New Britain herald., 1915-01-19
WHAT OTHERS SAY
Views on all sides of timely questions as discussed in ex- office.
At Washington's Tomb.
G. T. Martin in National Mont

play over the hills Of Virginia and Maryland, hills tinted with many col ored hues of autumn, my thoughts turned backward to my first visit to M ount Vernon. and wondered if l it was a sign that l was growing old 1 An, we'll if to dream over again the delights of the past is growing old- am willing that 1t should be so. 1 remembe how each new point of l interest filled me with a charm that 1 deepens and becomes still more fascl- mating now that I recall it. Behind me the buildings of the capital, m1d- way between, the tall form of the 1 Washington monument, which like 1 shaft of light seems to penetrate the very blue of heaven. Then the quaint old town of Alexandria, with it's strag 1 gling streets and rotting wharves, re- calling the days when Washington was one of it's most prominent citi- zens. l see plainly above me the i treetops of Christ church., where he | worshipped, and one corner of the old market where tradition tells us he 1 came out second best, an incident, whether true or false, I like to think is true, as it shows the human side | of the Father of his Country. Too 1 often he is painted with the halo of saint for great and good as he was, l like to think of him as haV- ing a few failinss like other mortals. Then on past the old churchyard at St. Paul where the unknown lady sleeps secure in mystery today as when she found her last resting place in the beginning of this cen tury.
 But I am forgetting the spots- Fort Foote, Fort Washington, and here and there bend in the river brings us into full view of the home in life as well as in death of our crowns the hilltop-no wonder he loved it.
 It seems to me that the sun always shines here, for I have never seen it any other way, and it was just such a perfect day as this that I first wan dered up this old foot-worn path to the new tomb, new though nearly eighty years have passed since the iron gates were closed and the key thrown into the Potomac, that it might never be opened again until the last call of the Angel Gabriel
 All day l wandered in and about the rooms, read and re-read the in scriptions on each article, and gazed on the key of the Bastile presented by Lafayette. Each room seemed to tell the story of days and of people that came and went when our nation was young. How rapidly the hours flew by; l heard the bell ring for the last boat but it seemed so far away that l gave it no heed till the gathering gloom told of approaching night, when l noticed that l. alone of all visitors, remained.
 "1s there no way by which l can reach Washington I asked an old negro.
 Not any moh tonight, honey" he replied.
 Well is there any place I can stay?" l questioned.
 Not unless you stop with colored folks" he answered.
 well, that is good enough for me if l may go With you," and I looked at his black shiny face, so full of the memory of the old slave days
 Mighty poor pickin' you get with me. honey, but you can have hoe cake at the cabin if you care to come.'
 Gladly l followed the old ebony face as with totetring steps he trudged down a lane to hollow in the hills where at the end of a. road
  door All about it. tangled growth of vines, with her and theer yellow gourd gleaming in the light Within everything was spotless; the broad open fireplace with it's cheery fire sparkling with warmth and bright ness, while the odor of freshly cooked bacon and golden corn cake bespoke a generous welcome.
 Uncle, for such l had taken the liberty to call him. called out: "Dinah, Dinah, We's got company dis eben."
 There was an extra plate on the table. and I was soon enjoying a splendid homely supper. spiced with many excuses and regrets because of it's quality.
 Weber mind,' said Uncle, we have chicken for breakfast and imagined that | saw his own lips take on an extra thickness in anticipation df. the delicacy.
 After supper stood around the fire, and I listened to ghost stories of the old plantation and slavery days until the wooly heads began to nod tired out with the days toll; then I was shown a ladder made of wooden pins driven into logs. These brought me to a snug place in the garret and a bed all glorious in a quilt of as many cOlOrS as JOsephs coat. Through the boards that but partly covered the roof 1 could see the stars in the far-of heavens, and from be- low came the chrp- -chirD of the cricket. while outside the WhippOOr- will called to his mate.
 Dreams more splendid than those of the Arabian Nights filled my slumber and all too soon there came the rich, warm hearted voice of old TTnr1e tn