spirits, through all the ramifications of an eternal future, wend their way to the Author and Source of their being. The placid Potomac kisses the banks of that precious domain, while the ripples of the receding tide utter a mournful sound as it quits the side of the stream, hallowed forever.

The temptation to see this historic and romantic home of the most beloved of the nation's dead was not to be resisted, and in company with one of the few surviving relatives who bears that honored name, we started to the steamer. Although the weather was cold and disagreeable, with a threatening aspect of a snow-storm, we found the little vessel filled with pil grims, bound to the tomb of Washington. This trip is one of intense interest, and particularly since the events of the late war have given to all the locality additional attraction. Arlington, Alexandria, and Fort Washington! what memories are stirred by mention of these names, and the remembrance is acute when we stand face to face with such objects. Alexandria, with its old moss-covered houses and ancient gnarled trees, visibly impresses one with its claims to respect. The old commonwealth is dear to every generous American, whether of northern or southern birth, but more especially to the people of the south whose ancestors fondly termed it the "motherland," and the refrain of whose song was

"How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,

When fond recollection presents them to view!

The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood
And every loved spot which my infancy knew!

The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it,
The bridge, and the rock, where the cataract fell.
The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it,

And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well."

Far up the narrow quiet streets I looked, and discerned in the distance a veritable oscillating arm of a well, and fancy quickly added the "old oaken bucket, the iron bound bucket, which hung in the well." It was the venerable look of the place which appealed strongest to the senses, and the fact that it is long past a century old, its foundation having been laid in 1748. As the boat anchored at the wharf to put off passengers, I gazed wistfully up those streets through which Washington had often passed, and looked in vain to see some" vast and venerable pile, so old it seemed only not to fall," but the residences of most of the old inhabitants are the abodes of wealth, and they exhibit evidences of care and preservation.

Alexandria was early a place of some note, for five colonial governors met here by appointment, in 1755, to take measures with General Braddock respecting his expedition to the West. "That expedition proceeded from Alexandria, and tradition still points to the site on which now stands the olden Episcopal Church (but then, in the woods), as the spot where he pitched his tent, while the road over the western hills by which his army withdrew, long bore the name of this unfortunate commander. But the reminiscences which the Alexandrians most cherish are those which associate their town with the domestic attachments and habits of Washington, and the stranger is still pointed to the

church of which he was vestryman; to the pew in which he customarily sate; and many striking memo. rials of his varied life are carefully preserved."

That old church where Washington and his wife were wont to worship, how tenderly we look upon it, and with what hallowed feelings! All the commonplace thoughts that fill our minds every day are laid aside, while we contemplate the character of the man who has stamped his image in the hearts of freemen throughout the world. There is another church at which one feels these ennobling heart-throbs, and which I confess moved me as sensibly, and that is the little Dutch church in "Sleepy Hollow," once the shrine at which Washington Irving offered the adoration of his guileless heart. His beautifully expressed admiration of Washington possibly occasioned the constant comparison, and to me these two temples are as inseparable as the memories of these great men are linked.

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The weather, which had been indicative all day of a storm, cleared off as we approached Mount Vernon, and as we were leaving the boat, it shone brightly upon us. Winding round the hill, following a narrow pathway, we reached the tomb before the persons had taken the carriage-way came in view, but preferring to examine it last, that we might be more careful, we continued the meandering path to the front of the bouse. It had been the home, in early youth, of the person who accompanied us, and, listening to her explanations and descriptions, we felt an interest which we could not otherwise summon. The house is bare

of any furniture whatever, save a small quantity owned by the persons who live there, and on a winter's day looked cheerless and uninviting. "The central part of Mount Vernon house was built by Lawrence Washington, brother to the General; the wings were added by the General, and the whole named after Admiral Vernon, under whom Lawrence Washington had served." The dining-room on the right contains the Italian marble mantle-piece sent from Italy to General Washington. I feel ashamed to add, it is cased in wire-work to prevent its being demolished by injudicious, not to say criminal visitors. The rooms are not large, with the exception of the one mentioned above, which is spacious; the quaint, old wainscoting and wrought cornices are curious, and in harmony with the adornments of the mansion. "The whole house presents a curious spectacle. Every thing reminds one of former days; and in treading the halls of Mount Vernon, the mind reverts incessantly to that majestic form, whose shadow, cast upon those very walls, seems to the mind's eye ready to start before us into life." The piazza reaches from the ground to the eaves of the roof, and is guarded on the top by a bright and tasteful balustrade; the pillars are large and present a simple and grand idea to the mind. Beneath this porch the "Father of his Country" was accustomed to walk, and the ancient stones, to hearts of enthusiasm, are full of deep and meditative interest.

The room in which he died is small and now bereft of every thing save the mantle-piece; just above is the apartment in which she breathed her dying

blessing. A narrow stair-case leads from the door of his room, which was never entered by her after his death. The green-house, once the pride of Mrs. Washington, has since been burned, and there remains but a very small one, put together carelessly to protect the few rare plants remaining. In front of the house (I speak of the fronts facing the orchards, and not the river, each of which are alike very beautiful), is a spacious lawn surrounded by serpentine walks. On either side, brick walls, all covered with ivy and ancient moss, enclose gardens. The one on the right of the house was once filled with costly ornamental plants from the tropical climes, and in which was the greenhouse; but the box trees have grown high and irregu lar, and the creepers are running wild over what hardy rose bushes still survive to tell of a past existence of care and beauty. In the life-time of Mrs. Washington, her home must have been very beautiful, "ere yet time's effacing fingers had traced the lines where beauty lingered." It is even now a splendid old place, but rapidly losing the interest it once had. The estate has passed out of the family, and the furniture has been removed by descendants, to whom it was given: much that lent a charm to the place is gone, and the only interesting object, save the interior of the mansion itself, is the key of the Bastile, presented by Lafayette, and hanging in a case on the wall. Portions of the house are closed, and the stairway in the front hall is barricaded to prevent the intrusion of visitors. The room in which Mrs. Washington died, just above the one occupied by her husband, was locked, and we did not