The Boast Made Has Been Too Loud, And The Fulfillment Yet
Accomplished Has Been Too Small!
Have I as yet said that Washington was dirty in that winter of 1861-
62?
Or, I should rather ask, have I made it understood that in
walking about Washington one waded as deep in mud as one does in
floundering through an ordinary plowed field in November? There
were parts of Pennsylvania Avenue which would have been considered
heavy ground by most hunting-men, and through some of the remoter
streets none but light weights could have lived long. This was the
state of the town when I left it in the middle of January. On my
arrival in the middle of December, everything was in a cloud of
dust. One walked through an atmosphere of floating mud; for the
dirt was ponderous and thick, and very palpable in its atoms. Then
came a severe frost and a little snow; and if one did not fall while
walking, it was very well. After that we had the thaw; and
Washington assumed its normal winter condition. I must say that,
during the whole of this time, the atmosphere was to me
exhilarating; but I was hardly out of the doctor's hands while I was
there, and he did not support my theory as to the goodness of the
air. "It is poisoned by the soldiers," he said, "and everybody is
ill." But then my doctor was, perhaps, a little tinged with
Southern proclivities.
On the Virginian side of the Potomac stands a country-house called
Arlington Heights, from which there is a fine view down upon the
city.
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