Looking to the East, when the sun is in midheavens, the white shaft of the Washington Monument gleams against a southern sky, blue and soft as Italy's. Bold and precipitous they drop 125 feet to the murmuring edge of the waters under the eloquent shade of the giant trees and luxuriant foliage. The foot-hills of the Blue Ridge Mountains hurry down to the Potomac at Glen Echo and there pause in high plateau overlooking the long descent of the majestic river.
