Winchester Republican

WASHINGTON'S FAREWELL.
George Catlin, the celebrated painter of
Indian portraits, related the following anec-
dote, as detailed to him by the late Louis
Philippe:
"Being at St. Cloud, we were all talking
about Indians, when his Majesty, Louis
Philippe, said that it had been his great good
fortune to arrive with his brothers, at Phila-
delphia the day that Washington delivered
his farewell address: that while the hall was
filling up and overflowing with persons eager
to be present on the great occasion, he
observed a band of Indian chiefs from the
western woods seeking some situation where
they, too, might look upon what they knew
to be the crowning act of their Great Father's
life. After Washington had begun the
delivery of his address; after all auditors had
become quiet and still, an Indian head rose
slowly above the window-sill at the end of
the stand on which the great man stood.
Soon after, another and another found place
alongside the first, until every pane of the
lower sash framed a red skin's portrait.
Finally, he who had risen first commenced
stealthily to lift the sash. Finding that they
disturbed no one; and that no one forbid
them, they raised it up until a naked, brawny
shoulder went under for its support, and soon
a dozen naked savages were noiselessly
grouped on the window-sill, or stretched
out full length on the speaker's platform.
Watching intensely each look and gesture,
and (though they understood it not) to each
sacred word as it dropped from their father's
lips, great tears rolled down their manly
cheeks as though they knew it (what we all
now know) the greatest act of the greatest
man that ever lived."
A lady, still living in Philadelphia, in a
letter to the National Intelligencer, thus
speaks of the same event:
"When General Washington delivered his
farewell address, in the room at the southeast
corner of Chestnut and Sixth streets, I sat
immediately in front of him. It was the
room the Congress has occupied. *
General Washington's dress was a full suit of
black. His military hat had the black cock-
ade. There stood the Father of his Country,
acknowledged by nations the first in war,
first in peace, first in the hearts of his coun-
trymen.' No marshals, with gold-colored
scars; no cheering. The most profound
stillness greeted him, as if that great assembly
desired to hear him breathe and catch his
breath—the homage of the heart. Mr.
Adams covered his face with both his hands.
The sleeve of his coat and his hands were
covered with tears. Every now and then
there was a suppressed sob. I cannot de-
scribe Washington's appearance as I felt it—
perfectly composed and self-possessed till the
close of his address. Then, when strong
men's sobs broke loose, when tears covered
their faces, then the great man was shaken.
I never took my eyes off his face. Large
drops came from his eyes. He looked to
the grateful children who were parting from
their father, their friend, as if his heart was
with them, and would be to the end.