"The afternoon is so delightful," said Mr. Weston, "that we had better take
our ride to the Congress burial ground. Your time is short, young ladies;
you cannot afford to lose any of it, if all your plans are to be carried
out."
The ladies gladly agreed to go, and were not long in their preparation.
Mark was a perfect prince of a driver. When the ladies had occasion to go
into the country, he entreated them to hire a carriage, but he was always
ready to display his handsome equipage and horses in the city, especially
on the Avenue.
He drove slowly this afternoon, and Mrs. Weston remembered, as she
approached Harper's, that she had one or two purchases to make. Fearing it
might be late on their return, she proposed getting out for a few moments.
A stream of gayly-dressed people crowded the pavements. The exquisite
weather had drawn them out. Belles with their ringlets and sun-shades, and
beaux with canes and curled moustaches. Irish women in tawdry finery, and
_ladies_ of color with every variety of ornament, and ridiculous imitation
of fashion. Now and then a respectable-looking negro would pass, turning
out of the way, instead of jostling along.
"Truly," said Mr. Weston, "Pennsylvania Avenue is the great bazaar of
America. Here are senators and members--three and four walking arm in arm.
Here are gay young men, dressed in the latest style; here is the army and
navy button; old people and young children with their nurses; foreigners
and natives; people of every shade and hue. There is our President, walking
unattended, as a republican president should walk. And see! there are a
number of Indians, noble-looking men, and a white boy throwing a stone at
them. I wish I had the young rascal. On our right, in their carriages, are
the wives and children of the rich; while, scattered about, right and left,
are the representatives of the poor. But what is this, coming along the
side-walk?"
The girls put their heads out of the window, and saw a colored man,
sauntering along in an impudent, dont-carish manner. His dress--indeed his
whole appearance--was absurd. He wore a stylish, shiny black hat; the rim
slightly turned up in front, following the direction of the wearer's nose,
which had "set its affections on things above." His whiskers were immense;
so were his moustaches, and that other hairy trimming which it is the
fashion to wear about the jaws and chin; and for which I know no better
name than that which the children give--goatee; a tremendous shirt collar;
brass studs in his bosom; a neck handkerchief of many colors, the ends of
which stood out like the extended wings of a butterfly; a gorgeous watch
chain; white kid gloves; pantaloons of a large-sized plaid, and fitting so
very tightly that it was with the greatest difficulty he could put out his
feet; patent leather gaiter-boots, and a cane that he flourished right and
left with such determined strokes, that the children kept carefully out of
his way. Several persons looked back to wonder and laugh at this strange
figure, the drollery of which was greatly enhanced by his limber style of
walking, and a certain expression of the whole outer man, which said, "Who
says I am not as good as anybody on this avenue; Mr. Fillmore, or any one
else?"
Now it happened, that walking from the other direction toward this
representative of the much-injured colored race, was a stranger, who had
come to Washington to look about him. He was from Philadelphia, but not
thinking a great deal of what he saw in our capital on a former visit, he
had quite made up his mind that there was nothing to make it worth his
while to come again; but hearing of the convalescing turn the city had
taken since the immortal supporters of the Compromise and the Fugitive
Slave law had brought comparative harmony and peace, where there had been
nought but disorder and confusion, he suddenly fancied to come and see for
himself. He was not an Abolitionist, nor a Secessionist, nor one of those
unfortunate, restless people, who are forever stirring up old difficulties.
He had an idea that the Union ought to be preserved in the first place; and
then, whatever else could be done to advance the interests of the human
race in general, without injury to our national interests, should be
attended to. He was always a good-tempered man, and was particularly
pleasant this afternoon, having on an entire new suit of clothes, each
article, even the shirt-collar, fitting in the most faultless manner.
As he walked along, he noticed the colored man advancing towards him, and
observed, too, what I forgot to mention, that he held a cigar, and every
now and then put it to his mouth, emitting afterwards a perfect cloud of
smoke.
