As the service ended, it was good to see the kind-hearted feeling, with which the congregation gathered around the venerable man—for he was pure, and sincere, and true; and of a verity, as he said, his voice had arisen among them above the infant’s wail, at the baptismal font—had joined them with cheerfulness at the marriage feast, and still been heard in solemn sympathy at the side of the dark and silent grave. It was the last time that he addressed them. Not many days, and another voice pronounced the burial service of the dead in that green church-yard, and the form of the good old man was covered from their sight beneath its sod.
As we returned to our cottage home, the crescent moon was streaming in silvery brightness, the constellations and galaxy resplendent with “living fires,” and the far, far worlds rolling in immeasurable distance, as twinkling stars trembled upon our human vision. The dews of night were moist upon the grass, as we re-measured the lawn that led to the cottage; where, after planning our visit for the following morning to Mount Vernon, we soon were wrapped in contented and grateful repose.
MOUNT VERNON.
The sun raised himself in a huge globe of fire above the eastern horizon, as my friend’s spirited bays stood saddled at the door of the cottage, pawing, champing the bit, and playfully endeavouring to bite the black boy who held them. Finishing an early breakfast, we were soon in our saddles and full gallop on our journey; the dogs in an ecstacy of delight, bounding along at our sides, overhauling and putting in bodily terror every unfortunate cur that came in their way, as they sportively tumbled him over and over in curious examination; old Bernard, with glistening eyes and wagging tail, bestriding in grim fun the prostrate form of the enemy. We passed rapidly through the rough paved streets of Alexandria, watching eagerly for its famed beauties at their casements, and clearing the town, were soon on the rustic road that leads to the sacred place of America.
The meadows were glistening in the morning dew; the sweet perfume of the clover filled the air; the white daisy and delicate cowslip danced over their luxuriant grassy beds, as the fresh morning breeze fanned them in its passage; and amid the sea of melody high above the merry gossip of the bob-link, the chattering volubility of the mocking-bird, his yellow spotted breast swelling with delight, his keen eye gazing into the distance, the saucy “you-can’t-see-me” of the meadow lark sounded in merry challenge, while the clear “whew-whew-it” of the quail from the golden wheat-field, was echoed by his eager companion far down in the green vales, as they stretched softly and gently into the distance, in the long shadows of the early morning. Oh! let him that would scan the benevolence of the Creator, leave his restless bed in the sweltering city, and walk forth with the day in its youth,—for verily, like man, it hath its youth, its manhood and its old age—and the sweetness of morning is the youth of the day.
The hedges on the road side were covered with a tangled mass of verdure, from which wild vines and green ivy crept to the surrounding trees, wreathing gracefully their trunks and branches. The undergrowth was loaded with wild roses and honeysuckles. The graceful fleur-de-lis, curving its blue flowers, trembled upon the green banks, and the pond-lily floating on its watery bed, threw forth its grateful fragrance, as we occasionally passed through the swampy bottoms. Fat cattle grazed indolently in the meadows; while now and then, as we cantered by their pastures, the horses, with tails and manes erect, accompanied us on our journey, till arriving at their confines, with eager neighing, they would look after us, throw their heels high in the air, and gallop down into the broad fields in the very jollity of freedom. Every thing seemed contented and joyous. The hearty, happy-looking negroes, trudging along to their agricultural labours, doffed their hats to us, with a cheerful “good morning,” as we passed, or laughingly displayed their white teeth and big eyes, as they led the dew-wet horse to the bars to mount and drive to the milking the smooth, fat kine. A ride of an hour brought us to the woods that adjoin Mount Vernon, which are cleared of undergrowth, but in other respects as wild and untamed as if naught but the savage had ever placed foot in them. Silence reigned through the deep glades, unbroken, save by the hoofs of our horses as they resounded with hollow echo; the sharp chirp of the squirrel, jumping among the dry leaves; or the quick rap, rap, of the woodpecker, as his scarlet head and blue back glanced momentarily from some dead trunk upon our eyesight. We met with nothing to intercept our progress. Now and then, to be sure, a drove of hogs, feeding upon the mast in the forest, would marshal themselves in our path, stupidly staring at us with a sort of ludicrous, half-drunken gravity, snuffing the air, as if determined to intercept our progress; but as we came nearer, they would whirl short about, and with a simultaneous grunt, their tails twisted in the air, gallop off with desperate precipitation into the depths of the forest. Journeying a mile or two further, we came upon the porter’s lodges, at the entrance of the domain proper, which were old and ruinous. Proceeding still farther over a very bad and rough carriage-road, we came suddenly in view of the Potomac; and Mount Vernon, with its mansion-house and smooth, green lawn, lay extended before us; Fort Washington’s battlements and cannon-filled embrasures in stern silence guarding it from the opposite side of the river.
Fastening our horses, under the guidance of a grey-headed old negro, born in the family of General Washington, we entered the lawn and came upon the rear-front, if the term may be allowed, of an old-fashioned mansion, surmounted by a cupola and weather-cock, semicircular piazzas extending around from each end, connecting it with the kitchen and servant’s apartments. Various buildings, all bearing the impress of time, were scattered about, evidently in architectural order and plan, and the two large gardens, rendered interesting by the flowers and plants, still blooming in the beds where they had been placed by the hands of the General, extended back to the forest from which we had just emerged. As we stood for a moment looking at the old building, we almost expected to see the yellow travelling-carriage of his Excellency, with its four beautiful bays, and liveried out-riders, draw up at the great hall door in its centre. Having sent in our address, we received permission from the courteous branch of the family, who now hold the estate, to enter and survey the interior. We were struck with its extreme simplicity, the lowness of the walls and ceilings, and the bare floors, which were waxed, not, as with us, carpeted. The sides of the rooms were composed exclusively of wooden panels, upon which hung some old oil paintings of merit,—engravings of naval actions between the English, the Dutch, and the French; and a small enamel miniature, which is considered the best likeness extant of Washington. Curiosities of various kinds covered the shelves and the mantels, and the painted porcelains and china jars, stood in stately display behind the glass doors of the old-fashioned beaufets in the corners.
Our attention was arrested for a moment, as we passed through one of the rooms, by a large rusty key of iron, enclosed in a glass case. It was the key of the Bastile, that infernal prison, that monument of centuries of grinding cruelty and oppression, where men vanished, and were seen no more of their day and generation,—where, by the intrigues of the courtier, the subtle blandishments of the minion of the palace, letters de cachet plunged equally the innocent, the imprudent, and the generous, into the jaws of living death,—that accursed congerie of dungeons where, from mid fellowship of rats and spiders, such scrap of soiled paper, written in the blood of the poor prisoner, fluttering from a loop-hole in its lofty towers, arrests the footstep of the casual passenger upon the causeway.