Heroes New and Old—The Soldiers' Home—The White House—President Garfield—His Visitors—The Capitol—Mount Vernon—Mr. Blaine—"On to Richmond!"—Fitzhugh Lee—The Capitol, Return—The Corcoran Gallery—Sight-seeing.

May 1st.—Such a May-day as our poets sang of ere there was a change of style, and of climate too! A local paper remarks that "the remarkable facility with which an Englishman takes to water under certain conditions was exhibited by the word 'bath' appended on the register of the hotel to the name of every gentleman of the party;" but it was not quite so easy to obtain the thing as to write the word. However, everything comes to him who knows how to wait, and we were all provided at last. By some mischance it was ordered that we should have a private room (No. 32), instead of breakfasting in the common room, which was large and airy, and our "aristocratic exclusiveness," which was quite involuntary, was punished by immurement in an inferno which daylight could not reach, and which was perforce illuminated by gas. It was "ad suffocandum," as Dr. Syntax would say, hot and stuffy. There was a great clangour of church bells after breakfast. The air was resonant with invitations, and we had choice of many places and forms of worship. The Church of the Epiphany in our street was near at hand, and those who attended there found a large congregation, an excellent preacher, and a well-ordered service. Mr. Victor Drummond gave the Duke and myself lunch at his lodgings, where we met Lord G. Montagu and Mr. De Bunsen, of the Legation, and as we walked to the house I had ample opportunities, though I still know the names of my friends, of lamenting the effects of the "longa oblivio" of which Juvenal writes, for the changes which have been made in the city have obliterated most of the landmarks, and time has done the rest. I could not identify "Jost's," where I lived for so many weeks between the rout of Bull Run and the winter of McClellan's preparations in 1861, nor quite satisfy myself as to the precise house "in Seventeenth Street, at the corner of I," where so many anxious days and nights were passed during "the Mason and Slidell" pourparlers, and where "the Bold Buccaneers" were wont to meet. There were new squares and streets in the way, and, moreover, there were statues to heroes whose lights were then hidden under a bushel. In addition to the colossal statue of Washington, by Clark Mills, at the crossing of the Pennsylvania and New Hampshire Avenues, there are the equestrian statue (heroic) of General Scott, by H. Brown, at the crossing of Massachusetts and Rhode Island Avenues; Balls' enormous and "characteristic" statue of Lincoln (paid for by negro subscription) in Lincoln Park; an equestrian statue of Nathaniel Greene, the revolutionary general; one of General Rawlins (to me an unknown quantity—ignoramus that I am!). To these (most of them "buccÆ bene notÆ oppido") must be added a statue of Admiral Farragut, very like, but complicated by a ridiculous telescope; a fine statue on horseback of General Thomas, one of the best of the Federal generals (pace General Grant and General Badeau); another of General McPherson, who fell at Atalanta, and the Naval Monument, near the Capitol, to the sailors who were killed in the Civil War. These were all Federal heroes, and Washington is a Federal capital. I could not but think how near it was, for the time at least, being a Confederate capital after that memorable July day in 1861, when in despair Mr. Lincoln crossed the Potomac to visit the only fortified port which lay between Washington and the victorious but inept Southerners at Manassas, and found the defenders in flagrant disobedience to orders. But that time is as dead and gone as the period of the Wars of the Roses, albeit the evil that men do lives after them, and the Southern fire blazes no longer—it burns all the same.

