University of Virginia Library

I prosecuted my walk to Newgate, where, on the piazza of Mr. Thornton's tavern, I
found a party of gentlemen from the neighboring plantations carousing over a bowl of
toddy, and smoking cigars. No people could exceed these men in politeness. On my
ascending the steps to the piazza, every countenance seemed to say, This man has a
double claim to our attention, for he is a stranger in the place. In a moment there was
room made for me to sit down; a new bowl was called for, and every one who addressed
me did it with a smile of conciliation. But no man asked me where I had come from,
or whither I was going. A gentleman in every country is the same; and, if good breeding
consists in sentiment, it was found in the circle I had got into.

The higher Virginians seem to venerate themselves as men; and I am persuaded there
was not one in company who would have felt embarrassed at being admitted to the presence
and conversation of the greatest monarch on earth. There is a compound of virtue
and vice in every human character; no man was ever yet faultless; but whatever
may be advanced against Virginians, their good qualities will ever outweigh their defects;
and when the effervescence of youth has abated, when reason asserts her empire,
there is no man on earth who discovers more exalted sentiments, more contempt of
baseness, more love of justice, more sensibility of feeling, than a Virginian.

No walk could be more delightful than that from Occoquan to Colchester, when the
moon was above the mountains. You traverse the bank of a placid stream, over which
impend rocks, in some places bare, but more frequently covered with an odoriferous
plant that regales the traveller with its fragrance. So serpentine is the course of the
river, that the mountains which rise from its bank may be said to form an amphitheatre;
and nature seems to have designed the spot for the haunt only of fairies, for here grow
flowers of purple dye, and here the snake throws her enamelled skin. But into what
regions, however apparently inaccessible, has not adventurous man penetrated? The
awful repose of the night is disturbed by the clack of two huge mills, which drown the
echoes of the mocking-bird, who nightly tells his sorrows to the listening moon.

Art is pouring fast into the lap of nature the luxuries of exotic refinement. After
clambering over mountains, almost inaccessible to human toil, you come to the junction
of the Occoquan with the noble river of the Potomac, and behold a bridge, whose semi-elliptical
arches are scarcely inferior to those of princely London. And on the side of
this bridge stands a tavern, where every luxury that money can purchase is to be obtained
at first summons; where the richest viands cover the table, and where ice cools
the Madeira that has been thrice across the ocean. * * * Having slept one night
at this tavern, I rose with the sun and journeyed leisurely to the mills, catching refreshment
from a light air that stirred the leaves of the trees. About eight miles from the
Occoquan mills is a house of worship, called Powheek church; a name it claims from
a run that flows near its walls. Hither I rode on Sundays and joined the congregation
of parson Weems, a minister of the Episcopal persuasion, who was cheerful in his mien,
that he might win men to religion. A Virginian church-yard, on a Sunday, resembles
rather a race-course than a sepulchral ground; the ladies come to it in carriages, and the
men after dismounting from their horses make them fast to the trees. But the steeples
to the Virginian churches were designed not for utility but ornament; for the bell is
always suspended to a tree a few yards from the church. It is also observable, that the
gate to the church-yard is ever carefully locked by the sexton, who retires last. * * *
Wonder and ignorance are ever reciprocal. I was confounded, on first entering the
church-yard at Powheek, to hear

Steed threaten steed with high and boastful neigh.

Nor was I less stunned with the rattling of carriage-wheels, the cracking of whips, and
the vociferations of the gentlemen to the negroes who accompanied them. But the discourse
of parson Weems calmed every perturbation; for he preached the great doctrines
of salvation, as one who had experienced their power. * * * In his youth
Mr. Weems accompanied some young Americans to London, where he prepared himself
by diligent study for the profession of the church. * * * Of the congregation
at Powheek church, about one half was composed of white people, and the other of negroes.
Among many of the negroes were to be discovered the most satisfying evidences
of sincere piety, an artless simplicity, passionate aspirations after Christ, and an
earnest endeavor to know and do the will of God.

