ou, but of fashion! I was told
this not long ago by a descendant, and of how they used to have to melt
their gum shoes to get them on in cold weather. I think the names of a
trio of their friends very amusing--Jerry Berry, Hetty Getty, and Jimmy
Finney.

The house had a large garden in the rear and spacious rooms where they
entertained a great deal. Not long ago, I saw a fascinating drawing of
a party in Georgetown in the fifties. It represented four musicians
intent upon playing a bass viol, a cello, a violin, and a flute; a few
of the company standing near by with curls and puffed coiffures, and
among them a tiny man, side-whiskered, so short that he barely reached
the shoulders of the ladies. He must, of course, have been Prince
Iturbide. There was never anyone quite like him. He was a Mexican, here
in the diplomatic service, and had married Miss Alice Green, a
granddaughter of Uriah Forrest.

At a party one evening at the Marbury's, a dispute arose between him and
Baron Bodisco, the Russian Minister, who was also a resident of
Georgetown. It ended in the prince calling the baron a liar, whereby the
baron immediately knocked Prince Iturbide down. The little prince sprang
onto a sofa and bounced up and down, shouting over and over again, "He
knocked an Iturbide down; he knocked an Iturbide down!" as if he
expected Mr. Marbury to straightway haul the baron off to be beheaded,
at least. It was the last party given at the old house for many a day,
as Mr. Marbury considered that they had been disgraced by their guests.

Years after, when Madame Iturbide was left a widow in Mexico, the
Emperor Maximilian wished to adopt her son, to which she gave her
consent, but finding later that it meant complete separation from him,
she kidnapped him and escaped to America.

For two whole days after the Battle of Bull Run, the "Damn Yankees," as
the Marburys called them, poured over the nearby bridge from Virginia at
a dog-trot and dropped from exhaustion on the steps of this house and
the pavement. Mr. Marbury ordered all of the shutters to be kept tightly
closed during that dreadful time.

A little granddaughter of his, living there, went one day with a friend
of hers to place flowers on the grave of a child of Jefferson Davis in
Oak Hill Cemetery. They were arrested, and when it was discovered who
she was, soldiers were sent to search the house. Mrs. Marbury had some
letters from her nephews in the Confederate Army, and she hur