The room in which he died is small and now bereft of every thing save the mantle-piece; just above is the apartment in which she breathed her dying blessing. A narrow stair-case leads from the door of his room, which was never entered by her after his death. The green-house, once the pride of Mrs. Washington, has since been burned, and there remains but a very small one, put together carelessly to protect the few rare plants remaining. In front of the house, the front facing the orchards, and not the river, is a spacious lawn surrounded by serpentine walks. On either side, brick walls, all covered with ivy and ancient moss, enclose gardens. The one on the right of the house was once filled with costly ornamental plants from the tropical climes, and in which was the green-house; but the box trees have grown high and irregular, and the creepers are running wild over what hardy rose bushes still survive to tell of a past existence of care and beauty. In the lifetime of Mrs. Washington, her home must have been very beautiful, “ere yet time’s effacing fingers had traced the lines where beauty lingered.” It is even now a splendid old place, but rapidly losing the interest it once had. The estate has passed out of the family, and the furniture has been removed by descendants, to whom it was given: much that lent a charm to the place is gone, and the only interesting object, save the interior of the mansion itself, is the key of the Bastile, presented by Lafayette, and hanging in a case on the wall. Portions of the house are closed, and the stairway in the front hall is barricaded to prevent the intrusion of visitors. The room in which Mrs. Washington died, just above the one occupied by her husband, was locked, and we did not view the room in which she suffered so silently, and from which her freed spirit sought its friend and mate. The small windows and low ceilings, together with the many little closets and dark passage-ways, strike one strangely who is accustomed to the mansions of modern times; but these old homesteads are numerous throughout the “Old Dominion,” and are the most precious of worldly possessions to the descendants of worthy families. There must be more than twenty apartments, most of them small and plain in finish. The narrow doors and wide fire-places are the ensigns of a past age and many years of change, but are eloquent in their obsoleteness. The library which ordinarily is the most interesting room in any house, should be doubly so in this home of Washington’s; but, bare of all save the empty cases in the wall, it is the gloomiest of all. Books all gone, and the occupation of the room by the present residents deprives it of any attractions it might otherwise have. Here, early in the morning and late at night, he worked continuously, keeping up his increasing correspondence and managing his vast responsibilities.