My next visit was to Pohick church, in the vicinity of Mount Vernon, the seat of
Gen. Washington. I designed to perform service there on Saturday as well as Sunday,
but through some mistake no notice was given for the former day. The weather, indeed,
was such as to prevent the assembling of any but those who prize such occasions
so much as to be deterred only by very strong considerations. It was still raining when
I approached the house, and found no one there. The wide opened doors invited me to
enter, as they do invite, day and night through the year, not only the passing traveller,
but every beast of the field and fowl of the air. These latter, however, seemed to have
reverenced the house of God, since few marks of their pollution are to be seen throughout
it. The interior of the house, having been well built, is still good. The chancel,
communion-table, tables of the law, etc., are still there and in good order. The roof
only is decayed; and at the time I was there, the rain was dropping on these sacred
places, and on other parts of the house. On the doors of the pews, in gilt letters, are
still to be seen the names of the principal families which once occupied them. How
could I, while for an hour traversing those long aisles, entering the sacred chancel, ascending
the lofty pulpit, forbear to ask: And is this the house of God which was built
by the Washingtons, the Masons, the McCarties, the Grahams, the Lewises, the Fairfaxes—the
house in which they used to worship the God of our fathers according to the
venerable forms of the Episcopal Church, and some of whose names are yet to be found
on those deserted pews? Is this, also, destined to moulder piecemeal away—or, when
some signal is given, to become the prey of spoilers, and to be carried hither and thither,
and applied to every purpose under heaven?

From a clerical friend of the late Mr. Weems, we have gathered these facts respecting
him: The wants of a large family occasioned Mr. Weems to abandon preaching for
a livelihood, and he became a book-agent for the celebrated Matthew Carey of Philadelphia.
He travelled extensively over the southern states, and met with almost unprecedented
success—selling, in one year, 3000 copies of a high-priced Bible. He also sold
other works, among which were those of his own writing. He was accustomed to be
present at courts and other large assemblages, where he mingled with the people; and
by his faculty of adapting himself to all circumstances, he generally drew crowds of listeners,
whom he would address upon the merits of his works, interspersing his remarks with
anecdotes and humorous sallies. He wrote and sold a pamphlet entitled "The Drunkard's
Looking-Glass," illustrated by cuts, showing the progressive stages of the drunkard,
from his first taking the social glass until the final scene of his death. With this
in hand he entered taverns, and addressing the inmates, would mimic the extravagances
of an inebriate, and sell the pamphlet. His eccentricities and singular conduct lowered
his dignity, and occasioned the circulation of many false and ridiculous tales unbecoming
his clerical profession. He was a man of much benevolence, and a great wit. When
travelling, he sometimes received and accepted invitations to preach. His sermons were

generally moral essays, abounding with humor. On one occasion, when at Fredericksburg,
he preached from the text, "We are fearfully and wonderfully made,"—which sermon
he abruptly concluded by saying, "I must stop; for should I go on, some of the
young ladies present would not sleep a wink to-night." Mr. Weems was of the medium
stature, his hair white and long, and his countenance expressive and sprightly. He was
energetic in his movements, and polite. He proved useful in his vocation, being careful
not to circulate any works but those of a good moral tendency. He died at an advanced
age, many years since, leaving a highly respectable and well-educated family.

I had this morning, for the first time, crossed the Potomac, and was under the full influence
of the sense that I was in a new land, and amid all the historical associations
of the "Ancient Dominion." The day was soft and balmy, and, though early in March,
was as warm as our budding days of May. We were in a portion of the great primeval
forest of America. The crows cawed from the tops of the ancient, half-decayed trees;
and the naked trunks and branches of the sycamore, and the strange spreading forms
of the other giants of the wood, were beautifully relieved by the evergreen of the pines
and cedars. A solemn stillness filled the air. An ancient, sad, half-degenerate, but
most venerable and soul-stirring character was impressed upon all around us.

After a few miles of riding through the forest, with occasional openings and cultivated
spots, in one of which a negro was following his plough through the furrows, my friend
pointed out a stone sunk in the ground by the road-side, which, he said, marked the beginning
of the Mount Vernon estate. Still, we rode on for a couple of miles of beautiful
country, left much in its natural condition, without even a fence to line the road-side,
with a delightful variety of surface, before the gate and porter's lodge came in sight.

