hand. He said to me: 'I find I am going. My breath cannot last long. I believed from the first that the disorder would prove fatal. Do you arrange and record all my late military letters and papers. Arrange my accounts and settle my books, as you know more about them than any one else, and let Mr. Rawlins finish recording my other letters which he has begun.' I told him this should be done. He then asked if I recollected any thing which it was essential for him to do, as he had but a very short time to continue with us. I told him that I could recollect nothing, but that I hoped he was not so near his end. He observed, smiling, that he certainly was, and that, as it was a debt we must all pay, he looked to the event with perfect resignation.

"In the course of the afternoon he appeared to be in great pain and distress from the difficulty of breathing, and frequently changed his posture in the bed. On these occasions 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;' and upon my assuring him that I could feel nothing but a wish to give him ease, he replied, 'Well, it is a debt we must pay to each other, and I hope when you want aid of this kind you will find it.""

Washington then inquired when Mr. Lewis and Washington Custis, who were in New Kent, would return; and being told, he remained silent awhile, and then desired his servant, Christopher, who had been in the room all day, to sit down, for he had been standing most of the time. He did so. A few minutes afterward Dr. Craik came into the room, and as he approached the bedside, Washington said to him: Doctor, J

die hard, but I am not afraid to go. I believed, from my first attack, that I should not survive it. My breath cannot last long." The doctor, overcome with emotion, pressed his hand, but could not utter a word. He left the bedside, and, in deep grief, sat by the fire for some time, while all was silent in the room, except the heavy breathing of the sufferer.

Doctors Dick and Brown came into the room between five and six o'clock, when they and Dr. Craik went to the bedside and asked Washington if he could sit up in bed. He held out his hand and Mr. Lear raised him up. "I feel myself going," he said; "I thank you for your attentions; but I pray you take no more trouble about me. Let me go off quickly. I cannot last long." Then casting a look of gratitude toward Mr. Lear, he lay down, and all left the bedside except Dr. Craik.

Mr. Lear now wrote to Mr. Law and Mr. Peter, gentlemen who had married two granddaughters of Mrs. Washington (sisters of Nelly Custis), requesting them to come immediately, with their wives, to Mount Vernon. At about eight o'clock the physicians tried other outward applications to relieve the sufferer, but in vain, and they left the room without any hope.

At about ten o'clock Washington attempted to speak to Mr. Lear, but failed several times. At length he murmured: “I am just going. Have me decently buried; and do not let my body be put into the vault in less than three days after I am dead." Mr. Lear could not speak, but bowed his assent. Washington whispered, "Do you understand?" Lear replied, "Yes." ""Tis well," he said; and these were the last words he ever spoke-“'Tis well!”

“About ten minutes before he expired," says Mr. Lear ("which was between ten and eleven o'clock), his breathing

became easier. He lay quietly; he withdrew his hand from minc and felt his own pulse. I saw his countenance change. I spoke to Dr. Craik, who sat by the fire. He came to the bedside. The general's hand fell from his wrist. I took it in mine and pressed it to my bosom. Dr. Craik put his hands over his eyes, and he expired without a struggle or a sigh.

"While we were fixed in silent grief, Mrs. Washington, who was sitting at the foot of the bed, asked, with a firm and collected voice, 'Is he gone?' I could not speak, but held up my hand as a signal that he was no more. 'Tis well,' said she, in the same voice, 'all is now over; I shall soon follow him; I have no more trials to pass through.""

"It may be asked," says Mr. Custis, "why was the ministry of religion wanting to shed its peaceful and benign lustre upon the last hours of Washington? Why was he, to whom the observances of sacred things were ever primary duties through life, without their consolations in his last moments? We answer, circumstances did not permit. It was but for a little while that the disease assumed so threatening a character as to forbid the encouragement of hope; yet, to stay that summons which none may refuse, to give still farther length of days to him whose time-honored life was so dear to mankind, prayers were not wanting to the throne of grace. Close to the couch of the sufferer, resting her head upon that ancient book, with which she had been wont to hold pious communion a portion of every day for more than half a century, was the venerable consort, absorbed in silent prayer, and from which she only arose when the mourning group prepared to lead her from the chamber of the dead."

That chamber, ever held sacred by the Washington family,

and concealed from the eyes of the curious visitor, appears now, in form and feature, precisely as when the spirit of the Father of his Country took its departure from it. Not a vestige of the furniture that was there at the time of Washington's death, remains. The bed and bedstead on which he died are at Arlington House, where they, too, are kept as not only precious but sacred mementos of the great and good Washington.

The bedstead is made of mahogany, and was manufactured in New York in 1789. It is remarkable for its size, being six feet square. It was in constant use in the bed-chamber of General and Mrs. Washington, from the time of its manufacture until his death. The bed and bedding remain in precisely

the same condition as when Washington was borne from his chamber to his tomb.

The room in which Washington died has seldom been seen by visitors at Mount Vernon. While enjoying the hospitalities of the late proprietor for two or three days, I was permitted to enter and sketch it. It was used as a private chamber by the heads of the family. Empty, it presents the same appearance it did at Washington's death, and so I delineated it. Two doors open from it into other chambers, and one to stairs that lead to the garret.

As I stood alone in that death-chamber of the illustrious Washington, fancy seemed to fill it with those who occupied it on Saturday night, the 14th of December, 1799, mentioned in a memorandum by Mr. Lear. On the bed lay the great man at the sublime moment of his death. Near the bed stood Mr Lear and Dr. Craik. "Mrs. Washington was sitting near the foot of the bed. Christopher was standing near the bedside. Caroline, Molly, and Charlotte (house-servants) were in the room, standing near the door. Mrs. Forbes, the housekeeper,