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Vernon—the house, the home, and tomb of Wash-
ington.

STATES.

largell party went early in the morning down
to the dockyard, where the Government steamer,
called after the niece of the President—the Harriet
Lane—was waiting. Under a double salute for the
Prince and President, the party embarked, and
went away down the broad and glittering waters of
the Potomac! Washington is not impressive from
this noble river. The intended dome of the Capitol,
half finished as it is, looks like an extinguisher, and
the Washington Monument more like a lighthouse
than ever. The city, too, lies low and straggling,
and its whole aspect is flat and poor. It may and
must be grand hereafter, but with that I have no-
thine now to do, but only speak of it as it is, Far
down the river the little town of Alexandria nestles
in a green bank. Some ten miles below this the
shores on either side are higher and more grand.
The Harriet Lane steered for the most conspicuous
of these, and anchored, and the large party went
ashore in cutters, the Prince steering the one in
which the President sat. You step from the boat
upon Virginian territory, and are at the foot of
Mount Vernon, a steep wooded headland, which
rises abrupt from the shore of the Potomac, and on
which the clustering trees and thick rough under-
wood stand out in startling contrast from the red
bricky earth, the characteristic colour of all Vir-
ginian soil, A winding irregular footway leads up
here, broken away in gaps, over which a few clumsy
planks supply the place of the crumbling earth.
Bits of bricks and stone, with now and then dead
boughs, lie in the- way, always narrow and difficult
and crowded in upon by branches, while atound as
far as one can see through the neglected shrubbery
is rank and uncultivated, with an unmistakeable
aspect of desertion,: of slow, and long decay id
every wild straggling deep-tangled thicket. Even
the trees are mildewed over with a sickly moss,
and look damp and ruinous, the ground between
the briars is littered ankle deep with fallen leaves,
while broken boughs, all white and brittle, are
scattered everywhere, and peer out starkly through
the matted weeds. Is this Mount Vernon, the
Home of Washington ; is this the property pur-
chased by a grateful nation to save it from decay
and demolition ? Alas ! Republics are ungrateful
masters, and have been so from all time. Still
toiling up through the steep, neglected wilderness,
you come out at last upon a sloping open grass plot,
more like a rough meadow now, though once a well-
kept lawn. Small groups of trees are planted here
and there, and underneath a few are wide-armed
garden seats, bleached white with long exposure to
the weather, and fast falling to pieces. In the centre
of the lawn is a long, straggling, old-fashioned
wooden country house, three stories high, with
very tall, square wooden pillars, supporting a
broad balcony, which shades over the whole front.
Beneath this, in an irregular square stone pave-
ment, is a long, angular, wooden seat, white and
almost decayed, placed close by the side of a nar-
row double-leafed door, from which the yellow
paint is worn and the panels are shrunk and cracked.
Above the balcony, with its wooden lattice balus-
trade, ruined and broken like torn lace, is a sloping
irregular tiled roof, green with the moss and damp
of many years. Four pointed little gable windows
peep timidly from under the eaves of this, while in
the centre of the ridge rises a little glass lantern,
like a belfry, with a huge rusty weather-cock, and
and an iron lightning-conductor of great thickness.
At either side of the house, curving backwards, are
the blanched remains of little vaulted arcades, lead-
ing to dilapidated farm-buildings in the rear, while
on the left, another large tiled outhouse, in better
preservation, though still in keeping with the rest
in swift decay, completes the scene. Such is the