Later in the day the Attorney-General, Mr. MacVeagh, drove the Duke and myself out to the Soldiers' Home, which gave me another opportunity for meditations, with which I shall not weary my readers. The drive revealed new improvements and grand efforts on the part of "the city of magnificent distances" to come to terms with its outlying boundaries. How pure the air, how bright the sky, how fair the scene! The wide expanse of roofs, the still waves of the ordered house-tops, above which rose the rocky steeples, the colossal mass of the Capitol on the Virginian shore, the rolling wooded heights of Arlington, the Potomac shining like a sinuous belt of burnished gold in the setting sun! It seemed so peaceful and so secure. And yet we are climbing to "the Soldiers' Home," the outcome of one of the most sanguinary wars of modern times, of which in one sense this District of Columbia was the cause and end. It consists of a number of detached buildings of stone or marble, on a high plateau broken into wooded dells and undulating gently towards the south and west, where the ground dips so as to give a fine view of the city some three miles away. The Home stands in a large enclosed park (500 acres), and there is plenty of land beside for the soldiers to cultivate for the benefit of the institution. In these grounds there is a pleasant detached house, which is set apart for the use of the President pro tem., when the heat renders Washington more than usually abominable in summer time, and Mr. MacVeagh said he thought it very possible the President would move out as soon as he could. Mr. Lincoln was very fond of his villeggiatura here. As it was Sunday there was no work going on, and, moreover, it was not easy, we found, for even an Attorney-General of the Republic and a Minister of State to get in through the closed gates, so the Duke got out of the phaeton which Mr. MacVeagh's fast trotters had whirled up the steep at a creditable rate, and sought to repeat the miracle of Samson at Gaza, but we managed to dispense with it. Probably it was because of the day of rest so many old men were crawling about the avenues smoking pipes, and looking very unhappy, I thought. It struck me that there were many small and weak-looking veterans among them—dwindled by the fatigues of war and lapse of years—not such "stalwarts" as I remembered to have seen encamped at Arlington yonder. There were men of all nations amongst them—many Irish and Germans—and foreigners from all the corners of the earth; but Northern American officers say, one and all, that the Americans pur sang bore the brunt of the fighting. Their uniform is neither neat nor becoming; though neither the "Invalos" nor the Chelsea Pensioners have much to boast of in their apparel, they have the advantage of the U.S. veteran. The Duke was received at the central building by the Commandant, to whom he was presented by the Attorney-General, and we were shown over the library, sleeping-wards, dining-rooms, &c., which have a strong family likeness all over the world. A glance at the bookshelves enabled me to come to the gratifying conclusion, and the English litterateur ought to take comfort from the fact, that English literature solaces the leisure of the American veteran very largely. The "genius loci" seems to be a rather deplumed and demoralised-looking eagle, in a cage on the ground outside the central building. I was reminded, as I surveyed his "cadaverous aspect and battered beak," of Audubon's ineffectual protest against the adoption of the bird as the symbol of the Republic. I believe the "aquila chrysaËtos," the Golden Eagle, is not known in America. The eagle which our cousins have taken up with (though it has not two heads, is not black, and does not wear a crown) is but a poor bald-headed falcon, of uncleanly habits and sordid appetites, not very much given to use claws or beak against a vigorous enemy—so, at least, wrote the naturalist—therefore very inappropriate as the type of a brave, generous, and bellicose people. As we turned citywards, the beauty of the landscape was glorified by one of the sunsets which rival the most brilliant phenomena of the kind in India after the monsoons, and Washington, bathed in purple, looked every inch an empire city. The Duke and some others of the party dined with Sir Edward Thornton in the evening, where we spent a very pleasant time, and heard many interesting things about Washington and its society.

May 2nd.—This was indeed a busy day, in which were to be concentrated, we found, many incidents not included in the "programme." Early in the morning, that is, soon after breakfast, amidst much bustle and business carried on in the presence of many visitors—for we were obliged to make the most of our short stay in Washington—the Duke received a message from the Secretary of State, that the President of the United States would receive the party at the White House, and that Mr. Blaine—having courteously sent his son to act as our guide—would be in waiting to introduce them. And so about 10 o'clock we strolled out of the hotel and walked up the avenue which leads by the Treasury Buildings to the residence of the chief magistrate of the Great Republic. It is somewhat singular that books of travel do not deal a little more with the really fine city which Washington of late years has become—a capital worthy of so vast an empire. On our way we had occasion to admire the grand frontage of the National Buildings, which rise up close to the Presidential mansion, and which cause the rather homely proportions of the latter to come out in greater relief. There is an absence of state and of any pretence of it in the approaches to the White House; no sentries, not even a policeman on duty, and the only sign that it is not a private citizen's residence about it are the open door and the appearance of many persons passing unconcernedly in and out. A domestic in black received the party at the entrance hall, and ushered them into a waiting-room furnished in quiet and unobtrusive colours, without any pretension to much decoration; and soon afterwards Mr. Blaine made his appearance and led us into what is called the Blue Room, where we were engaged for some moments in conversation with him. We were reminded that the Executive Mansion was burned down by the British in 1814; but it was quickly rebuilt, and was occupied four years afterwards. It is not to be expected that with the modest appointments accorded to the Presidential office there should be any great display of pictures or of objects of art, but there were some exceedingly interesting Louis Quinze and Quatorze clocks and ameublements in the apartments, and Mr. Blaine gave us several interesting particulars respecting their acquisition, of which I have no memoranda. In fact, we were all too much occupied with the expectation of the entrance of the President to pay much attention to details. Presently our urbane guide left the room, and returned in a moment followed by Mr. Garfield.[5] "In appearance the President is striking, of erect, soldierly bearing, above the middle height—in fact, very nearly six feet high—with broad shoulders, and powerful, muscular, well-set frame. His head is large, with a fine frontal development; eyes bright and penetrating, of a mild and kindly expression; the mouth firm, and the jaw, as well as contour can be traced beneath the full rich brown beard shaded with grey, indicative of resolution and strength." In his manner the President was exceedingly affable—courteous and simple—without any of that ceremonious stiffness which is sometimes to be found amongst Americans in official life, and his greeting to the strangers was most kindly, as if he were welcoming friends whom he had known. He engaged the Duke in conversation for a short time, all of the party having been presented in turn, and then he addressed a few remarks to each of them, principally about travelling in the States and the difference that might be observed in the railway conveyances in this country and our own. It is a custom for an American, when you are introduced to him, to repeat your name, which strikes English people, but which, on reflection, I think is eminently utilitarian. For example Mr. Bickersteth is introduced. The President says: "Mr. Bickersteth, sir, I am happy to know you!" We all know what a melancholy jumble is frequently made of names in introductions; but the person whose name may be mispronounced has, on the American principle, an immediate opportunity of correcting any mistake, and of saying: "My name is not Bickerstaff, it is Bickersteth"; and so on, as the case may be. When I was presented to the President he said: "I think we have met before, long ago. You brought us, Mr. Russell, the worst news that ever could be heard by a people; but I do not suppose that you were much more pleased with it than we were," or words to that effect. I said: "I assure you, Mr. President, that no one was ever more unwilling than I was to take such a ride and to bring back such news. I would much rather have had a victory and a rest at the end of the day." "Well," he said, smiling, "we learnt our lesson, and I am sure that we were very much the better for all you told us, though we did not quite relish it at the time." As there were, at the Presidential hours of reception, many people waiting for their turn, the interview was a short one. These calls on the President must be a great, if a necessary tax upon his time. In the grand parlour, called the East Room, which is open from an early hour in the morning until three o'clock, there is generally a gathering of some sort or other, and the Blue, Red, and Green Rooms are also appropriated to the purposes of audience, the private rooms of the President and his family being of restricted number and size on the second floor. The day that we called there was a delegation of one-armed and one-legged veterans with a petition demanding that in Federal appointments preference should be given to discharged soldiers and sailors; and the President seems to have craftily met the requisition by declaring that he was heartily in sympathy with them; that he would, so far as he was concerned, see that preference should always be given to such disabled veterans, there being equal competency among the candidates, which, as the petitioners certainly had lost a leg or an arm each, might, cÆteris paribus, be held as hard to be established. Then there were all kinds of senators, big and little (if there be such a thing as a little senator), newspaper editors, city delegates urging the promotion of particular men to different appointments, and mere idlers, who, having nothing else to do, turned in and wanted to have a talk with the President.

