e departments but without success and who,
thoroughly discouraged, came to the tree early one morning and made the
wish that to her and her family meant the actual necessities of life.
She then sat down to rest upon a near-by bench before going home, and
while there became engaged in conversation with a pleasing looking
woman, to whom she poured forth her heart as she related her hopes and
disappointments about obtaining a government position. As her listener
was a sympathetic person, she asked the young woman her name and
address, and in a few days the poor girl received a notice to go to a
certain department for examination. It seems that her companion under
the tree was the wife of an influential Senator, who was so touched by
the young woman's efforts, as well as by her childish faith in the
"wishing tree," that she took pleasure in seeing that her great desire
was gratified.

At this time Washington was not far behind other large cities in games
of chance, and gambling was frequently indulged in quite openly. Edward
Pendleton's resort, a luxurious establishment down town, was regarded as
quite _a la mode_, and I have heard it said that he had able assistance
from social ranks. I have often wondered why a man who indulged in this
sport was called a gambler, as the term "gamester," used many years ago,
seems decidedly more appropriate. I own two volumes of a very old book,
published in the eighteenth century, entitled "The Gamesters," in which
the heroes are professional gamblers. I have seen Mrs. Pendleton's
costly equipage, drawn by horses with brilliant trappings and followed
by blooded hounds, coursing the length of Pennsylvania Avenue, while its
owner seemed entirely unconscious of the aching hearts which had
contributed to all her grandeur. Cards were universally played in
private homes and whist was the fashionable game, General Scott being
one of its chief devotees. I have often thought how much the old General
would have enjoyed "bridge," as there was nothing that gave him more
pleasure than playing the "dummy hand."

My old friend, Mrs. Diana Bullitt Kearny, the widow of General "Phil"
Kearny, in our many chats in her latter days, gave me many reminiscences
of Washington at a time when I was not residing there. She described a
fancy-dress ball given by her while residing in the old Porter house on
H Street, which must have been about 1848, as General Kearny had just
returned from the Mexican War. She dwelt