Margaret McVean was the daughter of the Reverend James McVean, who was born near Johnstown, New York, in 1796. He was a graduate of Union College in 1813, and of Princeton in 1819. It was said that he spoke seven languages with fluency and that the chair of Greek at Princeton was always open to him. He came to Georgetown about 1820 and married Jane Maffitt Whann in 1828. For twenty years he was the principal of a classical seminary for boys in Georgetown, the same one founded by Dr. David Wiley. There a large number of young men were prepared for college, who afterwards attained distinction in various professions or government positions of trust and honor. He was for twenty-five years superintendent of the Presbyterian Sabbath School. He died July 8, 1847, and as a testimonial of respect, the Board of Common Council and Aldermen, of which he was a member, suspended business for eight days, and crepe was worn on the arm for thirty days.

Another of these letters of Mrs. Cassin's tells that her son, William Deakins Cassin, has just become engaged to "that harumscarum Mittie Tyler." She fears for their future. Mittie (Mary) Tyler was the daughter of dear old Dr. Tyler across the street.

The mother-in-law's fears certainly did not materialize, for Mrs. Cassin, junior, lived a long and honored life. I remember her faintly when she was about eighty years old, with hair parted in the middle and combed down over each ear as "coal black as a raven's wing," as the old saying goes.

They all seemed to marry their neighbors in those days, for Sue, another daughter of Dr. Tyler's married Granville Hyde across the street.

The Hyde's house was next door to the Cassin's on the south. One can see that it is quite old, and it seems that it was built about 1798 by Charles Beatty, one of our old friends of the early days of George Town. He ran one of the ferries across the river to the Virginia shore. About 1806 he had sold the house to Nicholas Hedges; then it went to James Belt in 1822, and to Joshua Stuart in 1832. Later, it was bought by Mr. Thomas Hyde, one of the early merchants of Georgetown. His son, Anthony continued to live there and was for many years secretary to Mr. W. W. Corcoran. Anthony Hyde was very musical and was part of the orchestra which furnished the music in Christ Church before it had an organ. Here grew up Mr. Thomas Hyde, who was very prominent in Riggs Bank and an early president of the Chevy Chase Club. He was a very distinguished looking man to the day of his death.

On the northeast corner of Washington (30th) and Gay (N) Streets is where tradition says Ninian Beall built his hunting cabin when he landed here. That could be borne out by the fact that a very fine spring of water was on that property. Many, many years later the family of Judge Dunlop at 3014 N Street used to send for pitchers of water from that spring, as they had an inherited right to do so.

The long, red building there, now the Colonial Apartments, is still spoken of as The Seminary. It was there that Miss Lydia English conducted her fashionable school for young ladies for many years before the Civil War. This was the school to which Andrew Johnson, while senator from Tennessee, sent his daughter. Years after, when he was being criticized for his defense of Roman Catholics, his enemies brought against him the fact that he had sent his daughter to a "convent" in Georgetown. They had confused the Visitation Convent with Miss English's Seminary. It is said that the roster of the patrons of this school in those ante-bellum days included the names of the most famous men in the country.

Among those names was that of Senator Thomas Hart Benton of Missouri, nicknamed "Old Bullion," on account of his opposition to paper currency. He was one of the supporters of President Andrew Jackson in his war on the United States Bank. One of the pupils at the Seminary was his daughter, Jessie Benton, who afterwards became the wife of General C. Fremont, known as "The Pathfinder of the Rocky Mountains."



Miss English had large means of her own, which enabled her to keep her school going in spite of "ups and downs." But, when in need of advice, she would always turn to her near neighbor, James Cassin.

At one time she had nine teachers besides herself. In 1835 she had 130 pupils. It is said she was a stern headmistress, but she stood for all that was fine, and meant a great deal to Georgetown.

There is a story told of old "Aunt Abby," whose business it was to sit behind the parlor door whenever the young ladies had gentlemen callers, and how reassuring was the sound of her deep snores. Another story goes that the young bloods of Georgetown used to gather on the opposite corner where there was a pump and pretend to be getting a drink of water, while they were really serenading the hidden charmers, and that sometimes billet-doux and sweetmeats were drawn up in baskets unbeknownst to the "powers that were."

In 1859, Miss Harrover took over the school. The catalogue for that year calls it the Georgetown Female Seminary, and in the front is printed the following letter from Miss English:

To my former Pupils and their Parents, and to other Friends:

At the request of Miss Harrover, who, for two years past, has satisfactorily conducted the Institution, over which I so long presided, and the care of which I relinquished, only because the condition of my health and hearing made it imperatively necessary. I would state, that my interest in its prosperity is undiminished, that I earnestly desire to see it flourish, and that as far as I have it in my power, it is my wish to extend its usefulness.

In renting the Seminary, I retain my own suite of apartments, and have never withdrawn my residence from it. So far as I have influence, and opportunities, I endeavor to promote the improvement and comfort of the inmates of this establishment. I can not but feel a special interest in the children and other relatives of those who in former years were under my care and instruction, and it affords me much pleasure to see them pursuing their education within the same establishment. I shall rejoice to see the number of these, in the coming year greatly increased.

With kind greetings, and best wishes, I remain,

Yours respectfully,

June 20, 1859. L. S. ENGLISH.

Among the names of the pupils I find that of my mother, and many more familiar to me all of my life.

When the first battle of Bull Run was fought, with such disastrous results to the Union Army, this building was immediately taken over by the United States government as a hospital, and Dr. Armistead Peter, although a Southern sympathizer, was drafted to be in charge of it. An old lady has told me how she was brought by her nurse on that Monday in July, the day after the battle, to watch the unloading of the wagons full of maimed and bleeding soldiers.

The row of frame houses across the street, on N Street, was built at that time as barracks for the non-commissioned officers on duty at the hospital.

Apparently, after the war, Miss Harrover never resumed her school, as, in 1870, it was being used as an apartment house. I rather think it must be the oldest apartment house in the District.

The part of the building on the corner was torn down several years ago and the Edes Home built. It is a home for Georgetown widows. As the money for it was left by Miss Margaret Edes, who was certainly never a widow, and the wording of her will said "for the indigent widows of Georgetown," many people think it was a mistake and was meant to read "the indigent women of Georgetown."

Just across the street from the Seminary stands the house which was "Old Dr. Tyler's" home. First of all, it was the home of George W. Riggs; after that, for many, many years, that of Dr. Grafton Tyler, the beloved physician. He was a native of southern Maryland, and a cousin of President Tyler.

During his long life Dr. Tyler enjoyed many honors of high professional distinction and was the intimate friend and companion of distinguished statesmen, jurists, and scholars.

In those days doctors took families at "so much" a year, including the slaves. Not long ago I heard this story about the dear old doctor. For years and years he had attended a family where there was an addition almost annually, and he had never sent a bill. Finally, when they were all nearly grown, the father inherited a nice little sum of money. Not long afterwards Dr. Tyler was called in for a slight illness. When the first of the year came round Dr. Tyler sent a bill. The morning after its receipt the father burst into the doctor's office in a rage, "What did he mean by sending him a bill? Tut, tut!" And there the matter ended.



For a great many years Dr. Tyler was the physician for Georgetown College. It is still a tradition in the family about the turkeys and the very delicious raisin bread that came every Christmas from the priests.

His son, Dr. Walter Bowie Tyler, followed him, but not for long, as he had consumption, as tuberculosis was called in those days. He was asked to be pall-bearer at the funeral of a young lady who, as a dying request, asked to be carried up to Oak Hill because she had a horror of being put in a hearse. Dr. Tyler struggled along for two or three blocks when my father, who was very fond of him, stepped in, pushed him aside and finished the journey.

On the block above, on Washington (30th) Street, in a white, frame house on the west side of the street, lived Captain de la Roche, who was the architect of Oak Hill Cemetery and of Saint John's Church where he was a vestryman when it was remodeled in 1840. Apropos of that, several years ago while I was living away from Georgetown for a short period of years, on one of my return visits, I was standing on the corner of Dumbarton Avenue and 31st Street waiting for a street-car. The wait was long and I looked about me up and down the streets, to the westward, above the tree tops was an object totally strange to my Georgetown eyes, a church steeple of the somewhat Bulfinch type. I reasoned that it could not be anything but the steeple of Saint John's, but I knew I had never seen it look like that—it had always resembled a large pepper pot more than anything else. Upon inquiry, I found that not long before the vestry of Saint John's had found that some repairs were necessary on the tower, so one of their number, a civil engineer, ascended with an architect and while hunting around, they discovered part of the original tower still there, inclosed in the more modern square building. It was torn away and the old church now bears part of its original headdress. Only the lower story of the tower remains as the smaller ones which used to surmount it had, of course, been lost.