From the White House we were driven to the Capitol, which has undergone great improvement since the time of the War. A little more, however, remains to be done in the substitution of the real for the sham; but it would be difficult perhaps to effect that completely. The general effect of the building, which is exceedingly fine—though I doubt if it can be fairly said to be "the most magnificent public edifice in the world"—reminds one strongly of St. Peter's. It towers above all the city, and can be seen from an immense distance. The western front is perhaps the weakest portion of the building. In the decorations of the interior there is much to be desired; and I hope it is not offensive to say that the colossal statue of Washington on the Esplanade in front of the central portico strikes me as being pretentious rather than grand. There is a fine bronze door, cast at Munich, commemorating the discovery of America by Columbus; but the panels in the Rotunda, which have been painted by American artists, are surely not in the best style of American art. It is not remarkable, considering what the history of art is in England, that the best works about the Capitol should have been executed by foreigners, or at least by men with foreign names; but Crawford's statue of Liberty on the ball over the Capitol is worthy of praise, and is undoubtedly American. The Hall of Representatives is a fine apartment with very little ornamentation. There is a portrait of Washington, as a matter of course, and another of Lafayette, and there are two good pictures by Bierstadt in panels on the wall. At the time of our visit there was what they call "nothing" going on in the Senate Chamber. The senators, each at his little desk, were mostly engaged in writing notes or reading newspapers. In the chair sat Mr. Arthur, the Vice-President, a massive man in the prime of life, with a large round head and face, whose look gave one the impression that he might be a person of great common sense without any pronounced ability or character, his expression, perhaps, being that of benevolent sagacious repose. But there seemed to us a good deal going on, because a gentleman was engaged in denouncing in a highly excited manner some other gentleman for his conduct in reference to a proposition before the House, that had been occupying them for many days. "He has been perorating," said one of our friends, "for the last hour, and will go on for another hour, good. That is Dawes." I do not wish to be in the least disrespectful to Mr. Dawes, and I doubt not that if I had had the advantage of hearing him from the beginning, I should have been carried away by his argument, but under the circumstances his vehemence seemed uncalled for. At 1 o'clock we drove down to the Navy Yard and embarked on board the United States steamer "Despatch," a large party having been invited by Secretary Blaine to accompany the Duke for an excursion to Mount Vernon—the British Minister, Sir Edward Thornton, Lady Thornton, and his daughters; Mr. Victor Drummond, Mr. De Bunsen, and the members of the Legation; the representatives of France, Turkey, and Spain; Sherman, the General at the head of the army (looking as if he were quite ready to make another march into Georgia), his wife and daughter. General Sheridan, who had been summoned on business to Washington, and Colonel M. Sheridan were also of the party; and all the principal members, official and non-official, of Washington society, among whom must not be forgotten Mr. Corcoran, Mrs. Wadsworth, and Miss Eustis; the Attorney-General, Mr. MacVeagh, and many others. Nor must I omit my old friend and captor Admiral Porter, who took me in gentle fashion and carried me on board the "Powhattan," in 1861, as I was running the blockade of Pensecola from Mobile. The excellent band of the United States Marines received the Duke with the air of "Hail to the Chief"; and off Alexandria a salute of nineteen guns from the shore battery was repeated from the "Portsmouth" corvette, and the crew of the "Saratoga," lying close at hand, saluted as the "Despatch" steamed by. Awnings were spread from one end of the deck to the other, and, as the party found out, there was an excellent lunch prepared in the saloons below. The day was warm, the weather delightful, and the company included all that was distinguished and sociable in the society of Washington—foreign ministers, and attachÉs, and most of the gentlemen in office, many senators and a number of agreeable ladies. It had been bruited that there was considerable irritation in Washington society because the incoming powers, represented by their wives, had introduced new rules of etiquette with respect to calls and such like important duties of life; but certainly less pretentious leaders of fashion never were than those who were good enough to join the little expedition to Mount Vernon.

