Atlantic Monthly, Vol. 8, No. 50, December, 1861 | Page 3

I was rising to go, a lady entered the room, and, without waiting for
an introduction, held out her hand so cordially that I knew it must be
one of his daughters. It was Madame de Lasteyrie, who, like her mother
and sister, had shared his dungeon at Olmütz. Her English, though
perfectly intelligible, was not as fluent as her father's, but she had no
difficulty in saying some pleasant things about family friendship which
made me very happy. She lived in the same street, though not in the
same house with the General, and that morning my good-fortune had
brought the whole family together at No. 6.
The occasion was a singular one. One of those heartless speculators to
whom our Government has too often given free scope among the Indian
tribes of our borders had brought to France a party of Osages, on an
embassy, as he gave them to understand, but in reality with the
intention of exhibiting them, very much as Van Amburgh exhibits his
wild beasts. General Lafayette was determined, if possible, to
counteract this abominable scheme; but as, unfortunately, there was no
one who could interpret for him but the speculator himself, he found it
difficult to make the poor Indians understand their real position. He had
already seen and talked with them, and was feeling very badly at not
being able to do more. This morning he was to receive them at his
house, and his own family, with one or two personal friends, had been
invited to witness the interview.
Madame de Lasteyrie was soon followed by her daughters, and in a few
moments I found myself shaking some very pretty hands, and smiled
upon by some very pretty faces. It was something of a trial for one who
had never been in a full drawing-room in his life, and whom Nature had
predestined to mauvaise honte to the end of his days. Still I made the
best of it, and as there is nothing so dreadful, after all, in a bright eye

and rosy lip, and the General's invitation to look upon his house as my
home was so evidently to be taken in its literal interpretation, I soon
began to feel at my ease.
The rooms gradually filled. Madame de Maubourg came in soon after
her sister, and, as I was talking to one of the young ladies, a gentleman
with a countenance not altogether unlike the General's, though nearly
bald, and with what was left of his hair perfectly gray, came up and
introduced himself to me as George Lafayette. It was the last link in the
chain. The last letter that my grandfather ever wrote to General
Lafayette had been about a project which they had formed at the close
of the war, to bring up their sons--"the two George Washingtons"
--together; and as soon after General Greene's death as the necessary
arrangement could be made, my poor uncle was sent to France and
placed under the General's care. It was of him that General Washington
had written to Colonel Wadsworth, "But should it turn out differently,
and Mrs. Greene, yourself, and Mr. Rutledge" (General Greene's
executors) "should think proper to intrust my namesake, G.W. Greene,
to my care, I will give him as good an education as this country (I mean
North America) will afford, and will bring him up to either of the
genteel professions that his friends may choose or his own inclination
shall lead him to pursue, at my own cost and charge." "He is a lively
boy," wrote General Knox to Washington, on returning from putting
him on board the French packet, "and, with a good education, will
probably be an honor to the name of his father and the pride of his
friends."
I may be pardoned for dwelling a moment on the scanty memorials of
one whose name is often mentioned in the letters of Washington, and
whose early promise awakened the fondest expectations. He was a
beautiful boy, if the exquisite little miniature before me may be trusted,
blending sweetly the more characteristic traits of his father and mother
in his face, in a way that must have made him very dear to both. With
the officers and soldiers he was a great favorite, and it cost his father a
hard effort to deny himself the gratification of having him always with
him at camp during the winter. But the sense of paternal duty prevailed,
and as soon as he was thought old enough to profit by it, he was put
under the charge of Dr. Witherspoon at Princeton. "I cannot omit
informing you," writes General Washington, in 1783, "that I let no

opportunity slip to inquire after your son George at Princeton, and that
it is with pleasure I hear he