The thought occurred to him that the man did not intend to turn out of the
way for anybody, and as they were in a line, he determined not to deviate
one way or the other, but just observe what this favorite of fashion would
do. They walked on, and in a minute came up to each other, the colored man
not giving way in the least, but bumping, hat, goatee, cane, cigar, and
all, against our Philadelphian, who, with the greatest coolness and
presence of mind, doubled up his fist and giving the colored Adonis two
blows with it, (precisely on the middle brass stud which confined his
frilled shirt-bosom,) laid him full length upon the pavement.
"Now," said the Philadelphian, "you've had a lesson; the next time you see
a gentleman coming along, turn out of the way for him, and you'll save your
new clothes." Without another glance at the discomfited beau, who was
brushing his plaid pantaloons with his pocket-handkerchief, and muttering
some equivocal language that would not do here, he went on his way to see
the improvements about the City Hall.
Mark's low laugh was heard from the driver's seat, and Bacchus, who was
waiting to open the carriage door for Mr. Weston, stood on the first step,
and touching his hat, said, with a broad grin, "Dat's de best thing we've
seen sence we come to Washington. Dat beats Ole Virginny."
Mrs. Weston came from the store at the same moment, and Bacchus gallantly
let down the steps, and, after securing the door, took his place beside
Mark, with the agility of a boy of sixteen.
Mr. Weston, much amused, described the scene. Mrs. Weston declared "it
served him right; for that the negroes were getting intolerable."
"I can hardly believe," she said, "the change that has been made in their
appearance and conduct. They think, to obtain respect they must be
impertinent. This is the effect of Abolition."
"Yes," said Mr. Weston, "this is Abolition. I have thought a great deal on
the condition of the negroes in our country, of late. I would like to see
every man and woman that God has made, free, could it be accomplished to
their advantage. I see the evils of slavery, it is sometimes a curse on the
master as well as the slave.
"When I purchased Sarah; when I saw those grieving, throbbing souls, my
own was overwhelmed with sympathy for them. This is slavery, I said to
myself. Poor creatures, though you have done wrong, how severe your
punishment; to be separated from all that your life has had to make it
pleasant, or even tolerable. This is slavery indeed, and where is the man,
come from God, who will show us a remedy? I look at the free blacks of the
North and South. I say again, this is Abolition! How worthless, how
degraded they are, after they imbibe these ridiculous notions. When I
behold the Southern country, and am convinced that it is _impossible_ to
manumit the slaves, I conclude that here, at least, they are in their
natural condition. Heretofore, I feel that I have only done my duty in
retaining mine, while I give them every means of comfort, and innocent
enjoyment, that is in my power. Now I have seen the result of the Abolition
efforts, I am _more_ convinced that my duty has been, and will be, as I
have said. Could they be colonized from Virginia, I would willingly consent
to it, as in our climate, white labor would answer; but _farther_ South,
_only the negro_ can labor, and this is an unanswerable objection to our
Southern States becoming free. Those servants that are free, the benevolent
and generous Abolitionists ought to take North, build them colleges, and
make good to them all the promises they held out as baits to allure them
from their owners and their duties."
Mr. Weston found he had not two very attentive listeners in the young
ladies, for they were returning the many salutations they received, and
making remarks on their numerous acquaintances. The carriage began slowly
to ascend Capitol Hill, and they all remarked the beautiful prospect, to
which Washingtonians are so much accustomed that they are too apt not to
notice it. Their ride was delightful. It was one of those lovely spring
days when the air is still fresh and balmy, and the promise of a summer's
sun lights up nature so joyfully.
There were many visitors at the burial-ground, and there had been several
funerals that day. A woman stood at the door of the house, at the entrance
of the cemetery, with a baby in her arms; and another child of two years
old was playing around a large bier, that had been left there until it
should be wanted again.
Mrs. Weston met with an acquaintance, soon after they entered the ground,
and they stopped to converse, while Mr. Weston and the younger ladies
walked on. Near a large vault they stopped a moment, surprised to see two
or three little boys playing at marbles. They were ruddy, healthy-looking
boys, marking out places in the gravel path for the game; shooting,
laughing, and winning, and so much occupied that if death himself had come
along on his pale horse, they would have asked him to wait a while till
they could let him pass, if indeed they had seen him at all. Mr. Weston
tried to address them several times, but they could not attend to him until
the game was completed, when one of them sprang upon the vault and began to
count over his marbles, and the others sat down on a low monument to rest.