There is among the American officers of both services a camaraderie which is not always exhibited in our own. There may be official jealousies between the Secretary of State of the Navy and the Secretary of State of the Army, and the respective heads of these departments, though I am not aware that there are any; but I was struck by the terms of good-fellowship on which a man occupying the high position of General Sherman appeared to be with the young officers of the United States steamer on board which we were carried to the scene of our entertainment, and the latter had all the frankness and cordiality which the sea service somehow seems to inspire. They exhibited the action of the machine gun for the visitors, and I learned that the result of the experiments made by the Navy on the merits of various systems did not lead them to the conclusion at which our own people had arrived, and that the Nordenfeldt was not thought so well of by them as it is by us. Senator Burnside talked of his experiences at Versailles in the Franco-German war, where I encountered him engaged upon a mysterious philanthropic mission having relation, I believe, to the liberation of friends from Paris, and to the larger object of bringing about terms of peace between the belligerents—a kindly, large-minded man, to whom fortune was not favourable when he was summoned to command the armies of the Republic at a period when success would have made him unquestionably the foremost citizen and soldier of the United States. The same anomaly exists in the administration of the army as is found in England. The present Secretary of State for War, Mr. Lincoln, son of the President, is a very young man, and has no military experience. Nevertheless he has very considerable power, and while we were in the United States he thought nothing of summoning General McDowell from San Francisco or General Sheridan from Chicago to consult with them, which was complimentary, if rather troublesome; but he is said to be possessed of great business capacity and of sound common sense, and to take the advice of his military counsellors with facility.

It is about an hour by a quick steamer from the Navy Yard to Mount Vernon, and a little after 2 o'clock the steam launches, which were in waiting, were busily engaged in transferring the guests from the man-of-war to the landing-place below the wooded heights on which stands the American Mecca, Mount Vernon. The ascent to the house is rather sharp, and I presume it has been the object of the committee who have charge of the place to meddle with its natural features as little as possible. Mount Vernon House, familiar to so many thousands of Americans, remains as it was, so far as the lapse of time will permit it to do so, at the time of Washington's death. The wings to the centre of the house, which is built of wood, were contributed by him; and, but for the relics inside—the key of the Bastille presented by Lafayette to the President, and a few articles belonging to him—there would be little to see, unless the visitor is enabled to throw into the contemplation of the objects around him something of the admiration and hero-worship with which the name of "the Father of his Country—first in peace, first in war, and first in the affections of his people"—inspires the American.

The excellent band of the Marines was playing under the trees on the plateau, and the strains of "God Save the Queen" greeted the English visitors as they gained the portico. If the shadow of the departed hero could but have emerged from the tomb, close at hand, in which his remains repose, it would have been astonished perhaps at the change in costume, and in appearance, of the ladies and gentlemen, from that which had been familiar to Washington on earth. For the great citizen was by no means indifferent to the outward forms. Black silk stockings, knee-breeches, ruffles, and sword would in his mind have been the necessary attire and adjuncts of the heads of the army and navy, and of the ministers and others who were now walking about in pot-hats, morning jackets, and frock coats. As to the ladies, it is not too much to say that Mrs. Martha Washington would have probably disapproved of their pretty Parisian costumes so much that she would have sent out some of her black menials, whom we shall not call slaves, to request their removal from the premises. The ladies of America, however, have a right to claim position in Mount Vernon, for it was their "association" which raised the money with which the demesne and the house were purchased, in order to be handed over by them to the nation. Our own interest in the spot is derived from the English origin of the great man who lived there; and we are not altogether quite cut off from it even in name, because that is derived from the stout old Admiral Vernon, in remembrance of whom Laurence Washington, who fought under him against the Spaniards, named the place.

It was five o'clock ere we embarked on board the "Despatch" for the Navy Yard, after three hours of very pleasant pilgrimage and prattle at "the Mount," and we ran up the river to our destination in less than an hour, passing on our way the "Portsmouth" and "Saratoga," which saluted the steamer.

