In this connection it is worth glancing at Washington's relations with
children, the more that it has been frequently asserted that he had no
liking for them. As already shown, at different times he adopted or
assumed the expenses and charge of not less than nine of the children of
his kith and kin, and to his relations with children he seldom wrote a
letter without a line about the "little ones." His kindnesses to the sons
of Ramsay, Craik, Greene, and Lafayette have already been noticed.
Furthermore, whenever death or illness came among the children of his
friends there was sympathy expressed. Dumas relates of his visit to
Providence with Washington, that "we arrived there at night; the whole of
the population had assembled from the suburbs; we were surrounded by a
crowd of children carrying torches, reiterating the acclamations of the
citizens; all were eager to approach the person of him whom they called
their father, and pressed so closely around us that they hindered us from
proceeding. General Washington was much affected, stopped a few moments,
and, pressing my hand, said, 'We may be beaten by the English; it is the
chance of war; but behold an army which they can never conquer,'"
In his journey through New England, not being able to get lodgings at an
inn, Washington spent a night in a private house, and when all payment was
refused, he wrote his host from his next stopping-place,—
"Being informed that you have given my name to one of your sons, and
called another after Mrs. Washington's family, and being moreover very
much pleased with the modest and innocent looks of your two daughters,
Patty and Polly, I do for these reasons send each of these girls a piece
of chintz; and to Patty, who bears the name of Mrs. Washington, and who
waited upon us more than Polly did, I send five guineas, with which she
may buy herself any little ornaments she may want, or she may dispose of
them in any other manner more agreeable to herself. As I do not give these
things with a view to have it talked of, or even of its being known, the
less there is said about the matter the better you will please me; but,
that I may be sure the chintz and money have got safe to hand, let Patty,
who I dare say is equal to it, write me a line informing me thereof,
directed to 'The President of the United States at New York.'"
Miss Stuart relates that "One morning while Mr. Washington was sitting for
his picture, a little brother of mine ran into the room, when my father
thinking it would annoy the General, told him he must leave; but the
General took him upon his knee, held him for some time, and had quite a
little chat with him, and, in fact, they seemed to be pleased with each
other. My brother remembered with pride, as long as he lived, that
Washington had talked with him."
For the son of his secretary, Lear, there seems to have been great
fondness, and in one instance the father was told that "It gave Mrs.
Washington, myself and all who know him, sincere pleasure to hear that our
little favorite had arrived safe, and was in good health at Portsmouth. We
sincerely wish him a long continuance of the latter—that he may always be
as charming and promising as he now is—and that he may live to be a
comfort and blessing to you, and an ornament to his country. As a
testimony of my affection for him I send him a ticket in the lottery which
is now drawing in the Federal City; and if it should be his fortune to
draw the hotel it will add to the pleasure I have in giving it." A second
letter condoled with "little Lincoln," because owing to the collapse of
the lottery the "poor little fellow" will not even get enough to "build
him a baby house."
For the father, Tobias Lear, who came into his employment in 1786 and
remained with him till his death, Washington felt the greatest affection
and trust. It was he who sent for the doctor in the beginning of the last
illness, and he was in the sickroom most of the time. Holding Washington's
hand, he received from him his last orders, and later when Washington
"appeared to be in great pain and distress from the difficulty of
breathing ... I lay upon the bed and endeavored to raise him, and turn him
with as much ease as possible. He appeared penetrated with gratitude for
my attentions, and often said 'I am afraid I shall fatigue you too much.'"
Still later Lear "aided him all in my power, and was gratified in
believing he felt it; for he would look upon me with eyes speaking
gratitude, but unable to utter a word without great distress." At the
final moment Lear took his hand "and laid it upon his breast." When all
was over, "I kissed the cold hand, laid it down, and was ... lost in
profound grief."
