In those days, more than now, a boy used very formal language when addressing his mother.  He might love her warmly, but he was expected to treat her with a great show of respect.  When Washington wrote to his mother, even after he was of age, he began his letter, “Honored Madam,” and signed it, “Your dutiful son.”  This was a part of the manners of the time.  It was like the stiff dress which men wore when they paid their respects to others; it was put on for the occasion, and one would have been thought very unmannerly who did not make a marked difference between his every-day dress and that which he wore when he went into the presence of his betters.  So Washington, when he wrote to his mother, would not say, “Dear Mother.”

Such habits as this go deeper than mere forms of speech.  I do not suppose that the sons of this lady feared her, but they stood in awe of her, which is quite a different thing.

“We were all as mute as mice, when in her presence,” says one of Washington’s companions; and common report makes her to have been very much such a woman as her son afterward was a man.

I think that George Washington owed two strong traits to his mother,—­a governing spirit, and a spirit of order and method.  She taught him many lessons and gave him many rules; but, after all, it was her character shaping his which was most powerful.  She taught him to be truthful, but her lessons were not half so forcible as her own truthfulness.

There is a story told of George Washington’s boyhood—­unfortunately there are not many stories—­which is to the point.  His father had taken a great deal of pride in his blooded horses, and his mother afterward took great pains to keep the stock pure.  She had several young horses that had not yet been broken, and one of them in particular, a sorrel, was extremely spirited.  No one had been able to do anything with it, and it was pronounced thoroughly vicious, as people are apt to pronounce horses which they have not learned to master.  George was determined to ride this colt, and told his companions that if they would help him catch it, he would ride and tame it.

[Illustration:  OLD WHITE CHAPEL, LANCASTER COUNTY, VIRGINIA, WHERE WASHINGTON AND HIS MOTHER ATTENDED SERVICE]

Early in the morning they set out for the pasture, where the boys managed to surround the sorrel and then to put a bit into its mouth.  Washington sprang on its back, the boys dropped the bridle, and away flew the angry animal.  Its rider at once began to command; the horse resisted, backing about the field, rearing and plunging.  The boys became thoroughly alarmed, but Washington kept his seat, never once losing his self-control or his mastery of the colt.  The struggle was a sharp one; when suddenly, as if determined to rid itself of its rider, the creature leaped into the air with a tremendous bound.  It was its last.  The violence burst a blood-vessel, and the noble horse fell dead.