EEB-T1SWE Aflf> HARVEST 
VERDTCT FOR DEFENDANT. 
The Only Correct Version of a Histor¬ 
ical Dialogue. 
“George,” said his father, with a counte¬ 
nance more in sorrow than in anger. 
“George, some one has cut down my favor¬ 
ite cherry tree. Do you know anything 
anything about it?” 
Young Washington did not quail before 
his father’s accusing glance. He looked 
him straight in the eye, and an expression 
of honest resolution gleamed in the clear 
eyes and frank countenance. 
“My father,” he said, “I will not deceive 
you. I do know something about it, but 
that is not the issue at all. You have, in 
effect, charged me with being privy to the 
destruction of your favorite tree. Now, 
the question is, since you have filed in¬ 
formation and laid this charge against me, 
what do you know about it?” 
“I know that you have a hatchet,” re¬ 
plied his father sternly. “I know what a 
boy with a hatchet is liable to do. I know 
that some one has cut down my favorite 
cherry tree—” 
“Stop right there,” interrupted the future 
father of his country. “You say this was 
your tree?” 
“I do.” 
“How came it yours?” 
“I planted it.” 
‘ ‘Now, sir, are you certain it was not on 
this farm before you came here ? 
“No, sir, it was not.” 
“Then why did you say so.” 
“Why did I say what?” 
“That’s right; evade, quibble, crawl out 
of it somehow. All right. If you don’t 
want to answer a fair, plain, simple ques¬ 
tion you don’t have to-.” 
“But, I didn't say it was on the farm 
when I came here.” 
“Oh, very well, deny it; is there any 
other retraction you would like to make ?” 
“I don’t retract anything. I merely de¬ 
clare that I never said that tree was on the 
farm when I came here.” 
“Oh, ’well, father, don’t get excited and 
talk loud. You may go back on your en¬ 
tire statement if you wish. Perhaps you 
will next try to make us believe that this 
farm wasn’t here, either, when you came. 
“Why of course it was here. I don’t—” 
“Didn’t you say a moment ago that it 
wasn’t?” 
“That was the tree!” 
“Ah, yes; you turn it off on the tree now. 
You’ve been talking about the tree all this 
time, then?” 
“Why, certainly I have.” 
“Then you just admitted that it was 
here when you came?” 
“No, my son; that was the farm.” 
“But not half a dozen question ago you 
admitted that. You said in these very 
words, ‘Why of course it was here,’ did 
you not ?” 
“ I said those wmrds, but I was speaking 
of the farm.” 
“And yet you said but this very moment 
that all this time you had been talking 
about the tree. It is useless to continue 
this examination. My father, of all hu¬ 
man vices lying is the commonest, and I 
doubt not it is the worst. It blunts our 
moral sensibilities; it leads us to distort 
and exaggerate simple statements of facts; 
it blurs our powers of intelligent observa¬ 
tion, until even a man of ordinary scholar- 
ship and intellectual development is un¬ 
able to tell whether he is talking about a 
farm or a cherry tree. The complaint is 
dismissed. I doubt very much if you can 
even establish the fact that you ever owned 
a tree. Go to the nursery, and if you in¬ 
tend planting a tree in the place of the one 
vou imagine you have lost, you had better 
take a man with you to show you the 
ground, lest you might plant the tree in 
your hat. You may go.” 
Sadly the old man turned away, but he 
told the man who helped him plant the 
new tree that if he had a hundred boys he 
wouldn’t let another one of them study law. 
—Robert J. Burdette. 
Mark Twain on Beecher’s Farm¬ 
ing. 
Mr. Beecher's farm consists of thirty-six 
acres, and is carried on on strict scientfic 
principles. He never puts in any part of a 
crop without consulting his book. He plows 
