"But for the light that streamed from the deeds of him she bore, we would doubtless have never heard the name of Mary Washington, and the grass that grew upon this grave had not been disturbed by curious footsteps or reverential hands. But it does not follow that she shines only in the reflection of her offspring's fame. Her virtues were not created; they were only discovered by the marvellous career of her illustrious son. This memorial might indeed be due to her because of who she was, but it is far more due to her because of what she was. It is in her own right, and as the type of her sex, her people and her race, that she deserves this tribute stone.
"There were ten thousand Mary Washingtons among the mothers of the Revolution, and honoring her we honor the motherhood of heroic days and heroic men. It was in his character, all sufficient in every emergency, that was displayed the overtowering greatness of George Washington, and it is not doubted that this character was toned and shaped by his mother's hand. The principles which he applied to a nation were those simple and elementary truths which she first imprinted upon his mind in the discipline of home.
"Mary Washington was the 'light of the dwelling' in a plain, rural, colonial home. Her history hovers around it. There she was wife, mother, and widow.
"Home is the pure original fountain from which all patriotism must flow, and the stream can never rise above its source. As the woman is, the man is; as the man and woman are, the home is; and as the home, so the country. Show me refined, enlightened, virtuous, and industrious homes, and I will show you a good government and a great nation. The nation is the aggregate, the homes are the units; man is the builder, woman is the inspiration. Discuss constitutions, administrations, and policies as we may, the outcome must depend upon the subsoil they spring from. Make the home all right, and the rest must follow. This is woman's mission. Our race, the youngest that has framed a language, moulded a constitution, and made a name, has recognized that mission and held it sacred. Other races roam the earth for pelf and adventure, and condescend to inferior connections. Our race roams the earth only to find the spot on which to build its homes. Indeed it never quits home. It carries home with it. Wife and child, the domestic animals and plants, the household goods go where it goes, over the stormy billows, into the wilderness, and even to the verge of battle. It is a beautiful legend of the Rappahannock that when Spotswood and his companions came sailing hither the air was made vocal by the English swallows that they brought with them. The stars might change, but they would make the skies still resonant with the songs of the olden homes."
And as the ages pass may there be always some to make the skies vocal with the songs of the olden times of the Virginia she loved.
But the "olden homes," alas, are passing away. Their solid masonry long resists the tooth of Time, but the all-destroyer, Fire, levels them at last. The walls fall, the stones are removed,—let us hope for the building of other homes,—finally the drifting earth fills the foundations, and daisies that "look up to God" alone remain to keep vigil.
Pious hands preserve the old historic churches. Old Christ Church in Lancaster, where Mrs. Ball (the "Widow Johnson") stood with little Mary's sponsors in baptism, still exists; so does Yeocomico church in Westmoreland, where sweet Mary Ball prayed to the God who never forsook her; so does St. George's Church in Fredericksburg, built on the site of "Old St. George's," where, "devout and worshipful," her venerable form was never a moment too late.
