rk. At night, on joining his family circle, he
complained of a slight indisposition. Upon the night of the following
day, having borne acute suffering with composure and fortitude, he died.

In person Washington was unique. He looked like no one else. To a
stature lofty and commanding he united a form of the manliest
proportions, and a dignified, graceful, and imposing carriage. In the
prime of life he stood six feet, two inches. From the period of the
Revolution there was an evident bending in his frame so passing straight
before, but the stoop came from the cares and toils of that arduous
contest rather than from years. For his step was firm, his appearance
noble and impressive long after the time when the physical properties of
men are supposed to wane.

A majestic height was met by corresponding breadth and firmness. His
whole person was so cast in nature's finest mould as to resemble an
ancient statue, all of whose parts unite to the perfection of the
whole. But with all its development of muscular power, Washington's form
had no look of bulkiness, and so harmonious were its proportions that he
did not appear so tall as his portraits have represented. He was rather
spare than full during his whole life.

The strength of Washington's arm was shown on several occasions. He
threw a stone from the bed of the stream to the top of the Natural
Bridge, Virginia, and another stone across the Rappahannock at
Fredericksburg. The stone was said to be a piece of slate about the size
of a dollar with which he spanned the bold river, and it took the ground
at least thirty yards on the other side. Many have since tried this
feat, but none have cleared the water.

In 1772 some young men were contending at Mount Vernon in the exercise
of pitching the bar. The Colonel looked on for a time, then grasping the
missile in his master hand, he whirled the iron through the air, and it
fell far beyond any of its former limits. "You see, young gentlemen,"
said the chief with a smile, "that my arm yet retains some portion of my
early vigor." He was then in his fortieth year, and probably in the
fullness of his physical powers. Those powers became rather mellowed
than decayed by time, for "his age was like lusty winter, frosty yet
kindly," and up to his sixty-eighth year he mounted a horse with
surprising agility, and rode with ease and grace. Rickets, the
celebrated equestrian, used to say, "I delight to see the General ride,
and make it a