Their perils fearful—measureless their gain!
While love of home the freeman's breast shall fill,
Their fame shall cause the freeman's breast to thrill."
Thomas MacKellar.
ALLEY FORGE! How dear to the true worshiper at the shrine of Freedom is the name of Valley Forge! There, in the midst of frost and snows, disease and destitution, Liberty erected her altar; and in all the world's history we have no record of purer devotion, holier sincerity, or more pious self-sacrifice, than was there exhibited in the camp of Washington. The courage that nerves the arm on the battle-field, and dazzles by its brilliant but evanescent flashes, pales before the steadier and more intense flame of patient endurance, the sum of the sublime heroism displayed at Valley Forge. And if there is a spot on the face of our broad land whereon Patriotism should delight to pile its highest and most venerated monument, it should be in the bosom of that little vale on the bank of the Schuylkill. Toward its "templed hills," consecrated by the presence and sufferings of those who achieved our independence, we journeyed, filled with the pleasant emotions of a pilgrim approaching the place he most adores.
We crossed the Schuylkill at Norristown, a little after sunrise, and took the road leading to Valley Forge by the way of "The King of Prussia Tavern," a half-way locality, famous for its good cheer long before the Revolution. There hung its sign, emblazoned with a figure of a noble-looking warrior on horseback, ancient enough in its appearance to warrant the belief that it creaked in the breeze when the officers of Howe refreshed themselves there with flip from the hands of old Harman de Vriest. * The country through which we rode is broken but fertile, every where abounding with iron. Here, also, large heaps of quarried ore flanked the road in various places, and for many furlongs the highway had a ferruginous pavement. Descending a long and steep hill, sloping northward, we came suddenly upon the little village of Valley Forge before we were aware of its proximity. It is
* In the Pennsylvania Journal, 1761, there is a notification that Jacob Colman intended to run a stage, with an awning, three times a week, "from the King of Prussia Inn, to the George Inn, southwest corner of Second and Arch Streets, Philadelphia." Ritter's tavern, in Germantown, was called "The King of Prussia Inn," according to Watson, the annalist, from the following circumstance: Toward the close of the last century, Gilbert Stuart, the eminent portrait painter, resided in Germantown. In one of his eccentric moods, he executed a fine painting of the King of Prussia, on horseback, and presented it to Ritter for a sign, stipulating that the name of the painter should not be divulged. It hung there for several years, the admiration of all, until the letters "The King of Prussia Inn" were painted over it. The sign afterward came into the possession of Mr. Watson, who cherished it as a valuable memento of the genius and character of the great painter.