Captain and Mrs. de la Roche had three daughters; two of them had married officers in the United States Army. When the Civil War came their sympathies were with the South. One husband promptly resigned and went with the Confederates. The other would not resign but his wife, being a very resourceful person, kept after him, not being able to stand having a husband in the hated Yankee army, until, during a temporary illness, she got him discharged as not fit for marching.

Captain de la Roche having died, his widow was forced to take boarders at her table, and several of the Union officers availed themselves of the bountiful Southern fare. After a while the youngest daughter, who was a red-hot rebel, found herself deeply in love with a young Yankee doctor. I wonder if he was on duty at the hospital in the Seminary down the street? An engagement followed and the marriage was imminent, but she could not bring herself to confess to her friends that she was about to become the wife of one of the despised soldiers. Finally her mother told her she must at least tell Mrs. Cassin, their neighbor on the corner, who was very devoted to her. So she summoned all her courage and marched down the street. After a great deal of humming and hawing, she finally got out the news and asked Mrs. Cassin to come to the quiet wedding at the home next day, but said, "Please don't tell Mittie until it is over."

Around the corner from Washington (30th) Street, at 3018 Dumbarton Avenue, is the house that Mr. George Green built for his large family, when he sold his place, "Forrest Hill," which was part of Rosedale, to President Cleveland for his summer home. This is now the home of Justice Frankfurter.

Going westward along Dumbarton Avenue on the northern side of the street, now high up above it, stands the house where lived Jeremiah Williams, a prominent merchant, whose daughter married Paymaster Boggs. It is still sometimes called The Old Boggs Place.

The great bank of earth there shows what a deep cut had to be made when the street was leveled in the days when Alexander Shepherd, as Governor of the District, performed the office of surgeon on the streets of the city. He made of it a wonderful job, but was roundly hated by many of the property owners whom he left sitting way up in the air, or contrariwise, down in a hole.

The house is now divided into two houses—the one on the east, 3035, is the home of that fine commentator, Richard Harkness.

Across the street at 3040 is where Dr. and Mrs. Louis Mackall, Senior, lived and their daughter, Miss Sally Somervell Mackall who wrote her book about Georgetown called Early Days of Washington.

Before them the Edes family had lived there. The story is told of Miss Margaret, she who left the money for the Edes Home, one night, when she went up to her chamber, as they were called in those days, that she saw a man's boots protruding from under the bed. Instead of losing her head, she began whistling a little tune as she walked about the room, pulled out the bureau drawers as if looking for something, then went out of the room, closed the door and softly locked it, sent for the police and captured the burglar.

On the northwest corner of Dumbarton Avenue and Congress (31st) Street was the home of Judge Henry Henley Chapman, who came to Georgetown from Annapolis in the early twenties. He married Miss Mary Davidson, daughter of Colonel John Davidson whose brother Samuel was the owner of Evermay. Two of Judge Chapman's daughters married Francis Dodge, junior; first Jane, then Frances Isabella. His son, Edward, lived on in the home until his death when Mrs. Frances Isabella Dodge took it, had it remodeled somewhat, and entertained there a great deal. After her death it was bought by her stepson, of course also her nephew, Henry Henley Dodge, and I myself remember going to lovely parties given by his children in the big, old rooms.

The house was pulled down about 1900 and a row of brick houses built in its place. It was a handsome house, facing on Dumbarton Avenue, painted a greenish tan, with long porches running along the back building overlooking the yard which extended back to Christ Church. In this yard were two very handsome trees, one a horse chestnut and one a magnolia. It was enclosed by an iron fence, one of the kind despised and pulled down in the nineties, and now being eagerly sought and replaced in doing over old houses.



There is a delicious story of how, in the long ago, when all five of the daughters were still at home, a wandering cow got in at the gate, and at four o'clock in the morning (I hope it was the summer time) Aunt Peggy Davidson roused all the girls to go out and get the beast out of the garden. An old colored man was passing, delivering milk, and was heard to exclaim, "Good Gawd, Mis' Chapman's yard is full of ghoses!"

Immediately across from this house stood, and still stands, the old Berry house. It, too, shows how it was hoisted above the street when its level was changed. It was built by Philip Taylor Berry in the early 1800's and no other family had ever lived there until his last daughters died, ripe in years.

There were four of them, all old maids (Georgetown had five or six houses of four old maids in my childhood). These were in two sets, but the two older ones far outlived the two younger, who were always very retiring and delicate. When the last two were up in their nineties, being bed-ridden, one on one floor, the other on another, each with a nurse, they used to send messages to each other and exchange the novels which they read over and over again. At last, one night in the winter, the old house caught on fire and when the firemen got there it was so far under way that both old ladies had to be carried down ladders to the street, quite a perilous trip, which they both survived, however, and lived for several years thereafter.

The two older sisters were descendants of John Stoddert Haw; the two younger, of Samuel McKenney and thereby, of course, of Henry Foxall. One of them, I heard all of my childhood was very, very pretty, but, although they were both great friends of my mother, I never saw her face, for she never went out of doors without a heavy, blue barege veil. It is said her eyes were weak but there was, too, a romantic story of her having been "disappointed in love," as they said in those days.



A little farther west on Dumbarton Avenue on the north side of the street, above its stone wall topped with a white picket fence, is the old McKenney house. This is the house that Henry Foxall gave to his only daughter, Mary Ann, when she became the bride of Samuel McKenney in 1800. Until a few years ago, there lived here her granddaughter, Mrs. McCartney and her children and grandchildren, the fifth generation to live in the old house.

It was such a dear, sweet old house and the garden, too. At the marriage of the daughter of Mrs. McCartney, the lace wedding veil was the same that was worn long ago by Mary Ann Foxall, whose namesake she was.

The old house was full of treasures and curios, an exquisite little white marble clock which once upon a time ticked off the hours for Marie Antoinette, that beautiful and tragic queen. It was presented to Henry Foxall by his friend and partner, Robert Morris, who had gotten it from Gouveneur Morris, he having bought it in Paris. Also there was lots of lovely old Spode china, and there is a story told of how Aunt Montie was found one day feeding the cats from the priceless dishes. When reprimanded, she explained she didn't want to use any of the "nice new china."

In 1840 a maiden lady from Philadelphia came one day to have lunch, or midday dinner as I imagine it was in those days, and was planning to take the stage-coach for her return journey soon after the meal. She had been telling stories to the children and when the time for her departure neared, little Henrietta McKenney burst into tears; she didn't want such a delightful story-teller to go. Mrs. McKenney urged her to stay, so she agreed to stay for a day or two, at the end of that time, for a week or so. The time passed and she stayed on. Her visit lasted forty years, and was ended only by her call to another world. She had asked soon after her settlement into the home life for some duties so she took over the charge of the linen of the household and the making of the desserts. She had one fetich, the candles must be extinguished at ten o'clock. She had her way, even if guests were present—they were put out. She went to bed—they were relit. One night after her death, a young son of the house, about thirteen or so, was put to sleep in her room; at ten o'clock the candle just went out. Every night it happened; they hunted for drafts. No drafts could be located; the candles just always ceased to burn when the clocks reached the hour of ten.

In this block about 1820 Mrs. Mary Billings, an Englishwoman, opened a school where she started to teach both colored and white children together, but a great deal of prejudice arising on the subject, she devoted herself entirely to the colored race and continued to do so for a number of years until she moved over to the city. Later, Mr. Street's school for boys stood here. It was just opposite the old McKenney house with a yard running down almost to High Street.

The Methodist Episcopal Church on this block was formerly located on Montgomery (28th) Street. It had its beginning there in 1800. The church on the present site, which has a modern facade, was used as a Federal hospital during the Civil War, Dr. Peter being in charge of it as well as the Seminary.



On the other side of High Street stands St. John's Episcopal Church, the lot for which was given in 1796 by the Deakins' family. Reverend Walter Addison of Prince Georges County, Maryland, had visited George Town in 1794 and 1795 and held occasional services, so a movement was started to build a church. Among the subscribers were Thomas Jefferson and Dr. Balch. The first rector was Reverend Mr. Sayrs of Port Tobacco in 1804. Five years later he died and was immortalized in an epitaph in the church, written by Francis Scott Key:

JOB: J. SAYRS

HU: EEL

RECTOR PRIMUS

HIC

(QUO CHRISTI SERVUS FIDELITES MINUS TRAVIT)

SEP: JAO

OB: 6 JAN. A. D. MDCCIX

AET XXXV

HERE ONCE STOOD FORTH A MAN, WHO FROM THE WORLD THOUGH BRIGHT ITS ASPECT TO THE YOUTHFUL EYE, TURNED WITH AFFECTION ARDENT TO HIS GOD, AND LIV'D AND DIED AN HUMBLE MINISTER OF HIS BENIGNANT PURPOSES TO MAN.