The Duke and some of the party dined with Mr. Blaine, the Secretary of State, where we met General Garfield. It is rare to meet the President at dinner in Washington, as it is not considered etiquette for him to dine out. To do honour to the occasion, the Duke wore his Garter star, and Sir Edward Thornton the riband of the Bath. The only other person who had any decoration was General Sherman, who wore a small badge at his button-hole. I believe that Congress authorised the wearing of distinctions conferred for military and naval services on the fortunate leaders of the Federal armies and fleets after the war.

The President's manner was singularly easy, natural, and frank. With his Secretary of State he appeared to be on terms of great friendship; and by the latter he is evidently regarded with admiration and affection. He was desirous of learning the impressions produced by his short visit on the mind of the Duke, rather than of leading the conversation; but farther on he became much interested in a discussion respecting recent English novelists. Mr. Black would have been gratified could he have heard the praise bestowed by General Garfield upon his descriptions of natural scenery, of the sea-coast, and of the islands of the West of Scotland, which, said he, "have filled me with a desire that I hope some day to be able to gratify—to visit the scenes he has described." And, having mentioned several writers, especially George Eliot, in reply to a remark that it was wonderful he could have found time to have read so many works of fiction, he said laughingly, "Well, I don't suppose I shall have much time now, or for some years to come; but I am glad to say I have not always been so busy;" and then he quoted a little bit of Horace, to which I think he is rather addicted, inasmuch as he certainly again popped in a quotation. Mrs. Garfield appeared to be an admirable President's wife—calm and simple, with unaffected manners and quiet dignity; and Mrs. Blaine was one of the most charming and lively of hostesses, so that our evening passed very agreeably. When the President and Mrs. Garfield retired, a few of the guests lingered on, listening to the interesting conversation of some gentlemen who remained for an hour longer and gave us many new views of American politics and life.

May 3rd.—We are going to Richmond to-day. In the first or original "programme" (a word which is spelt by Americans without the final "me," and, as it strikes me, correctly, if "telegram" be proper) the excursion on which the party started at 9 A.M. this morning was not included. However they were impressed with some of the reasons which were suggested for devoting one day to a Southern City which has especial claims to the consideration of Englishmen in the antecedents of the State of which it is the capital. At the outset of the war, the name became the watchword of the North, "On to Richmond!" was the cry. How it rung in one's ears in Washington that fervent summer of 1861! How it met the eye in broad type at the head of every leading article! It was as the "À Berlin!" of the Paris mob in 1870. For a time it seemed as though the answer might be given by the sound of the enemy's guns at Baltimore, Philadelphia or New York. From Washington to Richmond is only 116 miles. The road was barred for four years by the genius of Lee, the skill of his generals, and the fiery valour of the South. It would perhaps be ungenerous and unjust to say that the ineptitude of the North entered for something into the estimate of the causes which impeded the march of the Federal armies till Grant "whittled away" the life of his opponents. My friends had none of these recollection to distract their minds from the contemplation of the present.

And this is Washington? How strange it all seems to one like myself, whose latest memories of the city which has expanded into such placid beauty teem with vision of vast camps—the march of serried battalions—the roll of artillery—the circumstance and pride, without the pomp, of war—the passion and fury of civil strife—the agony of a nation—to see it now staid and stately and calm as some lake which rests in the embrace of the mountain shores after the subsidence of the storm! Down Pennsylvania Avenue I have seen in full flow a river of sparkling bayonet waves, and have heard the refrain of "John Brown's body lies mouldering in the grave" pealing from myriads of lips, where now the bourgeois 'bus rolls over the asphalte, and the greatest excitement is a pair of fast trotters behind the vehicle of some well-to-do legislator on his way to or from the Capitol. There was a special train at "the DepÔt" at 10 o'clock A.M.—palace cars—our ever-obliging, smiling, active attendants—the usual official courtesies—giant bouquets on the tables, and all the luxury of the road which Presidents and directors' friends enjoy in the Republic of Railroads. The old Long Bridge over which I rode the night of Bull Bun, bringing the news of the defeat to Lord Lyons at the British Legation, has been removed, and the Baltimore and Potomac Railway is carried across the Potomac on a more recent structure rejoicing in the old name. How could I expect my companions to be much interested in "Alexandria," once so conspicuous in the history of the Civil War, when I found an American gentleman beside me quite ignorant of the fate of "Ellsworth," the protomartyr of the Union?

In travelling from Washington to Richmond, and in passing through part of Maryland, the visitors were struck by the dilapidated appearance of the large farmhouses, mostly built of wood, to many of which there were attached curtilages, where the slaves were formerly penned in at night; and it was observed that the fences were very ragged, that the fields were left full of stumps of trees, and that the careful cultivation which had struck our eyes in the more northern States was wanting. One gentleman told us that the railway, passing through the worst and most neglected portion of the country, did not form a favourable platform from which to judge of the general condition of the State. But it is, I believe, undeniable that the soil has been very much exhausted on the Atlantic side in Virginia and in Maryland by the constant succession of crops of tobacco, and that it is necessary to use manure, not sparingly, in order to farm the land with advantage. The country by the right bank of the river seems very much as it was at the period of the war or before it—rugged, unkempt—with patches of forest and low swampy land, perforated by sullen lagoons and marshy streams.

