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and grandchild, in the magnificent mausoleum which had been erected by her husband, some years before, for the reception of the family dead. This structure was said to be a perfect copy of the Temple of Vesta, and was at that time the most expensive and magnificent specimen of monumental architecture in the new world. It has since been removed from its original location within the city, and rebuilt in Oak Hill Cemetery, near Georgetown; and there repose to day the ashes of the famous Washington heiress and her loved ones.

General Van Ness survived his wife fifteen years, dying March 7, 1847, at the age of seventy-six years. From the time of its first occupation, his mansion was celebrated for the hospitality there dispensed, and this reputation was kept up to the very year of his death. It can probably be truly said of it, that more famous men have been entertained within its walls than in any other private house in America. Several of the earlier presidents were guests here, and every year the owner gave a dinner to the Congress of the United States.

After his death the property passed into the hands of strangers; and the two buildings may be seen to-day, cottage and mansion alike standing, time-beaten and forlorn, half hidden by wild masses of untrained shrubbery, and deeply shadowed by over-arching trees. The grounds are still enclosed by the high and substantial brick wall erected by the original proprietor, but the gate stands ever open, and no porter challenges the few strolling footsteps of the occasional sight-seer. And verily Ichabod is written over all—mansion, cottage, and grounds. Truly the glory has departed. The place is now used as a summer picnic ground by the colored folk of the vicinity, and the basement of the grand mansion is a beer saloon. A rifle target rests against the front door of the Burns cottage, and a dancing platform is erected beneath the trees that sheltered the heiress in her girlhood and her sweeter womanhood.

NO department of activity more forcibly illustrates the progress of the times than that of journalism. A glance at some old newspapers published at the beginning of the present century exemplifies in a striking manner, by contrast with the present, the march of improvement, and affords an entertaining picture of the manner in which the reading tastes of our forefathers were ministered to by the enterprising publishers of that time. A collection of New York, Albany, Boston, Richmond, and other journals, published in the years 1801 and 1802, has furnished the writer material for many hours of curious reading, some of the results of which he de sires to share with others.

The first noticeable features, in taking up these old newspapers, are the dingy paper, the antique typography, and the general mustiness. But the curiousness and poorness of their material appearance are quickly forgotten in the fascination which attends their perusal.

Then, as now, there were heavy editorials, attacks on political adversaries, and criticisms of public measures. But there was a degree of elaboration and ornate phraseology in many of these articles that would nowadays seem strange enough. Instead of the bitter missile or gingerly word of the editor of our period, there were long paragraphs with involved sentences, compelling the reader to pick his way carefully through their mazes, in order to arrive at the meaning. "Fine writing" was evidently held in higher estimation than how. The day of the pungent paragraph had not come.