Daniel, the young historian, sat watching his uncle's countenance with his sharp black eyes, expecting each moment to hear him break the silence with, "After the battle of Bunker's Hill;" or, "Washington, upon his arrival at Boston;" or something to that effect. But, last in his own thoughts, Uncle Juvinell still sat cross-legged in his arm-chair, and spoke not a word. At last, just by way of reminding him that a select and highly enlightened audience were in waiting to hear him, Willie softly arose from his chair, and, filling the little Dutch mug to the brim with rich brown cider, offered it to his uncle, with a forward duck of the head and a backward jerk of the heel, which he, no doubt, intended for a genteel bow. Uncle Juvinell took it; but set it again, with an absent air, untasted on the table. Then, drawing his spectacles down from his forehead, he again perused the letter he held in his hand, with earnest attention, the shadow on his brow deepening as he read.
When he had finished, he laid it on the table, and finally broke the long silence; his first words falling like ice-water on the ears of the little folks.
"Sad news for you, my dear children; sad news for us all! I have just received a letter from my old friend and kinsman, Peter Parley, of whom you have all heard so much, and to whom, for the many delightful books he has written, the younger generations of America are more indebted than perhaps to any man now living. In his letter he tells me, that, owing to his declining health, and increasing years, he has ceased his literary labors altogether, and betaken himself to New Orleans, in whose milder climate he hopes he may, in some measure, recruit his failing powers. What he says in addition to this I will give you in his own words:—
"The effects of that unlucky fall on the ice, while crossing Boston Common, so many years ago, I have felt in my right hip, to a greater or less degree, ever since; and within the past year my lameness has so much increased as to have become a matter of much anxiety to my friends, and some uneasiness to myself. Taking this in connection with the growing infirmities of age, I sometimes have a foreboding that I shall never return to Boston alive.
"Under this impression, I now write you, my Cousin Juvinell, entreating you, as my nearest living kinsman and much-beloved friend, to come and see me at this place, and sojourn here with me, until, in the wisdom of a kind Providence, it be determined whether my span of life is to be shortened or lengthened yet a little more. It will be a comfort to me to have you by my side at the closing scene; and it may be that your cheerful presence and sunny humor will do more to revive me than I can hope for even from this mild, pleasant Louisiana air.
"I know that your compliance with my request will for a season prove a serious interruption to the enjoyment of the little folks in your vicinity, whom you have taken under your wing, and to whose entertainment and instruction so much of your useful life is devoted. But they will, I am sure, without hesitation, make this sacrifice in behalf of one who has for many long years labored so hard and faithfully for their happiness and improvement. Commend me kindly to them. Hoping to see you at an early day, I remain, as ever, your affectionate friend and kinsman,
"Peter Parley."
Uncle Juvinell went on: "I am gratified, my dear children, to see in your grateful and sympathetic looks, saddened and disappointed though I know you really to be, that you are ready and willing to sacrifice what pleasure and entertainment my company and conversation may afford you, to the comfort and wishes of this venerated and excellent man. My going-away at this moment will, it is true, cause a sad interruption to our story of the life of Washington; but next Christmas, if we all be spared, and your Uncle Juvinell keep his memory fresh and green, we will gather together again in this very room, and take it up where we now drop it, and follow it through all its eventful changes to the glorious and happy end. Meanwhile, ponder well in your minds what I have already told you of the childhood, youth, and early prime of this illustrious man. And after all, now that I give the matter a second thought, we could not have been interrupted at a more suitable place; for the account I have given up to this point needs scarcely a single important particular to make it a complete and separate story. We have followed him step by step, and seen how he rose, first from the boy-farmer to the youthful surveyor, from that to the young colonel, from that to the legislator of more mature years, and lastly from that to commander-in-chief of the armies of a young and rising nation.
"The history of his career after this period is, in fact, so closely connected with that of his country, as to be altogether inseparable from it.
"And again I repeat, ponder well in your minds what I have already told you, as being, after all, the part most necessary for you at present to know. Ever strive to keep his example before your eyes, ever to cherish his virtues in your hearts. Like him, be industrious in your habits, diligent in your studies, polite in your manners, orderly in your dress, peaceable in your disposition, upright in your dealings, faithful in your friendships, patient under trials, persevering under difficulties, strangers to covetousness, content with little, moderate with much, generous, self-denying, courageous in well-doing, pure in heart, devout in spirit, modest before men, reverent to your parents, respectful to your superiors, humble before God; and, like him, let the clear light of truth shine forth in all your words, in all your actions, in all your looks and gestures, in all your secret thoughts, and in your very souls. Be all this, that men may reverence you, that angels may honor you, that God may bless and reward you."