It was in Washington as the head of the Federal Party that that distinguished orator, Daniel Webster, made his indelible impress on American history.
In the old “Union Tavern” on a site now occupied by a large apartment building one could have found hobnobbing with resident genius, in that early yesterday, such guests as Louis Phillipe, Count Valney, Lord Lyons, Baron Humboldt, Charles Talleyrand, Jerome Bonaparte, Washington Irving, Charles Dickens, General St. Clair, Lorenzo Dow, John Randolph, and perhaps Charles Goodyear, when he was asking for a patent for vulcanizing rubber.
Even the dashing Robert E. Lee, leaving his ancestral home overlooking Washington, rode regretfully away to duty in his beloved south.
One may perhaps concede that associations would attract retired admirals and generals to a residence here—Admirals Evans, Dewey, Schley, Sampson, Peary, and Generals Greely, Crook, Wheeler, Miles and Pershing, within my own unprompted memory, but what is the secret which brings back to Washington those who have looked upon the enchanting spots of our wonderful country; the three Johns, for example, John C. Freemont, the great northwest pathfinder; John W. Powell, explorer of the Grand Canon of the Colorado; John A. Sutter, discoverer of gold in California.
Even Governor Shepherd, who made Washington, and afterward was practically banished to Mexico, prayed that he might be brought back to the city of his dreams, and his wish gratified, he lies at rest amid the grassy slopes of Rock Creek Cemetery.
It was ever thus; even stubborn old Davy Burns must have thought well of Washington for he brought from his native land not only a charming daughter but the bricks with which he builded a cottage for her, and from whose humble door this Scottish lassie later went to a haughty family and a mansion as the wife of Major General Van Ness.
Not only from official life, but from all fields of activity, the capital city attracts to itself an unusual aggregation of mentality—scientific and literary and industrial.
Poets and great writers, noted scientists and renowned inventors have done their best work in the invigorating atmosphere of the capital, washed clear by the mist of the Great Falls of the Potomac.
It was here Francis Scott Key lived when he wrote “The Star Spangled Banner,” a spot marked by the new memorial bridge just completed; here Harriet Beecher Stowe wrote that immortal story, “Uncle Tom’s Cabin”; Walt Whitman the first edition of his “Leaves of Grass”; James Bryce “The American Commonwealth”; and Owen Meredith his “Lucile.”
In a rose-covered cottage on the heights overlooking the river, across from the Arlington National Cemetery, Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth wrought; and in a less flowery abode impecunious Edgar Allan Poe wrote much of his “spooky stuff.”