"Boys," said Mr. Weston, "I am very sorry to see you playing marbles in a
burial-ground. Don't you see all these graves around you?"
"We don't go on the dead people," said an honest-faced little fellow. "You
see the grass is wet there; we play here in the walk, where its nice and
dry."
"But you ought to play outside," said Mr. Weston. "This is too sacred a
place to be made the scene of your amusements."
"We don't hurt any body," said the largest boy. "When people are dead they
don't hear nothin; where's the harm?"
"Well," said Mr. Weston, "there's one thing certain, none of you have any
friends buried here. If you had, you would not treat them so unkindly."
"My mother is buried over yonder," said the boy on the vault; "and if I
thought there was any thing unkind in it, I would never come here to play
again."
"You are a good boy," said Mr. Weston. "I hope you will keep your word. If
you were buried there, I am sure your mother would be very sad and quiet by
your grave."
The boy drew the string to his bag, and walked off without looking back.
"I wish," said Mr. Weston, "you would all follow his example. We should
always be respectful in our conduct, when we are in a burial-ground."
As soon as they were gone, the boys laughed and marked out another game.
Mrs. Weston joined her party, and they went towards the new portion of the
cemetery that is so beautifully situated, near the river.
"I think," said Mr. Weston, "this scene should remind us of our
conversation this morning. If Washington be the meeting-place of all
living, it is the grand cemetery of the dead. Look around us here! We see
monuments to Senators and Members; graves of foreigners and strangers;
names of the great, the rich, the powerful, men of genius and ambition.
Strewed along are the poor, the lowly, the unlearned, the infant, and the
little child.
"Read the inscriptions--death has come at last, watched and waited for; or
he has come suddenly, unexpected, and undesired. There lies an author, a
bride, a statesman, side by side. A little farther off is that simple, but
beautiful monument."
They approached, and Alice read the line that was inscribed around a cross
sculptured in it, "Other refuge have I none!" Underneath was her name,
"Angeline."
"How beautiful, how much more so in its simplicity than if it had been
ornamented, and a labored epitaph written upon it," said Mr. Weston. "Here
too are members of families, assembled in one great family. As we walk
along, we pass mothers, and husbands, and children; but in life, they who
lie here together, were possibly all strangers."
"What is that large vault open to-day for?" said Ellen, to a man who seemed
to have some charge in the place.
"That is the public receptacle," said the man. "We are obliged to air it
very often, else we could never go in and out with the coffins we put
there. There's a good many in there now."
"Who is there?" said Mr. Weston.
"Well," said the man, "Mrs. Madison is there, for one, and there are some
other people, who are going to be moved soon. Mrs. Madison, she's going to
be moved, too, some time or another, but I don't know when."
Ellen stooped down and looked in, but arose quickly and turned away. Two
gentlemen were standing near observing her, and one of them smiled as she
stepped back from the vault. Mr. Weston knew this person by sight; he was a
clergyman of great talent, and almost equal eccentricity, and often gave
offence by harshness of manner, when he was only anxious to do good to the
cause in which his heart was absorbed.
"Ah! young ladies," he said, looking kindly at them both, "this is a good
place for you to come to. You are both beautiful, and it may be wealthy;
and I doubt not, in the enjoyments of the passing season, you have
forgotten all about death and the grave. But, look you! in there, lies the
mortal remains of Mrs. Madison. What an influence she had in this gay
society, which you have doubtless adorned. Her presence was the guarantee
of propriety, as well as of social and fashionable enjoyment; the very
contrast that she presented to her husband made her more charming. Always
anxious to please, she was constantly making others happy. She gave
assistance and encouragement to all, when it was in her power. She had more
political influence than any woman in our country has had, before or since.
But think of her now! You could not bear to approach the coffin that
contains her remains. Where is her beauty--and her grace and talent? Ah!
young ladies," he continued, "did she rightly use those talents?"
