ago. The ancient glory has departed, but | Proprietors of Conestoga wagons were the charm of association lingers there still. "The importance of these old road-side taverns in the days of Conestoga wagons and Troy coaches can not be realized by the travellers of the present age. Then they were temporary homes for all kinds and classes of people, and consequently said to disappear mysteriously after putting up at the Unicorn, and dark whispers were afloat as to its character generally. At last a fire came and swept it from the earth, and somebody's grandfather perished in the flames. A pretty cottage was built on the site; but it is their names, their merits, their proprietors, and their surroundings were discussed far and wide. It was not an uncommon thing to meet among the keepers of these hotels individuals who knew, more or less intimately, all the dignitaries of the nation, and could detail by the hour anecdotes of them in connection with their travels and sojourns. But all this is changed by improvements which render travelling by night as comfortable as by day, and necessitates no stoppages until destination is reached, whether that be a hundred or a thousand miles away." Ancient hostelries with quaint names abound in the neighborhood; and the "Unicorn," "Blue Bell," and "Green Tree" are well-known cognomens. The poor old Unicorn, although not fighting for the crown, had a hard time of it, and was branded with a very hard name. VOL. LX.-No. 359.-42 generally for rent, as people do not care to stay there very long-so says the story; and the Conestoga wagons and the grandfather have it all to themselves. Revolutionary ground is within a short distance; the foot-prints of Washington and Wayne are all around us; and from one of the picturesque homes dotted here and there we go forth on a bright September morning, pilgrims to the Mecca of Chester County-Washington's headquarters at Valley Forge. It is just far enough for a pleasant drive; but it seems immaterial where we start from, or what direction we take, in this gloriously dowered region, with its ever-varying hills and vales, farms and woods. The wealth of Chester Valley is spread around us on every side; the glow and haze, the purple lights and dense shadows, the deepening tints and fiery pennons, of early autumn are worked into the picture with a master's touch, and we OLD VALLEY FORGE BRIDGE. drive on as through a beautiful dream, with occasional awakenings at sight of a particularly rugged hill or deep declivity before us. For picturesque scenery always implies rough travelling, and rough it is beyond one's ordinary experiences; but the views we get over the shoulders of the hills atone for it all. In the course of events, however, five miles even of rocky road come to an end; and the latter part of the journey is along the edge of Valley Forge Creek. It is at first a stagnantlooking stream, but worthy in size of being called a river; beautifully wooded hills on one side, with here and there a farm-house lying calmly asleep on their bosom; on the other winds the picturesque road that leads to the village. The creek has a muddy complexion to the end; it widens out as we approach the town, and a decided movement is visible that gives it the look of a deep and rapid current. Some men are fishing from a boat in the middle of the stream; picturesquely ugly buildings are dotted about on the water's edge, a dilapidated old mill among them; a little in the distance, over the bridge, flashes by a train of the Reading Railroad; there are hills to the right of us, hills to the left of us, hills everywhere- we have reached Valley Forge. But why Valley Forge? For the most prosaic of reasons, according to the chronicler. "The forge up the valley, from which the latter has gained a name that will be famous for all time, was a noted gathering-place for the young men and farmers of the vicinity. Each had to wait his turn, for in those days every horseshoe and nail had to be beaten out by many heavy and laborious strokes of the hammer, by strength and sinews and brawn, and at a large expenditure of time, patience, and muscle. Doors, windows, and floors were secured with wrought nails at an enormous expense; the coulter of the plough was sharpened once a year, when the strength and dexterity of the smith and his helper were taxed to the utmost; while the wooden mould-board was always in a shattered condition, owing to the rude shocks it received in colliding with stones and blazed stumps." Valley Forge is a manufacturing place, and there is a constant hum of machinery from the paper, flour, and woollen mills. The neat little houses of the factory hands are gay with flowers and vines, while the handsome residence of the mill-owner towers castle-like above them. Past all these dwellings, at the end of the street, stands the old-fashioned stone edifice hallowed by Washington's presence. It is a plain, somewhat contracted-looking house, this Valley Forge shrine, after the usual type of ancient Pennsylvania homesteads, with a queer roof over the door, without either posts or pillars, shaped like the sounding - boards in old-time churches. The small-paned windows are long, and end in low, deep window-seats that could