Evening Star Newspaper, February 26, 1922, Page 61

F you get a gasp out of Inez you're going some, but when I told her the results of answer- ing Madam X's want ad, I had Rer breathing through her adenoids. “Hey?” says Inez. “You—got job helpin’ rich widow spend her money | and have fun?" “Crude but correct” says I. “Not *so poor, eh, for the first throw?” Inez blinks at me twice, Tegister- ing admiration. Then she opens her mouth thoughtful. “What you mean —rich?” she asks. “How much?" “Why," says I, “1 didn't ask for fig- ures, but 1 understood she had bales of it. Her late departed was an ald Judge in some upstate town, and they lived In a gray limestone mansion that had two parlors and 2 cupola, not to mention a pair of old sisters of his that she pensioned off before she ran away.” “Huh?" says Inez. “Upstate!™ As usual, she was sticking to the Maison Noir was because that wa: where Inez was working as a model and I'd been wanting to see her doing her stuff, as those slangy ac- they can’t unlimber their thoughts in plain English, eh? Well, you know ‘how little like business houses such places as the Maison Noir look? If it wasn't for the carriage caller outside you might take it for a private house or an exclusive club. No wonder Mra. Trueman gawped when she saw I towed her between the clipped bay trees, pushed the front door button and nodded to the smart French maid who ushered us into the Louis Qua- torze reception room. I could feel her nudging me nervously and knew she ‘wanted to ask me if I wasn't making a sad break, but I paid no attention. . “The manager, please,” I told the mald. -plot out any splurge campaign. bastc facts, and she saw what I had overlooked. “Quite so, 1lnez, “I agrees.” What might be considered a whale of a pile in Ogdensburg or Troy or Cooperstown wouldn't be enough to get her far in this town, where gusher heiresses and bootleg- | gers’ brides are opening charge ac- counts every hour. Say, I guess I'd better call for a few details before Il rm get her on the ‘phone now.” * k k¥ I ’AND it happened to be one of Lhosa[ cases where I could. I didn’t do any hedging or stalling either, but gave her the straight income tax questionaire. And how do’you think she answered that? By asking me to ‘walt until she got her bank books from her trunk and then reading off the bal- ance totals to me. “It's perfectly all right, Inez, snysl 1. “I'm no lightning calculator, but she's got a cash reserve that runs into six figures west of the decimal, and that’s all I want to know. No let me get into a kimono and slippers, for I've got to think how to start in with a person who's hitting the prim- rose path late but earnest.” T've never been a joy secretary be- fore and I'm not up on the union shop rules, but my idea.was that 10 a.m. was quite early enough to report, and 3 found that Mrs. Trueman had been up for a 7:30 breakfast and had been waiting hours for me. “How do you get that way?" T @sked. “Breakfast before daylight! You're not running on a commuter’s schedule, you know.” “But—but at home,” she protested, “we always got up at 6:30, all of us. You sece, the judge walked to his of- fice and liked to be there by 8 o'clock. Then, after he died, Aunt Abbie and Aunt Esther wouldn't let me make eny change. They said it was wicked to waste the best hours of the day in bed.” “Dear old souls?” says I. “But I'm arranging your program now, and - there'll be nome of this early-to-rise stuft in it. So just forget Abbie and “Ah, oui!” said the maid. “M'sieu Lafleur? Toute de suite.” * k k% A.\’D. as Inez had hinted, he's the most ladylike Frenchy you could imagine. His frock coat fits him like a swallow's wing, his hair shines as if it had been varnished, and no flap- per member of the Follies could do more things to her face than he'd had done to his. Even to a touch of the lipstick. I'll say. he was a smooth article. But he skidded bad- 1y when, after a quick glance from one to the other of us, he picks me as the customer. “Ah, ma'msells ‘we serve?” “Mrs. Trueman,” says I, nodding at her, “needs a complete outfit.” He takes another look, gives a shuddery motion with his shoulders, and flutters his long white fingers. I think I heard him murmur some- thing like “C'est impossible,” too, so 1 steps up and whispers in his ear: “Rich widow from the tall sticks.” Those seemed to be the magic words. “Mais oui!” says he. *“We shall do our best for madam.” “And say,” I goes on, “don’t fritter away any time showing us size six- teen stuff. I'm told you have an heiress model here who's a perfect 36. Let's see some street frocks on her.” “Certainment!” says he, his beady black cyes lighting up. “M'selle Inez! It shall be no other.” With that he parks us in a couple of Spanish chairs, tucks velvet cush- ions under our feet, and spends ten minutes arranging the lights. Then he claps his hands, the curtains of the little stage slide back, and out steps Inez in a spiffy street costume with flat lines that drop strajght from the shoulder. Of course, i*know that she weighs 180, and that she has hips; but in that dress no one but an expert would guess it. For a minute or so Inez doesn't notice who is in the audience, but when she does get sight of me and catch my wink she doesn’'t bat an eyclash. 