HERE LIES HE NOW—YET GRIEVE NOT THEN FOR HIM READER! HE TRUSTED IN THAT LOVE WHERE NONE HAVE VAINLY TRUSTED—RATHER LET HIS MARBLE SPEAK TO THEE, AND SHOULDST THOU FEEL, THE RISING OF A NEW AND SOLEMN THOUGHT WAK'D BY THIS SACRED PLACE AND SAD MEMORIAL O LISTEN TO ITS IMPULSE! 'TIS DIVINE— AND IT SHALL GUIDE THEE TO A LIFE OF JOY, A DEATH OF HOPE AND ENDLESS BLISS THEREAFTER.

In 1807 the vestry included Charles Worthington, Washington Bowie, Thomas Corcoran, John Mason, Thomas Plater, Benjamin Mackall, Philip Barton Key, and William Stewart. A little later, in 1811, an old writer says: "At that time the church was thronged to an over flow with all who were most elevated in station and in wealth from the Capital; the pews in the gallery were rented at high rates and to persons of great respectability. The street before the church was filled with glittering vehicles and liveried servants."

In 1831 the vestry failed to elect a rector as successor to Reverend Mr. James. For seven years, the church was closed, worse than closed, for it fell into disrepair to such an extent that the birds and the bats made their nests in it, so that it was called "The Swallow Barn." A sculptor rented it for his studio, which scandalized many of its old-time worshippers who hated to think of the statues of heathen gods and goddesses in the temple of the Lord. At last, in 1838, a vestry was elected, and from that time, St. John's has always flourished.

In its chancel are paintings of the four evangelists done by the Reverend Mr. Oertel. He was also a wood-carver and a musician, and was from Nuremberg in Germany which, I suppose, explains why he was always called Master by his wife. They lived for a good while on Gay (N) Street. Mr. Corcoran bought several of his pictures for his gallery. His best known work was called "Rock of Ages," and represented a female figure with long hair and floating white garments clinging to an enormous cross. This picture was often used on Easter cards.

Several years ago a large boulder was placed on the bank of the churchyard, bearing this inscription:

COLONEL NINIAN BEALL

BORN SCOTLAND 1625 DIED MARYLAND 1717

PATENTEE OF ROCK OF DUMBARTON

MEMBER OF THE HOUSE OF BURGESSES

COMMANDER IN CHIEF OF PROVINCIAL FORCES OF MARYLAND IN GRATEFUL RECOGNITION OF HIS SERVICES "UPON ALL INCURSIONS AND DISTURBANCES OF NEIGHBORING INDIANS" THE MARYLAND ASSEMBLY OF 1699 PASSED "AN ACT OF GRATUITY" THIS MEMORIAL ERECTED BY THE SOCIETY OF COLONIAL WARS IN THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA, 1910

Just behind the church and adjoining it on little Potomac Street, is a house where, fifty years ago, used to live two old maid sisters who were absolute hermits. Their food was drawn up in a basket which they let down to an old family retainer containing the money with which to do their purchasing. Whenever the organ was played in St. John's, they used to take a hammer and beat upon the wall as long as the music continued.

The large yellow house at the southwest corner of Market (33rd) and Second (O) Streets is where Thomas E. Waggaman lived in the nineties. He built an addition on the west as an art gallery for his collection of pictures. It is now a separate house. Here, some years ago, lived Jouett Shouse at the time he formed his Liberty League. Recently, Colonel and Mrs. Alf Heiberg made it their home. They placed an eagle over the door and called it "Federal House."

Right across the street stood a dear old house some years ago. It was white, with double piazzas all the way across the front. The yard was enclosed by a paling fence and from the gate a double border of box led to the door. It was the home of Dr. Hezekiah Magruder.

About 1833 the family of Admiral James Hogan Sands lived there. William Franklin Sands, author of Undiplomatic Memories was one of his sons. The old house was torn down about 1890.

Across the street, at number 3318, is the home of Mr. and Mrs. David E. Finley. He is the Director of the National Gallery of Art.

Number 3322 is the interesting old house where, in the forties and fifties lived Baron Bodisco, Minister from Russia to the United States. He had a very romantic marriage of which I shall tell later. Just before the marriage he purchased this house from Sally Van Devanter, who had inherited it in 1840 from her husband, Christopher Van Devanter, apparently, the builder of the house. Baron Bodisco, the same day he bought it, gave it to his fiancee, Harriet Beall Williams. Whether it was a wedding gift or whether, as a foreign envoy, he could not hold property, I do not know. She kept the property for twenty years until her remarriage to Captain Douglas Scott, when it was bought by Abraham H. Herr. During the Civil War, it was headquarters for the officers of the Second U. S. Regiment, whose enlisted men were quartered in Forrest Hall.



But to return to the period when it was owned and occupied by the Van Devanter family. During these years, they apparently had a most interesting guest, Mrs. Henry Lee, the widow of "Light Horse Harry," and the mother of Robert E. Lee. In Dr. Douglas Freeman's book R. E. Lee, he quotes two letters from Mrs. Lee written not long before her death from "Georgetown." She did not specify where she was, but Mrs. Beverley Kennon, many years afterwards, said that this was the house in which she resided.

Also, the Van Devanter family, a few years ago, found among old books two books with inscriptions of names of the Lee family, evidently left there during this time.

Here, at a ball one night, a young man who was making his entrance into Washington society under the care of a senator had the following experience. (The account is taken from Harper's Magazine):

This was my first entrance into fashionable life at one of Madame Bodisco's birthnight balls. I was under the care of Senator ——. As we entered the house, two tall specimens of humanity, dressed very much like militia generals, in scarlet coats trimmed with gold lace and white trousers, met us at the door. Thinking them distinguished people, I bowed low and solemnly. They stared and bowed. "Go on," said the Senator, "don't be so polite to those fellows, they are servants; give them your cloak." I hurried in pulling off my cloak as I went. Just within the first door of the drawing room stood a fat, oily little gentleman, bowing also, but not so magnificently gotten up as my first acquaintances. Certain of my game now, I, in superb style, threw over him my cloak and hurried on. Senator —— pulled me back, and to the astonished little fellow now struggling from under my broadcloth, I was presented. I had nearly smothered the Russian Minister who, however, laughed merrily at the mistake. He hardly knew what I would accomplish next, and left me as soon as he possibly could, to my fate. I wandered about rather disconsolate. The lights, music, dancing, fun and laughter, were all novelties and charming for a while, but I knew no one after an hour's looking on, hunted up the Senator and begged him to introduce me to some of the young ladies. He hesitated a moment, and then consented, and I was led up to and presented to a magnificent creature I had long looked upon with silent admiration. Miss Gennie Williams, who was seated in an easy, nonchalant manner, conversing with a circle of gentlemen, and favored me with a gracious nod. As I stood wondering whether this was the end of my introduction, a mustached dandy came between us and said, "Miss Williams, permit me to relate the joke of the season." To my horror he began the story of the cloak. My first impulse was to knock him down, my second to run away; on my third I acted. Interrupting the recital I said: "Begging your pardon, sir, but Miss Williams, I am the only person who can do justice to that joke," and continuing, I related it without in any way sparing myself. She laughed heartily, as did the circle, and rising from her chair, took my arm, saying kindly that I must be cared for or I would murder some one. With a grace and kindness I shall never forget, she placed me at my ease.

Next door to this house, at one time, lived Hamilton Bronaugh.

Just across the street, the big red brick Victorian house is where James Roosevelt and his family were living in his father's first administration.

Around the corner on Frederick (34th) Street, the house which has a walled garden on the corner was the home of John G. Winant, when he was here before going as Ambassador to the Court of St. James.

A block or two north of here, at 1524 Market (33rd) Street, was the old Yellow Tavern, much used by those going to and fro to Rockville and Frederick Town.

On Fourth Street (Volta Place), where the playground is now, was where the old Presbyterian burying-ground used to be, which was the principal graveyard until Oak Hill was given to the town in 1849. Among the tombstones moved from there, when it was given up, were those of James Gillespie, member of Congress from North Carolina, who was the first member of that body to die after the removal of the seat of government, and John Barnes, who had been collector of the port, and who, in his will, left money for a poorhouse for Georgetown. He died in 1826 at the age of ninety-six.

On Sixth Street (Dent Place), between Market (33rd) and Frederick (34th) Streets, was the house which Francis Deakins sold on February 8, 1800 to Old Yarrow, as he was called, one of the most mysterious and interesting characters of the early days. It is not known whether he was an East Indian or a Guinea negro, but he was a Mohammedan. He conducted a trade in hacking with a small cart, and his ambition in life was to own a hundred dollars. Twice he saved it and each time ill fortune overtook him. The first time he gave it to an old groceryman he knew to keep for him. The old man died suddenly and Yarrow had nothing to prove that he had had his money. So the next time he picked a young man to keep it for him. Then this one absconded. Some of the gentlemen of the town became so interested that they took up a collection and started an account for him in the Bank of Columbia. He must have been quite a figure in his day, for his portrait was painted by James Alexander Simpson, and is now owned by Mr. E. M. Talcott, who inherited it from Normanstone.

