Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1885-01-22
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SIJNSET AT ARLINGTON.

of his after-dinner cigar out through his
nostrils, and regarding me benignly through
it, like placid and uncomely Hindoo god
yelled in a cloud of incense, "what are
your views on the subject of drive to Ar
lington this afternoon? Would you like
it?"
Of course l want to go. Ialways want to
go everywhere, as Max is we'll aware, and
so, with smile for thanks, I speed away
and return in what man should consider
a delightfully."- short space Of time, fully
equipped for the expedition. With spir-
tied horse and natty little turnout we are
soon trotting gayly through the pleasant
country roads in the direction Of Arlington,
which is five or six miles away from our
home over toward the setting sun. Present.
ly we ascend long, steep hill and drive
about q hundred yards along the summit
and Max turns the buggy slightly, so as to
fully face the prospect, and calls on me to
look. I gaze and gaze, spellbound, and
hold my peace, for wonder Of loveliness
is before me and language fees, abashed
by the beauty it is powerless to describe
Washington with it's countless beauties OF
architecture, its monuments, magnificent
public buildings, lovely shaded boulevards,
ltS IOWeGS, SlGeplSS, lOOlllCSo olit uoihAie'
ting central dome Washington the heart OF
a nation, the richest jewel on the breast OF
a mighty country-Washingto in slum-
brous, aumtumnal graciousness-is spread
before US, beautified strangely by distance,
and backed by the tender purpllsh blue OF
the far horizon. Nearer-almost at the
foot of the great hill on which we stand
rolls the calm, cleaning waters of the Po-
tomac. "all quiet along" it's banks now, for
many a year quiet and restful and infinite
ly beautiful. Thunder of cannon and rat
tie of musketry, sounds of battle and
bivouac, hushed and still forever, and the
grand old river flowing peacefully, taking
its share in the labor of the present, with
hardly suggestion left of its participation
in the sorrow and wrong doing of the past:
Away in the distance the river is fettered
by the links of an iron bridge over which,
as we gaze, q train passes slowly, overshad-
owed by a canopy of blush gray smoke.
To the left, bathed in afternoon sunlight,
sweet old Alexandria, stepped to the caves
in the Joy Of calm, shows picturesquely
against the wooded background of the Vir-
ginia hills, and over the heights of George
town the shadow of a great white cloud is
passing dreamily.
AS we near the handsome stone gateway
of the National Cemetery silence falls
again, which remains unbroken until we
turn to enter the open gate, when whole
posse of little negroes dart out from the
Shelter of the arch and hover around the
carriage, yelling shrilly, "Please, sar, GIN.
me penny! please, sar, gimme penny ~
spelling all the sentiment of the approach
and putting to flight reVerential fancles:
Fortunately beggars "may not win through"
the gate, so that when fairly inside the i'm
agination can resume sway and revel in the
beauty and sacred silence of this beautiful,
mournful garden of the Lord. Max throws
away his cigar and pulls his horse into
slow trot, and there is a look on his face
that makes me know he would like to re-
move his hat. In and out we wind through
the magnificent trees and the sWellS and
stretches of velvety verdure, following the
broad brown road past exquisite plots OF
blooming plants, lovely rockeries, tall vases,
filled with flowers, vines and ferns untOuch-
ed as yet by frost. Now we catch glimpses
of shady dingles and clear streams ripping
purely through the hearts of them, and
again level meadows suggesting old home
steads, lowing kline, milkmaids- anything,
everything except a graveyard.
Gradually the road ascends, and thrill
passes electrically through my pulses as my
eyes rest for the first time upon the home OF
the SOuth's great chieftain. The house with
its massive pillared stone portico and an
cient, honored walls is quite close upon the
hill commanding the city and the river,
but we turn aside-we will 60 there later
our object now is the cemetery itself-the
Gods acre which surrounds the home OF
Lee. There it is, stretching away from us
almost as far as the eye can reach, line on
line, in close compact ranks in companies,
in regiments, in battalions-so many, on
God so many! There seem miles on miles
of them, the tiny, plain, pitiful white stones,
neat, precise and infinitely pathetic sole
mementoes of thousands of gallant hearts
thatstruggled and bled and broke for a poll
ticians' quarrel.
son flme's eternal camping ground
Their silent tents are spread,
And glory guards with solemn round
The bivouac Of the dead
In the house there is nothing to remind
the present visitor of the Lees. We Wan-
der through the empty rooms, which are
too bare, and open and light to afford sane
tuary to memory, rather discOnsolately
and Max scrawls our names in big visitors
book with keen pointed steel pen dipped
in the revolving contents Of particularly
loathsome inkstand. l haven't the heart to
imagine which room was sacred to the dead
chief, or where the stately descendant of
the Custis' loved best to gather family and
friends around her. The home feeling has
fled from the house forever, the soul, the in
dividuality and life has gone, and in their
place is emptiness, and knots of irreverent
Sight seers, and chairs with patent seats,
and greasy Wads of crumpled paper, the
debris of lunch baskets. Gladly we escape
to the sunshine and free air of the pOrtico,
where we seat ourselves on the steps and
watch the lazy flow of the river, the city in
the distance and the bees and butterflies
toying with the blossoms in the borders
around the tall flag staff, where the stars
and stripes flap languidly in the soft, hazy
air. And the setting sun, with golden
fingers, touches the salient points of the
landscape, gliding the rigging around the
summit of the monument and throwing a
halo of glory over the brazen image on the
dome of the Capitol.
And "memory wakes with all her busy
train," and sets pictures floating before the
minds eyes pictures, not of the home life of
the Lees at Arlington, nor of the stately
old times when the best and nobest of the
nation were honored guests beneath this
ancient roof; nor yet Of evil days when the
old floors resounded to armed heels, and the
old walls ecohed deep voices, orders, COM
mands, the groans of anguish and the .sighs
of death. No sound of cannon shot, or
roar and whistle of murderous shell, no ring
of steel or stirring music of reveille, no
stored excitement, nor haunting memory
causes the smile to dawn, and broaden on
our faces as we simultaneously move a lit
tie, to be sure we are on the very spot tic-
ton, not history, holds us, and we murmur
softly of Sybil, and Darlington on the steps
of Arlington in the bright spring sunshine,
trying to fancy how the girl looked as she
inclined her ear to the War-wOrn story we
are determined not to recall and we laugh
changed from bewilderment to relief as she
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