1 can tell, though, by the flickery smile on her lips, that she's says he, “how may it came to dress spender when goods “I—I hardly think he was” says Mrs. Trueman. .“He gave each of us | tors put it. What saps they are that |an allowance for dresses and he al- ‘ways scolded when I overran mine. “How much per annum?” I de- manded. “Two hundred,” says she. ‘Then I got gaspy. “Two hundred— Say, dearle, If the judge could see the | size of that check he'd come right up through the sod.” Then for the first time she showed signs of having sporting blood. “I don't care,” says she, tossing her head. “if those dresses did cost a lot. ‘They're the kind I've always dreamed about having. He might have let me buy pretty things when 1 was young. And now—Well, he'll never know.” “Nor the old maid sisters, elther— worse luck!” I put in. . But it was the wrong thing to say. Her chin dropped and a scared look. NO MORE SIGN OF RECOGNIZING HER THAN AS IF THEY WERE WATCHING THE QUEEN OF SIAM IN A MOVING PICTURE. came into "her eyes. “Oh!" she groans. “Aunt Abbie and Aunt Es- ther! Suppose they should find out what I'm doing?’ “Unless you send 'em a bulletin, how can they?" I asked. “I—I don't know.” says she! glanc- ing out of the cab windows, 23 1f she expected to see 'em sleuthing her on foot. “But they always found out everything—especially Abbie.” She has the kind of eyes that see right through you. Why, once a young man I used to know sent me a box of chocolates by parcel post, and I happened to be at the front door when the carrier delivered it, so I dropped the package In the umbrella jar and later on hid it in a muff in my bottom bureau drawer. But Ab- bie found it and made me tell the judge who it came from and all about it. If she could see what I've bought today * %k ¥ X «GAY. youve got an Aunt Abbie complex, haven't you?” I told her. “Well, we've got to cure you of that, even if I have to do a little amateur psychoanalyzing. Just re- member that Aunt Abbic is several hundred miles off and that you're well out of range of her corkscrew eyes. What could she do, anyway, if she did know? You're your own boss now, aren't you?” * “Y-e-e-es, I suppose so,” she admits. “But all the same, I just know that I couldn’t face Abbie.”. “Well, don't worry,” says £ “I can't sse any chance that you'll have to. Yiesides, you're going to need all your uerve for what's coming tomorrow.” ‘What?” she asks. i “I've got you dated up.” says I, “for a four-hour session at a beauty shop, and when you've had- a manieure, a deep facial, and a permanent wave, you're not going .to dread any kind of torture that in-laws can think of.” “Must I go through all that?” she asks. “Take a look at yourself,” says L “That's the answer. You have a flabby double chin, crows' feet coming in your eye corners, and the way you do your hair is about as becoming as a sunbonnet on a mule. Who wished that doughnut effect on vou,, any- way?" “Aunt Abbie and Aunt Esther al- “I hope 1 can,” says she. “But now *do we? Now turn around, please. Oh, .. says I, “it you don’t before.” enjoying the situation in her own quiet way. As for Mrs. Trueman, she simply stared fascinated, like a kid from the country watching a circus parade. Only after the third dress had been shown did she venture to whisper: “Perfectly stunning! But do You think, Trilby May, that I could wear | such things' that you're here, can't I start in hav- ing a good time?” «Not in that outfit, my dear,” says 3. glancing at her morning costume, which I.guessed had come from the jJadies’ department of the Bon Ton store. “Of course,” she admits, “I know | this shirt walst isn't very dressy, and Esther.” ‘ \ | | the skirt—" Absolutely,” says L. * x * * But they are so—so short” she | tested. g Kkirt, is it?” I asked.| PTO S “S')q'-hr‘::e;h‘“":‘hough. They awa| “Well. you haven't any knobs on your ankles, have you?’ I asked. “Like those last two, do you? Very well, Mr. Lafleur; we'll have a fitting on those and you may send them right away. Now some dinner frocks.” Those got her still more bug-eyed. but I insisted that she pick out a couple. . “I'm certain I shall not dare wear them,” she whispered. “They—they have no sleeves. “Anything the matter with your arms?’ I asked. “And you're not hump-shouldéred, are you? Then that's all right. Send tnem, Mr. Lafleur.” AN nour later, after the fitter had finished with her and I had col- lected the account from Lafleur, I led her to a writing desk and put a pen in her hand. “Now don’t pass away,” I warned her. /“Just shut your eyes and sign your name. Tl fill in the rest after- wear 'em llke that once. But that shirt waist isn’t a relic; it's a crime. And we don't want the Society for the Suppression of Village Dress- jnakers to serve us wWith a summons, gosh! Just as though any human being could have a waist line like that. Listen, dearie; if you had a mole on your chin would You paint a circle around it? Well, that's what that tight belt does to your waist. It's gust as effective as a plece of hay- wire. No, no. We can’t parade you around New York in that. Let's call & taxi and do some hurry-up shopping first.” “Splendid!” - says she. “I've been wanting to go through some of these ®ig department stores, but I haven't dared.” “And you're not going o now,” days 1., “We're headed for the Maison Noir, where they make a specialty of styl- * k k% ish stouts. It isn't a store; it's a| ward. shop.” though some prefer to take gas.” “Why,” says Mrs. Trueman, *“T “Did—did those things cost an aw- didn’t know there was any difference.” “You will when you've paid the bill,” ful lot?” she asked as we were driv- ing back to the hotel. “Jt depends on what ydbu're used to,” says L. “Was the judge a free Another reason why I picked the ways did thelr hair that way,” says she, “and they made me do mine like theirs." “I thought it dated back to the Mc-, Kinley period,” says I. ‘“Well, we'll change all that. We've got to before I shall dare exhibit you anywhere but in the side streets. In about three or four days more, though, we'll be able to appear under the bright lights.” They werne strenuous days, I'll tell anybddy who wants to know. For when I began with Mrs. Trueman—or Clara, as she soon asked me to call her—not one thing about her was right, unless it was her eyes, feet and hands. She did have rather good: eves, full, round and fairly lively when she forgot those old maid sis- ters-in-law. But the rest was just plain tacky and back-numbery. Six- teen years of bezique and pop-corn ball evening orgies! She looked it! To revise a woman like that seemed a hopeless job, but I took her to the best experts I could find and told 'em to go the lmit, and hang the expense. I will say for her, too, that she stood it like an early Christian martyr, al- though after a day's shopping or a beauty parlor siege she was only fit to ease herself into bed and sleep for nine hours on a stretch. * k% % AT last we began to see daylight, however. She’d had her eye- brows plucked, her halr marcelled That's the easiest way, al-|arid a lot of other things done. And hanging .in the closet was a full trousseau of new clothes. So I had rounded up Barry Platt for an escort, engaged & table for dinner at the Rits, and bought seats for the newest mausical revue in town. Clara was to Trilby As a Joy Secretary — s s o |T Erash into the gay whirl with a loud bang. To take off some of the strain I'd hired a lady’s maid for her, one who could do the hooking-up act and first ald chin massage. “And remember, Julle,” T told her, “have Mrs. Trueman all ready by 7 o'clock. That Danube blue spangled affalr, you know, and the wrap to on the facial make-up, but pay no at- tention. Don't spare the rouse. ‘With that I took time off for & hun- | dred block walk, then dashed back to | the studio, got myselt up for an even- ing out, and was waiting when Barry called with the taxi at 6:45. “It's sweet of you to help me out this way, old dear.” I told him, “and I do hope my up-state widow doesn’t look too much like & plush horse.” “If she does” says Barry, “I can ease my eyes by looking at you Tril- by May. Probably I shall most of the time, anyway. “Nice boy!" says L mean it or not. So everything was sitting pretty and I was stepping high and light as we surged Into the lobby of the Lady Ann to send up word for Clara. I could even chuckle at some of the fe- male freaks sitting around waiting for bedtime. One pair especlally got a grin out of me. They were about the primmest, stiffest backed old girls I'd seen anywhere outside & vaude- ville sketch. You know—gray halr drawn straight back into a _knot. cameo pins fastening the throat of their high-necked shirt waists, and black satin skirts that touched tne floor as they sat. I had to nudge Barry so he wouldn't miss "em. Just as we passed, though, one of 'em whispered something to the other. I expect it had something to do with my bobbed hair, of the pleat- ed bosom of Barry's dress shirt. Any- way, the other was shocked. “Why, Sister Abble!” she protested. And I'll admit the name gave me a start. Could it be Aunt Abble. “Wait a sec, Barry says L “Tve got to take a squint at the register.” * kK ® ' ND sure enough scrawled in stift A Spencerian among that day's ar- rivals were the two names: “Miss Abigail Trueman, Mjss Esther’ True- man, Tonowanda, N. Y.” * “Help!" 1 gasps. it “What's wrong?” asks Barry. “Everything,” says 1. Those are the watch-dog sisters-in-law, camp- ing on her trail.” “But isn't thege another exit?” sug- gests Barry. “This is the only elevator, thoug! says I, “and they're sitting so they can face that. See. They're watch- ing every one who comes or goes. I'm afraid the grand debut is dished. She'll never have the nerve to face those two.” * “Buck up, old girl!” says Barry. “Maybe I can bribe a bellhop to &0 put & screen in front of 'em while you and you client escape.” 