"While we were fixed in silent grief, Mrs. Washington, who was seated at the foot of the bed, asked with a firm and collected voice, 'Is he gone?' I could not speak, but held up my hand as a signal that he was no more. ''Tis well,' said she in the same voice. All is now over; I shall soon follow him; I have no more trials to pass through.""

Thus ended the earthly life of Washington in this room, on this spot. In such a place one had rather muse alone. When all had left the mansion for the boat I returned to the room a second time, with a friend. It was at nightfall. The rooms and hall through which we passed were unlighted, wierd and dreary. We gave a few more silent, sacred moments in undisturbed meditation to the memory of Washington and his last great victory,

"In the chamber where the good man met his fate."

The flower garden is well preserved. The different plots and beds, bordered by tall hedges of box-wood, nearly two feet thick, remain as he had planned them. The house fronts on a large lawn, extending away from the river. It is fringed by grand old elm trees. The west end of it is bordered by a wall built in a ditch, the top of it being on a level with the ground. It serves its purpose without obstructing the view from the mansion.

Thus the excursionists rambled over these charming historic grounds until twilight admonished them to repair to the boat. The two hours' sail up the Potomac, by moonlight, was not the least enjoyable part of the trip The picturesque banks, dotted with dwellings among the trees, through whose leafy branches glimmered their lights, rose before the view in ever changing beauty.

The following morning the tourists divided into smaller groups, and visited different localities of interest. Some made an antebreakfast excursion to Arlington Heights, once the home of Gen. Robert Lee, on the opposite side of the Potomac. It is now the property of the United States. In the last century it was the home of the Custis family. When Washington married the widow of John Parke Custis, a former owner of this property, he adopted his two younger sons; one of these, George Washington Parke Custis, was brought up at Mount Vernon. At the death of Mrs. Washington, in 1802, he took possession of Arlington Heights, an estate of one thousand acres, which he had inherited from his father. He erected the (present) mansion, known as Arlington House, and devoted his life to literary and agricultural pursuits. After 1852, when his sister, Eleanor Parke Custis, who was married to Major Lawrence Lewis, died, he was the sole surviving member of Washington's family, and his residence was for many years an attractive resort on account of the many interesting relics

of that family which it contained. From him the property passed into the hands of Gen. Lee.

Surely we must see the White House, and its celebrated occupant. We will simply pass through the grounds, and some of the departments. Why impose the needless burden of a personal interview with the President, upon him, especially during the busy closing days of the session of Congress, insisted some.

It must be done, said those who kindly guided us in these enjoyments. The President insists on treating all citizens of the Republic alike. Other excursionists had been honored with a friendly grasp of his hand, so should ours be."

From Willard's Hotel the party repaired in procession to the White House, led by Congressman Hiester Clymer. A circle was formed in the East room. Other friends had joined the procession, so that about three hundred persons must have been present. During the brief pause until the President's arrival, the excursionists had time to view the magnificent apartment, with its rare works of art. At one end of the room was a venerable gentleman, who was introduced to us as Senator Ramsay, of Minnesota. His massive head was decked with gray locks, whilst his smiling, cheerful countenance looked happy and hopeful as that of a young man. Many years ago he started in life as school teacher, at Kutztown, Berks county, Pa., the vernacular of whose denizens he still speaks with fluency. Ex-Congressman Ancona playfully asked him: "Cannscht noch deutsch schwetze?"

"Oh ja, warum, dann net? Des vergess ich mei Lebtag net." Meanwhile an usher enters at the end of the room, and `opens a way through the crowd for the President. There he comes, tidily yet plainly dressed; a man of small stature, shoulders somewhat bowed, perhaps by the burdens of office, a short thick neck, as all great warriors have. He steps to the opposite end of the room, not without slight symptoms of nervousness. Mr. Clymer approaches the President, and gracefully introduces the party as a number of his constituents of Reading, Pa. Knowing Mr. C., to be a leader of the Democratic stronghold of "old Berks," the President replied that, he was pleased to see them. And with a roguish smile, continued: "Doubtless they are the true sons of their Democratic fathers." This, of course, set all the parties concerned into a good humor, who shook hands with him as they passed out. This mechanical hand-shaking with the multitude must be a great burden, and loses much of its significance. We must admire the patience of a man, who, in the midst of the stormy and perplexing close of a session of Congress, can coolly step aside in the best of humor, stand on his feet for over half an hour, and that too on a

very hot day, and have his hand pressed (in some cases I fear not very gently) by three hundred persons. As the ceremony proceeded, the man with unconquerable will, looking down the long line of hands that still awaited his touch, seemed to think, as once before: "We will fight it out on this line."

