George, a colored man, and once the favorite body-servant of George Washington, died in Detroit last week, at the patriarchal age of 95 years.  To the moment of his death his intellect was unclouded, and he could distinctly remember the first and second installations and death of Washington, the surrender of Cornwallis, the battles of Trenton and Monmouth, and Bunker Hill, the proclamation of the Declaration of Independence, Braddock’s defeat, the throwing over of the tea in Boston harbor, and the landing of the Pilgrims.  He died greatly respected, and was followed to the grave by a vast concourse of people.

The faithful old servant is gone!  We shall never see him more until he turns up again.  He has closed his long and splendid career of dissolution, for the present, and sleeps peacefully, as only they sleep who have earned their rest.  He was in all respects a remarkable man.  He held his age better than any celebrity that has figured in history; and the longer he lived the stronger and longer his memory grew.  If he lives to die again, he will distinctly recollect the discovery of America.

The above resume of his biography I believe to be substantially correct, although it is possible that he may have died once or twice in obscure places where the event failed of newspaper notoriety.  One fault I find in all the notices of his death I have quoted, and this ought to be correct.  In them he uniformly and impartially died at the age of 95.  This could not have been.  He might have done that once, or maybe twice, but he could not have continued it indefinitely.  Allowing that when he first died, he died at the age of 95, he was 151 years old when he died last, in 1864.  But his age did not keep pace with his recollections.  When he died the last time, he distinctly remembered the landing of the Pilgrims, which took place in 1620.  He must have been about twenty years old when he witnessed that event, wherefore it is safe to assert that the body-servant of General Washington was in the neighborhood of two hundred and sixty or seventy years old when he departed this life finally.

Having waited a proper length of time, to see if the subject of his sketch had gone from us reliably and irrevocably, I now publish his biography with confidence, and respectfully offer it to a mourning nation.

P.S.—­I see by the papers that this imfamous old fraud has just died again, in Arkansas.  This makes six times that he is known to have died, and always in a new place.  The death of Washington’s body-servant has ceased to be a novelty; it’s charm is gone; the people are tired of it; let it cease.  This well-meaning but misguided negro has not put six different communities to the expense of burying him in state, and has swindled tens of thousands of people into following him to the grave under the delusion that a select and peculiar distinction was being conferred upon them.  Let him stay buried for good now; and let that newspaper suffer the severest censure that shall ever, in all the future time, publish to the world that General Washington’s favorite colored body-servant has died again.