be sat in with ease; but they are not cushioned, or made the most of in any way. The entrance door opens in halves, and two broad flat stones lead to it. Nothing has been changed in the old house since Washington left it, with the exception of paper and paint; but it strikes the visitor as decidedly bare-looking, and by no means attractive as a place of residence. The admission fee of ten cents is appropriated by the Centennial Committee for the furnishing fund, their inten are quite distinct, also the reference to John, ii. 1-11. As yet, however, nothing has been ac- | which the words "Wasser" and "Wein" complished, and very little of interest is to be seen in the way of relics. The back room is the chief point of interest; and one of the deep window-seats is a box, the lid of which is labelled, "Washington's private papers, 1777," this receptacle having probably been made to avoid surprises. We are also shown a Revolutionary cannon-ball, the old anvil used in shoeing the horses of Washington and his troops, and an ancient fire-place with The most noticeable article of furniture in the room is an "old clock on the stair," which seems its legitimate place. It was not used, however, by Washington, having been imported from England by the grandfather of the present venerable occupant in 1784. The old Potts mansion has been purchased by the Centennial and Memorial Association, and in the deed of trust the | in the wildest imaginable spot, we come ground belonging to it is carefully estimated at two acres and eight perches. The long low stone barn that stretches across a large portion of one side is rough upon the tiny, quaint-looking church known as "Old St. David's at Radnor." Built of rough stone, the plainest of architecture, which seems to belong to no and plain-the same in appearance as when Washington stabled his horses there. Art has done little for the immediate surroundings, except to introduce the impertinent whiz of the factory opposite. A portion of the old intrenchments, which are some little distance off, still remains, and in the woods near by were the miserable barracks where the Continental army nearly froze and starved during the hard winter of 1777-78. Over the most break-neck of roads, and school save that of Pennsylvania Dutchthough in this case it happens to be Pennsylvania Welsh, for the chronicle says that it was established by a colony of Welshmen, who emigrated from Radnorshire, Wales, about the year A.D. 1685-characterizes this little temple in the wilderness. A luxuriant ivy, in pity for its ugliness, has veiled it over front and side with a mantle of living green that gives it an aspect of beautiful old age, and furnishes a charm that it must sadly have lacked in its youth. An open stairway of rough stone that leads to the diminutive gallery is entered from one side of the front-a peculiarity that forms one of its distinguishing features. The little church stands in the midst of its grave-yard, and the white stones gleam thickly amid the grass and evergreens. The grave of one William Moore, who died in 1781, is the stepping-stone to the low doorway. Said Moore is branded by tradition as a Tory of the deepest dye, and the disapproval of posterity in thus treading him under-foot is regarded in the light of a righteous retribution; but, like most GENERAL WAYNE'S GRAVE. stories, his resting at the church door has another side to it, indicating that it is a mark of honor, a request having been made for burial beneath the chancel, which was refused, but the next best place, that at the church entrance, tendered and accepted. The rude forefathers of the little Welsh hamlet crowd closely up to the sanctuary walls in their last sleep; and the discolored head-stones, with their nearly obliterated inscriptions, are as eloquent in their silent way as the poetical sermon still clearly to be deciphered as we stand on the tablet of William Moore-that of Evan Harry, 1748: Remember, man, as you pass by, As you are now so once was I; Wandering from one old grave to another, and thinking how sweet and peaceful a resting-place the ancient church-yard is, with its thick protecting wall and shadowing trees, we come upon a flat slab that offers security from the wet grass, while we spell out with some difficulty the quaint epitaph: WILLIAM : HERE LIETH: THE BODY OF EVANS WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE: THE: SEPTEMBER 29: 1731: AGED: 52: MY: PILGRIM RACE: I: RAN: A: PACE: MY: RESTING PLACE: IS: HERE: THIS: STONE: IS: GOT: TO KEEP YE: SPOT: THAT: MEN: DIG: NOT: TOO: NEAR. The most interesting spot, perhaps, in this ancient "God's Acre" is the grave of General Wayne; or rather the plural should be used in this case, for on the right of the church, among the tall grasses, a time-worn tablet marks the grave of Mrs. Wayne, and bears the additional inscription: MAJOR-GENERAL ANTHONY WAYNE DIED AT PRESQU' ISLE AGED 52 YEARS. HIS BODY IS INTERRED On the other side of the church a stately monument indicates the spot where the bones of the brave warrior were interred in 1809, having been brought from their original resting-place to be deposited amid the familiar scenes of his youth and manhood. This second funeral was a great event |