What a grand structure is the Capitol, its lofty dome looking benignantly over a vast area of country. The building is situated on the brow of a plateau, 90 feet above the Potomac. It is no longer at the extreme end of the city. Around it slopes a beautiful park of 35 acres, shaded by a great variety of trees. President Washington laid its corner-stone on September 18, 1793. On November 17, 1800 Congress held its first session in it. Since then three wings have been added. In August, 1814, the British army partly destroyed it by fire. The whole has since been rebuilt and enlarged. It is now 751 feet long and 324 feet deep, and covers about three and a half acres of ground. The bronze statue of Liberty on the top of the dome is 300 feet above the basement floor of the building. The rotunda, 96 feet in diameter, is hung with large historical paintings. In the north wing is the senate chamber-112 feet long, 82 wide, and 30 high. Let us take a seat in the spacious gallery. A venerable citizen of Washington at my side kindly offers his services. For years he has whiled away many an hour of his declining life in the two halls of the capitol, sitting at the feet of these solons of the Republic. Our seat commands a good view of the Senators. That stout gentleman, in the decline of life, in the speaker's chair, is Senator Carpenter. He hangs his right arm over the back of his large chair, and leans back in a posture of ungraceful ease with ill-concealed fatigue and worry. Right in front of him is Senator Morton of Indiana. He has a large head and a strong and well stored mind. His lower limbs are paralyzed. In speaking he retains his seat, moving slightly from one side to the other on his chair in addressing the senate. Although an invalid, he speaks with the vigor of a healthy person. On the right of the principal entrance, among the rear row of desks, is a vacant place -left vacant by the death of Charles Sumner. In the middle of the Chamber, a strongly built, middle-aged gentleman presses a measure, with animation and a few telling points; it is Senator Thurman, of Ohio. Right below us sits a slender youthful-looking member, with glasses. His one leg dangles over the arm of his chair as he talks leisurely with the senator at the next desk. Occasionally, as though in a half thoughtless mood, he strikes his leg with the palm of his left hand. I think we can hear the stroke up here. It is Senator Sprague, of Rhode Island. Yonder sits a member with the air of a scholar and of a man of refinement and polish-senator Frelinghuysen. Near the door sits a middle-aged gentleman, with his back

turned this way, who takes no part in the present discussion-Senator Scott, of Pennsylvania, who has shown himself a man of considerable power. Yonder a man, in the prime of life, leans back with an evident effort so far as possible physically to occupy his seat comfortably; with black whiskers, spare face and figure; one who evidently is wide awake to what is going on-Ex-Secretary Boutwell.

The old-time senators are all gone; these are of the present generation. It is whispered that a few in this chamber have fond dreams for the Presidential chair. The last time I was here, the giants of a former generation were still here. I can still see the giant form and hear the thundering voice of "Tom Benton." The slender form of Clay, the massive head and drowsy look of Webster, the grey eyes and spare face of the scholarly Seward, the fairy-like form and glib tongue of Foot, the courteous speaker of the senate Fillmore-all gone. Since their taking off how great the change. The session is drawing to a close, and the respective committees are clamoring to bring in their reports. Once the Speaker exhorts them earnestly to preserve order and help him to despatch business.

The lower house, or House of Representatives, is much larger and less dignified than the Senate. Prior to the opening of the session we stroll through it. Meanwhile the members come in smoking cigars, button holing one another to secure some favor or yote. We ascend to the gallery. What a fine hall this is! In length 139, width 93, and height 30 feet. The gallery running along the four walls will seat twelve hundred persons. A rap from the Speaker's gavel demands order for the chaplain. Not one-tenth of the members are in their seats. Some stand during the prayer, others keep their seats, a few converse or read the morning papers. If the duty of the chaplain is to lead the members in prayer, who refuse to be led, preferring to chat and read the papers, he has a bootless, burdensome task to perform. No wonder that his prayer lacks unction. Its utterance was distinct, but rapid and mechanical; leaving the impression that the close of it was a relief to the leader and the led. The most devout-looking persons in the hall were two negro members from the south. They stood up and devoutly bowed their heads during the prayer, thereby showing that, to say the least they had a better sense of gentlemanly politeness and Christian propriety than some of their fellow members with a white skin. I can readily conceive how difficult it must be aptly to form and offer a prayer in this hall of Congress.

Most interesting is it to behold such an assemblage. Men from every state in the Union-from the higher and lower walks, self

taught and untaught, in right ways and in wrong ways, they man the ship of state. Speaker Blaine has filled the chair for years, and filled it as few men could. It is a treat to see him unravel and clear up a confused discussion, and keep order in one of the most disorderly legislative bodies on this continent. You should see him count the members in a rising vote. Seizing the butt end of his gavel, and holding it above his head, he gives one beat of the handle for each vote, but beats so rapidly that the motion of the handle flies half visibly, like the spokes in a car wheel running forty miles an hour. I have never seen or heard such a rapid

counter of votes.

To the left of the Speaker and a step lower on the platform, sits an old man carelessly playing with a cane. His cool, plain linen coat makes him look somewhat out of place in such a prominent chair. His florid complexion and dyed hair make him look younger than he actually is. (Why do old people dye their hair? The natural grey, even for a man in middle life, is far more becoming, indeed prettier than the dirty stuff with which even sensible people besmear their heads and beards.) Very interesting is the sight of this old gentleman whom Speaker Blaine has justly invited to a seat of honor by his side. For this is "Old Ben Wade," as the people used to call him before he was old, who gave the prime of his manhood to the service of his country in this hall. And now he revisits the scenes of his earlier labors. What can the old man be thinking about, as he is quietly sitting there? Of many a tough intellectual battle fought there; perhaps, too, of later battles in which ideas ran to bloody seed.

Yonder tall member, walking in front of the Speaker's stand is Beck of Kentucky. His erect form, tightly fitting, long, buttoned coat, long hair carefully brushed, give him an appearance not unlike that of a Methodist preacher. Tremain, among yonder group, middle aged and medium height, just looks as one might fancy the counsel against Boss Tweed might look. To him, more than to any other man is the country indebted for the conviction of the Tammany chief. The little spare man, lightly tripping up the aisle with a bald head (hair dyed too!)" cock eyes"-of course every body would know Ben Butler; for who has not seen pictures of the man, caricatures, his face distorted into the features of birds and brutes of the lower order? The most abusive and worst abused man in this country. Rather plainly dressed for a man of his tastes. Especially do his brown pantaloons indicate a plebeian indifference to his wardrobe. In spite of alleged or actual corruption, he extorts from one a certain degree of respect. His face, instead of being of a low animal caste, looks more humane, delicate