Why do I turn from Art’s triumphant works, To look on pile more humble? Why in thought Linger around this ancient edifice? The place is hallowed—Washington once trod, Planning the fall of tyranny, these floors. Within yon chamber did he bend the knee, Calling on God to aid the patriot’s cause, At morn, and in the solemn hour of night, His mandate, pregnant with a Nation’s fate, Went forth from these plain, unpretending walls. Here towered, in war-like garb, his stately form, While marshaled thousands in the dusty street, Gave ear to his harangue, and inly vowed To die or conquer with their matchless chief. Methinks at yon old window I behold His calm, majestic features—while the sound Of blessing rises from the throng below. Have not the scenes of other days returned? Do I not hear the sentry’s measured tramp, Clangor of mail, and neigh of battle-steed, Mingling their discord with the drum’s deep roll? No! ’twas a dream!—the magic of a place Allied to memory of Earth’s noblest son, Gives form and seeming life to viewless air.
Relic of our Heroic Age, farewell! Long may these walls defy dissolving Time, Mock the blind fury of the hollow blast, And woo the pilgrim hither, while a voice Comes from the shadowy caverns of the Past, Full of instruction to a freeman’s soul— A _mighty voice_ that speaks of Washington, And prompts renewal of stern vow to guard Pure fires that on my Country’s altar glow.
“Strawb’_rees_! Strawb’_rees_!” cried a poorly clad, tired-looking woman, about eleven o’clock one sultry June morning. She was passing a handsome house in Walnut street, into the windows of which she looked earnestly, in the hope of seeing the face of a customer. She did not look in vain, for the shrill sound of her voice brought forward a lady, dressed in a silk morning-wrapper, who beckoned her to stop. The woman lifted the heavy tray from her head, and placing it upon the door-step, sat wearily down.
“What’s the price of your strawberries?” asked the lady, as she came to the door.
“Ten cents a box, madam. They are right fresh.”
“Ten cents!” replied the lady, in a tone of surprise, drawing herself up and looking grave. Then shaking her head, and compressing her lips firmly, she added—