use, and under trials from the perversity,
insubordination, jealousy, and perfidy of those around him, severer than
any defeat.

GOLDWIN SMITH.

* * * * *

The life of our Washington cannot suffer by a comparison with those of
other countries who have been most celebrated and exalted by fame. The
attributes and decorations of royalty could have only served to eclipse
the majesty of those virtues which made him, from being a modest
citizen, a more resplendent luminary.

Malice could never blast his honor, and envy made him a single exception
to her universal rule. For himself he had lived enough to life and to
glory. For his fellow-citizens, if their prayers could have been
answered, he would have been immortal. His example is complete, and it
will teach wisdom and virtue to magistrates, citizens, and men, not only
in the present age, but in future generations, as long as our history
shall be read.

JOHN ADAMS.

* * * * *

His character, though regular and uniform, possessed none of the
littleness which may sometimes belong to these descriptions of men. It
formed a majestic pile, the effect of which was not inspired, but
improved, by order and symmetry. There was nothing in it to dazzle by
wildness, and surprise by eccentricity. It was of a higher species of
moral beauty. It contained everything great and elevated, but it had no
false or trivial ornament. It was not the model cried up by fashion and
circumstance: its excellence was adapted to the true and just moral
taste, incapable of change from the varying accidents of manners, of
opinions, and times. General Washington is not the idol of a day, but
the hero of ages.

ANONYMOUS.

* * * * *

Washington stands alone and unapproachable like a snow peak rising above
its fellows into the clear air of morning, with a dignity, constancy,
and purity which have made him the ideal type of civic virtue to
succeeding generations.

JAMES BRYCE.

* * * * *

Pale is the February sky,
And brief the midday's sunny hours;
The wind-swept forest seems to sigh
For the sweet time of leaves and flowers.

Yet has no month a prouder day,
Not even when the Summer broods
O'er meadows in their fresh array,
Or Autumn tints the glowing woods.

For this chill season now again
Brings, in its annual round, the morn
When,