Quite a number of attractive houses have been built in this neighborhood in the last few years and a good many "done over," all of them, fortunately, in the style suitable for Georgetown.

They are very largely owned and occupied by people connected with the Government, many of them in the State Department. In one of these houses, a few years ago, lived the writer, Michael Strange, who had been the wife of John Barrymore.



Chapter XIII

Third Street, Beall (O) Street, West (P) Street

On the southeast corner of Third (P) Street and Frederick (34th) Street, the attractive, low, white frame house is where Doris Fleeson lives, who writes such interesting articles for The Evening Star.

At 3327 is a fine tall old brick house painted yellow, which has for many years, until very recently, been the home of Hon. and Mrs. Balthasar Meyer. On the second story it has a lovely long music room used for dancing and by Sylvia Meyer, their daughter, the talented harpist of the National Symphony Orchestra.

Some of the Key family lived here years ago, I suppose, of course, relatives or descendants of those two famous lawyers here, Philip Barton Key and his nephew, Francis Scott Key. And nearby lived another real Marylander named Mary Ritchie.

And speaking of names, the strangest woman's name turned up in the title of 3321, which in 1818 was owned by Harry McCleery. He had five daughters and in his will left $3,000.00 to each of four of them; among these, one named Zerniah. To Clarissa, the fifth, he left the house he lived in (this house) and the stone houses on the corner adjoining, with all thereto belonging to be held in trust for her by her two brothers. I wonder if Clarissa was an invalid or if it was the law that, at that time, a woman could not hold property!

This house later on in the eighties and for twenty years or more was the home of the Humes. Mr. Thomas L. Hume and his wife, Annie Graham Pickrell left a large family of children when they died early.

Mr. Hume also owned a place a little way out of town. One day when General Grant, who was a friend of his, was there Mr. Hume said he couldn't think of a name for the place. General Grant looked around and noticing the walnut trees said, "Why not turn walnut around and call it "Tunlaw"?" And so Tunlaw Road came into being, back behind Mt. Alto Hospital.

Just to the east of 3321 P Street was the old Lutheran burying-ground. About the time of the Civil War it seems to have been abandoned and the records lost. And near here stands the Lutheran Church, the fourth building on this site, for this church dates back to 1769, when it was a little log building. According to tradition, Dr. Stephen Bloomer Balch preached his first sermon here when he came to be Pastor of the Presbyterians. A prized possession of this church is a very old German Bible printed in Tuebingen in 1730. Another treasured possession is the bell, over a hundred years old, which, at one time, was purchased by a congregation in West Virginia, but after twenty-five years, was reclaimed and brought back by a faithful church Councilman and housed under a small stone structure of its own. It is believed to have been cast in Europe.

Crossing High Street (Wisconsin Avenue) and cutting down to Beall (O) Street, one comes to what used to be Hazel's stable—his initials, "W. C. H." are in the bricks up in the peak at the top of the building. Here the doctors kept their carriages, here "hacks" were hired when needed for parties or funerals, and here was kept for a month or so every fall and spring my little bay mare, Lady Leeton, and the red-wheeled runabout which was brought in from Hayes for my use.

I can see Mr. Hazel now in his buggy, he weighed about three hundred pounds and his side of the buggy almost touched the ground as he drove about town.

At 3131, at the home of his daughter, is where General Adolphus Greeley was living several years ago when a very interesting event took place one spring afternoon, in 1935. I was walking down 31st Street when I heard the strains of "The Star-Spangled Banner." I wondered if I was hearing a radio but when I reached the corner of O Street I noticed a policeman and an Army sergeant chatting in the middle of the street and coming up O Street was Justice of the Supreme Court, Owen J. Roberts, bareheaded, with a lady, to whom he said, "They are probably saying, 'Some old geezer named Greeley'!" So I glanced west down O Street and there, drawn up along the southern sidewalk, was a company of U. S. Cavalry, red and white guidon of Company F from Fort Myer. Then I realized that it was the day of days for General Greeley. At last, on his ninety-first birthday, he was being decorated with the Congressional Medal of Honor. It had been many a year since his fateful expedition to the Arctic in search for the North Pole.

Just across the street from here now lives Senator Henry Cabot Lodge and a little farther on, the old house up on a low terrace is where the Lancastrian School was opened in November 1811 under Robert Ould. In a few weeks there were 340 boys and girls under tuition, and in 1812 an appropriation was asked for an addition to accommodate 250 more scholars.



The Lancastrian School was sustained by private contributions and municipal aid for thirty-two years. The name came from Joseph Lancaster, a Quaker, who started this system in England of coeducational schools, free to those who could not pay. Lancaster had a school of one thousand pupils in Southwark, but disagreements arising with some of the authorities, he emigrated to America in 1818. He died in New York in 1838.

About 1840, Samuel McKenney, whose house adjoined this property on the south, bought it and gave it to his daughter who had gone to southern Maryland to live, and so she came back to Georgetown. Her descendants, the Osbournes, lived there until just a few years ago when the "cult" for old houses in Georgetown began. When a garden was made there recently, some of the old foundations of the schoolroom were uncovered.

Almost next door is the Linthicum Institute, which still conducts its night school for white boys, and above it is the hall where the old Georgetown Assemblies are still held. Here also Mrs. Shippen has her Dancing Classes, and here now my grandchildren are learning where I had my first lessons in the same art. The old hall looks just as it did in my day.

Then at 3018 is Christ Church Rectory, where I happened to be born; it was not the rectory then.

Christ Church, as you recall, was founded in 1817 in Thomas Corcoran's house. The illustration shows the first church building of the three which have stood on this spot. It was begun May 6, 1818, and the first service held at sunrise on Christmas Day that same year, the rector being the Reverend Ruel Keith, who was Professor of Theology at the College of William and Mary, and later, in 1823, with Dr. Wilmer, founder of the Theological Seminary, near Alexandria.

Among the founders of Christ Church were Thomas Corcoran, William Morton, Clement Smith, Francis Scott Key, John Stoddert Haw, John Myers, Ulysses Ward, James A. Magruder, Thomas Henderson, and John Pickrell. The present building of Christ Church was erected about 1885. The windows which were made especially for it in Munich, Germany, are very beautiful. The big one in the north end was put there by W. W. Corcoran in memory of his father, Thomas Corcoran.

I have heard from the daughter of one of the belles of the fifties, whose family were Christ Church people, that in those days the beaux might join a lady after church and escort her home, but under no circumstances did they entertain callers on Sunday. All of the food for Sunday use was prepared on Saturday.

It was during the fifties that Dr. William Norwood was the rector of Christ Church. He was a Virginian and very outspoken in the expression of his political views in that day of heated opinions. So violent was the feeling that, although he had a brilliant mind and a saintly character, he was obliged to resign. He returned to his native State and was for many years the revered rector of St. Paul's, Richmond. I remember hearing that as a young man he had a classmate at college, Clement Moore, who one night came into his room, saying, "Norwood, I'd like to read you something I've written to see what you think of it." He sat down and read to him "The Night Before Christmas," that beloved old poem without which Christmas hardly seems like Christmas to me, even now.

Dr. Norwood was followed several years later by Reverend Albert Rhett Stuart, under whose leadership the present church was built. I remember the big basket which was carried around by a fine-looking, tall colored woman with articles for sale for the benefit of the Ladies' Aid Society of Christ Church.

The interesting white house over on the northeast corner was at one time the home of the Godeys, then of the Curtis family. When they lived there, "music filled the air," for a son and a chum of his used to sit out on the long, side gallery and play for hours on the violin and 'cello. It was for several years the home of Justice and Mrs. Owen J. Roberts.

Only two houses on this block are of any age. The little white cottage near the corner of Washington (30th) Street was the home of three Miss Tenneys and their sister, Mrs. Brown, who had a school for small boys and girls. Then the garden ran to the corner. The father of these ladies and of William H. Tenney had come to Georgetown from Newburyport, Massachusetts, in the early part of 1800.

Just across from it, the large yellow mansion was the home of Commodore Cassin, built by him, I think, in the early 1800's. In 1893 Mr. and Mrs. Beverley Randolph Mason, of Virginia, opened here their school, Gunston Hall, named, of course, for Mr. Mason's ancestral home, which continued in Washington as a flourishing boarding school for girls for fifty years. After that, this building housed the Epiphany School, an Episcopal institution.

