There was a formidable mutiny in the Army of the Revolution, arising from the inability of the Government to pay the officers and soldiers, who assure Washington that, in order to provide food and raiment for their wives and children, they should return to their homes, and cultivate their neglected fields, and pursue their various peaceful avocations, if their salaries were not paid on a stated day. Washington invites the prominent leaders to meet him, and they accept his cordial invitation. The Hall is filled at an early hour with the bravest officers of the American camp, whom the village bell summons to hear an Address from their great Commander, and as its doleful reverberations expire on the evening air, Washington enters with unwonted dignity and gloom, and ascends the rostrum, and seats himself, and unfolds his Address to his noble and impoverished comrades. He sits, with one hand on his heart, and the other over his temples and unearthly eyes, and is apparently absorbed in grief and prayer. The silence of the tomb pervades the martial audience, and all seem to regard the hour as the most momentous in human history, as the return of the officers and soldiers to their homes, at this solemn crisis of the Revolution, might prove to be the funeral of liberty, and of patriots throughout the World. Washington approaches the desk, and stands like a statue, when neither whisper nor respiration can be heard, throughout the mournful throng. With haggard cheeks, and without repose for three successive nights, he wipes the copious tears from his blood-shot eyes, and moistens his parched mouth with water, and strives hard to articulate, but his big heart is so full, and his lips quiver so rapidly, and his tears fall so fast, that his speech is paralysed, and his vision blinded. The officers regret their rashness, and breathe heavy sighs, and recline their heads in silent grief, and some weep aloud, which kindles their feelings into a general lamentation, and the patriotic ladies thrill the entire assemblage with their piercing ejaculations. Washington strives to summon his wonderful self-possession, (which never deserted him till now,) and he rallies his resources like the dead of the resurrection, when he breathes these figurative truths, in the voice of a celestial being: “My beloved Companions: You know that I have grown gray in your service, and now you perceive that I am growing blind.” And while he utters these touching words, his iron nerve again succumbs, and he moistens his manuscript with the waters of his supernatural heart. He seats himself, and buries his face, and weeps as in his spotless childhood. The valiant officers, (who had never faltered amid the carnage and thunders of battle,) are utterly overwhelmed by Washington’s tears, and they depart for their respective quarters, and relate what has transpired, which infuses new fortitude and patriotism and unconquerable valor in the breasts of the desponding and mutinous