"It is hardly a fair question to ask now," said Mr. Weston. "Let us tread
lightly o'er the ashes of the dead."
"Let the living learn a lesson from the dead," said the clergyman, sternly.
"You are leading, it may be, a heartless life of pleasure, but, young
ladies, forget not this grave. She could not escape it, nor will you. Pause
from your balls, and your theatres, and your gay doings, and ask, what is
the end of it all. Trifle not with the inestimable gift of life. Be not
dead while you live. Anticipate not the great destroyer. Hear the appeal of
one who was once the idol of every heart; she speaks to you from the grave,
'Even as I am, shalt thou be!'"
He turned from them, and wandered over the ground. Mr. Weston led the way
to the carriage, and Ellen and Alice thought, that if a lesson of life was
to be learned in the gay ball of the night before, a still more necessary
one was found in the cemetery which they were now leaving, as the shadows
of the evening were on the simple monument and the sculptured slab, and
their silent tenants slept on, undisturbed by the gambols of thoughtless
children, or the conversation of the many who came to visit their abode.
* * * * *
The next morning, Bacchus brought no letter for Mr. Weston, but one for
each lady; for Ellen from her aunt, for Alice from Arthur, and Cousin
Janet's handwriting was easily recognized on the outside of Mrs. Weston's.
Hardly had the girls arisen from the table to take theirs' to their rooms
for a quiet perusal, when an exclamation from Mrs. Weston, detained them.
"Is anything the matter at home, Anna?" said Mr. Weston, "Is Cousin
Janet--?"
"Cousin Janet is well, my dear brother," said Mrs. Weston. "I was very
thoughtless, but our dear neighbor, Mrs. Kent, is no more."
"Can it be possible?" said Mr. Weston, much agitated. "Read the letter
aloud."
Mrs. Weston, turned to the beginning, and read aloud,
"MY DEAR ANNA:
"The time is near which will bring you all in health and
happiness, I trust, to your home; and could you see how lovely it
looks, I think you would be tempted to fix upon an earlier day.
You see how selfish I am, but I confess that I quite count the
days, as a child does to Christmas, and am ashamed of my
impatience.
"Throughout the winter I had no care. My kind friends did all the
housekeeping, and the servants in the house, and on the
plantation, were so faithful, that I feel indebted to all who have
made my time so easy; and your absence has not, I am sure, been
attended with any ill effects, without you find me a little cross
and complaining, and Mr. Barbour out of his senses with joy, on
your return. Good Mr. Barbour! he has superintended and encouraged
the servants, and visited us forlorn ladies frequently, so that he
must come in for a portion of our thanks too.
"You will perhaps think I ought only to write you cheerful news,
but it is best to let you know as well as I can, the condition
that you will find us in, on your return. Phillis is the only one
of us, whose concerns are of any immediate importance, but I am
sorry to have to tell you that she is now seriously indisposed.
Her cough has never really yielded--her other symptoms have
varied; but for the last few weeks, her disease has not only
progressed, but assumed a certain form. She is in consumption, and
has no doubt inherited the disease from her mother.
"I have, throughout the winter, felt great anxiety about her, and
have not permitted her to work, though sometimes I found it hard
to prevent her. Her children have been constantly with her;
indeed, I have passed a great deal of my own time in her cabin,
which, under Martha's superintendence, is so neat and comfortable.
"You will all perhaps blame me that I have not been thus plain
with you before, but Dr. Lawton said it was not necessary, as she
has never been in any immediate danger, and Phillis would not
consent to my doing so. She wanted you to enjoy yourselves, and
Alice to have a good chance to regain her health. 'No doubt, Miss
Janet,' she said, 'the Lord will spare me to see them yet, and I
have every thing I want now--they couldn't stop my pains any more
than you, and I feel that I am in the Lord's hands, and I am
content to be.' She has not been confined to her bed, but is fast
losing strength, though from my window now I see her tying up her
roses, that are beginning to bud. Some other hand than hers will
care for them when another Spring shall come.