The property along 30th Street here was all owned at one time by the Matthews family. Henry Cooksey Matthews came to Georgetown some years before 1820. He had been born in 1797 on the farm near Dentsville, in Charles County, Maryland, where his forbears had lived for four generations. He married his cousin, Lucinda Stoddert Haw, whose home, you remember, was on Gay (N) Street, and they built the large house on the southeast corner of Washington (30th) and West (P) Streets.

Mr. Matthews and his wife were devoted members of Christ Church and named their son for one of its rectors, the Reverend Charles McIlvaine, who later became Bishop of Ohio. Mr. Matthews used to play the flute in the orchestra in Christ Church.

Mr. Charles M. Matthews also married his cousin, who was a daughter of Thomas Corcoran, junior, and niece of W. W. Corcoran. Mr. Matthews, until his death, managed the estate of Mr. Corcoran. He built his home on the southern part of his father's lot at the northeast corner of Washington (30th) and Beall (O) Streets.

Back in the eighties Miss Charlotte and Miss Margaret Lee came from Virginia and opened The West Washington School for Girls, sponsored by several of the gentlemen of Georgetown, in the old home of Henry C. Matthews. There, in the last year of its existence, I learned the beginnings of the three R's.

Nearby, at number 3014 P Street, in the fifties and sixties, William R. Abbott conducted a well-known school for boys. At that time it was only a one-story building. Mr. Abbott was the son of John Abbott, whose home was on Bridge (M) Street. The Abbotts lived in the house on the west next door to the school. In later years it was occupied by the Lyons, Hartleys, and Parris families.

In one of these houses was the school for boys founded by Dr. David Wiley and continued for twenty more years by Dr. James McVean.

There is a fine row of houses just beyond here where have lived, at various times, the Magruders, the Kenyons, the Yarnalls, and, long ago, in the early 1800's, Colonel Fowler, who came from Baltimore and whose wife was a sister of Dr. Riley's wife, made his home at number 3030 West (P) Street.

For many years this house was used as the rectory of Christ Church. There lived Dr. Norwood and his large family of daughters, all of whom left their impression on the City of Richmond in after years. Also, Dr. Walter Williams, and Dr. Albert Rhett Stuart, of South Carolina, who was for twenty-five years rector of Christ Church.

The end house was the Morton's home for a great many years. Four unmarried sisters lived there long, long after their parents had gone. But parental influence was strong in those days, for one of them in her late seventies was still "engaged" to the love of her youth, disapproved of by her father. Once a week she met him and had lunch with him down town. He came sometimes to Sunday dinners, swathed in his long, black cape.

During the fall great droves of cattle and flocks of sheep from western Virginia were driven through the streets and gathered at Drovers' Rest, two miles west of town. Some days many thousands filled West (P) Street from morn to eve, and, occasionally, a wild steer ran amuck and then there was great excitement. Also, large flocks of turkeys, hundreds of them, were driven up from lower Maryland and passed through the streets to pens on the outskirts of town, where one could go and pick out his own bird.

Across the street at number 3019 is the house Mr. Linthicum built in 1826. Thomas Corcoran, junior, made it his home from then until 1856, when it was bought by John T. Cochrane for his sister, Mrs. James A. Magruder, who brought up there her three nieces and one nephew. Two of the nieces, Miss Mary Zeller and Mrs. Whelan, lived on there all their lives. Miss Mary used to tell me many tales of old-time days and ways. The old house remained entirely unchanged until about twelve years ago, when it was bought and done over inside. It had a lovely stairway and dignified, square rooms.

The row of three quaint little brick houses here seem to be an unknown quantity to even some of the oldest inhabitants and nearest neighbors. In number 3021, long ago, lived Horatio Berry, the brother of Philip Taylor Berry. In number 3025, the quaint locks on the doors all have on them a small, round brass seal, bearing the coat-of-arms of Great Britain, the lion and the unicorn rampant, also the name "Carpenter & Co.", and in the cellar are crossbeams hewn by hand.

Next we come to a pair of cottages, changed from their pristine loveliness—now the "Mary Margaret Home," for old ladies. The one at 3033 P Street in my girlhood was the home of Mrs. James D. Patton, the former Jennie Coyle. She gave me piano lessons for four years, but she gave me much more! She formed a group of girls into a King's Daughters' Circle, "The Patient Workers," which met at her house on Saturday mornings when we sewed and made articles which we sold at a Fair in the Spring. The proceeds were divided between the Children's Country Home and the Children's Hospital. There is still a brass plate in the hospital bearing the name, "The Patient Workers" for a bed we named.

The two big houses on the northeast corner of West (P) Street and Congress (31st) Street were built by Joseph H. Libbey, a well-to-do lumber merchant. They continued to be in his family for a long time. The one on the east now is the Catholic Home for Aged Ladies. In front of it is the largest and most beautiful elm tree in Georgetown. The two houses at 1516 and 1518 Congress (31st) Street, Mr. Libbey built about 1850 as wedding gifts for his two daughters, Martha, Mrs. Benjamin Miller, becoming the owner of number 1516. It is still owned by her descendants. Number 1518 has changed hands several times. It was where Richard V. Oulahan, the well-known newspaper correspondent, lived until his death several years ago. At that time it was said of him: "He gathered news like a gentleman and wrote it like a scholar."

Back in the eighties, a party was given at number 1518 one night for the young niece of two maiden ladies whose home it then was. The guests were about sixteen and seventeen years old, and the boys had all just arrived at the age where their most treasured possessions were their brand new derby hats. When the party broke up and the guests trooped upstairs to get their wraps, the young gentlemen found, on entering their dressing room, that on one of the beds reposed the crowns of all their derbies, while on the other, neatly laid out, were all the brims. The culprit was never caught. Only the other day one of the long-ago guests was told by the offender that he had been the originator of the diabolic idea.

If you look west along the next block of West (P) Street, you notice how different are the north and south sides. Along the south side are houses of an absolutely different period. All those on the north side were built in the seventies or later, including the Presbyterian Church, except the one on the corner of Congress (31st) Street, which was the residence of General Otho Holland Williams, a Revolutionary officer, who was in the same company with General Lingan. His house has, of course, been completely changed and made into two houses. It was never beautiful, but it was a dignified old mansion, with high steps leading up to a quaint doorway.

Across Congress (31st) Street, at number 3108 West (P) Street, the house with the high steps going up sideways was built by Judge Morsell about 1800. For a while, the Barnards lived there. Then the Marquis de Podestad, Minister from Spain to this country, made it his residence. After the Civil War, General George C. Thomas resided there. Next door is where the Shoemakers have lived for many years.

The house with the nice, old hipped roof was at one time owned by a Captain Brown. In the eighties and nineties the Misses Dorsey of Virginia had here a school for girls called "Olney Institute." Afterwards, Reverend Parke P. Flournoy, once a chaplain in the Confederate Army, lived here up into his nineties with his family.

Still a little farther on, and incorporated with the old Tenney house, now owned by Mrs. Stephen Bonsal, is where Miss Jennie Gardiner had a school for little children about the same time as the Dorseys' school. For some time before the Civil War it was the home of the Reverend Mr. Simpson, whose wife was Miss Stephenson from near Winchester. Her father, whose home was Kenilworth, near there, made her a present of the house. Following the Civil War, it was for a long time the home of William H. Tenney, who had a prosperous flour mill.

Just across the street from it, the imposing looking yellow house with the mansard roof is the one that Elinor Glyn bought and "did over," and then never lived in, as she decided to go back to England to her mother, who was in delicate health. Later it was the residence of Mrs. Isabella Greenway, Representative in Congress from Arizona.

A block from here just above Q Street on what is now dignified by the name of 32nd, but will always remain to old Georgetonians, Valley Street, lived a very interesting character, still remembered by some people in Georgetown as "The crazy man of Valley Street."

Among other shabby houses, one which was quite different in appearance and stood a little back from the street, with a tree in its tiny patch of a yard, was where he lived. It looked as if it had a story—and it had. It was told me not long ago by an old friend. I call him a friend, for whenever I went to the institution where he was a doorkeeper, I went back in memory to the years when he was our postman. In those days your postman was your friend. You thought over what your Christmas gift to him would be as much as a member of your family. Not like it is nowadays, when he drops your letters through a slit in the door. You don't know his name, you don't know what he looks like, you don't even know whether he is white or colored.

This is the story of "the crazy man of Valley Street." During the Civil War, Captain Chandler was in command of a United States vessel cruising in the Chesapeake Bay searching ships carrying contraband. He was accused of making a traitorous remark and dismissed from the service. His family was living at the Union Hotel, but they left and went to New York to live. He took his savings and built for himself the little house on Valley Street. Its interior was made to resemble exactly the cabin of a ship.

