destitute of kitchens and servants’ quarters, useless as a mansion, but splendid as a tomb. But nothing in the great laboratory of Nature is lost, for the ghostly brick and mortar serves to mark the hallowed spot sacred to the memory of the Father of his Country, and no Mount Vernon corporation can pen cows within the precious enclosure and peddle pale fluid at so much per gallon or so much per glass. On Capitol Hill may be found Christ Church, where Washington and other early Presidents worshipped. The bricks of which it is constructed were baked on English soil and tossed over the stormy Atlantic. The antique building has none of the fancy airs of the modern cathedral, but it is built square and unpretending, an outward emblem of the spirit of those who gave it birth. It was made as a defence against the elements whilst the inmates were holding communion with the Most High. In the large, square pews sat Washington and Lafayette, whilst the gallant Hamilton held the slip-door that the “first lady of the land” might enter there. Scarcely three blocks from the church is situated the navy yard, in many respects the most attractive point in Washington, because it is the great headquarters of the maritime power of the Republic. Inside the grounds the visitor is treated with a sight of wonderful naval trophies. Here are the guns captured off Tripoli when boarded by the brave Decatur, and here not long ago might have been seen some of the same kind of iron pots with the lid on that went down on Cape Hatteras with twenty poor fellows aboard. Holmes, Whittier, Longfellow, ahoy! Who will give us the story of the _Monitor_? the triumph in the James River? the tragedy off the stormy cape? At the navy yard the great war vessels come in on purpose to go into dry dock and have all their corporeal troubles removed. The most majestic object in nature is the awful face of the mountain. The most sublime picture in art is a great war vessel lifted from the water and placed on the land. Look at the enormous hull, with its ribs of oak, sheathed with copper; the lofty masts almost piercing the clouds; and yet these little pigmies, scarce six feet high, put her points together. Certainly one is not to blame for asking if the Lord is as small in proportion to his created works. What artist will give us a picture of the great war vessel that was driven four miles inland by a tidal wave, at the Island of St. Thomas? Think of a ship buried on the land, just as though it were a mortal, and had a soul to be saved! “Cut the ropes, and every man for himself!” rang out the shrill command of the captain above the roar of the elements. “In an instant,” says an eye witness, “the solid wall of water was upon us. Oh, moment of supreme and mortal horror; we felt we were going into the jaws of hell!”