Washington telegraph., 1852-04-07

glad heart among us: there would have
been many, had we not been going to the
tomb of the Father of his Country. But
there was something so holy in the thought
that we were approaching the spot where
the greatest and purest of mankind rested
from his heroism, that we felt mirth had no
place in our feelings, and into that day levi
ty could not enter. But it was cheerful
ride, and an inspiring day. We do not
remember that cloud moved over our lit
tie party during the excursion, nor was our
cheerfulness interrupted till we had reached
the shrine Of our pilgramage, and stood be-
fore the sarcophagus where the dust Of
Washington repOses
No matter for our ride along the river,
nor its picturesque bends, nor banks nor
lawns, nor woodlands. At every turn in the
road -we saw the calm waters of the silver
stream, around which linger memories that
are sanctifed by all that is brave in chivalry
and touching in patriotism.
A long ride through the oak forests
brought us to the venerable mansion where
Washington lived and died. At the Port
er's lodge we stopped to see the only living
servant of the Patriot. She lives in the
lodge and still watches the gate We en-
tered the dwelling and talked with her.
She said she was fifteen years old when the
General came back from the wars, cover
ed with victory; and she rendered him
well as he rode through the gate, and said
"Ah. my little Sylvia the Britishers didn't
hit me after all; and they have ali gone
back to Old England, and | have come
home to live and die on the estate;' and
young Sylvia seized the Generals hand
and kissed it, and wet it with tears" She
saw Washington die-she saw him when
Dead and now, when she speaks Of him.
she looks up to heaven, and pointing
her hand away, says, ''Well, if we ever
90 to heaven, we shall see the General
Mere.''
We left this octogenarian keeper; and
she said many kind words to us as we went
on half mile, slowly threading our way to
the mansion through deep ravlnes from
which only the upper sky was visible, and
now emerging on emlnences from which
we hoped to get at least a glimpse Of the
mansion; but holy feelings filled up the
interval We were passing over new
ground, where, warm with life and radiant
with beneficence the form of the hero 50
often passed: even the air seemed haunted
by his presence: every step we took was an
epic
One of our companions-a cherished
poet and scul ptor nOW-traced the outlines
Of the great historical picture. Passing the
same rugged avenue,-iirst the Youth
George Washington, with his surveying in-
struments to measure of the vast wilder
ness of the West, the happy homes he was
afterwards to offer his brothers made free;
young lIajor Washington, setting out to
instruct them in the art oi war; to prepare
them to achieve their independence: ColO-
mel Washington on his departure to repel
foreign and savage invad ders; the RepreSen-
tatiUe, passing to and from the Congress Of
the rebels; the heroic General, coming at
long intervals, through the war Of fraternal
blood, and going forth again to the sanguin-
ary struggles Of the Revolution, where
brave men saked Iiterty in the desperate
game, with king lords, and commons; the
Farmer, going out to and returning from
his fields; the President, on his way to ad-
minister the government OF people he
had led through the exhaustirg perils of an
all but exterminating war; and, last of all,
the Citizen Washington, who had scorned
crown as too base reward for his long
services in the cause Of human freedom
returning by the same road we are travel
ling, with his great heart filled with longings
for home
We sat in silence as these new, half
inspired words fell from the lips of our
poet-companion; and the carriage rising
an eminence, gave us glimpse OF the
wall and observatory of the Home Of
Washington We are not ashamed to con-
fess, that as we gazed on it our eyes filled
with tears.
We reached the gate of the mansion: a
ruin. an aid ruin, stood before us. 1t was
not feudal castle, with deep trench once
filled with water nor draw bridge over
which once clattered the hoofs OF warriors
steeds; nor massive arches, under which bent
the plume Of knight; nor spacious court
yard on which the spears Of an heroic band
flashed in the moonl ght; nor vast banquet
ing-hall, that rang to the clangor OF the
Crusader nor the merry shout of the vlcto-
rious warrior who had come from measu-
ring lance with the Infdel, to tell his tales
of heroism to the startled ear Of Europe
There was no watch-word, no vesper chime
stealing softly on the evening air; no hollow
chant or monkish prayer in the gloomy
chapel; no solemn moonlit watch on the over
looking tower No one of all these. 1t was
grander, better, dearer than all this heroic
legend.
1t was once the home of the Father of
great and glorious nation, whose eagle
wings now stretch from the turbulent Allan
tic,-far away over the rich valleys, waving
i I i -.