r vastness, her immense
natural resources, and her remote grandeur, would be less
imitative, she would be infinitely more picturesque and
interesting.

The President has regular evening parties, every other Wednesday,
which are called his _levees_; the last syllable is pronounced by
every one as long as possible, being exactly the reverse of the
French and English manner of pronouncing the same word. The
effect of this, from the very frequent repetition of the word in
all companies is very droll, and for a long time I thought people
were quizzing these public days. The reception rooms are
handsome, particularly the grand saloon, which is elegantly, nay,
splendidly furnished; this has been done since the visit of
Captain Hall, whose remarks upon the former state of this room
may have hastened its decoration; but there are a few anomalies
in some parts of the entertainment, which are not very courtly.
The company are about as select as that of an Easter-day ball at
the Mansion-house.

The churches at Washington are not superb; but the Episcopalian
and Catholic were filled with elegantly dressed women. I
observed a greater proportion of gentlemen at church at
Washington than any where else.

The Presbyterian ladies go to church three times in the day,
but the general appearance of Washington on a Sunday is much
less puritanical than that of most other American towns; the
people walk about, and there are no chains in the streets, as
at Philadelphia, to prevent their riding or driving, if they
like it.

The ladies dress well, but not so splendidly as at Baltimore. I
remarked that it was not very unusual at Washington for a lady to
take the arm of a gentleman, who was neither her husband, her
father, nor her brother. This remarkable relaxation of American
decorum has been probably introduced by the foreign legations.

At about a mile from the town, on the high terrace ground above
described, is a very pretty place, to which the proprietor has
given the name Kaleirama. It is not large, or in any way
magnificent, but the view from it is charming; and it has a
little wood behind, covering about two hundred acres of broken
ground, that slopes down to a dark cold little river, so closely
shut in by rocks and evergreens, that it might serve as a
noon-day bath for Diana and her nymphs. The whole of this wood
is filled with wild flowers, but such as we cherish fondly in
our gardens.

A ferry at George Town crosses