Now, James was a rigid Dissenter, and caused the child to be taken to the meeting-house; and he stood up with it in his arms, in the midst of the congregation, that his infant might publicly receive baptism.
The minister inquired, in a low voice, "What is the child's name?"
His neighbours were anxious to hear the answer; and, in his deep, sonorous tones, he replied aloud—
"George Washington!"
There was a sort of buzz and a movement throughout the congregation, and the minister himself looked surprised.
When her daughter was born, the choice of the name was left to Peggy, and she called her Catherine, in remembrance of her mother.
Shortly after the birth of his children, the French Revolution began to lour in the political horizon, and James Nicholson, the weaver, with a fevered anxiety, watched its progress.
"It is a bursting forth o' the first seed o' the tree o' liberty, which the Americans planted, and George Washington reared," cried James, with enthusiasm; "the seeds o' that tree will spread owre the earth, as if scattered by the winds o' heaven—they will cover it as the waters do the sea—they will take root—they will spring up in every land: beneath the burning sun o' the West Indies, on the frozen deserts o' Siberia, the slave and the exile will rejoice beneath the shadow o' its branches, and their hearts be gladdened by its fruits."
"Ay, man, James, that's noble!" exclaimed some brother Leveller, who retailed the sayings of the weaver at second hand. "Losh! if ye haena a headpiece that wad astonish a privy council!"
But, when the storm burst, and the sea of blood gushed forth like a deluge, when the innocent and the guilty were butchered together, James was staggered, his eyes became heavy, and his countenance fell. At length he consoled his companions, saying—