“After an introduction by Mrs. Washington, without more form than common good manners prescribes, 'he requested me,' said my father, 'to be seated; and, taking a chair himself, entered at once into conversation. His manner was full of affability. He asked how I liked the country, the city of New York; talked of the infant institutions of America, and the advantages she offered, by her intercourse, for benefiting other nations. He was grave in manner, but perfectly easy. His dress was of purple satin. There was a commanding air in his appearance which excited respect, and forbade too great a freedom toward him, independently of that species of awe which is always felt in the moral influence of a great character. In every movement, too, there was a polite gracefulness equal to any met with in the most polished individuals in Europe, and his smile was extraordinarily attractive. It was observed to me that there was an expression in Washington's face that no painter had succeeded in taking. It struck me no man could be better formed for command. A stature of six feet, a robust but well-proportioned frame, calculated to sustain fatigue, without that heaviness which generally attends great muscular strength and abates active exertion, displayed bodily power of no mean standard. A light eye and full—the very eye of genius and reflection, rather than of blind, passionate impulse. His nose appeared thick, and, though it befitted his other features, was too coarsely and strongly formed to be the handsomest of its class. His mouth was like no other that I ever saw; the lips firm, and the under jaw seeming to grasp the upper with force, as if its muscles were in full action when he sat still. Neither with the general nor with Mrs. Washington was there the slightest restraint of ceremony. There was less of it than I ever recollect to have met with where perfect good breeding and manners were at the same time observed. To many remarks Washington assented with a smile or inclination of the head, as if he were by nature sparing in his conversation, and I am inclined to think this was the case. An allusion was made to a serious fit of illness he had recently suffered; but he took no notice of it. I could not help remarking that America must have looked with anxiety to the termination of his indisposition. He made no reply to my compliment but by an inclination of the head. His bow at my taking leave I shall never forget. It was the last movement which I saw that illustrious character make, as my eyes took their leave of him for ever, and it hangs a perfect picture upon my recollection. The house of Washington was in the Broadway, and the street front was handsome. The drawing-room in which I sat was lofty and spacious; but the furniture was not beyond that found in dwellings of opulent Americans in general, and might be called plain for its situation. The upper end of the room had glass doors, which opened upon a balcony, commanding an extensive view of the Hudson river, interspersed with islands, and the Jersey shore on the opposite side. A grandson and daughter resided constantly in the house with the general, and a nephew of the general's, married to a niece of Mrs. Washington, resided at Mount Vernon, the general's family-seat in Virginia; his residence, as president, keeping him at the seat of government.' The levees held by Washington, as president, were generally crowded, and held on Tuesday, between three and four o'clock. The president stood, and received the bow of the person presented, who retired to make way for another. At the drawing-room, Mrs. Washington received the ladies, who courtesied, and passed aside without exchanging a word. Tea and coffee, with refreshments of all kinds, were laid in one part of the rooms; and, before the individuals of the company retired, each lady was a second time led up to the lady-president, made her second silent obeisance, and departed. Nothing could be more simple, yet it was enough.”
The late Mr. Custis, in his Recollections of Washington, says: “With all its developments of muscular power, the form of Washington had no appearance of bulkiness; and so harmonious were its proportions, that he did not appear so passing tall as his portraits have represented. He was rather spare than full during his whole life; this is readily ascertained from his weight. The last time he weighed was in the summer of 1799, when, having made the tour of his farms, accompanied by an English gentleman, he called at his mill and was weighed. The writer placed the weight in the scales. The Englishman, not so tall, but stout, square built, and fleshy, weighed heavily, and expressed much surprise that the general had not outweighed him, when Washington observed that the best weight of his best days never exceeded from two hundred and ten to two hundred and twenty pounds. In the instance alluded to, he weighed a little rising two hundred and ten. In the prime of life, Washington stood six feet two inches, and measured precisely six feet when attired for the grave.
“The power of Washington's arm was displayed in several memorable instances: in his throwing a stone from the bed of the stream to the top of the Natural Bridge; another over the Palisades into the Hudson; and yet another across the Rappahannock, at Fredericksburg. Of the article with which he spanned this noble and navigable stream, there are various accounts. We are assured that it was a piece of slate, fashioned to about the size and shape of a dollar, and which, sent by an arm so strong, not only spanned the river, but took the ground at least thirty yards on the other side. Numbers have since tried this feat, but none have cleared the water. 'Tis the 'Douglas cast,' made in the days when Virginia's men were strong, as her maids are fair; when the hardy sports of the gymnasium prepared the body to answer the 'trumpet-call to war,' and gave vigor and elevation to the mind; while our modern habits would rather fit the youth 'to caper nimbly in a lady's chamber.'
“While the late and venerable Charles Willson Peale was at Mount Vernon, in 1772, engaged in painting the portrait of the provincial colonel, some young men were contending in the exercise of pitching the bar. Washington looked on for a time, then grasping the missile in his master-hand, whirled the iron through the air, which took the ground far, very far, beyond any of its former limits; the colonel observing, with a smile, 'You perceive, young gentlemen, that my arm yet retains some portion of the vigor of my earlier days.' He was then in his fortieth year, and probably in the full meridian of his physical powers; but those powers became rather mellowed than decayed by time, for 'his age was like a lusty winter, frosty yet kindly;' and, up to his sixty-eighth year, he mounted a horse with surprising agility, and rode with the ease and gracefulness of his better days. His personal prowess, that elicited the admiration of a people who have nearly all passed from the stage of life, still serves as a model for the manhood of modern times.