At a station near Quantico Creek General Fitzhugh Lee, nephew of the great Confederate leader, the daring chief of the Confederate cavalry after the death of "Jeb" (J. E. B.) Stewart in battle, joined our party; a soldierly-looking man, broad-browed, bright and keen-eyed, of immense breadth of chest, thick throated, large limbed, with a resemblance to Pelissier in his best days, to which, no doubt, a massive moustache and a heavy barbe d'Afrique somewhat contribute. He is now settled as a farmer on the banks of the Potomac, in a region every foot of which reeks with the memories of the four years' war. He lives on his estate and cultivates it with profit, and he draws, moreover, a rich harvest, at the time of the shad fishing, from the river, where his nets sweep in occasionally 60,000 or even 80,000 of these much-prized fish at a haul! Fitzhugh Lee told the Duke that he fully and entirely accepted the situation: he acknowledged the Union, and he would not, if he could, go back to the old order of things. Nay, more, he declared that the Virginians round about him were of the same way of thinking. Labour was to be had when needed. The negroes tilled the fields for wages, and the hirer had no further care about them when their work was done. Contrast that with his trouble with his biped property! The ladies of his house had to look after the women in travail. The negroes, when sick, were thrown on the hands of the master. When worn out with work or stricken by illness, the coloured people became burdens on the farm; and any one who has a breeding establishment for cattle or horses knows what infinity of demands on purse and patience the accidents and maladies to which all living things are exposed produce. Into Quantico Creek flows the stream of Bull Run, and away on our right was fought the first of the three battles which make the name renowned in the annals of the war. General Fitzhugh Lee did not dwell on the first defeat of the Federals with any relish either, but he could not forget all that happened on that memorable 3rd of July, 1861, any more than he could forget the long years of incessant combat of which it was the precursor, and when our train approached Fredericksburg, the scene of Burnside's disaster, and he was warmed up by the interest and interrogatories of his companions to recall the episodes of the three days' sanguinary fighting, the fire was kindled within him, and the burly Virginian farmer, standing beside the Duke on the carriage platform, described the position and the movements of the two great armies as if he were still engaged in it. Without any vaunting, the Southern leader spoke of his experiences in the war, and those who heard him recollected with feelings not easy to analyse that but a few hours before they had been listening with equal interest to General Sheridan, the antagonist of the gallant gentleman who was now talking to them and describing some of their cavalry engagements. He pointed out Maree's Hill, and the slopes on which the Irish Brigade lay in long rows of dead and dying at the close of Meagher's desperate assault, the site whence Lee surveyed and directed the action, the hills on which the Confederates were entrenched, the plains over which Burnside's column advanced and deployed under the Confederate fire, and the cardinal mistake of the Federal leader in attacking the left instead of the exposed right of the Southern army. "I have often spoken about it to Burnside since. He and I are very good friends now. I have often fought the battle over with him, and told him his best chance would have been against our right, which he could have got at by crossing the river lower down than he did." It was but the day before we had been chatting with the Federal general, now a senator of the United States, at Washington, and as genial and lusty[6] as he was when he came to the German headquarters at Versailles on the chivalrous if somewhat Quixotic enterprise of saving Paris from the last necessities of defeat.

