“With grateful acknowledgments and unfeigned thanks for the personal respects and evidences of condolence expressed by Congress and yourself,
“I remain, very respectfully,
“Your most obedient and humble servant,
“Martha Washington.”
But this pain might have been spared her, for the monument is not yet erected, and the remains are still at Mount Vernon, their most fitting resting-place.
The twofold duties of life pressed constantly upon her, nor did she shirk any claim. Yet the compressed lip, and the oftentimes quivering eyelid betrayed the restless moanings of her aching heart.
It has been remarked that she resembled Washington in manners and person; she was like him as every weaker nature is like a stronger one living in close relationship. She received from his stronger will his influences, and he impressed her with his views so thoroughly that she could not distinguish her own. Relying on his guidance in every thing, she studied his features until her softer lineaments imperceptibly grew like his, and the tones of her voice sounded wonderfully similar. Imbibing the sentiments and teachings of such a nature, her own life was ennobled and his rendered happy.
She had lived through the five grand acts of the drama of American Independence, had witnessed its prelude and its closing tableaux, and stood waiting to hear the swell of the pëan she was yet to sing in heaven. Her life was passed in seasons of darkness, as of glorious, refulgent happiness, and was contemporaneous with some of the greatest minds that will ever shine out from any century. Her sphere was limited entirely to social occupations, and possessing wealth and position she gratified her taste. Had her character been a decided one, it would have stamped the age in which she flourished, for, as there never was but one Washington, so there will never come a time when there will be the same opportunities as Mrs. Washington had for winning a name and an individuality. But she did not aspire to any nobler ambition than merely to perform the duties of her home, and she lives in the memories of her descendants, and in the hearts of the people of the United States, as the wife of the illustrious Father of his Country, and the first in position of the women of the Revolution.
In the engraving we have before us, taken while in the Executive Mansion, we trace the gradual development of her life. All the way through it has counted more of bliss than of sorrow, and the calm contentment of the face in repose speaks of a heart full of peace and pleasantness. How expressive of sympathy and kindness of heart is that serene face, and how instinctively we would trust it! Sustained as she was by her deep devotional piety, and shielded by the protecting arm of her husband, she grew in spiritual development and fondly believed herself strong and self-reliant. But when she was tested, when the earthly support was removed, the inward strength was insufficient, and she pined under the loss until she died.
The death of her husband was the last event of Mrs. Washington’s life. It shattered her nerves and broke her heart. She never recovered from it. The shaft of agony which had buried itself in her soul was never removed. Fate had now dealt the last deadly blow to her earthly happiness. Her children, their father, the faithful, affectionate, sympathizing friend and counsellor, with whom through so many years she had stood side by side in great and grievous trials, dangers, and sorrows—all were gone? It was useless to strive to be courageous: a glance at the low, narrow vault under the side of the hill unnerved her. She stood, the desolate survivor, like a lone sentinel upon a deserted battle-field, regarding in mute despair the fatal destruction of hope, and love, and joy. Through all time that Saturday night would be the closing scene of her life, even though her existence should be lengthened to a span of years.