first appearance presented by the remains of this
world-famous building; such, and no more, are the
plain simple features of the house in which George
Washington lived and died. Every window in its
quaint white wooden front has an interest now ' •
every little peculiarity is scrutinised as you stand
amid the silence that belongs to decay, and note its
every aspect for memory to treasure up and dwell
upon hereafter. The old faded green blinds are
closed over the sitting room, as if the house was
mourning; the others are open, but dim, hollow,
and vacant, looking like eyes from which the light
has fled for ever. The closed windows speak only
of death, but there is something in those sightless
glaring panes, stained black with dust, and tapes-
tried with webs; there is a mute appealing mourn-
fulness in their decay—in tho sad Gifosts which
they seem to make to keep the daylight from en-
trance in the gloomy rooms beyond that is almost
touching ' • that speaks of one not only dead, but
dead and long forgotten. The gaunt white columns
are riven with unseemly gaps:and crumbling to de-
cay; the bell wires outside the house are worn to
threads and parted, leaving a mouldering rusty
stain along the wooden walls.' The upper windows
seem to have grown decayed and lost their light, as
if from long neglect of use, for years have come and
gone since these were wanted—since any faces
looked for light from them. The very walk under
the arcade has a faint cold echo of the past ; the
solitary tap, tap from drops of water breaks on the
stillness with a sound which here is noise ; the old
green-tiled roof droops in slow bends, as if, its duty
done, it, too, was slumbering to decay with all the
rest. There is a loneliness about the place, about
its solitary quiet and forlornness, that more than
clings to tombs ; it is the echoing loneliness of the
forsaken-mansion of one greatest in world's history,
left desolate, and never to be used again. The
stacks of chimneys stand in sharp outline against
a cold October sky, dumb and smokeless, breathing
no signs of hospitality or token of life within those
mute white walls. There are no swallows near the
building, no people round the place ; even the vane
above the lantern is rusted into quiet never broken
here save by the falling leaves or wind, or drip,
drip, drip of water. Even the glass belfry on the
roof has a ghastly look, as all white and empty, its
iron bell rusted and dead, and its dim shadowy-
looking windows just permitting the light of a cold
October sun to be seen through its little panes.
The most bigoted stranger that ever trod within
these sacred precincts cannot- look around without
emotion, cannot free his mind from a feeling of
sorrow that this touching relic of one of earth's
noblest dead should be now in such a state and left
to such decay. Those who wish to see the interior
of The house must search to the left, where, down
in a cellar, a negro woman and her family almost
lurk—a slave herself, though the only cicerone to
the deserted mansion of the man who gave freedom
and independence to this continent. This woman
has the key of the house, and, passing sulkily
under the arcade, points out with a monotonous
drawl of habit the old armchair in which Washing-
ton used to sit near the door, with its little desk
fastened to one side on which he wrote and an-
swered the despatches placed in a drawer beneath.
The Prince was honoured by having the chair
brought out for him to sit in—a chair which future
ages will regard with as much veneration as the
thrones of state on which the whole dynasties were
crowned. But the slave is tired of pointing it out,
and hurries on to the door, fumbling in her
pocket for the key, while she apologises in sham-
bling terms for the ruinous decay to which the
house is falling: Oh, vanitas, vanitatunz ! a dirty
negress shows the home of Washington for cents,
and drops her maudlin pity on its sad forlorn
neglect.

