On my return I improved the opportunity of paying a short visit to the Arlington House, the late residence of the rebel general, Robert E. Lee, as I had a desire to see where dwelt this rebel chieftain in the days of his prosperity and loyalty. But, alas! its glory has departed; it is now occupied, as head-quarters, by officers who have command of the forts on the south side of the Potomac. As the building stands on an eminence, the northern verandah commands a fine view of the Potomac and the city beyond. The Capitol, in all its beauty and grandeur, looms up before the beholder. There are but few articles of furniture left. A few ancient paintings, said to have been executed by some member of the Curtis family, adorn the walls. The flower-garden, the large grove of stately forest trees--including many acres--with its broad carriage-ways and winding paths, remind one of Pilgrim’s enchanted ground, and a sweet desire to linger among so many natural beauties takes possession of the mind; but, as it was getting late, I had only time to make a flying visit to the place, then jump into my ambulance and be off for home. We are soon at the Long Bridge. The draw is open. A large number of army wagons have collected on either side of the draw, and, while waiting for it to be closed, a train of cars approaches, the horses become frightened, when suddenly a four-horse team leaps over the railing and plunges into the river beneath, dragging wagon and all after them. In a moment the waters close over them, and no trace of horses or wagon was afterward seen. Fortunately the driver saved himself by jumping from the wagon, when all hope of saving his team had fled. _February 25th._ I have been to Douglas and Harewood hospitals, accompanied with Mrs. Tunnecliffe, with flannel shirts, blackberry sauce, and other delicacies for the sick. Nearly all the Michigan soldiers at Harewood are convalescing. Poor Sergeant Rooks seems to be the only one who is gradually failing. I fear his stay on earth is short. Before returning to the city, I drove out to the “Soldiers’ Home,” near which thousands of the “boys in white” lie buried, and their number is daily increasing. The representatives of many a broken home circle slumbers there. Sigh not, ye winds, as passing o’er The chambers of the dead ye fly; Weep not, ye dews, For these no more shall ever weep, shall ever sigh.