"Her nights are very restless, and she is much exhausted from
constant spitting of blood; the last week of pleasant weather has
been of service to her, and the prospect of seeing you all at home
gives her the most unfeigned pleasure.
"I have even more painful intelligence to give you. Our young
neighbor, Mrs. Kent, has done with all her trials, and I trust
they sanctified her, in preparation for the early and unexpected
death which has been her lot. You are not yet aware of the extent
of her trials. A fortnight ago her little boy was attacked with
scarlet fever, in its most violent form. From the first moment of
his illness his case was hopeless, and he only suffered
twenty-four hours. I went over as soon as I heard of his death;
the poor mother's condition was really pitiable. She was helpless
in her sorrow, which was so unexpected as to deprive her at first
of the power of reason. The Good Shepherd though, had not
forgotten her--he told her that he had taken her little lamb, and
had gently folded it in his bosom, and that he would wander with
it in the lovely pastures of Paradise. She was soon perfectly
reconciled to the sad dispensation; sad indeed, for the child was
her only earthly solace. Victim of an unhappy marriage, the dear
engaging little boy was a great consolation to her, and his
amusement and instruction occupied her mind, and passed away
happily many a weary hour.
"She insisted upon attending the funeral, and I accompanied her.
Mr. Kent was with her, too, much distressed, for this hard man
loved his child, and keenly felt his loss.
"She got out of the carriage to hear the funeral service read, and
was calm until they took up the coffin to lower it into the grave.
Then it was impossible to control her. Placing her arms upon it,
she looked around appealingly to the men; and so affected were
they, that they turned from her to wipe away their own tears. Her
strength gave way under the excitement, and she was carried,
insensible, to the carriage, and taken home.
"I found her very feverish, and did not like to leave her,
thinking it probable that she might also have the disease which
had carried off her child. Before night she became really ill, and
Dr. Lawton pronounced her complaint scarlet fever. The disease was
fearfully rapid, and soon ended her life. She was, I think, well
prepared to go. Her solemn and affectionate farewell to her
husband cannot fail to make an impression upon him.
"I shall have a great deal to tell you of her when you return. The
past winter has been a sad one; a constant coolness existing
between her and her husband. A short time ago he was brutally
striking that faithful old man of her father's, Robert, and Mrs.
Kent interfered, insisting upon Robert's returning to his cabin,
and in his presence forbidding Mr. Kent again to raise his hand
against one servant on the plantation; Mr. Carter's will,
allowing Mr. Kent no authority over his servants, and commending
them to his daughter's kindness and care, showed great
discrimination of character. This, though, has been a constant
source of irritation to Mr. Kent, and he has never been kind to
the people. Mrs. Kent, usually so timid, was roused into anger by
his treatment of Robert, and interfered, as I have related to you.
She told me of this, and said how unhappy it had made her, though
she could not blame herself. Since then there has only been a
formal politeness between them; Mr. Kent not forgiving his wife
for the part she took against him. Poor little woman! Robert had
been her father's faithful nurse in his long illness, and I do not
wonder at her feelings on seeing him struck.
"Yesterday the will was read, and Dr. Lawton, who was present,
informed us of the result. Mrs. Kent has left most of her property
to her husband, but her servants free! The plantation is to be
sold, and the proceeds expended in preparing those who are willing
to go to Liberia, or where they choose; as they cannot,
manumitted, remain in Virginia. The older servants, who prefer
staying in Virginia as they are, she has left to you, with an
allowance for their support, considering you as a kind of
guardian; for in no other way could she have provided for their
staying here, which they will like better.
"Who would have thought she could have made so wise a will?
"Dr. Lawton says that Mr. Kent showed extreme anger on hearing it
read. He intends returning to the North, and his $30,000 will be a
clear gain, for I am told he had not a cent when he married her.
"Write me when you have fixed the time for your return, and
believe me, with love to all,
"Your affectionate relative,
JANET WILMER."
Bacchus entered in time to hear the latter part of this letter. He had his
master's boots in his hands. When Mrs. Weston stopped reading, he said,
"That's good; bound for Mister Kent. I'm glad he's gwine, like Judas, to
his own place."