Instead of an iron gate upon stone posts, there was a simple wooden gate, swinging
from posts of wood, without paint, turned to a gray color, and shutting with a wooden
latch. An aged negro came out from the porter's house, courtesied as we passed, and answered
civilly the questions as to her health, and whether her mistress was at home. All
was characteristic of the domestic institutions of Virginia, even to the woman's standing
still, and letting the gate swing to and latch itself. We had still half a mile before
us, and the simple carriage-path led us over hills and down dales, with a surface as diversified
as that of Mount Auburn, while the trees were more grand and forest-like,
though thinly scattered, and with less variety and richness. We crossed a brook, passed
through a ravine, and felt ourselves so completely in the midst of aboriginal, untouched
nature, that the sight of the house and its cluster of surrounding buildings, came like a
surprise upon me. The approach to the house is towards the west front. The high piazza,
reaching from the roof to the ground, and the outline of the building, are familiar
to us from the engravings; but its gray and time-worn aspect must be mentioned to those
whose eyes are accustomed to the freshness of white walls, green blinds, and painted
bricks. We rode up to the piazza, but an unbroken silence reigned, and there was no
sign of life, or of any one stirring. Turning away, we passed among the adjoining
houses, occupied by the blacks, from one of which a servant, attracted by the sound of
our horses' hoofs, came out, and being recognised by my friend, took our horses from us,
and we walked towards the house. The door from the piazza opened directly into a large
room, which we entered. It was no mere habit that lifted the hat from my head, and I
stepped lightly, as though upon hallowed ground. Finding that no one had seen us, my
friend went in search of the family, and left me to walk through the halls. From the
first room I passed into another, from which a door led me out upon the eastern piazza.
A warm afternoon breeze shook the branches of the forest which closes in upon the
house on two sides, and breathed across the lawn and rising knolls with a delicious
softness. Under this piazza, upon its pavement of flat stones, Washington used to
walk to and fro, with military regularity, every morning, the noble Potomac in full
view, spreading out into the width of a bay at the foot of the mount, and the shore
of Maryland lining the eastern horizon. By the side of the door hung the spy-glass,
through which he watched the passing objects upon the water. Little effort was necessary
to call up the commanding figure of the hero, as he paced to and fro, while
those pure and noble thoughts, which made his actions great, moved with almost an equal
order through his simple and majestic understanding.

My friend approached and told me he had learned that the family were at dinner, and
we left the house privately and walked towards the tomb. At a short distance from the
house, in a retired spot, stands the new family tomb, a plain structure of brick, with a
barred iron gate, through which are seen two sarcophagi of white marble, side by side,
containing the remains of Washington and his consort. This had been recently finished,
as appeared from the freshness of the bricks and mortar, and the bare spots of earth
about it, upon which the grass had not yet grown. It is painful to see change and novelty
in such connections; but all has been done by the direction of Washington's will, in
which he designated the spot where he wished the tomb to be. The old family tomb, in
which he was first placed, is in a more picturesque situation, upon a knoll, in full view
of the river; but the present one is more retired, which was reason enough to determine
the wishes of a modest man. While we were talking together here, a person approached
us, dressed in the plain manner of a Virginia gentleman upon his estate. This was the
young proprietor. After his greeting with my friend, and my introduction, he conducted
us to the old tomb, which is the one represented in the prints scattered through the country.
It is now going to decay, being unoccupied, is filling up, and partly overgrown with
vines and shrubs. The change was made with regret, but a sacred duty seemed to require
it. It is with this tomb that our associations are connected, and to this the British
fleet is said to have lowered its flags while passing up the Potomac to make the attack
upon the capitol.

To one accustomed to the plantation system and habits of Virginia, this estate may
have much that is common with others; but to persons unused to this economy, the
whole is new and striking. Of things peculiar to the place, are a low rampart of brick,
now partly overgrown, which Washington had built around the front of the house, and
an underground passage leading from the bottom of a dry well, and coming out by the
river side at the foot of the mount. On the west side of the house are two gardens, a
green-house, and—the usual accompaniments of a plantation—seed-houses, tool-houses,
and cottages for the negroes—things possessing no particular interest, except because
they were standing during Washington's life, and were objects of his frequent attention.
I would not be one to countenance the making public of any thing pertaining to those
who have received a visitor in confidence and good faith. And I hope not to transgress
when I say, that if he can judge from what may be seen among those who bear the
name and inherit the estate of the hero, no Massachusetts man need fear that the bond
which united the two ancient historical commonwealths, is at all weakened; or that those
memory-charge, cabalistic words, Massachusetts and Virginia, have lost any of their
force with the true sons of either. Among the things of note shown us in the house,
was the key of the Bastile, sent to Washington from France at the time of the destruction
of the prison. Along the walls of the room hung engravings, which were mostly
battle or hunting-pieces. Among them I noticed a print of Bunker Hill, but none of any
battle in which Washington himself was engaged. The north room was built by Washington
for a dining-room, and for the meetings of his friends and political visitors. The
furniture of the room is just as when he used it, and leads us back to the days when there
were met within these walls the great men of that generation who carried the states
through the revolution, laid the foundations of the government, and administered it in
its purer days. The rooms of the house are spacious, and there is something of elegance
in their arrangement; yet the whole is marked by great simplicity. All the regard one
could wish seems to have been shown to the sacredness of these public relics, and all
things have been kept very nearly as Washington left them. Money made in the
stocks can purchase the bedizenry of our city drawing-rooms; but these elevating associations,
which no gold can buy, no popular favor win, which can only be inherited,
these are the heir-looms, the traditionary titles and pensions, inalienable, not conferred,
which a republic allows to the descendants of her great servants.

