GREENE, GEORGE WASHINGTON, an American biographer, grandson of General Nathanael Greene, of Revolutionary fame, born at East Greenwich, R. I., April 8, 1811; died there, February 2, 1883. He studied at Brown University, but left without graduating, on account of ill-health. He resided in Europe from 1825 till 1847, having been in 1837 appointed United States Consul at Rome. Returning to the United States, he was in 1848 appointed Professor of Modern Languages in Brown University. In 1852 he took up his residence in New York, where he was occupied in teaching and in literary work. In 1865 he returned to Rhode Island, and not long afterward was elected to the State Legislature. In 1872 he was chosen Professor of American History at Cornell University. His works include, besides several textbooks in various departments, a brief Life of General Nathanael Greene, in Sparks's American Biography (1846); Historical and Biographical Studies (1850, 1860); History and Geography of the Middle Ages (1851); An Examination of the Ninth Volume of Bancroft's History, in which he maintains that injustice is done to Nathanael Greene (1866); The German Element in the War of American Independence (1876); A Short History of Rhode Island (1877). He also edited an edition of the Works of Addison. His most important work is a full Life of Nathanael Greene (3 vols., 1867-1871).

LIFE AT VALLEY FORGE.

But even Valley Forge had its recreations. "Several general officers are sending for their wives," writes Lafayette to his own wife, "and I envy them, not their wives, but the happiness of being where they can see them." Mr. Greene had joined her husband early in January, bringing with her her summer's acquisition, a stock of French, that quickly made her little parlor the favorite resort of the foreign officers. There was often to be seen Lafayette, not yet turned of twenty-one, though a husband, a father, and a major-general; graver somewhat in his manners than strictly belonged either to his years or his country; and loved and trusted by all-by Washington and Greene especially. Steuben too was often there, wearing his republican uniform as, fifteen years before, he had worn the uniform of the despotic Frederick; as deeply skilled in the ceremonial of a court as in the manoeuvring of an army; with a glittering star on his left breast, that bore witness to the faithful service he had rendered in his native Germany; and revolving in his accurate mind designs which were to transform this mass of physical strength which Americans had dignified with the name of army, into a real army which Frederick himself might have accepted. He had but little English at his command as yet; but at his side was a mercurial young Frenchman, Peter Duponceau, who knew how to interpret both his graver thoughts and the lighter gallantries with which the genial old soldier loved to season his intercourse with the wives and daughters of his fellow-citizens. As the years passed away, Duponceau himself became a celebrated man, and loved to tell the story of those checkered days.

Washington, too, and his wife were often seen in this evening circle-not the grave, cold Washington of some books, but a human being, who knew how to laugh heartily and smile genially. And the courtly Morris and the brilliant Reed were there, and Charles Carroll, who was to outlive them nearly all; and Knox, whom Greene loved as a brother; and Hamilton and

Laurens, as often as their duty would permit ; and Wayne and Varnum and Sullivan, and many others of whom history tells, with some of whom she has kept no record all equally glad to escape for awhile from stern duties and grave cares to a cheerful fireside and genial company.

There was no room for dancing in these narrow quarters but next winter at Morristown we shall find a good deal of it, and see Washington dancing for hours with Mrs. Greene without once sitting down. There were no cards either. All games of chance had been prohibited early in the war; and American officers, even if they had had the means and inclination, had no opportunity to ruin themselves, as the officers. of Howe's army were ruining themselves at Philadelphia this very winter.

But there was tea or coffee, and pleasant conversation always, and music often-no one who had a good voice being allowed to refuse a song. Few could give more interest to a story or life to an anecdote than Mrs. Greene; and no one in those evening circles could excel her in adapting her subject and manner to the taste and manner of the immediate listener. And thus again somewhat of the gentleness of domestic life was shed over those stern scenes of war, and somewhat of its cheerfulness brought into these narrow dwellings-of themselves "no gayer," writes Lafayette," than a dungeon."

Out of doors all was more like a dungeon still; for the bleak hills shut them in on one side, the frozen river on the other. Out of the cold white snow rose the leafless forest, dark and spectral; and the wind swept in fierce gusts down the valley, or sighed and moaned around the thatched roofs of the huts. From the huts themselves came few signs of life, but the smoke that swayed to and fro over the chimneys at the will of the blast; and the shivering sentinels at the officers' doors; and now and then, as you passed along, a halfnaked soldier peering from a door, and muttering in an ominous undertone, "No bread, no soldier." If you ventured within, hungry nakedness met you on the threshold, or a foul and diseased air repelled you from

it. In the streets you would meet parties of soldiers yoked together to little carriages of their own contriving, and dragging their wood and provisions from the storehouses to their huts. There were regular parades, too at guard-mounting; and sometimes grand parades, in which you could see men half-naked holding their rusty fire-locks with hands stiffened with cold, and officers shielding themselves from the cold in a kind of dressing-gown made out of an old blanket or faded bedquilt.

There were many things to talk about in this dreary camp. There were rumors again of a French war. Burgoyne's defeat, perhaps, might turn the trembling scale of European diplomacy; and then how easy it would be to put an end to the war with England. There was that never-failing subject of discussion, the currency also-long since rapidly depreciating, and now hanging apparently upon the verge of bankruptcy. The Congress have at least agreed upon Articles of Confederation; will the States adopt them, and submit to a uniform system of taxation as the only sure basis of national credit? The Congress committee was in camp; seeing with their own eyes what the soldiers suffered; would they have the courage to follow up the evil to its source and heal it? Congress was discussing the question of half-pay; did they did the country even-see it in its true light? This year, too, there was a new army to raise.-Life of Nathanael Greene.

GREENE, ROBERT, an English dramatist, poet, and prose-writer, born at Norwich in 1560; died in London, September 3, 1592. His life was in every way a disreputable one, ending at the age of thirty-two in extreme poverty and distress. He was educated at Clare Hall, Cambridge, where he took his Master's degree in 1583. Five dramas indisputably his are extant, besides many poems, tales, and pamphlets. An edition of his works, in two volumes, edited by the Rev. A. Dyce, was published in 1831. Of his prose-writings the most interesting are those in which he acknowledges his transgressions and shortcomings, and professes his deep repentance. Among his plays are Orlando Furioso, The Honourable History of Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay, and Alphonsus, King of Aragon.

GREENE'S CONFESSIONS.

Being at the University of Cambridge, I light among wags as lewd as myself, with whom I consumed the flower of my youth, who drew me to travel into Italy and Spain, in which places I saw and practised such villany as is abominable to declare. Thus by their counsel I sought to furnish myself with coin, which I procured by cunning sleights from my father and my friends, and my mother pampered me so long, and secretly helped me to the oil of angels; so that being then conversant with notable braggarts, boon companions, and ordinary spendthrifts, that practised sundry superficial studies, I became as a scion grafted into the