There was a body of Virginian gentlemen at the Richmond station, which is some way from the town, to welcome the Duke, and carriages were awaiting the train. After the usual introductions our guides, philosophers, and friends drove us round and did the honours of their capital with much kindness and courtesy. The weather was disagreeable, but it was certainly exceptional—there was a grey sunless sky; bitter blasts swept the dusty roads, raising clouds of fiery red sand from the brickfield soil on which the city is built, and quite destroying previous impressions of the climate of Virginia. At Richmond itself there is not very much to be seen by an unsympathetic stranger, but for Americans of every stripe of political opinion the scene of such important events must be intensely interesting. We found the traces of the works thrown around the Confederate capital had nearly disappeared. A remnant of some of the earthworks may still be seen up the river, and in the Cemetery, marked by a pyramid of stone, lie Jeb Stewart and many a valiant comrade. The cemeteries, which form a melancholy addition to the interesting spots around the Virginian capital, are filled with the remains of the victims of that long and deadly struggle. Petersburg, from which Lee, after his brilliant and skilful defence, was obliged to fall back to the Court-House of Appomatox, where he surrendered, was too far for us to visit, but we saw much that was of interest in our hurried drive—the house in which ex-President Davis lived, the church in which he was at prayers when the news of Lee's abandonment of Petersburg was brought to him, the Tredegar Foundry where the Confederate guns were made, the Capitol which resounded to the ardent declamation of the statesmen who made Virginia illustrious, and to the eloquence of those who shared her evil fortunes. We saw the abodes of despairing or hopeful multitudes, of the sickness unto death, and of the death which is a release, the ruinous brick walls of Libby Prison, the Hospital, and we thought that it would be just as well to level the ugly piles to the ground. Later in the day we met one who had charge of the Federal prisoners, of whom some 75,000, he told us, had been under his care, a grave and courteous man, deeply imbued with the teaching of the fathers of the Constitution, who as a Judge believed that Heaven, in siding with les gros bataillons, had not done justice to a holy cause, and he made a remark which illustrated, I think, the spirit of many of those who accept the actual results of the contest as inevitable if not equitable. "At the outset of the war," he said, "all the prisoners were either Yankees or Irish; at the end of it the great proportion of the prisoners were Dutchmen—Germans, who could not understand a word of English, and who had come to fight for pay." The Irish ceased to enlist as soon as the Federal Government let loose and enlisted the negroes, and the war, he explained, was carried on by the foreign immigration from Europe. The Judge, indeed, held that if the North and the South had been left to fight it out the latter must have won. But what avail these speculations now? Let the dead bury their dead, and let the victors suffer the living to dwell in peace. Here are men, Southerners and Northerners, living in the same land, who have stood face to face in battle, and would live all the better if the sleeping dogs of war were let lie in peace. We were shown on our way to Richmond the humble shanty in which Stonewall Jackson breathed his last, and in the grounds of the Capitol itself the statue raised by admiring strangers to the memory of the Virginian Havelock—and it cannot be held, I think, that such a memorial as the latter can be classed with the celebration of the defeats of the Southern armies by permanent military organisations. He would be a very thin-skinned and ridiculous sort of Briton who took umbrage at the forthcoming festival at Yorktown which is to commemorate the surrender of Cornwallis to Rochambeau and Washington; but the Americans would have good reason to be moved to anger if we in England were to appoint a day for the glorification of the capture and destruction of Washington in the last war, an act of which none of us feel very proud, and of which most Englishmen are utterly ignorant, even though they may have heard of New Orleans, Lundy's Lane, and Plattsburg.

The State Capitol is said to be an imitation of the square house at Nismes. It stands in a fine situation in a park which is decorated with statues and planted with trees, peopled by beautiful grey squirrels—evidently the pets of the people. Its principal treasure is the statue of Washington, by Houdon; but there is a dishevelled-looking Library of 40,000 volumes, amongst which are some valuable works connected with the early history of the colony. In front of the Capitol there is another statue of Washington, equestrian and colossal, surrounded by statues of Henry, Jefferson, Marshall, Mason, Nelson, and Lewis; and there is also a fine statue of Henry Clay in the grounds; but I think we strangers regarded with a deeper interest, derived from the recollection of more recent exploits, the statue of Stonewall Jackson, erected by subscriptions raised in England to the memory of one of the most single-minded and gallant soldiers who ever fought for a lost cause.

The manufacture of tobacco still flourishes in the capital of Virginia. We were conducted to two of the largest establishments, where we were shown, with great courtesy by the managers and owners, the processes by which the most celebrated preparations for smoking and chewing are turned out from beginning to end; but I observed that—whether to prevent idle strangers from gratifying their curiosity, or an unauthorised investigation of trade secrets—we were always personally introduced by our guides, and that the doors of the factories were closed. The most interesting part of the interior was a long room, in which was a crowd of coloured people, men, women, and children, sorting tobacco, rolling up the leaves, and manipulating it for the various preparations which it undergoes in the presses and in the addition of saccharine matter, and the like, before it is packed up or cut for use. A happier looking people could not be seen, and at times their feelings of contentment burst out into song. They all joined, singing in chorus, with a great sweetness, some of the extraordinary melodies—half comic, half religious—of which we had a good experience subsequently.

Colonel Carrington, the proprietor of Ballard House, the principal Richmond Hotel, had sent a telegram before we started to request the Duke to postpone his visit for a week, as there was a Medical Conference being held, and all the hotels were filled, his own included, at the time. But our arrangements had been made, and it was not possible to alter them. What would become of our "programme"? Colonel Carrington did his best to accommodate the party, but the Medical Conference was in the ascendant. It was amusing to read in a Washington paper that the Duke had "expressed a desire to partake of a real old Virginia dinner," and that Colonel Carrington had gratified him to his heart's desire, so that "his Grace declared it was the best meal he had had since he landed." This announcement was made under capital letters: "The Duke's Dinner. He Gets A Square Meal In Richmond." It was late at night when we reached Washington. Notwithstanding the exceedingly unpleasant day the visit was exceedingly interesting, and I was more than ever content that I had persuaded my friends to visit the place which was once the centre of political life to the Southern Confederacy.

May 4th was devoted to an inspection of various objects of interest. It was our last day in Washington, and many visits had to be paid and cards left, for in no country in the world are the obligations of courtesy connected with card-leaving more rigidly exacted than in the United States; and perhaps there are no people usually so negligent in such matters as our own countrymen, unless they are connected with diplomacy. English travellers—at least if we are to judge from recent books—seldom come to a capital which is in every way worthy of inspection. In the two latest and best books of travel there is no mention of it at all. It is now incomparably the most beautiful city in the Union; the broad streets, asphalted, or well paved, lined with trees, no longer strike right and left into illimitable distances of unoccupied space, but present long rows of well-built houses.

