Town and Country; Or, Life at Home and Abroad Part 13

LOVE'S LAST WORDS.

THEY knew that she was going To holier, better spheres, Yet they could not stay the flowing Of their tears; And they bent above in sorrow, Like mourners o'er a tomb, For they knew that on the morrow There'd be gloom.

There was one among the number Who had watched the dying's breath, With an eye that would not slumber Until death.

There, as he bent above her, He whispered in her ear How fondly he did love her, Her most dear.

"One word, 't will comfort send me, When early spring appears, And o'er thy grave I bend me In my tears.

A single word now spoken Shall be kept in Memory's shrine, Where the dearest treasured token Shall be thine."

She pressed his hand-she knew him- With the fervor of a child; And, looking fondly to him, Sweetly smiled.

And, smiling thus, she started For her glorious home above, And her last breath, as it parted, Whispered "Love."

LIGHT IN DARKNESS.

SOMETIMES my heart complaineth And moans in bitter sighs; And dreams no hope remaineth, No more its sun will rise.

But yet I know G.o.d liveth, And will do all things well; And that to me he giveth More good than tongue can tell.

And though above me linger At times dark Sorrow's shroud, I see Faith's upraised finger Point far beyond the cloud.

MT. VERNON, AND THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON.

THE heat of noon had pa.s.sed, and the trees began to cast their evening shadows, when, in company with a friend, I seated myself in a carriage, and drove off in the direction of Mount Vernon. We crossed the long bridge, and found ourselves in the old State of Virginia.

It was a delightful afternoon; one just suited to the purpose to which we had devoted it. The trees were clad in fresh, green foliage, and the farms and gardens were blooming into early life. To myself, no season appears so beautiful as that of spring. All seasons to me are bright and glorious, but there is a charm about spring that captivates the soul. Then Nature weaves her drapery, and bends over the placid lake to jewel herself, as the maiden bends before her mirror to deck her pure white brow with diamonds and rubies. All is life, all animation, all clothed with hope; all tending upward, onward to the bright future. "The trees are full of crimson buds, the woods are full of birds, And the waters flow to music, like a tune with pleasant words."

In about one hour we reached the city of Alexandria. Between this place and Washington a steamboat plies, going and returning four times a day. The road from Washington to Alexandria is about decent; but the road from thence to Mount Vernon is in the worst possible condition,--so bad, in fact, that we dismounted and walked a considerable distance, it being far less tiresome to walk than to ride. The road winds in a very circuitous route through a dense forest, the lofty trees of which, rising upon either hand, cast their deep shadows upon us. The place, that would otherwise have been gloomy, was enlivened by the variable songs of the mocking-birds, and the notes of their more beautiful-plumed though less melodious companions.

Occasionally we pa.s.sed the hut of a negro, and met a loaded team from some Virginian farm, drawn by three or four ill-looking, yet strong and serviceable horses. These teams were managed by negroes,--never less than two, and in some cases by three or four, or, as in one instance, by an entire family, man, wife and children, seated on their loads, whistling and singing, where also sat a large black-and-white mastiff. Long after we pa.s.sed and they had receded from our view, we could distinctly hear their melodious voices singing their simple yet expressive songs, occasionally interrupted by a "gee, yawh, shau," as they urged on their dilatory steeds.

The homes of the negroes were in some cases built of stone; mostly, however, of boards, put loosely together, and in some instances of large logs, the crevices being filled with mud, which, the sun and wind having hardened, were white-washed, presenting a very strong though not very beautiful appearance, the architecture of which was neither Grecian nor Roman, but evidently from "original designs" by a not very fastidious or accomplished artist.

Groups of women and children were about these houses; some seated on the gra.s.s, in the shade of the tall trees; others standing in the doors, all unemployed and apparently having nothing to do but to talk, and this they appeared to engage in with a hearty good will.

We continued our way over stones, up steep, deep-rutted hills, covered partly with branches and brambles, and down as steep declivities, through ponds and brooks, now and then cheered by the pleasing prospect of a long road, evidently designed to ill.u.s.trate the "ups and downs of life."

After a tiresome journey, partly walked, partly ridden, which was somewhat relieved of its tediousness by the romantic and beautiful scenery through which we pa.s.sed, we came in view of Mount Vernon.

