With that, I lifted my parasol, and walked across the plank on to the deck of that steamboat, and sat down.

Them j.a.panese came after, and sat down close to me. Mr. Iwakura looked at me, and I looked at him. He smiled, and I smiled. This j.a.panee knows how to smile with his eyes, and that's more than a good many other men can do.

Then I felt it my duty to talk a little, as these j.a.panese had been invited on my account; so, thinking that he would expect something original from me, I said:

"I think we shall have a pleasant day, Mr. Iwakura."

"Yes," says he, in real cunning English, looking as if he appreciated my little speech.

"I really hope," says I, "that you and your friends will feel quite at home."

He said "Yes," again, and smiled.

That smile was catching.

"I wonder if Mr. I. left a wife behind to languish for that peculiar expression? If not--"

I checked these roving thoughts as incompatible with former ideas.

The steamboat was puffing and blowing, and giving a scream now and then.

It began to tremble--it veered and made a slow plunge down the river.

The decks were crowded with ladies and gentlemen--all smiling happy--that seeming to be overjoyed to have the pleasure of coming with me.

The Potomac River is just lovely. All the trees along its banks were budding and feathering out with greenness. We pa.s.sed by a town. Then a great round heap of stone walls, that they called the Fort. The gra.s.s was green around it, and some soldiers came out on the walls to look at us as we swept by.

It was pleasant; I felt the occasion to be something like that on which that Egyptian woman went down the River Nile in a row boat; so I lowered my parasol as we pa.s.sed the Fort.

At last the steamboat made a dead stop in the river. We were right opposite Mount Vernon. I looked at the sacred old place from the water.

It was lovely in itself, standing there on a high knoll, carpeted with soft spring gra.s.s, and with tall trees a-bending over it. The sunshine lay on the water and the sh.o.r.e, but that old house was a good deal in shadow, and all the more pleasant for that.

Some smaller boats came up to the steamboat. We got into them and went ash.o.r.e.

LIX.

MOUNT VERNON.

Mount Vernon had looked lonesome enough till now; but when we all landed it was like a picture. We wandered about; we broke up into little crowds, and the whole place was alive with happy people.

Mr. Iwakura and the rest of the j.a.panese walked slowly up the road.

Dempster, E. E., and I went with them till we came to a tomb dug into the bank, with an iron fence before it.

Iwakura took off his stove-pipe hat and held it, just as if he had been at a funeral. The rest did the same, looking sad and touchingly solemn.

I dropped my parasol low, to hide the tears that came gushing up to my eyes, without warning. Cousin E. E. began to sob.

I turned away, longing to creep off into some dark corner, and have a good cry all by myself.

A good many of the people had gone up to the old homestead which is spread out low on the ground, and has a stoop with pillars running all along the front. From this stoop you can see the bend of the river and the blue of its water through the trees. There was a well near by that put me in mind of home; a lot of girls were drinking from the bucket, and chirruping together like birds around a spring.

I didn't like the sound just then, and went into the hall-way of the old homestead. There was nothing worth while in it but a great, big, heavy key, covered with rust, and big enough to knock a man down with.

"This," says a gentleman, a-standing close by me, "is the key of the Bastille."

I jumped back.

"What!" says I--"that old prison in Paris, where men were buried alive, without trial?"

"The same," says he. "Lafayette gave it to General Washington."

I felt myself shuddering, but said nothing. The subject struck me dumb.

We went upstairs into the chamber where Washington died. It was not over large, and low in the joints; but the windows looked out on the trees and the river, which took away some of its gloominess. Nothing but a bedstead, with high, spindling posts, was there.

"Did he die on that?" says I to a gentleman near me.

"No," says he, "but on a bedstead just like it."

I turned away. What business had a sham bedstead in that room? The idea of it riled up something besides sympathy in my bosom. I had rather see bare walls than a bedstead _like_ the one he died on. Why don't they take it down?

We went into the parlor. It isn't over-large, and looks cheery. An old, coffin-shaped piano was there, with broken wires; some old china plates and dishes were piled together. That was about all.

I couldn't stand it. The tomb had sunshine about it, and wasn't half so gloomy. The hall-door was open, and I went out. A little way from the house was Washington's flower-garden, where a few jonquills and crocuses were spotting the earth with yellow. Near that was a large brick house, long and low, crowded full of plants which had flowers on them.

This wasn't Washington's greenhouse, but a brand new one, which looked like a spring bonnet worn with a ten-year old dress. This riled me too.

It seemed to me that the old homestead should be kept just as Washington left it. Newfangled improvements are an aggravation.

Before I came away from Washington there was a good deal of talk about the lady who lives here and takes charge, but I couldn't for the life of me find out anything that seemed extravagant or wrong about her. The truth is, the ladies of this country have spent years collecting money to buy Mount Vernon, and make it a place sacred to the nation, but they failed in obtaining a fund large enough to maintain it with honor.

The society give this lady no remunerative salary, and nothing but a pure missionary spirit could keep her in that dull and mournful place.

If she raises money enough to keep the homestead in repair, it is all any one ought to ask, and all the nation wants. But for my part, I scorn this quiddling way of making money. There is a meanness about it that disgraces the nation.

The thing that should be done is this: put the whole concern into the hands of Congress. It ought to belong to the nation. Washington was not the saviour of a lot of women only, but of the whole country. Let the country have possession of his old home, and appropriate all the money needed to keep it in perfect order, as Washington left it. If the women of America raised money enough to buy the estate for no better purpose than to peddle out a sight of Washington's tomb for twenty-five cents a sight, and keep flowers to sell, they have sent their patriotism to a mighty small retail market.

Well, in the afternoon we all went on board the steamboat again, and had a good time running up and down the river, which is just one of the things I should like to do every day; for the day was bright enough to keep one out-doors forever, if it would only have lasted so long.

When we had got out of sight of Mount Vernon, a band of music came on deck, and played like anything, while we went down into the cabin, one party at a time, and ate dinner, which tasted delicious, I can tell you--to say nothing of the bottled cider, and such like, that kept the corks a-flying about like bullets.

It is wonderful what smartness that cider gives to a person. It sparkles through one like the first spring sap in a maple-tree.

When I went on deck again, my limbs felt springy as a steel trap, and I couldn't help dancing along, for a band of fiddlers and toot-horns was a-pouring out music, that, joined to the cider, was enough to make one want to dance with her own grandfather.

They did dance, sisters--I own it, with shame and contrition. I joined in with the other young girls, and flatter myself they know by this time what a genuine Virginia reel is.

Forgive me, I know it wasn't just the thing for a church member to do, especially while returning from that tomb; but bottled cider and fiddlers must be a stronger power in the hands of the Evil One than anything I have tried yet; and more church members, and ever so much older persons than me, just made that deck shake with their dancing, half the way up that beautiful river.

Still, my head aches this morning, and I have a sort of backsliding feeling. The truth is, Tombs and Virginia reels don't seem to gibe in together.