(From the Special Correspondent of the Times.)

WASHINGTON, OCT, G.

His Royal Highness saw as much of 'AV ashington
in his three days' visit as any one can ever see who
stays there three weeks, three months, or even three
years, with the one exception, that he took away a
very favourable impression, which those who dwell
much longer seldom do, _

Washington consists of a few magnificent public
buildings; the town per se has, if I may so speak,
nothing whatever to do with the place beyond that
its shabby wretched little dilapidated houses act
as a foil to the marble palaces of the Government,
making them seem like jewels badly set. Even in
these very public buildings, however, AVashing.am
is unfinished. There is not one which is entirely
completed—some scarcely well begun. In short,
the only structures which are complete are the
houses of the city, and those are the ones which
should all be pulled down at once. When you have
visited the capital and Mount Vernon, admired the
Treasury, Patent and Post-offices, called at the
White House, suffered under a bad hotel, and con-

tinually mistaking the Washington Monument for a
lighthouse, all of which, especially the two latter,
you do easily in three days, you may quit the ad-
ministrative capital of America with perfect ease
of mind as to your having seen as much of the
place as if you had lived there all your life. His
Royal Highness has gone through all this, except
the bad hotel business, and no matter what else he
has hurried through, he has at least seen Washing-

ton, and knows airthat visitors can ever know about
it He made a long visit to the Capitol with the
President and chief members of his suite. This is
one of the noblest buildings in America. Its site
is unusually fine, its proportions are massive and
noble, and its severe, grand simplicity of architec-
ture well becomes the Administrative halls of a great
Republic so young and primitive as this. Of course,
it is not finished, and it is likely to be very many
years before it i 3. It would not be difficult to say to
what particular order of architecture it belonged.
Its noble columns are Corinthian. Yet there is a
huge cupola at the top which is at variance with
the rest, which is too elongated for a dome, though
the diameter of its base, if I am notmuch mistaken,
in appearance, is very nearly as great as that of St.
Peter's at Rome. It is Bacon who says that "in
the truly beautiful thew is always something
strange," and the force of the remark is exemplified
in the Capitol of Washington, which, though not in
perfect harmony with itself, either inside or out, is,
nevertheless, one of the grandest and most imposing'
structures I have seen here. It is all built of pure
white marble—as, indeed, all the other public build-
ings, and many even of the houses of Washington
are also. The main entrance to the interior is by
a noble and lofty flight of steps—those daises of
architecture which always add so much to the grand
and imposing effect of lofty façades. At the top of
the steps at either side are two allegorical groups of
statuary; one a very fine one representing the in-
fluence of civilization on the savage Indians ; the
other a poor, clumsy, and badly-executed figure of
Columbus. Passing under a fine colonnade, you
enter the Rotunda beneath the dome, a fine and
spacious circular hall, with some good and some very
badly executed pictures on the walls which form the
outer circle, the inner magic ring towards the centre
being composed of wide-mouthed highly-decorative
iron spittoons. Nothing more: forcibly repudiates
the vulgar notion as to the expectorating accuracy
of Americans than the appe ranee of the marble
round these noisome receptacles. These spittoons
are the first things you see on entering, and from
this moment you never lose sight of them as long
as you remain in the building. No matter where
you wander—into the Senate Chamber, the House
of Representatives, the Speaker's Room, the gor-
geous room of the President, the yawning dirty
nuisance haunts you everywhere. You tumble over
them in quiet corners of rich frescoed halls; they
flank the tribune and the Speaker's chair, like
quaint supporters, and stand in hideous rows and
semicircles round the halls—recognised institutions
of the place ; the little altars on which every one
asserts his nauseous liberty of spitting, no matter
who is present or what the occasion. A long and
for the proportions of the building a very low and
narrow corridor leads to the Hall of Representa-
tives, a large and very low square chamber, with
the Speaker's seat and tribune facing the entrance,
and a large semicircle of seats and desks (each with
the never absent spittoon, of course) ranged round
the floor. The visitor who enters the Capitol for
the first time with his mind still impressed with
the chaste, simple grandeur of the exterior, looks
forward to seeing in the Hall of Representatives
another illustration of quiet dignity, becoming in a
young republic, which claims to carry its simplicity
almost to sternness, which in its love for plainness
affects to think even a court dress a backsliding
into gorgeousness not to be tolerated in its Mini-
sters abroad. But alas for the disappointment
which awaits him with these ideas ! He sees before
him the Hall of Representatives, a chamber like a
disused show-room, which has all windows in its
ceiling, and yet has no light; which is large with-
out being spacious, low in height without looking
comfortable, covered with gilt and scarlet without
being decorated, gaudy without effect, costly yet
mean and even dirty in its appearance, with a
tawdry vulgarity of splendour that disgusts
every man of taste, and with its enormities
of gilt and paint sufficiently darkling and
obscure to fail to impress the masses. There is
a kind of mixture of a grand Californian bar-room
and a second-rate Paris cafe—an air of a rather well
worn half-business place of entertainment, which is
inexpressibly disappointing to one's anticipations,
and which even the recollection of the exciting—in-
deed, violently exciting, debates it has witnessed
quite fails to remove. Of what use are recollections
or imaginations when it only requires the presence
of a dingy waiter to assure you that, in spite of
everything you must have:made a wrong turn, and
wandered by mistake into the ill-decorated salle-a-
manger of the House ? This impression is by no
means lessened when one passes through the large
barbers' saloon, just off a corner of the chamber,
where in the light garrulity of the tensors the mem-
bers find relief from a debate of unusual calm and
dulness. With a few alterations, such as moving
back the side walls some 20 feet, heightening the
roof at least 30, whitewashing the gilt, extinguish-
ing the red, and entirely remodelling the whole
interior, the Chamber might be made something of,
but any change which does not carry out all these
improvements had better be left alone. It is a com-
fort to pass from this to the old Senate Chamber—

