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!
Home of Francis Dodge
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.