“I have had no opportunity to obtain the sketch I promised you.  Indeed, there is virtually no material to make a sketch of.  The birthplace is now simply an old field lying waste, with indistinct vestiges of a human habitation.  An old chimney stands which belonged to an outhouse (kitchen or laundry), some remains of a cellar, and the foundations of a house in which tradition states Washington was born.  There was a stone slab, with a simple inscription, placed on the spot some sixty years ago by G. W:  P. Custis, to denote the place, but it was long ago removed from its original position, mutilated and broken, so that only a fragment remains.”

That a place of such interest—­one might call it sacred—­should be left to decay and obliteration is no new thing in Virginia.  Enemies might well declare that neglect of her mighty dead is characteristic of the old commonwealth.  The truth is, she has a great many dead to care for, and of late years all her time has been absorbed in the care of her living.  But something has been done, or attempted to be done, to rescue Washington’s birthplace from oblivion.  As far back as 1858 an act was passed by the General Assembly of Virginia, accepting from Lewis Washington a grant of the “site of the birthplace of George Washington, and the home and graves of his progenitors in America,” and appropriating five thousand dollars “to enclose the same in an iron fence,” etc.  Hon. Henry A. Wise, governor of Virginia at the time this act was passed, entered with zeal and alacrity upon the work, the execution of which was entrusted to him by the Legislature—­went in person to Westmoreland, examined carefully the sites, negotiated with the owner of the adjacent farm for right of way, adopted a plan for the enclosures and tablets, and began a correspondence with mechanics and artisans at the North with a view to the speedy completion of the work, and—­just then his term expired, the war soon followed, and the matter was of course dropped.

The money appropriated, together with the accrued interest, is now in the treasury of Virginia, and although Governor Walker in his late message did not bring the subject to the attention of the Legislature, the long-delayed work will be consummated sooner or later, and “a neat iron fence” with a few plain slabs will be erected on the hallowed spot.  But it strikes the present writer that five thousand dollars, or even ten thousand dollars, form rather a small sum for such an object, and that “a neat iron fence” is not exactly the thing that the place and its memories demand.  But not a dollar more may be expected of Virginia at this time.  She owes too much, and has too little.  If one of the many Northern gentlemen who are lavishing their hundreds of thousands on colleges and other charities would come to Westmoreland and put something a little better than a “neat iron fence” around the birthplace of Washington, he would do a noble deed for himself and for both sections of his lately estranged country.