Another relic is the key of that grim prison, the Bastile, sent to Washington by Lafayette as a symbol of the overthrow of despotism and triumph of free government in France. That symbol is today one of America's most treasured mementos, carefully guarded in the Nation's shrine at Mount Vernon.
An exact reproduction of the old prison was made from a stone of its walls and presented to Washington. "We felt an awe in treading these lonely halls, a feeling that hallowed the spot as if there yet lingered a faint echo of the Master's footsteps through the silence, although he had departed forever."
Having viewed the places that to him were most dear, the places still redolent of the beauty and sacredness of home life, we wanted to stand beside his tomb. Past beautiful cedars and venerable maples we made our way to a quiet secluded spot where so many had gone before us, to leave the most perfect roses of Memory, filled with the incense of grateful and loving hearts. We cannot tell with what feeling we added our sprays of blossoms, perennials springing from the garden of the heart, waxen white and fragrant as the narcissus.
We saw the wreath placed here by King Albert of Belgium as a loving tribute of respect of that brave little country.
An old colored man who conducted us to the tomb said that, as near as he could remember, about twelve years before he witnessed one of the largest crowds that he ever saw at Mount Vernon. The Ohio Corn Boys were afforded the wonderful opportunity of visiting this famous spot. What an ideal place to take them, for the farm has always been the best place on earth for the family. "It is the main source of our national wealth; the foundation of all civilized society." The welcome fact that a rural community could produce such men as Washington or Lincoln should be an added incentive for these Ohio lads to make the most of their golden opportunities.
Leaving the sacred spot to its quiet, mournful beauty, we again passed through the garden over which floated the notes of the mocking-bird, like an oft-repeated farewell.
Travelers leaving Mount Vernon should pause a while in the old city of Alexandria, for there is much of historic interest here. It is located on the right bank of the Potomac river, six miles below Washington, with which it is connected by a ferry and electric lines. Here the Potomac is a mile wide though it is one hundred miles from its mouth. It forms a harbor sufficiently deep for the largest ocean vessels. A fine view of the Capitol at Washington may be had, and from the Virginia end of the bridge spanning the Potomac a magnificent view of Lee's old home. Now Arlington cemetery opens to your gaze. This city was the headquarters of Braddock prior to his ill-fated expedition against the French in 1775. Here still stands Masonic Lodge, the building in which the governors of New York, Maryland, Pennsylvania, and Virginia met to form plans for the expedition.
But you forget the historical associations of the place as you enter the little brick church where Washington was one of the first Vestrymen. Washington's and Lee's pews are pointed out to the visitor. Upon the wall back of the chancel may be seen the Law, the Creed and the Lord's Prayer. How often the eyes of the Father of his country must have rested upon that prayer. It was here, during the "times that tried men's souls" that thoughtfully and prayerfully he received courage and strength which led him to espouse the Cause of Liberty. A feeling of solemnity steals over you akin to that which you experience while treading the dim lighted aisle of some vast cathedral. On first beholding the Notre Dame in Cologne, you feel as if you were indeed lingering at the gates of the "Temple Beautiful." And on entering, how majestic are the arches, how long the vista, how richly illuminated and emblazoned the windows, and how heavenly the music that thrills the "iris tinted silences." It yet lacks the solemnity of these moments in which you linger in the old-fashioned church at Alexandria, where if you listen you may still catch those sky-born melodies, the chimes of a noble life. Leaving the place to its hallowed memories we started on our way to Baltimore.
>From beneath that humble roof went forth the intrepid and unselfish warrior—the magistrate who knew no glory but his country's good; to that he returned happiest when his work was done. There he lived in noble simplicity; there he died in glory and peace.
While it stands, the latest generations of the grateful children of America will make this pilgrimage to it as to a shrine, and when it shall fall, if fall it must, the memory and the name of Washington shall shed an eternal glory on the spot.