ing more than in the art of maneuvering a handful of ill-equipped, discouraged men out of the hands of a superior army? What lesson did that youth need more than the lesson that Right becomes Might in God's own good time? And here in these Alleghany glades we catch the most precious pictures of the lithe, keen-eyed, sober lad, who, taking his lessons of truth and uprightness from his widowed mother's knee, his strength hardened by the power of the mountain rivers, his heart, now thrilled by the songs of the mountain birds, now tempered by a St. Pierre's hauteur, a Braddock's rebuke, or the testy suspicions of a provincial governor, became the hero of Valley Forge and Yorktown, the immeasurable superior of St. Pierre, Dinwiddie, Forbes, Kaunitz, or Newcastle.
For consider the record of the Washington of 1775, beneath the Cambridge elm. Twenty-one years before, he had capitulated, with the first army he ever commanded, after the first day's battle he ever fought. He marched with Braddock's ill-starred army, in which he had no official position whatever, until defeat and
