He usually rode at a moderate pace in passing through his fields.  But when behind time, this most punctual of men would display the horsemanship of his earlier days, and a hard gallop would bring him up to time so that the sound of his horse’s hoofs and the first dinner bell would be heard together at a quarter before three.

A story is told that one day an elderly stranger meeting a Revolutionary worthy out hunting, a long-tried and valued friend of the chief, accosted him, and asked whether Washington was to be found at the mansion house, or whether he was off riding over his estate.  The friend answered that he was visiting his farms, and directed the stranger the road to take, adding, “You will meet, sir, with an old gentleman riding alone in plain drab clothes, a broad-brimmed white hat, a hickory switch in his hand, and carrying an umbrella with a long staff, which is attached to his saddle-bow—­that person, sir, is General Washington.”

Precisely at a quarter before three the industrious farmer returned, dressed, and dined at three o’clock.  At this meal he ate heartily, but was not particular in his diet with the exception of fish, of which he was excessively fond.  Touching his liking for fish, and illustrative of his practical economy and abhorrence of waste and extravagance, an anecdote is told of the time he was President and living in Philadelphia.  It happened that a single shad had been caught in the Delaware, and brought to the city market.  His steward, Sam Fraunces, pounced upon the fish with the speed of an osprey, delighted that he had secured a delicacy agreeable to the palate of his chief, and careless of the expense, for which the President had often rebuked him.

When the fish was served, Washington suspected the steward had forgotten his order about expenditure for the table, and said to Fraunces, who stood at his post at the sideboard, “What fish is this?” “A shad, sir, a very fine shad,” the steward answered.  “I know Your Excellency is particularly fond of this kind of fish, and was so fortunate as to procure this one—­the only one in market, sir, the first of the season.”  “The price, sir, the price?” asked Washington sternly.  “Three—­three dollars,” stammered the conscience-stricken steward.  “Take it away,” thundered the chief, “take it away, sir!  It shall never be said that my table set such an example of luxury and extravagance.”  Poor Fraunces tremblingly did as he was told, and the first shad of the season was carried away untouched, to be speedily discussed in the servants’ dining-room.

Although the Farmer of Mount Vernon was much retired from the business world, he was by no means inattentive to the progress of public affairs.  When the post-bag arrived, he would select his letters and lay them aside for reading in the seclusion of his library.  The newspapers he would peruse while taking his single cup of tea (his only supper) and read aloud passages of peculiar interest, remarking the matter as he went along.  He read with distinctness and precision.  These evenings with his family always ended at precisely nine o’clock, when he bade everyone good-night and retired to rest, to rise again at four and renew the same routine of labor and enjoyment.