The homes of the negroes were in some cases built of stone; mostly, however, of boards, put loosely together, and in some instances of large logs, the crevices being filled with mud, which, the sun and wind having hardened, were white-washed, presenting a very strong though not very beautiful appearance, the architecture of which was neither Grecian nor Roman, but evidently from “original designs” by a not very fastidious or accomplished artist.

Groups of women and children were about these houses; some seated on the grass, in the shade of the tall trees; others standing in the doors, all unemployed and apparently having nothing to do but to talk, and this they appeared to engage in with a hearty good will.

We continued our way over stones, up steep, deep-rutted hills, covered partly with branches and brambles, and down as steep declivities, through ponds and brooks, now and then cheered by the pleasing prospect of a long road, evidently designed to illustrate the “ups and downs of life.”

After a tiresome journey, partly walked, partly ridden, which was somewhat relieved of its tediousness by the romantic and beautiful scenery through which we passed, we came in view of Mount Vernon.

An old, infirm, yet good, sociable negro met us at the gate, and told us that there was another road to the Mount, but that it was not as good as the one we came over, and also that there was a private road, which was not as good as either of the others!  We smiled, threw out a hint about a‰rial navigation.  He smiled also, and, thinking we doubted his word, said, “Indeed, it is not as good; I would n’t tell you a lie about it.”  Mercy on pilgrims to Mount Vernon!  If you ever go there, reader, do provide yourself with a conscience that can’t be shaken out of you.

Having been kindly furnished with a letter from Mr. Seaton, the editor of the Intelligencer, and Mayor of Washington city, to the proprietor of the estate, we inquired whether he was at home, and with pleasure learned that he was.

We passed into what we deemed an almost sacred enclosure, so linked is it with the history of our country, and the glorious days that gave birth to a nation’s freedom.  It seemed as though we had entered an aviary, so many and so various the birds that floated in the air around us, and filled it with the rich melody of their songs.

At a short distance stood a beautiful deer, as if transfixed to the spot, his large, black, lustrous eyes turned towards us, his ears erect, till, suddenly starting, he darted away, and leaped down the steep hill-side to the water’s brink.

The house I need not describe, as most persons are acquainted with its appearance, from seeing the numerous engraved representations of it.  It shows many evidences of age and decay.  Time is having his own way with, it, as the hand that would defend it from his ravages, and improve its looks, is kept back, that it may remain as nearly as possible in the same condition as when occupied by our first president.  We entered and passed through several rooms, endeavoring to allay our curiosity by asking more questions than our attendant could conveniently answer and retain his senses.