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 passed 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 grass, and with tall trees a-bending over it. The sunshine
lay on the water and the shore, 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
ashore.

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 Japanese 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