the first that was ever used in Weshington—the
Chamber which has echoed the eloquent and mostly
anti-English denunciations of Webster, Clay, Cal-
houn, and other of the greatest American states-
men, the chamber in which all the measures have
been discussed and passed to laws which have
brought this vast empire to its present eminence.
It is higher, but in all other respects much like in
size its modern successor, except that its decoran
tions are cold and plain almost to severity. The
Senate Chamber now in use is precisely the same
in size and form with that of the House of Repre-
sentatives. It is very plain, however, and would
almost be handsome looking, but for its mean pro-
portions. The Democrats, or slaveholding party, sit
on the left as you enter, the Republicans, or anti-
slavery, on the right. From the Capitol the Prince
visited the Patent-office, a noble building, such a one
as our own indefatigable Patent-chief BennetWood-
croft would wish to raise in London. Here the Prince
saw a suit of uniform belonging to Washington, and
the clumsy old printing-press of Franklin. When will
the English get a National Museum for such germs
of the great inventive genius of her people?
Beyond this visit, and a short drive round the
city, nothing of note was done, and in the afternoon
the party returned to the White House. This Pre-
sidential mansion is not imposing though handsome,
plain, and simple, painted white to conceal the
traces of the conflagration when it was burnt by
the English in the war of 1812. In one of the
rooms still hangs the great portrait of Washington,
cut from the frame by Mrs. Maddison while the
English were actually entering the city. It is a
very handsomely furnished blinding, though not at
all better if as well as many of the houses of the
merchants of New York. In front of it is a little
enclosure, and at almost the corner of the avenue a
chestnut tree with a deep scared bark. At the foot
of this Sickles murdered Mr. Key, and some of the.
bullets were cut from the tree and produced in court.
The very plain, and, like most other houses in
Washington, poor residence of Mr. Sickles is on the
opposite side of the square with a hideous statue of
General Jackson always bowing to it What did
poor
General .i ackson do that he should be over-
whelmed with such posthumous opprobrium as this
dreadful figure perpetuates ? George 111. saluting
the cabstand in the Haymarket is a work of genius
and more than this I cannot say.
Thursday, the 4th, there was a
grand display of fireworks comopnatrhede
evening to it and
of
and a small party at the,
White House, on which, as private, I need not fur-
ther dwell.
On the sth an expedition Was made to Mount

Inside the doer is an old-fashioned wooden hall,
wide and low, with heavy, lumbering porticos
carved above the doors on either side, and a wide,
thick-stepped staircase climbing up from the corner.
The boards creak as you tread on them with a loud
noise, which echoes gloomily through the house:;
the doors and shutters are decayed and shrunken,
and lot through flaunting, sharp-edged gleams of,
light, which find no resting place in the gloom
beyond, but, filled with dusky, eddying motes in
clouds, seem struggling back, again. 'Over one por-
tico are a few rough stones—fossils which Wash-
ington picked up and placed there, which might
almost have become fossils since he gathered them,
so bygone seems all belonging to him, here in his
very home. In a little case in the left hangs a
rough massive key of iron, which once closed on
crimes and mysteries the world can only dimly
guess at now, which is as typical of shattered
power and despotism overthrown, as if the fleur-de-
lis sceptre of the Bourbons was hung up broken
there. That old misshapen key represents the
crimes of a great dynasty and their tremendous
punishment : it is the first-fruits of the French
Revolution—the key of the Bastille. By its side
hangs a little black profile and portrait of La-
fayette, who presented it to Washington.
Instinctively one looks to the opposite wall for
some token of the freedom which Washington gave
to our descendants; but the cracked neglected
panels are blank and dumb and make no sign save
of decay. There is no token on the wall, but you
are told that his most enduringrecord is to be found
in the memories of a grateful nation. Well, let us
see ! An apartment off the corner of the hall was his
sitting room. It is empty, cold, and vacant, with
one of those dim lightless windows, just letting in
sufficient murky day to add to its cheerless gloom.
In the corner is a little fire-place, from which the
grate has been torn out, leaving a black gaping
aperture as muridal as a grave.
Over it,

I framed in the wainscot, is a painting which
once represented a bright summer da ; but the
winter es. adversity and cold. neglect has overtaken
its wavfm hues, and dim and faded in its dirt as a
November morn it looks even more wretched than
the room itself with its colours blurred out and holes
and tatters in its decaying canvas. In a corner of
the apartment is its only article of furniture—a large
terrestrial globe, with its zodiac half eaten through
with rust—its compass broken, and the globe itself
a dirty brown ball with scarce an outline distin-
guishable on its surface from damp and long neglect.
Turn it round, and there seems something retribu-
tive in the fact that the United States—the very
land he gave its freedr,in to, whose destinies he
studied on this very g'iobe—is a mere black stain,
utterly unrecog
nisabliJ under the mouldy decay to
which this relic has 7Jeen abandoned. It is written,
" Put not your truF.t in PyinceS," but you may say
" Put not trust in peoples either," for their captious
love is hard to ;yin and easily lost, and when once
gone can never be revived.
The room leading from this was the dining and
state-room--large, dim, and empty except that in
one corner stands the General's piano—an old-
fashioned yellow jangling harpischord. In the cen-
tre, on a quaint enamelled plate, like a watch dials
are the names of "Longman and Broderip, musical
instrument-makers, Cheapside, London," but no
date.

