VI.-SUNDAY IN WASHINGTON.

He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;

He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice

Singing in the village choir,

And it makes his heart rejoice.

LONGFELLOW.

THE streets and avenues of Washington, on the Sabbath morning, appeared as quiet, orderly, and peaceful, as in most other American cities, not excepting even Boston, which is noted through all the States for its strict observance of that holy day. Divine service is performed in the morning before the House of Congress, by its own chaplain. The fashionable church of the city, however, is an Episcopalian place of worship, of Gothic architecture, in one of the streets crossing Pennsylvania Avenue. I went there on Sunday, and found it uncomfortably filled with a very numerous congregation, the élite of Washington, including besides residents, many strangers from all parts, also some richly dressed Creoles, whose bronze but beautifully regular countenances, formed a strong contrast to the pink complexions of their fair, white sisters. I also on the same day visited the sabbath schools attached to the church, and received a kind welcome from the superintendent, who saw that I was a stranger. There were about 200 children of both sexes and all ages, from five

up to sixteen, many of whom were handsomely dressed, as if belonging to the influential and wealthy citizens of the Capitol; nor could I help remarking how cheerful and animated were the faces of the dear children, as if they welcomed the day that brought them instruction in the truths of God. The young teachers in both schools exercised a mild, but thorough control over their pupils, and I noticed that they all took great pains to make the gospels they were reading thoroughly intelligible even by the youngest of the scholars. In short, Sabbath schools, whether in England or America, have been productive of the very best results, by planting the rudiments of religion in the minds and hearts of the young; and which, like the seed cast on the waters, is destined to produce fruit after many days, when childhood has advanced to maturity and old age, a happy serenity and peace of mind—an earnest of that perfect joy, which awaits the true believer in the realms of eternity.

VII. A VISIT TO MOUNT VERNON.

A STEAMBOAT, starting twice a week, conveys passengers to Mount Vernon; and as I was anxious to view the house and tomb of the immortal Washington, I pro ceeded to the pier on the Potomac, to await the departure of the boat to his late residence, which is situated on

the river-bank at the Virginian side, about fifteen miles below the City of Washington. It was a lovely May morning, warm for the season, and the banks of the calmly flowing Potomac looked bright and beautiful, both on the Virginian and Maryland shores-while the hills in the background, on either side, seemed with their dark forests, to set off the light green trees and shrubberies nearer the river. I had been for some time admiring this graceful scenery, and wrapt in contemplation on the won-. derful country to which it belonged, when I was suddenly seized with a fit of sneezing, caused by the dust issuing from a sack or two of flour that a six-foot negro had deposited on the pier from a steamer just arrived. I, of course, pretty quickly changed my quarters; but the sight of this and other coloured men reminded me at once that I was in a district of slaves, and, methought, could that one plague-spot be erased from all parts of the Union, what a model of national greatness would be offered to the world by the United States of America. I am not now going to tire the reader's patience with a dissertation on the hackneyed question of slavery; but I may just observe, from what I saw in the two Slave States that I visited-namely, Maryland and Virginia, that the negroes are more kindly and considerately treated than they are by the accounts of brutal masters and overseers of the rice and cotton growing States further South,—nor will it be long, ere the planters in the two above States emancipate their slaves.

To proceed with my narrative,-the slaves just arrived by the steam vessel, had come from Alexandria, in Virginia, and, like the hotel-waiters, were full of rollicking fun, tossing about the sacks to each other, and doing anything, in short, to raise a laugh; taking especial good care, however, not to let the captain see their tricks, lest they should get well cuffed for their pains. At length, the steamboat on which I meant to embark drew up to the pier, and was speedily crowded with a large party of ladies and gentlemen. The bell rung, steam was put on, and in a few seconds we were gliding down the river at a rapid rate on our way to Mount Vernon. The prospect on either side was beautiful; now pretty, picturesque-looking houses, with green verandahs and sunblinds, placed in the midst of trim, neatly cultivated gardens would meet the eye; then thickly planted groves of pines, oaks, and hickories,—and, anon, a mile or two of tobacco-plantations, producing an amount of the fragrant weed, larger, perhaps, than is raised in any part of the world, except Cuba.

On landing at Mount Vernon, and pursuing our road towards the tomb of Washington, it was with no ordinary emotion that we approached so revered a spot; and I could see from the serious looks and silent footfalls of the visitors, how great was their veneration for a place made sacred by being the depository of all that remains on earth of America's immortal patriot-general, George Washington, and his beloved partner, Martha.

The cenotaph, covering the vault in which his remains were deposited, on the 11th of December, 1800, is a plain building, being within the grounds attached to the house; and if any one would form an adequate idea of the real, but unpretentious greatness of his character, I would recommend him to take a trip down the beautiful Potomac to Mount Vernon, and as he passes through the pleasure-grounds, notice the quiet, unassuming style in which the great General lived, when relieved from the cares of the army and the state. The associations, indeed, are most affecting: yonder was the house in which he dwelt, and where, perhaps, some of his grandest and most difficult projects were planned and matured; here were the favourite paths, in which he was wont to walk and meditate on matters affecting the peace and well-being of mighty nations; and there was the very tree, beneath which he received his death-stroke, as he sat in its shade one chilly, autumnal evening in fact, so vivid were my remembrances of the peerless patriot, that I could, in fancy, almost see him pass slowly along, ruminating on his stormy career of the past, and smiling with gratitude at the peace and tranquillity of the retreat to which he had retired, after sheathing the sword of blood-red war, and disbanding the patriot armies, which he had so often led on to victory.

The mansion, at Mount Vernon, remains pretty much as it was left by Washington. The rooms seemed somewhat small, though convenient, and everything reminded me of a residence of the old school; the