1 shook my head. “Those gimlet ‘eyes of ‘Aunt Abbie's. could look through any screen,” says 1. “Be- sides, she wouldn't stand for any such slapstick stuff.. Somehow she's got wind of the fact that Mrs. Trueman is here and she’s waiting to lead her back to Tonowanda. I can see that by the way she holds her chin. “You don't mean says Barry, “that you're going to let a sour-faced old maid bluff you out at this stage of the game—and that I don't get my dinner at the Ritz? That isn't like you, Trilby ‘May.” “You're right, Barry,” says L “Per- haps we can rush the guard. Il go up «nd get Clara and see what can be done.” At first T planned to tell har who was, parked in the lobby and pump her full of courage to face them down. But when I got up to the suite and had a good look at what Julie had turned out while I'd been gone, I could only stand and gawp. “For the love of ladles!” says L “Is this you, Clara Trueman?" “I—I hardly know whether it is or not,” says she. You couldn't blame her. In that spangled blue creation, which Lafleur had wished on her she looked at least a head taller and thirty pounds or so lighter. True, her arms did show up rather plump, but they weren’t so bad, at that. And I'd never dreamed she had such shoulders. Honest, she seemed no more like the dumpy fe- male I'd first met than anything at all. Also Julle had used the rabbit's foot like a true artist, for she'd given Clara that - schoolgirl complexion which is advertised on the box. “You're & knock-out!” says L “You don’t look a day over twenty-five.” She ducks her head Kittenish and giggles. “That's just the way I feel,” says she. “And I'm simplx crazy to start. Can’t we go now?” : “In a moment” says I “I've just thought of semething I wanted to ask. How did you happen to pick out this hotel when you came here?” * ¥ * X “Whether you “« HY,” says she, “I heard Abbie speak of it. She was here once, years ago, and she was always dragging the facts into her conversation.” - “Ont" says 1. “Abble, eh? So that accounts for it?” “For what?" asks Clara. “For your coming here, of course,” says I “All right. Let's go. But lis- ten, Clara. You know what a lot of old gossips there are camped around the lobby? Well, if I were you I wouldn't |1ook at ‘em. Just held your chin up and breeze straight along as if you were a visiting duchess going out to dinner with the consul general. Can you do that?” “I—I believe I can tonight,” says she. 1l try.” I'll say it was a good effort, even if 1 did have to give her a little push, as the elevator stopped, to make her lead the way, Next came Julle wita her wrap, and then I trailed along, my eyes on that, pair of freak old maids. I'd decided that it they started'toward her Td jump in and block 'em oft. I was ready to pull a bit of strong arm work on Abble if necessary, and signal Barry to hustle Mra, Trueman into the taxi. But say, you should have seen the simple stare they gave her. That was all. No more sign of recognising her taan as if they were watching the Queen of Stam in a moving picture. Clara .passed within three feet of her sisters- in-law and they followed her with their eyes until she went through the revolv- C., . FEBRUARY N other stories the Rambler has pointed out an old road which turns north In the eastern part of Bladénsburg and runs along the base or lower slope of that ridge Wwhich ia the eastern wall of the wide, flat valley of the upper Eastern match. She’ll want you to go light|branch. A few years ago this road passed between large farms, but the country {s much changed. This road intersects many others veining the north and north-central sections of Eastern branch and the Patuxent river, sections of the county includ- ing those civil subdivisions or elec- tion districts named Bladensburg, Kent, Queen Anne, Vansville and Bowle. Today the old road leads through rather a closely settled country and {s lined with homes of people most of whom count Wash- ington as their place of business. New Yhomes are grouped eastward Of the road and a number of farms are divided into building lots, and through these farms run streets whose outline is marked by stakes and young trees. Many of the hew villages in this part of the county take thelr names from older villages in the valley of the Eastern branch, distiguishing them- selves from the older villages Ly the prefix “east,” as East Hyattsville, East Riverdale, East Berwyn, etc. Some settlements strike out for themselves with new and independ- ent names and young subdivisions Wwith names not assoclated with the older towns are sprinkled with fresh, new houses. A single-track