ago, has been left unfini;
Teuly the Americans, as a p,
or gratitude, perhaps both.
The train reached the fa:
miles distant from Richmond,
ing. The Mayor and a comm
in waiting to welcome his Ro:
capital of old Virginia. T
concourse of people who bloc
leading to the Ballard Hotel,
could scarcely force a passa,
rather howling, was villanous,
been a ball in the evening, bT
difficulties—financial difficult,
of its being carried out on a prop r
idea was abandoned.
Richmond is not a little altere from the time
when Madame Esmond reared her ung Virginians
here. Seen from a distance, it 100 s a very hand-
some town, both far grander and f larger than it
really is. Its population is only bout 40,000, of
which nearly one-half are blacks a d slaves. The
Capitol is a bizarre Grano-America building which
runs much to windows, as is gener ly the case with
all the public buildings of this ntinent. In the
hall of this building is the nob statue of Wash-
ington, the first erected to th great patriot, with
a simple, dignified inscription worthy of the hero
it commemorates. The sculptor's legend in the
corner reads, "Faitpur Iloudon, Citoyen Francais,
1788." Like all other slave-state capitals, there
are slave pens for the public.' auction of these
miserable beings in this city.
As a matter of course, no liberty of opinion is
allowed here on the subject of slavery, and any
known advocate of abolition doctrines would run a
-e.o.nsulqable risk of his life if discovered in the city.
Troi-k Ttribilne, whieb;breeviseraotfecatest
the cause of the miserably oppressed negroes, is the
foremost object in the hate of the Virginians, many
of whom looked forward with savage delight to the
prospect of finding out and Lynching its reporter,
in case he was bold enough to follow the Prince of
Wales to Richmond. That gentleman, however,
was fortunately aware of the kind feeling enter-
tained towards him,:and took such 'precautions as
enabled him to avoid its manifestation on his behalf.
One might as well talk of freedom of opinion in
China or Morocco as of the liberty allowed to either
thought or speech in any of the slave-states of
,America. Would any man's life be worth an hour's
purchase who should express sympathy with the
black or horror at his degrading, cruel bondage in
either Charlestown or Richmond? Not an hour ;
not a minute. It is stated in the New York papers
that an unfortunate newsagent, found in Arkansas
with some copies of the Tribune in his possession,
has actually been sentenced to be hung by the
Vigilance Committee, who " detected" him.
During all the night of the arrival every room
and stairway in the Ballard Hotel was crammed
with a low wretched mob, each striving and hust-
ling to get some look into the apartments where
his Royal Highness was staying. There were cat-
calls, shouts, and whoopings, with cries for him to '
show himself—invitations with which, I need
scarcely say, his Royal Highness did not comply,
for the rough, howling, brutal mob that had
swarmed round his carriage on arriving at the hotel
had given him a pretty good insight into the gene-
ral tendencies of a Richmond crowd.

