In Seventeen Hundred Ninety-three there were on the Mount Vernon plantation three hundred seventy head of cattle, and Washington appends to the report a sad regret that, with all this number of horned beasts, he yet has to buy butter.  There is also a fine, grim humor shown in the incident of a flag of truce coming in at New York, bearing a message from General Howe, addressed to “Mr. Washington.”  The General took the letter from the hand of the redcoat, glanced at the superscription, and said:  “Why, this letter is not for me!  It is directed to a planter in Virginia.  I’ll keep it and give it to him at the end of the war.”  Then, cramming the letter into his pocket, he ordered the flag of truce out of the lines and directed the gunners to stand by.  In an hour, another letter came back addressed to “His Excellency, General Washington.”

It was not long after this a soldier brought to Washington a dog that had been found wearing a collar with the name of General Howe engraved on it.  Washington returned the dog by a special messenger with a note reading, “General Washington sends his compliments to General Howe, and begs to return one dog that evidently belongs to him.”  In this instance, I am inclined to think that Washington acted in sober good faith, but was the victim of a practical joke on the part of one of his aides.

Another remark that sounds like a joke, but perhaps was not one, was when, on taking command of the army at Boston, the General writes to his lifelong friend, Doctor Craik, asking what he can do for him, and adding a sentiment still in the air:  “But these Massachusetts people suffer nothing to go by them that they can lay their hands on.”  In another letter he pays his compliments to Connecticut thus:  “Their impecunious meanness surpasses belief.”  When Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown, Washington refused to humiliate him and his officers by accepting their swords.  He treated Cornwallis as his guest, and even “gave a dinner in his honor.”  At this dinner, Rochambeau being asked for a toast gave “The United States.”  Washington proposed “The King of France.”  Cornwallis merely gave “The King,” and Washington, putting the toast, expressed it as Cornwallis intended, “The King of England,” and added a sentiment of his own that made even Cornwallis laugh—­“May he stay there!” Washington’s treatment of Cornwallis made him a lifelong friend.  Many years after, when Cornwallis was Governor-General of India, he sent a message to his old antagonist, wishing him “prosperity and enjoyment,” and adding, “As for myself, I am yet in troubled waters.”

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Once in a century, possibly, a being is born who possesses a transcendent insight, and him we call a “genius.”  Shakespeare, for instance, to whom all knowledge lay open; Joan of Arc; the artist Turner; Swedenborg, the mystic—­these are the men who know a royal road to geometry; but we may safely leave them out of account when we deal with the builders of a State, for among statesmen there are no geniuses.