy, and vivid imagi'
nation put the finishing touch te
many . tale