In one corner is a dirty heap of leather and old
rags. What do they here ? Has not this building
fallen low enough but it must be a storehouse for
old lumber? "Lumber!" says our guide; "I guess
they're the General's saddle-bags and holsters." And
such, indeed, these mouldy fragments turn out to be
—the old.,„gmbroidered holsters, fall of holesf !a*
shreds of rilin ; the saddle-bags, moth-eaten arid fail=
ing to pieces strewing the floor, a mere unsightlylitter. In thi s room is the beautiful marble mantel-
piece presented to Washington by his devoted friend
and admirer, 'Lafayette a rich and elaborate
structure—the only object in the whole house which
retains its pristine cleanliness and form—shining
out like a flower in a ruin. The room in which
Washington died is upstairs, but none are
allowed to enter it • perhaps this sanctuary is too
decayed to be safe for visitors. There is no more
to see, and if there is you do not wish to see it. Let
the dust settle again upon the rooms in which Wash-
ington lived and thought and worked for his coun-
try. They echo with a hollow feeble effort, as if
sickening to their decay, unwonted noises pained
them. Close the blinds, and let them wither in
silence. This house will not cumber the earth for
long. How true is that eternal moral, " The evil
that men do lives after them ; the good is often in-
terred with their bones." The key of the Bastille
will survive as the type of a tremendous despotism
when the sanctuary of liberty in which it now hangs
shall have passed away like a tale that is told.
Away from the house is a rough, broken footpath
which leads through mazy wilds—a mingled debris
of ruined woods and buildings. Down this the
Prince and President and all the Royal party
passed, a gay assemblage of some 100 visitors,
going to Washington's tomb. It is a needless itera-
tion to point out how utterly waste and neglected
is this road, which seems to wind through the coarse,
wild underwood, like an abandoned cattle-track.
At last, through the trees, you come upon what
seems to be the ruins of a cemetery, where, in front
of a red brick wall, a few white marble columns,
hemmed in by rusty iron railings, stand like sentries
of the dead. Move round to the front of this wall
and before you is a hollow arched gateway shut in .
by double iron gates. Within this gloomy recess
are two white marble coffin-shaped sarcophagi,
which reflect a wan and ghastly light over the
little vault. That to the left bears the inscription,
" Martha, consort of Washington ;" on the other is
simply cut in massive heavy letters the one word,
" Washington." Beyond this there is nothing ;
and nothing else is needed, for the history of a world
is carved in those 10 deep letters. There is no
pomp of woe about the spot. I almost wish there
were, for now the tomb has the plainnes§ that
springs from neglect, and from neglect a vast decay
will rise in time. The old red walls are scored
with vulgar names, bricks have been broken out,
and the very stone tablet overhead which tells that
" Within this enclosure rest the remains of General
George Washington" is debased with the offensive
scrawls of travellers, not ashamed to leave these
records of their vulgar infamy behind. Over the
brisirs .r.ssis wild ana tangled shrubs,—weeds, rub-
bish, and mortar are littered in front, while all
around it is a dirty thriftless waste, like the remains
of a shrubbery in which a building once stood. No
pious care seems to have ever tended this neglected
grave, none by to shield it from the desecrations of
idle profanity. It is here alonein its glory, uncared
for, unvisited, unwatched, with the night wind for
its only mourner sighing through the waste of trees,
and strewing the dead brown leaves like ashes before
the tomb. Such is the grave of Washington !
" Where may the wearied eye repose
While gazing on the Great,
Where neither guilty glory glows
Nor despicable state?
Yet one, the greatest, last, and. best,
The Cincinnatus of the West,
Whom envy dared not hate,
Bequeathed the name of Washington,
To make men blush there was but one."

Next day (Sunday) he attended divine service at
St. Paul's Church, nearly the whole congregation
rising to gape and stare at him when he entered.
After service, contrary to the practice which the
whole party have rigidly adhered to of resting on
Sunday, the Prince with the Duke and a few mem-
bers of his suite walked out to see the Capitol.
While here a rough dirty crowd collected, who
crowded in upon the party most unceremoniously,
making all sorts of coarse, vulgar remarks upon the
personal appearance of its members in a loud con-
versational tone, audible to everyone. While the
Prince stood looking at the statue of Washington,
to which I have already alluded, some called out
" Guess, he whipped you Britishers ;" " Oh, you
like him, don't you ? Sartain ;" with other insult-
ing observations of a still coarser nature. The
Prince took not the least notice of this ruffianly ill
taste, but after a while went to the Senate Cham-
ber, and then quitted the building. In the street,
of course, they were all followed by a still larger
crowd, which at last grew so great that to avoid it
the whole party turned into the house of Governor
Letcher, where they remained for some time, escap-
ing ut last by a private door to their carriages, in
which they drove out to Hollywood Cemetery, re-
turning to their hotel in the evening. •
BALTIMORE, MARYLAND, OCT. 9.

,The Prince arrived here last night. A great
crowd assembled to see him pass to his hotel. To-
day he goes on to Philadelphia, which is making
great preparations for his reception. On the 11th
he arrived at New York. He came down here via
Norfolk and Washington after a long and fatiguing
day's journey. It is quite a comfort to think that,
for mere flesh and blood could not withstand its in-
cessant fatigue much longer, even the Prince yearns
for a little rest and quiet, and nearly all the suite
are utterly tired out' The festive ordeals of New
York and Boston have yet to be gone through, but
at least there will be no travelling all day between
each fete. Sir Henry Holland, who as a personal
friend of the President, was invited out to meet the
Prince at the White House, returns again to En gland
by this mail.

