“That, indeed, is the highest praise, as it shows the highest wisdom,” answered Madam Washington.
George listened with all his mind to this. He had read the Spectator, and Mr. Addison’s tragedy of “Cato” had been read to him by Mr. Hobby, the Scotch school-master who taught him, and he loved to hear of these great men. The earl, although deep in talk with Madam Washington, was by no means unmindful of the boy, but without seeming to notice him watched every expression of his earnest face.
“I once saw Dean Swift,” continued Madam Washington. “It was at a London rout, where I went with my brother’s wife, Madam Joseph Ball, when we were visiting in London. He had great dark eyes, and sat in a huge chair, and called ladies of quality ‘my dear,’ as if they were dairy-maids. And the ladies seemed half to like it and half to hate it. They told me that two ladies had died of broken hearts for him.”
“I believe it to be true,” replied the earl. “That was the last time the Dean ever saw England. He went to Ireland, and, as he said, ‘commenced Irishman in earnest,’ and died very miserably. He could not be bought for money, but he could very easily be bribed with power.”
“And that poor Captain Steele?”
The earl’s grave face was suddenly illuminated with a smile.
“Dear Dick Steele—the softest-hearted, bravest, gentlest fellow—always drunk, and always repenting. There never was so great a sermon preached on drunkenness as Dick Steele himself was. But for drink he would have been one of the happiest, as he was by nature one of the best and truest, gentlemen in the world; but he was weak, and he was, in consequence, forever miserable. Drink brought him to debts and duns and prison and rags and infamy. Ah, madam, ’twould have made your heart bleed, as it made mine, to see poor Dick reeling along the street, dirty, unkempt, his sword bent, and he scarce knowing what he was doing; and next day, at home, where his wife and children were in hunger and cold and poverty, behold him, lying in agony on his wretched bed, weeping, groaning, reproaching himself, and suffering tortures for one hour’s wicked indulgence! Then would he turn gentleman again, and for a long time be our own dear Dick Steele—his wife smiling, his children happy. I love to think on honest Dick at these times. It was then he wrote that beautiful little book, which should be in every soldier’s hands, The Christian Hero. We could always tell at the club whether Dick Steele were drunk or sober by Mr. Addison’s face. When Steele was acting the beast, Mr. Addison sighed often and looked melancholy all the time, and spent his money in taking such care as he could of the poor wife and children. Poor Dick! The end came at last in drunkenness and beastliness; but before he died, for a little while, he was the Dick Steele we loved, and shall ever love.”
“And Mr. Pope—the queer little gentleman—who lived at Twickenham, and was so kind to his old mother?”
“Mr. Pope was a very great genius, madam, and had he not been born crooked he would have been an admirable man; but the crook in his body seemed to make a crook in his mind. He died but last year, outliving many strong men who pitied his puny frame. But let me not disparage Mr. Pope. My Lord Chesterfield, who was a very good judge of men, as well as the first gentleman of his time, entertained a high esteem for Mr. Pope.”
“I also had the honor of meeting the Earl of Chesterfield,” continued Madam Washington, with animation, “and he well sustained the reputation for politeness that I had heard of him, for he made as much of me as if I had been a great lady instead of a young girl from the colonies, whom chance and the kindness of a brother had brought to England, and your lordship’s goodness had introduced to many people of note. ’Tis true I saw them but for a glimpse or two, but that was enough to make me remember them forever. I have tried to teach my son Lord Chesterfield’s manner of saluting ladies, in which he not only implied the deepest respect for the individual, but the greatest reverence for all women.”