My friend told me that his first encounter with the old gentleman was one Monday morning about nine-thirty when, having been changed to this new route, he stopped to open the gate to deliver a letter. It was locked. He knocked. At last a window was thrown up and the old man's head emerged. He said the captain looked very much like the pictures of General Robert E. Lee.

Seeing it was the postman with a letter, he said he would open the gate, so he pulled a rope—and presto! open it flew. He said he never opened it until ten o'clock in the morning and wanted to know if his mail could be delivered after that, which the carrier obligingly offered to do, by changing his route somewhat.

After that, for years, Mr. Postman was a friend to the old man, though he never really entered the house. Each month a check for twenty dollars would come from a nephew in Chicago, which the postman would take to Mr. Berry with a note from the captain, asking to have it cashed, and specifying the number of dollar bills, fifty-cent pieces, quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies. A little colored boy who lived nearby was commissioned occasionally to purchase necessary food, but the old man himself never went out except after dark.

Finally, one day when the little boy came to do the errands, he could get no answer to his knock, so he got a man to lift him up where he could peer over the high board fence at the side and look into an open window. Through it he saw the old gentleman, sprawled out in a big chair, immovable. They broke into the house and found that he was paralyzed. He could not speak, but shook his head when they said they wanted to call help from the police. He was laid on a mattress on the floor, and before long, all his troubles were over.

His nephew came from Chicago, bought a lot in Rock Creek Cemetery and had the old gentleman decently buried. But not long after, his son in New York, reading of it in the paper, came down and had his father reinterred in the family lot in Oak Hill. So, in death, the old gentleman was accorded the honor of two funerals.



Chapter XIV

Stoddert (Q) Street

Coming east from Valley (32nd) Street is the lovely old house which the Seviers bought in 1890. It has never had a name. It was built by Washington Bowie, another of the shipping barons. His wife was Margaret Johns before becoming Mrs. Bowie. This whole block was his estate and was entered in his day through the double iron gates on West (P) Street. The carriages passed up and around a circle of box to the path, bordered with box leading to the porch with its lovely doorway. The doors opening into the hall that runs right through are of solid mahogany with big old brass locks. In the dining room is an especially beautiful white wood mantel, carved with a scene of sheep and shepherds. The tradition is that L'Enfant planned the garden, and also left his spectacles lying on the piano.

In 1805 the place was bought by William Nicolls of Maryland, whose wife was Margaret Smith, a descendant of Captain John Smith. They had two daughters, Roberta, who married William Frederick Hanewinckel of Richmond, and Jennie, who married Colonel Hollingsworth. The Hanewinckels used to come back to the old home sometimes in the summer, even to the grandchildren, and the descendants still love the old place and consider it their ancestral home, for they had it longer than any other family. Colonel Hollingsworth was the superintendent of Mount Vernon before Colonel Dodge. I remember Colonel Hollingsworth well, a tall, fine-looking old gentleman, with a long, white beard. Of course, in those days we went to Mount Vernon by way of the river, on the steamer W. W. Corcoran. It is still, I think, by far the most pleasant way to approach the dignified old mansion, and Captain Hollingsworth would often be on the boat and talk with us. I've never forgotten the dear old-fashioned nosegay he picked and gave me from Mrs. Washington's garden. Mrs. Hollingsworth was a tiny little old lady. I can see her now with her snow-white hair and her big, black bonnet. Poor soul, it was a terrible trial to her when the place had to be sold after her husband's death.



It was put up for auction in 1890, and Mr. and Mrs. John Sevier, who happened to be visiting Mr. and Mrs. Henry Dodge in Georgetown at that time, though they spent a great deal of their time in Paris, heard of the sale and bought the house on the spot. Mr. Sevier was a descendant of the famous Tennesseean of that same name. Later they added the wings extending far out on each side, which are really two charming little houses. The old garden is still full of wonderful box, and besides, there are lots and lots of lovely roses, the pride of their stately mistress.

Mrs. Sevier told me of being at a spa in Germany one summer when she was young, with Mr. Sevier. When they asked for the first floor apartment instead of theirs on the second, they were told by the proprietor that it was engaged for "some Englishman; he did not know whom." It turned out to be the then Prince of Wales, Edward VII. The prince, on seeing her, asked to be presented. She was very beautiful then, tall and fair. She met him three times, in the garden or at the spring. When he was leaving, he asked to say good-bye. She, unthinkingly, stood on the step above him, (a terrible faux pas, she learned afterwards), gave him some roses, and he presented her with a bouquet surrounded by lace paper; it was the custom, always, on leaving a place.

When my father built his house in 1884 on the southwest corner of Stoddert (Q) Street and Congress (31st) Street, it was in part of the orchard of the old Bowie place. Some of the pear trees were still there. Today there are six houses on the lot where his house stood with its big gables and its many porches, surrounded by a fine lawn in which he took great pride. This house caused a good deal of comment at the time of its building from the fact that it had a bathroom on every floor, one being, of course, a "powder room." But to have a bathroom in the basement for the servants in those days was unheard of. It was just as good as the others, a tin-lined tub, of course, would be horrible to the present generation!

The house was always brimming over with people, young and old, for occasions both grave and gay. One very grave one happened about two years after we moved there, and another "first" in Georgetown was there—the first trained nurse in Georgetown. Early in the month of May diphtheria seized the eldest daughter, then about fifteen. Two days later, another succumbed, a beautiful little girl of five. There was no anti-toxin in those days. In four days little Eleanor Hope was dead. Two days later a little cousin visiting there, was taken, and two days later still, the three remaining well children were sent out one afternoon for a drive with Grandpa in the Dayton-wagon, an old-time version of the present-day station wagon. We thought it was kind of strange to go to drive in the rain, but it wasn't really raining hard, so we stopped where the Cathedral Close is now and picked bluets and violets. When we got home we were told we had a new little brother! Wildly excited, we rushed upstairs and assaulted the door of mother's room. It was opened by old Aunt Catherine, the colored mid-wife, who had been told not to admit anyone, but mother called us and in we went. An hour or so later I was the fourth victim of diphtheria! I still have vivid memories of it all, and of Miss Freese, the trained nurse.



She wore a uniform of blue and white striped cotton, long to the floor, but, strange to say, her hair was short, unusual for those days. I can still see the animals she cut out of paper—elephants, horses, and cows. Dear Aunt Ellen and Auntie helped with the nursing, and father even stayed home some days to help!

These were some of the grave days, now to come to the gay. I remember the big reception for father's and mother's silver wedding anniversary, when I and my two chums, I in red, one in white, and one in a blue dress, stood back behind this fine couple, thinking we were so wonderful! My best friend lived right across the street, and we rigged up a line from my window to hers on which we sent little notes by pulling the line around.

My two elder sisters had many beaux, and I mean, "many." I can remember when some times twenty young gentlemen came to call on Sunday evening. Of course, there were not many "dates" in those days, unless to go to the theatre or a party of some kind, dancing or euchre.

One Sunday night when the butler was off duty, my brother, home from Princeton, answered the door bell. A gentleman entered, asking if the ladies were at home; he handed his silk hat to John, then his cane, then his coat, and then, he said "Now, announce me!" He was announced! As he sat on the sofa by my cousin, a visitor from Kentucky, a real Kentucky belle, a horrified expression came over his face. She, thinking he had been attacked by the new disease, appendicitis, which she had heard was very painful, asked what was the matter, to which he replied, "I have just discovered I have on blue trousers instead of black!" He was in his full-dress suit.

On our side of Congress (31st) Street was one of the houses holding four old maids, the daughters of John Davidson, one of the oldest names in Georgetown: Miss Adeline, Miss Nannie, Miss Kate, and Miss Martha. Their mother had died on her knees in Christ Church from a stroke.

Across the street lived four maiden ladies by the name of Mix—one of their brothers married a Miss Pickle!

Of course, before Stoddert (Q) Street was cut through, the Bowie house adjoined the property of Tudor Place, and they were on a level. I can remember when the street was paved, and now that it is one of the busiest boulevards of the city, it seems almost impossible to believe that back in the nineties a houseful of charming-girls, real old-fashioned belles, used often to "erupt" with their many beaux from their home on the neighboring corner, at eleven o'clock some evenings, and have a dance right in the middle of the street—two-steps and waltzes galore!



On the southeast corner of Congress (31st) Street and Stoddert (Q) Street stood, until 1893 or 1894, the very interesting old house where Francis Dodge and his large family lived for many, many years. The illustration does not do justice to the dear old house, but I wanted to give some idea of it as a whole, so selected this one. The long, southern side overlooking the garden had tiers of white wooden galleries and the face of the house under them was plastered white. In the center of the long stretch of wall was a lovely, big doorway with a fanlight, of course, and at the end of the porch, a smaller door which entered a projecting wing of the house.