Before this humble tomb the Prince, the Presi-
dent, and all the party stood uncovered. It is easy
moralising on this visit, for there is something
grandly suggestive of historical retribution in the
reverential awe of the Prince of Wales, the great
grandson of George 111., standing bareheaded at the
foot of the coffin of Washington. What may not
history bring forth ? The descendants of a regene-
rated line of Hapsburgs may yet do honour at the
tomb of Garibaldi. For a few moments the party stood
mute and motionless, and the Prince then proceeded
to plant a chestnut by the side of the tomb. It
seemed when the Royal youth closed in the earth
around the little germ that he was burying the last
faint trace of discord between us and our great
brethren in the West. May it be so, and may no
American in times hereafter think of the tomb of
Washington without remembering the friendly
visitor wbo planted the tree in whose grateful
shadow it reposes. May the act live in the memo-
ries of both nations green as the tree that records it,
and Britons recollect that in this graceful rite of
homage to the memory of one whom we must now
strive to claim as our descendant, the Prince did
honour to himself and his nation. The simple cere-
mony over, the pity returned to the Harriet Lane,
and "danced away dull care." Alas, that I should
say so, but the whole visit to tl, e shrine of Washing-
ton partook more of the nature of festivity than
homage. But the world is made up of inconsisten-
cies, and, as Thackeray says truly, we see tears
under bridal wreaths and hear jokes in mourning
coaches.

RICHMOND, VIRGINIA, OCT. 8. :
The Prince has paid a flying visit of some 40
hours to this legislative capital of the old dominion, 1
as it is called, for Virginia was the first English 1
colony in North America. Here the first slaves I
were imported in 1620, and to this hour Virginia
remains one of the most uncompromising supporters
of pro-slavery doctrines in all the Union. The Royal
party left the White House on the morning of the
6th. The leave-taking between the Prince and the
President and his niece, Miss Harriet Lane, was
marked by the most warm expressiens of regret on
both sides that the visit had been of so short dura-
tion. The carriage of the Prince, followed by those
of the chief members of the Cabinet, left the man-
sion at
10 o'clock. There was a large crowd col-
lected in the avenue leading up to the house, who
cheered the Prince most heartily as he drove off. At
the Arsenal a salute of 21 guns was fired as the
cortege entered, and a similar compliment was paid
from the Navy yard when his Royal Highness went
on board the little steam cutter Harriet Lane. The
instant the Royal party were on board the hawsers
were cast off, and the quick little steamer sped down
the broad quiet waters of the Potomac like a bird.
Passing Mount Vernon the speed was
slackened,
and the bell tolled--an empty honour paid to
.y
poor, ruinous, neglected house of Washington
every steamer or vessel of any kind that passes p
up
sl
tehde,
or down the stream.
At 2 o'clock the boat reached the little landing-
place at Acquia Creek, where the special train
The
in waiting to convey the party to Richmond.
first part of the journey was over wha_s
f varieties of
" strap road," ono of the
.most unsa
of bad
railway ever ever used, even in this countryhes
gh which the
ways of all kinds. The scenery. Thetland in Virginia
is termed a
route lay was not attractive.
Very little is grown here now
favourable to the cultiva-
tionhas been exhausted by constanbtutretcokblaeesesof
climate being unusually . a
andrmi n
theg .
whole business of the State.da A.
few negro huts, the
of the black, slave-breedings fofremws
pallamnotasttitohnes
were however passed,
crossed the Rappaha7o
best worse than the worasnetklrßisihverc,abainnds.
stoTphpeetdrafoinr
city Washington w b
a few minutes. at latterFrc.aeorricnksabnudrgh.ereAhtisthmisother i
s
lighth i ch
has,t h
ofe father
course,o of his
nw,
country first saw
hoatiLe i
pulled down, and the monument over the grave of
his mother, the first stone of which Was laid by i
president Jackson n great state nearly 30 yearn

STEP s,
fished sine that time.
people, lac veneration
'air grounds, tome two
3, at six in ti e even-
mittee of citiz ns were
oval Highne- to the
There was a immense
!ked up al • e avenues
,so that • e carriages
ige. T • cheering., or
T re was to have
mt th greatest of all
ties .tool in the way
prop r scale, so the