lla, my darling, take that bunch of
feathers, and brush off the dust from it. Now hand it to me. This, my
cherubs," he went on, "is the portrait of the good and great George
Washington, who is called the Father of our country. It is to him,
more than to any other man, that we owe the blessings of freedom,
peace, and prosperity, we now enjoy in larger measure than any other
people of the wide earth; and it was for these same blessings that he
fought and struggled through all the weary years of our Revolutionary
War, amidst difficulties, dangers, and discouragements such as never
before tried the strength of man. And when, in the happy end, he, by
his courage, skill, and fortitude, and abiding trust in the protection
of an all-wise Providence, had come out victorious over all, and
driven our cruel enemies from the land, so that our homes were once
more gladdened with the smiles of peace and plenty,--then it was that
a grateful people with one voice hailed him chosen of the Lord for the
salvation of our beloved country. Blessed be the name of George
Washington,--blessed for evermore!" And a big tear of love and
thankfulness started from each of Uncle Juvinell's mild blue eyes,
trickled slowly over his ruddy cheek, and, dropping thence, went
hopping and sparkling down his large blue waistcoat.

At this the little folks looked very grave, and thought to themselves,
"What a good man Washington must have been, and how much he must have
done and suffered for the welfare of his fellow-beings, thus to have
brought the tears to our dear old uncle's eyes!" After looking at the
picture for some moments in silence, they began talking about it, each
in his or her own fashion; while Uncle Juvinell listened with much
interest, curious to see what different impressions it would produce
on their minds.

"That scroll he holds in his left hand must be his farewell address to
his army," said Daniel, the young historian, looking very wise.

"What a fine long sword he carries at his side!" said Bryce, a
war-like youngster who had just climbed to the summit of his ninth
year, and had, as you must know, a wooden sword of his own, with which
he went about dealing death and destruction to whole regiments of
cornstalks and squadrons of horse-weeds, calling them British and
Tories.

"How tall and grand and handsome he looks!" said Laura, a prim and
demure little miss of thirteen: "in his presence, I am sure I could
never speak above a whisper."