WASHINGTON, November 3, 18 —.

We're travelling, and we're here! and what a town!

I own, it picks me up and sets me down!

I thought I had some idea of the place,

And what its corporation lines embrace;

I'd read the county papers every week,

Which seldom failed “From Washington” to speak;

I'd travelled through these streets by photograph,

And, with Imagination for a staff,

Had wandered round, in little trips disjointed,

Even where the artist's brass gun has not pointed;

And so I said, “Though I would n't like to miss it,

‘ Twill be a good deal like a second visit.”

But‘ tis n't an easy perpetrated scheme

To prophesy how anything will seem.

This city's new to me — I do not doubt it —

As if I'd never heard a word about it!

There's something in these white-clothed buildings’ glare,

And something even in the very air,

And in the great variety of faces,

Bearing the ear-marks of a thousand places,

And in that monument that reaches high —

The farthest stone has climbed into the sky,

And in that dome, whose kingly size and height

Contrive, where'er you are, to keep in sight —

From these, and several hundred other things

This nation's lead-horse city at you flings,

You feel as if you'd stepped, through many a mile,

Into another planet for a while!

But men too weary to hold up their heads

Are apt to bless the manwho first made beds;

Then, having found one, and reclined within it,

Forget about him in just half a minute.

So I'll let Morpheus ( who is at me winking )

Do the remainder of this evening's thinking.

Or woman — let due praise to her be paid;

A bed is never made until‘ tis made.