nkness in telling me the truth is worth a thousand colts to me. Most
gladly do I forgive you, and trust that the lesson you are taught by
this unfortunate affair will go with you through life."

In this incident we discover the daring, adventurous spirit of George.
His courage was equal to his honesty. No act of his life approached so
nearly to disobedience as this. Yet the spirit of disobedience was not
in his heart. His mother had forbidden any one to ride the colt, but it
was because she feared the colt would injure them. "If I can ride him
successfully, and prove that he can be broken to the saddle, mother will
be delighted," he reasoned. His thoughts were of pleasing instead of
disobeying his mother. Were there any doubt on this point, his rehearsal
of the whole story, with no attempt to shield himself from censure,
together with his sincere desire to be forgiven, settles the question
beyond controversy.

After George left Mr. Williams' school, and had gone to reside with his
brother Lawrence at Mount Vernon, a companion discovered in his journal
several verses that breathed love for an unknown "lowland beauty."

"What is this, George?" he asked. "Are you the poet who writes such
lines as these?" And he read aloud the verses.

"To be honest I must acknowledge the authorship," George answered, with
his usual frankness. "But there is more truth than poetry in the
production, I imagine."

"I was suspicious of that," responded his friend. "That means that you
fell in love with some bewitching girl, I conclude."

"All of that," answered George, with no disposition to conceal anything.

"That accounts for your poetical turn of mind," continued his friend.
"I have heard it said that lovers take to poetry."

"I don't know about that; but I confess to being smitten by the
'lowland beauty,'" was George's honest answer.

"Who is she, and where does she live?"

"That is of no consequence now; she is nothing to me, although she is
much in my thoughts."

"Did she respond to your professions of love?"

"I never made any profession of love to her."

"How is that?"

"I am too young and bashful to take such a step; it would be foolish
indeed."

"Well, to love and keep it to one's self must be misery indeed,"
continued his companion.

"There is something in that," answered George, "and I shall not conceal
that it has made me unhappy at times."

"And it was a kind of relief to let your tender regard express itself