An old, infirm, yet good, sociable negro met us at the gate, and told us that there was another road to the Mount, but that it was not as good as the one we came over, and also that there was a private road, which was not as good as either of the others! We smiled, threw out a hint about arial navigation. He smiled also, and, thinking we doubted his word, said, "Indeed, it is not as good; I would n't tell you a lie about it." Mercy on pilgrims to Mount Vernon! If you ever go there, reader, do provide yourself with a conscience that can't be shaken out of you.

Having been kindly furnished with a letter from Mr. Seaton, the editor of the Intelligencer, and Mayor of Washington city, to the proprietor of the estate, we inquired whether he was at home, and with pleasure learned that he was.

We pa.s.sed into what we deemed an almost sacred enclosure, so linked is it with the history of our country, and the glorious days that gave birth to a nation's freedom. It seemed as though we had entered an aviary, so many and so various the birds that floated in the air around us, and filled it with the rich melody of their songs.

At a short distance stood a beautiful deer, as if transfixed to the spot, his large, black, l.u.s.trous eyes turned towards us, his ears erect, till, suddenly starting, he darted away, and leaped down the steep hill-side to the water's brink.

The house I need not describe, as most persons are acquainted with its appearance, from seeing the numerous engraved representations of it. It shows many evidences of age and decay. Time is having his own way with, it, as the hand that would defend it from his ravages, and improve its looks, is kept back, that it may remain as nearly as possible in the same condition as when occupied by our first president. We entered and pa.s.sed through several rooms, endeavoring to allay our curiosity by asking more questions than our attendant could conveniently answer and retain his senses.

We saw the ma.s.sive key of that old French prison-house, the Bastile, presented to General Washington by that friend of freedom and humanity, General Lafayette, soon after the destruction of that monument of terror. We noticed that depredations had been committed by visitors upon the costly marble fire-frame, which was a gift to Washington.

Mr. Washington being called to the farm, we availed ourselves of the services of the old negro before mentioned, who led us around the estate. On our way to the tomb, we pa.s.sed through what we judged to be a kitchen. The floor was brick, and a fireplace occupied nearly all of one side of the room; one of those old-fashioned contrivances which were in vogue in those days when people went more for comfort than appearance. Half a score of negroes were in the room, who gazed at us as we entered, covered with dust and dirt, the real free soil of Virginia. They seemed to think our intentions more of a warlike than a peaceable nature. We soon inclined them to the latter belief, however, by gently patting a curly-headed urchin upon the head, and distributing a few pennies among the crowd.

Five minutes' walk, and we were at the tomb.

"There is the old General," said the aged negro, as he touched lightly the sarcophagus with his cane; "that, yonder, is his wife,"

pointing to a similar one at the left.

Silently I stood and gazed at the marble coffin that held the mortal remains of him whom, when he lived, all people loved, and the memory of whom, now that he has pa.s.sed from our material vision, all people revere. A few branches of cypress lay upon it, and at its base a few withered flowers.

The sarcophagus that holds the dust of Washington is placed upon a low pedestal, formed of brick. A brick wall is at the sides, and an iron slat fence or gateway in front. Over this gateway a white stone is set in the brick-work, and bears this inscription:

WITHIN THIS ENCLOSURE ARE

THE REMAINS

OF

GENERAL GEORGE WASHINGTON.

Short, indeed, but how full of food for thought!

"General George Washington!" He needs no long and fulsome epitaph carved in marble to tell his worth. Did his memory depend upon that alone, the marble would crumble into dust, mingle with his, and his name pa.s.s away with the stone that man vainly thought would preserve it. No; his monument is a world made free, and his memory as lasting as immortal mind. Wherever the light of freedom shall penetrate, it will bear on its every glistening ray his cherished name; and whenever and wherever men shall struggle with oppression, it shall inspire them with vigor, and cheer them on to victory.

Marble will perish, and monuments of adamant will crumble to dust; but the memory of Washington will live as long as there is a heart to love, or a mind to cherish a recollection of goodness.

"He was a good old man," said the negro, "and he has gone to his rest."

"We are all going," he continued, after a pause. I thought a tear stole down his wrinkled face; but he turned his back to me, and left me to my own reflections.