The place was enclosed by a low, brick wall topped with a white picket fence, and standing near the corner was a gorgeous horse-chestnut tree. Whenever I see one now, I recall this particular tree with its lovely blossoms in the spring and their delicious fragrance. A flight of wooden steps led from a brick walk at the gate to the gallery, and another flight from the same walk down into the garden. Under the porch was a brick pavement where was the pump, and then there was the garden—a wonderful old garden adorned with a maze of box which, of course, enclosed flower-beds.

The whole square, bounded by Congress (31st), West (P), Washington (30th), and Stoddert (Q) Streets, belonged to this estate. It was originally the property of Nicholas Lingan who owned the mill on Rock Creek, and who was a brother of General Lingan. At that time, these big places really were farms, with stables for horses, cows, pigs, and chickens.



In 1810 the property was bought by Francis Dodge, who, as I have said before, had come from Salem as a lad of sixteen to join his brother, Ebenezer, who was established in a prosperous coastwise shipping trade, dealing largely with the West Indies.

One of the first experiences young Francis had, after his arrival in 1798, was one afternoon when he returned from a row up the river, and as he was mooring his boat, he noticed an elderly gentleman hurrying down the street and out onto the wharf. The gentleman asked if the ferry was in yet, and when the boy turned to answer him and looked into his face, he saw that it was General Washington. Francis replied that the ferry had gone and, noting the terrible disappointment of the great man, offered to row him across the river in his own little boat. The General gladly accepted, and during the crossing asked the young man his name. "Francis Dodge, sir," the boy replied, at which the General exclaimed, "By any chance related to Colonel Robert Dodge, who served so gallantly with me during the War?" "Yes, General, he was my father." "Oh, indeed!" said he, "I am greatly pleased to know you, young man. You must come to Mount Vernon some time to see me."

Whether or not Francis Dodge got to Mount Vernon before the General's death the following year, I do not know, but for over forty years his grandson, Colonel Harrison H. Dodge, was the honored superintendent there.

Young Francis was taken into his brother's counting house, and a few years later, in 1804, was sent to Portugal to investigate trade conditions in Europe. In 1807 he married Elizabeth Thomson, a daughter of William Thomson, of Scotland. They first resided below Bridge (M) Street, west of High (Wisconsin Avenue), probably in Cherry Lane, where lived also, according to tradition, Philip Barton Key, the Maffits, and other families of distinction.

Mr. and Mrs. Dodge had the usual large family of those days, six sons and five daughters, and all grew to maturity. While they were still small children, however, the British came to Washington, causing great alarm to the citizens of George Town also. Mr. Dodge apparently sent his family out somewhere near Rockville, for this is a letter he wrote to his wife at that time. It gives an interesting picture of those exciting days:

Georgetown, Aug. 26, 1814, 12 o'clock A. M.

Dear Wife:

We have positive information that the British have left the City on the Baltimore road, and passed the toll-gate last night. Some of their pickets are still around the city.

We believe they are either going to their shipping on Patuxent or direct to Baltimore; or that they received information of an intention to attempt to cut them off. At all events I am satisfied you would be perfectly safe here, and much more comfortable than where you are. I wish yourself, the child, Emily, Frank, and Isabella, to come home and bring, if you can, one bed. Peggy and Betty can come if they please.

Not one Englishman has been in this town or within sight of Ft. Warburton below. They have burnt all public property in the city. It was a dreadful sight. The rope-walks in the city are destroyed. The General Post Office and Jail stand. I hope they will not return here again and can't think they will, they behaved well.

The town was very quiet last night and I got a good sleep for the first time. I hope you are well.

Yours affectionately,

F. DODGE.

Aug. 27, 7 o'clock A. M.

After preparing yesterday to send this, William came and advised to postpone till today. You can all come now in the stage, bringing all the books and what else you can.

We have no news today but expect the British are near their shipping. We have escaped wonderfully.

The stage ran daily from George Town to Rockville. I think it was also called "the hack," for, in old letters from my own ancestors at Hayes, out in that direction, they write of "sending the seamstress out by the hack."

As the boys approached years of discretion, not having been spoiled by sparing the rod, their father gave to each an identical circular, setting forth what should be their "guide through life." His admonition to "read the Bible daily and regularly," was based upon his own remarkable habit in that respect. That he managed to read five chapters consecutively every morning and thus encompass the whole in seven months, is borne out by the periodic notations in his Holy Book. The circulars read as follows:

My practice (and my advice to all) is: if you wish to appear decent shave every morning below ears and nose, cut your hair short all over the head, wear white cravats, no boot-straps or pantaloon straps.

If you expect or desire to live in old age with few pains, and in the meantime be clear headed and well, and thriving in your business, rise before the sun, retire early, taking seven to nine hours in bed. Eat regularly and moderately of plain food, plainly cooked; no desserts except green fruit, drink no kind of liquor except water and the like; use no tobacco in any way.

Read five chapters in the Bible regularly through, before breakfast, support religious societies and go to church twice every Sabbath Day. Take moderate exercise, attend to your business and keep it always in order and under your Government, never over-trade, hold your word as binding as your bond, be security for no one, seldom any good comes of it, but often miserable distress.

Be as liberal as you can, consistently, to your kin, if in need and worthy, perform all your duties to your family and neighbors.

The above I practice almost to the letter.

F. DODGE.

P. S.—Again, say little or nothing about yourself, your family, or your business. Talk but little—listen.

Speak as well as you can of all, expose faults only when you believe it well to do more good than harm, all have foibles and few are free from faults, most, some good traits of character.

This post script I am endeavoring to practice.

F. DODGE, 1847.

Act well your part, there all the honor lies, Read, heed!

The above attended to with strict economy, industry and like, will carry you through this life with honor and credit.

The education of the two oldest sons, Francis, junior, and Alexander Hamilton, seems to have been planned to fit them specially for commercial life, to succeed their father in his well-established business. Francis was sent to Georgetown College and Alexander to Princeton—he graduated in 1835. Robert Perley Dodge graduated from Princeton in two years, standing fifth in a class of seventy-six. He then entered a school of engineering in Kentucky. In six months he completed a major course. He rated so high that he was offered a professorship in mathematics, but declined, and became a civil engineer.



William and Allen Dodge received special practical training in agriculture and animal industry at the Maryland Agricultural College. Mr. Dodge bought William a farm near Hagerstown, and for Allen one near Bladensburg, but, due to the Civil War and the abolition of slaves, both of these highly developed ventures failed, and the farms were sold. Charles, the youngest, attended Georgetown College, and took up commercial and export business. In 1862 he was offered command of a Confederate regiment but declined, being a Unionist. He accepted, instead, the rank of major and paymaster in the Federal Army and served throughout the war. For a time he was interested in gold mining in Maryland, and in 1889 succeeded his brother Frank (then deceased) as collector of customs of the District of Columbia.

On the twelfth of June, 1849, a remarkable event took place in this old house—a wedding ceremony at four o'clock in the morning of four of the children of Mr. and Mrs. Dodge. Adeline was married to Charles Lanman; Virginia to Ben Perley Poore, a well-known correspondent of Harper's Weekly in those days; Allen Dodge to Miss Mary Ellen Berry, and Charles Dodge to Miss Eliza G. Davidson of Evermay. The weddings were celebrated at this unusual hour so that the bridal couples could take the regular stage leaving Georgetown for Baltimore at five o'clock. At least it was a cool time of day for the celebration, and how beautiful it must have been with the dew lying on the box and the roses, and the birds twittering their sunrise notes. What a jolly time these four couples must have had, starting off together. Let us hope their spirits were not too much dampened by the fact that their father would not witness the ceremony, as it was at variance with his religious scruples that it was not conducted in a church. Reverend N. P. Tillinghast, then the rector of St. John's Church, must have officiated, as the Dodges were always ardent supporters of St. John's.

The only two members of the family who did not marry were Miss Emily and Miss Elizabeth Dodge. They were the eldest of the girls, and I imagine that practically no one could get up the nerve to ask the old gentleman for their hands. Major Ben Perley Poore used to say that the most momentous hour he could remember was the one spent in Mr. Dodge's office waiting to see him to ask for the hand of Virginia, and he had faced guns when he said that.

In 1851 Francis Dodge died at the age of sixty-nine. He was a very good citizen; his judgment was sought on all matters of public interest connected with the town, besides exercising a controlling influence over commercial transactions. At that time tropical fruits such as oranges and bananas were luxuries, and it is remembered that Mr. Dodge used to send baskets of them around to his friends whenever one of his vessels would arrive from the West Indies.

