The following anecdote was related to me by his excellency Governor Johnson (Maryland) one of the few surviving heroes of '76.
"You seem, sir," said he addressing himself to me, "very fond of collecting anecdotes of Gen. Washington. Well, I'll tell you one, to which you may attach the most entire faith; for I have heard it a dozen times and oftener, from the lips of a very valuable man and a magistrate, in Conostoga, a Mr. Conrad Hogmyer."
"Just before the revolutionary war," said Mr. Hogmyer, "I took a trip for my health's sake to the Sweet Springs of Virginia, where I found a world of people collected; some, like me, looking for health, others for pleasure. In consequence of the crowd, I was at first rather hard run for lodgings; but at length was lucky enough to get a mattress in the hut of a very honest baker of my acquaintance, who often visited the springs for the benefit of his oven. Being the only man of the trade on the turf, and well skilled in the science of dough, he met with no small encouragement: and it was really a subject of surprise to see the heaps of English loaves, Indian pones, French bricks, cakes, and crackers, which lay piled on his counter every morning. I often amused myself in marking the various airs and manners of the different waiters, who, in gay liveries and shining faces, came every morning, rattling down their silver, and tripping away with their bread by the basket. Among those gay looking sons and daughters of Africa, I saw every now and then, a poor Lazarite, with sallow cheek and hollow eye, slowly creeping to the door, and at a nod from the baker, eagerly seize a fine loaf and bear it off without depositing a cent. Surely, thought I to myself, this baker must be the best man, or the greatest fool in the world. But fearing that this latter cap best fitted his pericranium, I one morning could not help breaking my mind to him, for crediting his bread to such very unpromising dealers. "Stophel," for that was his name, "you seem," said I, "to sell a world of bread here every day; but, notwithstanding that, I fear you don't gain much by it."
"No! 'squire? What makes you think so?"
"You credit too much, Stophel."
"Not I indeed, sir, not I. I don't credit a penny."
"Ay! how do you make that out, Stophel, don't I see the poor people every day carrying away your bread, and yet paying you nothing?"
"Pshaw, no matter for that, 'squire. They'll pay me all in a lump at last."
"At last! At last! Oh no, at the last day, I suppose you mean, Stophel; when you have the conscience to expect that God Almighty will stand paymaster, and wipe off all your old scores for you, at a dash."
"Oh no! 'squire, we poor bakers can't give such long credit! but I'll tell you how we work the matter. The good man Colonel George Washington is here. Every season as soon as he comes, he calls and says to me, Stophel, you seem to have a great deal of company; and some, I fear, who don't come here for pleasure, and yet, you know, they can't do without eating. Though pale and sickly, they must have bread. But it will never do to make them pay for it. Poor creatures! they seem already low spirited enough through sickness and poverty. Their spirits must not be sunk lower by taking from them every day what little money they have pinched from their poor families at home. I'll tell you what's to be done, Stophel. You must give each of them a good hot loaf every morning; and charge it to me. When I am going away, I'll pay you all,"
And believe me, 'squire, he has often, at the end of the season, paid me as much as 50 dollars, and that too for poor creatures who did not know the hand that fed them; for I had strict orders from him not to mention a syllable of it to any body."