As has been indicated by
his recognition of the actor Bernard, he had in high degree the royal
gift of remembering names and faces. When he was at Senator Dalton's
house in Newburyport, on his New England tour of 1789, he met an
old servant whom he had not seen since the French war, thirty years
before. He knew the man at once, spoke to him, and welcomed him. So it
was with the old soldiers of the Revolution, who were always sure of a
welcome, and, if he had ever seen them, of a recognition. No man ever
turned from his presence wounded by a cold forgetfulness. When he was
at Ipswich, on this same journey, Mr. Cleaveland, the minister of the
town, was presented to him. As he approached, hat in hand, Washington
said, "Put on your hat, parson, and I will shake hands with you." "I
cannot wear my hat in your presence, general," was the reply, "when I
think of what you have done for this country." "You did as much as I."
"No, no," protested the parson. "Yes," said Washington, "you did what
you could, and I've done no more." What a gracious, kindly courtesy is
this, and not without the salt of wit! Does it not show the perfection
of good manners which deals with all men for what they are, and is
full of a warm sympathy born of a good heart? He was criticised
for coldness and accused of monarchical leanings, because, at Mrs.
Washington's receptions and his own public levees, he stood, dressed
in black velvet, with one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other
behind his back, and shook hands with no one, although he talked with
all.
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