When I was a little girl, living across the street on the opposite corner from this house, it was always spoken of as "Miss Emily Dodge's." I can remember her well when she would come out on the gallery and walk up and down. She seemed never to go away from the house. She was rather small, had snow-white hair in long curls about her face, and was usually wrapped in a white shawl. I have been told that she was terribly afraid of fire and burglars, so slept fully dressed. Each morning she bathed and re-clothed herself. At night she lay down and slept as she was. At the time I remember, Miss Emily occupied part of the big wing of the enormous house and Allen Dodge and his wife were living in the lower floors of the wing. His wife was quite an invalid, and I do not recollect ever seeing her.

The main part of the house was occupied for one winter by Dr. Stuart, the rector of Christ Church, and his family while the new rectory at number 1515 31st Street was being built.

After the death of Miss Emily Dodge, the place was sold to close the estate, and pulled down, thereby deleting from Georgetown one of its most distinctive and charming features which today would have been invaluable. I remember weeping bitterly when I heard it was to be torn down; even then, a half-grown girl, I loved old houses.

The two cottages on West (P) Street at numbers 3033 and 3035, were built by Mr. Dodge. In the latter, until her death, lived Mrs. Charles Lanman (Adeline Dodge). Mr. Lanman was a native of Newburyport, Massachusetts. He was a very scholarly man, wrote A Life of Daniel Webster, who was his friend, and other books, and for a long time was connected with the Japanese Legation.

For many years they had a young Japanese girl, Ume Tschuda, making her home with them while she was being educated in this country. The Lanmans had no children of their own, and looked upon her almost as an adopted daughter. She has had a very remarkable career as head of an important school in Japan.

Another house built by the Dodges on their farm is the one on 30th Street, now doubled in size and occupied by Dr. Gwynn. Here Henry H. Dodge lived until he moved into his mother's former home, the Chapman house, on Congress (31st) Street and Dumbarton Avenue.

On the southeast corner of Stoddert (Q) and Washington (30th) Streets, what is now Hammond Court, an apartment, was the house built by Francis Dodge, junior. In the group picture shown, he and Alexander Hamilton Dodge are the two seated in the middle of the front row. A. H. Dodge is the only brother not adorned with a beard. Was there ever a more wonderful display of six stalwart handsome brothers? In fact, good looks are to this day inherent in the Dodge family.

I have already told a good deal of the history of Francis Dodge, junior, of his marriage to the two daughters of Judge Chapman. He had a son and a daughter by each wife.

In 1851, at the death of Francis Dodge, senior, his splendidly established West Indies business continued under the management of the eldest sons, the name being changed to F. & A. H. Dodge. On the basis of their business alone, Georgetown was made a port of entry and a custom house was established here.

Each year there was a sale for buyers from large cities in the North on the Dodges' wharf. It was quite an occasion. The counting house was capacious, and decorated with all sorts of curios from the tropics: sharks' jaws, flying fish, swordfish and sawfish; elaborate lunches were served to the patrons, with cigars and drinkables; chairs and benches were placed out on the platform overlooking the river. On summer afternoons, this was a great meeting place for the friends of the two Dodges.

Many bidders assembled on these advertised dates, hauling commodities away as purchased, some to the rail depot, some to storage, which kept the firm officials and stewards busy. One of the faithful employees was Richard McCraith, a newly arrived Irishman from Cork. He had that noted propensity of his race for getting orders twisted, but his endeavors to do right were so earnest and conscientious that his unintentional errors of judgment were condoned. One urgent order from a patron asked for delivery to bearer of two sacks of coarse salt. For its hauling the bearer had a cart. "Here, Richard, go with this man to the warehouse on High Street and see that his cart is backed up close to the door. The salt is stored in the third floor. Load it carefully on the hand truck, wheel it to the window and let it down 'by the fall'—do you get that straight?" "Yis sir, yis sir!" Presently a man burst into the office, exclaiming excitedly, "That wild Irishman of yours has raised hell up the street. He dumped a sack of salt weighing 200 pounds from the third story to the cart underneath, broke both wheels, and the horse has run away with the wreck." (Enter Richard!) Said the angry boss, "Now, what the devil have you done?" Richard: "Yis sir. Didn't you tell me to let it down 'by the fall'? I did, sir."

In 1867 Francis Dodge, junior, sold this fine house to Henry D. Cooke. In 1877 he was appointed collector of customs. He was quite an old gentleman by that time, and the glories of Georgetown's maritime trade were beginning to be a thing of the past. In fact, with the coming of the railroads, the huge business of the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal was injured, and from then on the commercial importance of the town began to dwindle.

Henry D. Cooke, who purchased this house, was the brother of Jay Cooke, and came to Washington to manage a branch of his brother's large banking enterprise. He was an intimate friend of General Grant, and I have read that the general was so fond of his company that he would sit in his carriage for an hour outside Mr. Cooke's place of business, waiting for him to go driving.

Claude Bowers, in his most interesting book The Tragic Era, speaks of a brilliant ball given the night before the "breaking of the bubble of the Credit Mobilier" in 1873, by Henry D. Cooke. It was in this house that the ball took place. Can't you picture the coaches as they rolled up to the door, discharging the ladies in their crinolines, laces, satins, and flowers, attended by the gentlemen wrapped in the long cloaks of that period? Kate Chase Sprague was in the height of her beauty and power at that time and was, of course, among the guests on that fateful night.

Mr. Cooke was the first governor of the District of Columbia when that new form of municipal government was begun, to last through only three terms. There were twelve children in the Cooke family then living in this house. They were ardent members of St. John's Church—the font there being in memory of one little son. Mr. Cooke built Grace Church, the little gray stone church down below the canal near High Street (Wisconsin Avenue). It was intended for the canal people of whom there were many at that time.

Governor Cooke bought a great deal of property and built four sets of twin houses along the north side of Stoddert (Q) Street, which were called, until a few years ago, Cooke Row. In Number One, near Washington (30th) Street, lived one family of his descendants, one of whom, a young man, played the piano very well. In Number Three, lived Mrs. Shepherd from Philadelphia, a widow, who had one son. He was the first person I ever knew to commit suicide. It was a terrible shock to the town when we heard one morning that he had shot himself the night before. It was not such a common event in the nineties as nowadays.

In one of these houses lived Commodore Nicholson, and in another lived Admiral Radford, whose lovely daughter, Sophy, became the bride of Valdemar de Meisner, secretary of the Russian Legation. In Number Four, lived Mrs. Zola Green with her daughter and her two sisters, named Pyle—one of them was called Miss "Chit-Chat." Mr. Green, who was a descendant of Uriah Forrest, had been given the name of Oceola after the Indian Chief who had saved the life of his father years ago out West.

At Number Five Cooke Row, now 3021 Q Street, lived during the nineties, Dr. Walter Reed, of the United States Army, whose name is honored by being given to the huge General Hospital in Washington because of his association with the discovery of the cause of yellow fever. I recall a most delightful party at the Reeds on St. Valentine night in 1899, given for friends of their son. When the invitations were sent out, we were told the name of the young man or girl to whom our valentine was to be written. It was at the time of the tremendous blizzard of that year, and we walked to the party between drifts of snow piled higher than our heads. But it was anything but cold when we got inside—open fires and jollity! Dr. Reed read aloud the poems, one by one, and we had to guess the authors and to whom they were addressed. In the library, ensconced in mysterious gloom, seated in a corner on the floor was a fortune-teller. It was a perfect party!

Next door, at Number Six Cooke Row, for a great many years, lived William A. Gordon, junior, and his family. Mr. Gordon wrote some very valuable brochures of historical interest about Georgetown and his memories of it from his childhood. This house is now the home of Mrs. Henry Latrobe Roosevelt. During World War II, this was the home of Sir John and Lady Dill, when he was here representing Great Britain on the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

At Number Seven lived the Misses Trapier—four old maids again!

J. Holdsworth Gordon, brother of William A. Gordon, built a house across the street. For him the Gordon Junior High School has been named, he having been for a long time on the board of education.

Next door to him on the east, at number 3020, is an attractive old house, and in the nineties it was filled with a family of four charming daughters. They were related to the Carters of Virginia, and so had given two of the most imposing names of that great family to two small fox-terriers that they adored, "King Carter," and "Shirley Carter." The latter had met with an accident and had to have one of his hind legs amputated, but he got about very nimbly on his other three. They always accompanied Colonel B. Lewis Blackford, the head of the house, on his trips about town. One day as he was nearing home, an old lady who walked with a cane was just about to pass him when "Shirley Carter" hopped immediately across his path; "Get out of my way, you damn tripod!" he said, in his exasperation, just escaping being tripped up. The old lady, thinking the "tripod" referred to her adjunct of a cane, was quite infuriated, even to summoning across the street a gentleman who was passing, and to wishing him to "call the Colonel out!"