A Portrait of Old George Town Part 20

AET x.x.xV

HERE ONCE STOOD FORTH A MAN, WHO FROM THE WORLD THOUGH BRIGHT ITS ASPECT TO THE YOUTHFUL EYE, TURNED WITH AFFECTION ARDENT TO HIS G.o.d, 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 G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses 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 a.s.sEMBLY OF 1699 Pa.s.sED "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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BODISCO HOUSE]

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 b.a.l.l.s. 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 Amba.s.sador 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 princ.i.p.al 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 t.i.tle 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 Tubingen 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.