“In the various exhibitions of Washington's great physical powers, they were apparently attended by scarcely any effort. On one occasion, when quite a young man, he was present while others were trying their strength in wrestling. He had retired to the shade of a tree, intent upon the perusal of a favorite volume; and it was only when the champion of the games strode through the ring, calling for nobler competitors, and taunting the student with the reproach that it was the fear of encountering so redoubted an antagonist that kept him from the ring, that Washington closed his book, and, without divesting himself of his coat, calmly walked into the arena, observing that fear formed no part of his being. Then, grappling with the champion, the struggle was fierce, but momentary, 'for,' said the vanquished hero of the arena, 'in Washington's lion-like grasp, I became powerless, and was hurled to the ground with a force that seemed to jar the very marrow in my bones;' while the victor, regardless of the shouts that proclaimed his triumph, leisurely retired to his shade, and the enjoyment of his favorite volume.
“Washington's powers were chiefly in his limbs: they were long, large, and sinewy. His frame was of equal breadth from the shoulders to the hips. His chest, though broad and expansive, was not prominent, but rather hollowed in the centre. He had suffered from a pulmonary affection in early life, from which he never entirely recovered. His frame showed an extraordinary development of bone and muscle; his joints were large, as were his feet; and could a cast have been preserved of his hand, to be exhibited in these degenerate days, it would be said to have belonged to the being of a fabulous age. During Lafayette's visit to Mount Vernon in 1825, he said to the writer: 'I never saw so large a hand on any human being, as the general's. It was in this portico, in 1784, that you were introduced to me by the general. You were a very little gentleman, with a feather in your hat, and holding fast to one finger of the good general's remarkable hand, which was all you could do, my dear sir, at that time.'”
A late anonymous writer says: “I saw this remarkable man four times. It was in the month of November, 1798, I first beheld the Father of his Country. It was very cold, the northwest wind blowing hard down the Potomac, at Georgetown, D. C. A troop of light-horse, from Alexandria, escorted him to the western bank of the river. The waves ran high, and the boat which brought him over seemed to labor considerably. Several thousand people greeted his arrival with swelling hearts and joyful countenances. The military were drawn up in a long line to receive him; the officers, pressed in regimentals, did him homage. I was so fortunate as to walk by his side, and had a full view of him. Although only about ten years of age, the impression his person and manner then made on me is now perfectly revived. He was six feet and one inch high, broad and athletic, with very large limbs, entirely erect, and without the slightest tendency to stooping; his hair was white, and tied with a silk string; his countenance lofty, masculine, and contemplative; his eye light gray. He was dressed in the clothes of a citizen, and over these a blue surtout of the finest cloth. His weight must have been two hundred and thirty pounds, with no superfluous flesh; all was bone and sinew; and he walked like a soldier. Whoever has seen, in the patent-office at Washington, the dress he wore when resigning his commission as commander-in-chief, in December, 1783, at once perceives how large and magnificent was his frame. During the parade, something at a distance suddenly attracted his attention; his eye was instantaneously lighted up as with the lightning's flash. At this moment I see its marvellous animation, its glowing fire, exhibiting strong passion, controlled by deliberate reason.
“In the summer of 1799, I again saw the chief. He rode a purely white horse, seventeen hands high, well proportioned, of high spirit: he almost seemed conscious that he bore on his back the Father of his Country. He reminded me of the war-horse whose 'neck is clothed with thunder.' I have seen some highly-accomplished riders, but not one of them approached Washington; he was perfect in this respect. Behind him, at the distance of perhaps forty yards, came Billy Lee, his body-servant, who had perilled his life in many a field, beginning on the heights of Boston, in 1775, and ending in 1781, when Cornwallis surrendered, and the captive army, with inexpressible chagrin, laid down their arms at Yorktown. Billy rode a cream-colored horse, of the finest form; and his old Revolutionary cocked hat indicated that its owner had often heard the roar of cannon and small-arms, and had encountered many trying scenes. Billy was a dark mulatto. His master speaks highly of him in his will, and provides for his support.
“Some time during this year, perhaps, I saw him at Seeme's tavern, in Georgetown. The steps, porch, and street, were crowded with persons desirous of beholding the man. I viewed him through a window. The most venerable, dignified, and wealthy men of the town were there, some conversing with him. Washington seemed almost a different being from any of them, and, indeed, from any other person ever reared in this country. His countenance was not so animated as when I first saw him, for then his complexion was as ruddy as if he were only twenty years old.
“A few months before his death, I beheld this extraordinary man for the last time. He stopped at the tavern opposite the Presbyterian church, in Bridge street, Georgetown. At that time, a regiment of soldiers was stationed in their tents, on the banks of Rock creek, and frequently attended Doctor Balch's church, dressed in their costume, and powdered after the Revolutionary fashion. I attended their parade almost every day; and, on one of these occasions, I recognised Washington riding on horseback, unaccompanied by any one. He was going out to see his houses on Capitol hill, as I supposed. They were burnt by the British, in 1814. My youthful eye was riveted on him until he disappeared, and that for ever. I was surprised that he did not once look at the parade, so far as I could discover; on the contrary, he appeared indifferent to the whole scene.”