minus the automobile and blaring radio, lay over old Georgetown,
the clop-clop of horses' hoofs was heard coming up Congress Street,
stopping in front of Mrs. Dall's. Then there was a great knocking on the
door--a window was raised and a voice called: "Who is that?" "It's
Henry." Came back from the wife: "Well, I'm in the midst of
house-cleaning. Go on down to the Willard and stay until I send for
you." A warm welcome, and one not approved of by the neighbors who had
heard the conversation through their windows.

Mrs. Dall was not very popular in Georgetown, it being overwhelmingly
Southern in its sympathies and she being an abolitionist. I can dimly
remember her padding down 31st Street, for so her progress might be
called from the form of footwear she wore, it had no form--the queerest,
high, shapeless boots. She wore a little close-fitting bonnet and a
long, loose, grayish cape. She was a most particular person in some
ways. A lady who lived there as a housekeeper said she was never allowed
to leave her thimble on the window sill for a few moments; and it was
well known that when a caller rang the front door bell the maid who
answered had orders to scan the costume closely. If there was "bugle
trimming" among its adornments the caller was shown into the parlor on
the right side, where the furniture was all stuffed and no harm could be
done, but if the clothes were devoid of the shiny, scratchy gear, she
might safely be allowed to enter and sit upon the polished mahogany of
the room on the left of the hall. She used to have a sort of salon for
long-haired scientists and exponents of all sorts of "isms."

Another story I've heard was about her going out to Normanstone to stay
for a rest. One morning after breakfast, having had a plentiful helping
of oatmeal with lots of cream, her hostess remarked to Mrs. Dall how
well she looked. "Yes," she said, she "felt well," and ended up with "a
little starvation is always good for one." Is it a wonder she wasn't
greatly beloved?

[Illustration: LLOYD BEALL]

A very handsome and imposing old gentleman, Mr. Joe Davis, who was a
bachelor, lived here in the nineties. I remember him always, in his
frock coat and high silk hat. This was where Mr. and Mrs. Fulton Lewis
lived for many years and where their son, Fulton Lewis, junior, the
noted radio commentator, grew up.

The house has been for several years the home of the Honorable and Mrs.
Francis E. Biddle. He was the Attorney-