there. Also, there is still there an old rose bush
bearing small white roses, which was planted by Elizabeth Peter Dunlop.
This was my summer home when I was a girl and is now in possession of my
eldest brother.

Just above number 1239 is the crook in High Street (Wisconsin Avenue)
and, until a few years ago, I never knew why it was that way: actually,
it follows the line of the grant of the Rock of Dumbarton, which was
surveyed that way. The reason the streets on the west side of High
Street (Wisconsin Avenue) don't match those on the east side is because
they were laid out by different owners.

Just about here is the Aged Woman's Home, standing high above the
street. It was founded in 1868 with a gift of $15,000 from Mr. W. W.
Corcoran. It houses fourteen women. In all these years there have been
only three Presidents of the Board: Mrs. Beverley Kennon, Miss Emily
Nourse, and the present one, Mrs. Louis Freeman. The back part of the
house is what is left of the home of John Lutz, who had a good deal of
land around his house when he built it nearly two hundred years ago.

In days gone by, the Aged Woman's Home was partly supported by
contributions collected by women who were members of the Benevolent
Society, who went from door to door with a book in which amounts to be
given were subscribed.

On the southeast corner of High Street (Wisconsin Avenue) and Gay (N)
Street, just above here has been conducted, since 1861, the grocery
business of H. W. Fisher and Son, first was the grandfather, known as
Henry, whom I remember, with a long grey beard; then his son of the same
name, known as Wellen, and now his son, Henry. I am told by an old
resident that the first telephone in Georgetown was in the Fisher's
store, as it is known, and that when people wanted to phone, they went
there and used it.

I was fed from Fisher's all my young life, and I imagine my father was
one of their best customers, as he had eleven children and multitudes of
relatives in Maryland and Virginia, who came to stay whenever they
wished to visit Washington City. So you can rather imagine the
consternation of the elder Mr. Fisher when, one hot afternoon, as he was
clearing out his crate of tomatoes just before closing time and, as was
the custom in those long ago days, picked up a large, over-ripe one and
threw it out, as he supposed into the gutter, that, instead, it landed
on the stiff "boiled shirt" bosom of Mr. George T. Dunlop! I never knew