T HIS is not a history. It is not a guide-book. It is not an encyclopedia. It is nothing more ambitious than the title would indicate: a stroll about Washington with my arm through my reader’s, and a bit of friendly chat by the way. Mr. Hornby, sketch-book in hand, will accompany us, to give permanence to our impressions here and there. First, we will take a general look at the city and recall some of the more interesting incidents connected with its century and a quarter of growth. Next, we wil

W ITH the possible exception of Petrograd, Washington is the only one of the world’s great capitals that was deliberately created for its purpose. Look for the origin of London, Paris, Berlin, or Rome, and you find it enveloped in a cloud of myth and fable, from which, it appears, the city emerged and took its place in history because certain evolutionary forces had made it the nucleus of a nation and hence the natural seat of government. Not so the capital of the United States. Here the Governm

T HREE days after John Brown had been hanged for his Harper’s Ferry raid, the Thirty-sixth Congress convened. Brown’s exploit had sent a wave of excitement sweeping over the country, and the slavery controversy had entered a phase of emotional acuteness it had never known before. There was a strong Republican plurality in the new House of Representatives, but it was by no means of one mind, most of its members still hoping to avoid any action which might precipitate a dismemberment of the Union.

I N the ordinary conversation of Washington, one rarely hears Congress mentioned by name. The respective functions of its two chambers are so generally understood that it is common to distinguish between them: the Senate yesterday did so-and-so; something is about to occur in the House of Representatives. In speaking of the lawmakers collectively, the familiar phrase is “the gentlemen on the hill.” Washington has several hills, but “the” hill is by universal consent the one on which the Capitol

T HE House of Representatives, albeit presenting an average of conduct equal to that of any corresponding chamber in the world, is a rough-and-tumble body. It is apt to carry partisan antagonisms to extremes and wrangle over anything that comes up, with accusations and recriminations, and at rare intervals an exchange of blows. Repeatedly I have seen the Sergeant-at-Arms lift his mace and march down one aisle and up another, to compose disturbances which seemed to threaten a sequel of riot, whil

A LTHOUGH Pennsylvania Avenue is several miles long, the mile that lies between the hill on which Congress sits and the slope where the President lives is called in local parlance “the Avenue.” Outside of their formal speeches and documentary literature, members of Congress are wont to refer to the White House and its surroundings as “the other end of the Avenue.” This familiar phrase is, like the popular designation of Congress as “the gentlemen on the hill,” a survival from the period when onl

W ITH the advent of the Monroes, social life at the President’s House underwent a transformation. Its character could have been forecast from the fact that, although for the six years Monroe had been at the head of the Cabinet his family had been with him in Washington, they were as nearly strangers to the great body of citizens as if they had been living in New York or Boston. If a lady wished to call on Mrs. Monroe, she had to apply for an appointment and have a day and hour fixed, unless she

J OHN TYLER, the first Vice-president to receive promotion to the Presidency in mid-term, was at his home in Virginia when Harrison died. He came to Washington at once and took lodgings at a hotel, where, two days later, he was sworn in by Chief Judge Cranch of the Circuit Court of the District. His administration was not picturesque in the usual sense; the most it gave people to talk about was his narrow escape from impeachment for deserting the party which elected him. But his unpopularity bor

A LTHOUGH constantly urged to take precautions for his own safety, Lincoln never did. He used to walk about the streets as freely as any ordinary citizen; and night after night, during the darkest period of the war, he would stroll across to Secretary Stanton’s office to talk over the latest news from the front. Stanton’s remonstrances he would dismiss with a weary smile, protesting that, as far as he was aware, he had not an enemy in the world, but if he had, anybody who wished to kill him had

N O American city has suburbs more interesting than Washington’s. Those that hold first rank, naturally, are on the Virginia side of the Potomac, the region most redolent of the memory of the great patriot whose name was given to the capital. The Arlington estate, which lies nearest, was never the home of George Washington, but he visited it often, for it belonged by inheritance to the grandson of his wife by her earlier marriage; and George and Martha were so pleased with it that they built a l

A MONG the projects in the minds of the founders of the federal city was a monument to celebrate the success of the American Revolution. George Washington personally selected the site for it, due south of the center of the President’s House. Meanwhile the Continental Congress had recommended the erection of an equestrian statue of General Washington, and, immediately after his death, the Congress then in session resolved to rear a monument under which his body should be entombed. But, though res