Let every American, and especially every young American, visit this place, and
catch, if he can, something of its spirit. It will make an impression upon him which he
may keep through life. It will teach him the story and lessons of the past so as no
printed page can teach them. From amid the small machinery of day and week politics,
he may learn what was once the tone of public life. It will enlarge his patriotism,
elevate his notions of the public service, and call out some sense of veneration and loyalty
towards the institutions of his country and the memory of her mighty dead; so that
Young America may, as there is some hope she may, bring back the elements which
dignified the first eight years of our constitutional history.

As the afternoon rew to a close, and we were obliged to take our leave, regret from
parting from our courteous entertainers, was lost in the grand and solemn impression

made by all around us. Nothing was real. Every thing acted through the imagination.
Each object was dim with associations, and seemed but the exponent of some
thought or emotion, the shadow of something great and past. The whole was enchanted
ground; and the occupants seemed privileged persons, whom the guardian spirits of the
place allowed to remain its tenants and keepers. When the young proprietor took leave
of us at the piazza, he stood where Washington had stood to welcome and to part from
the immortal men of France and America. He stood there his representative to a third
generation. It may well be supposed that as we rode slowly home, our thoughts were
in no ordinary course. We repassed the gate, the rivulet, and the open field, but still
we were on enchanted ground. So impressed was I with this feeling, that had I met a
procession of the great men of the past, riding slowly towards the mansion of their companion
in arms and in the cabinet, it would have seemed only a natural consummation.
It was not until we had reached the town, and our horses' hoofs struck upon the pavement,
that the illusion was fairly broken.

WASHINGTON,
The Defender of his Country.—The Founder of Liberty:
The Friend of Man.
History and Tradition are explored in vain,
For a Parallel to his Character.
In the Annals of Modern Greatness
He stands alone;
And the noblest names of antiquity,
Lose their Lustre in his Presence.
Born the Benefactor of Mankind,
He united all the qualities necessary
To an illustrious career.
Nature made him great,
He made himself virtuous.
Called by his country to the defence of her Liberties,
He triumphantly vindicated the rights of humanity:
And on the Pillars of National Independence
Laid the foundations of a great republic.
Twice invested with supreme magistracy,
By the unanimous voice of a free people
He surpassed in the Cabinet
The Glories of the Field.
And voluntarily resigning the Sceptre and the Sword,
Retired to the shades of Private Life.
A spectacle so new and so sublime
Was contemplated with the profoundest admiration.
And the name of Washington,
Adding new lustre to humanity,
Resounded to the remotest regions of the earth.
Magnanimous in youth,
Glorious through life,
Great in Death.
His highest ambition, the Happiness of Mankind;
His noblest Victory, the conquest of himself.
Bequeathing to posterity the inheritance of his fame,
And building his monument in the hearts of his countrymen.
He Lived—The Ornament of the 18th Century.
He Died—Regretted by a Mourning World.

Mr. Jefferson said that he was "of the first order of wisdom, among those who acted
on the theatre of the revolution, of expansive mind, profound judgment, cogent in argument,
learned in the lore of our former constitution, and earnest for the republican
change on democratic principles. His eloquence was neither flowing nor smooth; but
his language was strong, his manner most impressive, and strengthened by a dash of
biting criticism when provocation made it seasonable." Mr. Mason was the framer of
the constitution of Virginia, and a member of the convention which formed the federal
constitution, but he did not sign that instrument. In conjunction with Patrick Henry,

he opposed its adoption in the Virginia convention, believing that it would tend to the
conversion of the government into a monarchy. He also opposed the slave trade with
great zeal. He died at his seat in the autumn of 1792, aged 67 years.

Here lies ye body of Lieut. William Herris, who died May ye 16th, 1608: aged 065
years; by birth a Britain, a good soldier; a good husband and neighbor.