P. S.—The Colonel will readily apologize for the inaccuracies of an unskillful muse, and be convinced the high estimation of his amiable character could alone actuate the author of the foregoing.
M. D. La Fayette.
So the name of the young general's friend and aid-de-camp was Samuel Augustus Barker.
Years passed. The Revolution was over. America was free. The French Revolution, with all its horrors and successes, had made France a republic. Napoleon had risen, conquered, ruled, fallen, and died, and the first quarter of the nineteenth century was nearly completed, when, in August, 1824, an old French gentleman who had been an active participant in several of these historic scenes arrived in New York. It was General the Marquis de La Fayette, now a veteran of nearly seventy, returning to America as the honored guest of the growing and prosperous republic he had helped to found.
His journey through the land was like a triumph. Flowers and decorations brightened his path, cheering people and booming cannon welcomed his approach. And in one of those welcomings, in a little village in Central New York, a cannon, which was heavily loaded for a salute in honor of the nation's guest, exploded, and killed a plucky young fellow who had volunteered to "touch off" the over-charged gun when no one else dared. Some months after, the old marquis chanced to hear of the tragedy, and at once his sympathies were aroused for the widowed mother of the young man.
He at once wrote to the son of the man who had been his comrade in arms in the revolutionary days half a century before, asking full information concerning the fatal accident, and the needs of the mother of the poor young man who was killed; and having thus learned all the facts, sent the sum of one thousand dollars to relieve the mother's necessities and to pay off the mortgage on her little home.
I have before me, as I write, the original letter written by the General to the son of his old friend, the paper marked and yellow with the creases of sixty years; and as I read it again, I feel that of all the incidents of the singularly eventful life of La Fayette there are none that show his noble nature more fully than those I have noted here: his enthusiastic services in behalf of an oppressed people, his close and devoted affection for his friend and comrade, and the impulsive generosity of a heart that was at once manly, tender, and true.
And as I write, I am grateful that I can claim a certain association with that honored name of La Fayette; for the young adjutant to whom the acrostic was addressed and the friend through whom the gift to the widow was communicated were respectively my grandfather and my father.
It is at least pleasant to know that one's ancestors were the intimate friends of so noble a man, of whom one biographer has recently said: "He was brave even to rashness, his life was one of constant peril, and yet he never shrank from any danger or responsibility if he saw the way open to spare life or suffering, to protect the defenseless, to sustain law and preserve order."