At the time of the advance of the Federals the feeling of Washington was unmistakably Confederate, or "Secesh," as it was called in those days. I scarcely knew a man of any prominence there who was not opposed to the policy of the Government and Mr. Lincoln; always excepting, of course, the senators and the Congress-men then sitting at the Capitol, though even amongst them there were dissidents, for Breckenridge and his friends had not yet left Washington. There were suspects whom it was desirable to intimidate, or necessary to molest; and amongst these were Mr. Corcoran, who is regarded with respect by all who know him, and who now occupies the highest position in the estimation of the society of the city, to which he has been a large benefactor. The Corcoran Gallery owes its origin and its maintenance to his taste, wealth, and public spirit; and the visit which was paid to it to-day was well rewarded by the inspection of a number of very fine paintings and statues of very high order.

Amongst the survivors of the time, now so far back, of my long residence at Washington, I was glad to find General Emory and his wife. One of the earliest explorers of the territories acquired from Mexico at the outset of the war, he commanded the 6th Cavalry, which was quartered at Washington on ground which is at present covered with fine houses. After a distinguished career in the campaign he became Governor of New Orleans, where he re-established confidence and did much to abate the bitter feelings which had been aroused by the acts of his predecessors in the minds of the inhabitants. Of the officers of that gallant corps, after whom I enquired, there were none left that I knew; and the same answer was made to each name I uttered. "What has become of W——?" "Oh! dead long ago." "What of L——?" "He is dead, too." "What of K——?" "Oh; poor fellow, he died not very long ago;" and so on. "The Commodore," our neighbour, witty, shrewd, quaint, and the embodiment of kindly fun and satire, he too is gone! It is the penalty of living to lose one's friends. The feelings which were aroused by these memories were not diminished by a visit to Brady the photographer, who displayed whole albums filled with likenesses of deceased friends, and worse still, with photographs—alas! no longer likenesses—of men and women taken twenty years ago, now offering painful contrasts to their recognisable semblances in the life and flesh.

Another old friend, General Hazen, called on us to-day. General Hazen visited the headquarters of the German army during the siege of Paris, and was for some time in residence at Versailles, where I often had the pleasure of meeting him, and he subsequently made an extensive tour over Europe, with the view of examining the military establishments of the Great Powers, of which he recorded the results in a very useful volume. He is now in charge of the Meteorological Department, to which the Duke paid a visit in the afternoon; and the mechanism and arrangement of the extensive system of observations for national purposes conducted under his care were shown and explained to us by the officers of the department in the most painstaking manner.

And then there was the Smithsonian to be visited, where the rooms seemed to me haunted by the shade of the dear Professor Henry who was wont to accompany me through the galleries in times past, explaining the mysteries of the contents of the institution over which he presided with such care, knowledge, and judgment, with that gentle and persuasive inductiveness which we recognise in the style of Professor Owen.

The Patent Office, which would repay a week's careful study, was hurriedly inspected, and the Post Office and Agricultural Department shared the same fate. Everywhere we had to acknowledge the extreme courtesy of the officials of the national establishments in the United States.

In a restaurant in Pennsylvania Avenue, where, in the midst of all these multifarious labours, we took refuge for a moment, to eat an oyster, there was lying on the table a dish of frogs' legs about the size of those of a chicken, neatly garnished with green leaves, beneath a block of ice. The Duke asked the attendant whether they were really good to eat. "I believe you!" he replies. "For myself I cannot bear poultry, but I can always eat those. And now look!" said he, "I will show you a curious thing. You would think that these legs have no life in them. But just watch." He took up a pinch of salt from a cellar near at hand and sprinkled it on the legs, which immediately were agitated with convulsive twitches, amounting in several instances to vigorous kicks. I felt as surprised as Galvani was when he touched the leg of the frog with his scalpel. Apropos of this plat I may mention that subsequently we overcame our repugnance so far as to order a dish, and found it very excellent indeed, and whenever the delicacy was obtainable it became quite a usual portion of our more sumptuous entertainments. But for my part I considered it very like flavourless but tender chicken. Once, indeed, long ago, I had had an involuntary experience of the taste, for, walking one morning with a southern planter by the side of a shallow ditch bordering his sugar-cane field, I saw an enormous thing about the size of the top of a man's hat, struggling in the mud, upon which one of the black attendants precipitated himself, and seizing it, he mounted the bank with a frog the size of a good fowl in his hand. "What on earth is that for?" "Oh, it is most excellent eating," said my friend. "I would die of starvation," exclaimed I, "before I would touch a morsel of it." At lunch that day there was put upon the table a spatch-cock fowl, which my host asked me to try. "What do you think of it?" "It is excellent." "That," he said, "is a part of the frog you despised so much this morning."

The Attorney-General, Mr. MacVeagh, assembled a party to meet the Duke at dinner; and our last night, which was passed at his hospitable mansion, was the pleasantest we had in Washington.