His marriage with the widow, Martha Custis, took place in January, 1759, and those who are wont to accuse Washing ton of lacking sentiment may be advised to study carefully all that can be learned about the romantic affair. Military life seemed over for him, and he settled down as a gentleman farmer, serving his col ony in the House of Burgesses, where he was formally thanked for his exertions in the public behalf, but was too modest to be able to reply; looking after the in terests of his parishes in the local ves tries, dispensing hospitality in true Vir ginian style, and superintending his estates in a thrifty fashion peculiarly his own; and last, but not least, keeping up his spirits and his health by frequent indulgence in the manly sport of fox hunting. At the age of 30 he was plain ly the greatest soldier in the colonies, the man to whom all eyes would turn should any public danger impend; and if no danger came, he would neverthe less be one of the wealthiest and most prominent citizens of the "Ancient Do minion." He had thus little to wish for except children. But if children did not come, his wife was destined to be filled with a higher love and more absorbing cares. He was to be the Father of his Country. From his seat at Mount Ver non, which he had been progressive enough to link with the rest of the world by a private wharf, he watched the clouds gathering in the political heavens, and he showed a statesmanly prescience in being almost the first American to perceive that a complete break with England was necessary to the peace and prosperity of the colonies.
He was no revolutionist, but neither was he afraid to trust the conclusions of his own mind; and if he was no orator, he was at least not the man to mince his words. Cmsar himself did not more thoroughly see the necessity for one-man rule at Rome than Washington saw the necessity for public independence in America. He declared at Williamsburg, in 1774, that he was ready to raise 1,000 men, support them at his own expense, and march them to the relief of Boston. A few weeks later he rode on horseback with Patrick Henry and Edmund Pendle ton to attend the 1st Continental Con gress in Philadelphia. He was, by the confession of Henry himself, easily the greatest man among the delegates. The 2d Congress saw him again in attend ance, and ready to give his life for his country. But though he could brave death he could not face praise, and he left the chamber when John Adams nom inated him to Commander-in-Chief of the Continental forces. The next day he accepted the post. while protesting his own unworthiness and refusing to accept any pay beyond a reimbursement of his expenses. No Roman of old ever came forward to save the State with purer in tentions or with more favorable auguries of success. Though to weaker spirits the prospect was appalling, strong men drew happy omens, not from the flight of birds and the entrails of victims, but from the justice of the common cause and the character of Washington. Nor did
they mistake, nor do we now mistake, when we assign the success of the Rev olution to these two causes.
As one traces the weary years that elapsed between his taking command (July 3, 1775) and his laying down his office (Dec. 23, 1783), it is perceived clearly that under Providence the issue of the mighty struggle depended on him. Had he lost heart at the supineness and bickerings of the people at large, had he grown weary of correcting the blunders of incapable subordinates, had he dis dained to control a fatuous Congress, or to put down a wretched cabal among his own officers, had his nerves given way at the sight of the sufferings at Valley Forge, had his spirit wavered at frequent defeat—in short, had he been anything but the noble patriot and great com mander that he was, the course of his tory might have been changed, and the United States might have died in its birth and forever, or come into existence again years later and under far different auspices. But he was Washington—the noblest figure that any people has ever set in the forefront of its life and his tory. While he lived and fougl t on with his ragged troops, the Union was main tained in spite of all State squabbles; while he was in command, any alliance made with France must be one which America could accept with dignity; while his brave heart beat, repulse meant only fresh resolve, and hardship and suffer ing only more splendid rewards of triumph.
It is idle to deny that he was the soul of the Revolution, and it is equally idle to ask whether or not he was a great general. Whether he was, technically speaking, a master of the art of war, students of that art may decide; though it is as well to remind them that Fred erick the Great praised his Trenton cam paign as a masterpiece of strategy. But that he is worthy to rank with the su preme commanders of history, no man of sound judgment and capable imagination will deny. Not that he always won his battles, or won them in the most ap proved way; not that he flamed like a comet in the heavens, threatening deso lation to the nations; not that he moved across the world's stage like a Kail or a Timor. His career does not enthrall us as does that of Alexander; it has not such tragic elements of inspiration and pathos as has that of Hannibal; it• does not leave us breathless with admiration as does that of Caisar; it does not exalt us and horrify us as does that of Na poleon. But it does give us that supreme sense of satisfaction which flows from the perception of harmony and propor tion; it does thrill us with the intense and elevated joy which must ever follow the spectacle of great powers consciously working for the successful accomplish ment of divine justice; it does fascinate us by means of those elements of sub limity and pathos that are never absent from the contemplation of a lonely but serene elevation above the common tide of humanity.