electric line from the junction of 15th and H ctreets and Maryland avenue northeast runs to Bladensburg, turns east and then north, following the line of the cld road as far as East Berwyn. The two trolley cars on this line now run only as far as East Riverdale, and they do not run that far on every trip, car service having béen sus- pended on that part of the line from East Riverdale to East Berwyn, about two miles beyond. * ¥ ¥ x \IVHEN you leave the car at East Riverdale you will see, about a third of a mile northeast of the little station, a high, round-top’ hill, on which is a yellow house with many gables, and, whether there are seven or more gables, one is apt to think of Hawthorne's Salem—that {s, if one happens to know anything about Hawthorne and Salem. Big trees— cedar and black locust—grow around the house, and a road bordered by the locusts leads up the hill and through the garden of the house. During all the years that this private road has served its masters rains and winds have abraded and scoured it so that now it passes between high banks, and these banks are covered with a thick mat of honeysuckle. Let | us say that the banks e covered with honeysuckle. What's the use of saying “a thick mat of honeysuckle”? None. One would not say a carpet | of honeysuckle or & rug of honey- | suckle, but we must always say a| “mat” of honeysuckle. Men are salves to certain phrases. The old house on the hill is nl.med’ Gretta. That was the name of !he[ farm of whichr this house was the mansion. It is still the name of that part of the farm which has not been built on by persons who have moved out from the city to have a home of thelr own and to own some chick- ens and a vine and fig tree. It was the home of Dr. Benjamin Day. .In the story of the Dieudonne home at Bladensburg last Sunday the Rambler sald: “Nicholas Carroll Stephen mar- ried Margaret Rebecca Day, a daugh- ter of Dr. Benjamin Day of Prince Georges county. Thelr children were Jullanna Jenings Brice Stephen, John Stephen and Benjamin Day Stephen, deceased, who owned a plantation called Gretta, most of which is now Riverdale Heights. Gretta Mansion) is standing and is owned by Miss Charlotfe Margaret Stephen and i — | “pjd—did I do it all right” she asked, as wé started off in the cab. “I never looked at a soul, you know.” Maybe it's just as well you didn't,” says I “All tie same,” sgys Clara, “I almost wish Abble could have been there to see me.” “That's odd,” says I, you and me, she was.” 3 And Barry and I spent the next half hour getting her out of her panto. I hardly think we'd have done. it then if 1 hadn't tareatened to call the head waiter and tell him she wouldn't eat her soup. “But—but they’ll be there at the hotel when I go back,” she protested. “You're not going' back”™ says L You'll camp with us in the.studio to- night and tomorrdw, after I've looked up a regular hotel for you, Julie will “for between ing door, but not & peep out of ‘em. They | pack up your things and move. 80 you fust glanced at each other and puckered | can ‘cross Tonowanda off tie map for thelr mouth corners and sat thers, still | good.” watching for Hiram's widow, (Copyright; 1922, By Sewell Ford.) Prince Georges county between thu‘ 26, 1922—PART. 4. T Lowndes Family and HE House on the Hilltop, Where the Ram- bler Made Photographs—A Word About Mme. Chegary's School — Graves of the The Old Burying Ground at Addison Chapel. HE RAMBLER VISITS AN OLD HOMESTEAD AND MANY NEW VILLAGES IN MARYLAND bought by Judge John Stephen, and I think he bought it from the Lowndes family. From Judge John Stephen the property passed to his heirs, and one of these, his son Nicholas Carroll Stephen, bought the interest of the other heirs and occupied the house for a long time. It was from the Stephen heirs that Mr. Kyner bought the historic place. The graves of the Lowndes family Some of the Epitaphs. ON THE PORCH OF THE DIEUDONNE HOUSE. Frank Marcel Stephen, children of Benjamin Day Shephen.” The Rambler met Miss Charlotte, an attractive young lady with dark eyes and hair and a very pleasant manner toward ramblers who trespass on pri- vate property and make pictures about the place. It is a fine old gar- den and grouped at some distance from the house are farm buildings in- cluding a slatted corn house, the whole giving a picture very like that which you treasure in your memory of the old farm you lived on when you were a boy or a girl. Not far from the house is the customary burying ground, where generations of. the family are at rest, ana ad- joining it is a plot of ground. where fajthful slaves found eternal rest after laying down the shovel and the hoe. = * ko * ¥ R. DAY called this place Gretta, after his omly daughter, Marga- ret. When she was a little girl all the folks on the place, black and white, and for miles around called her are at Addison Chapel, It was erected as a chapel by the congregation of Broad Creek Church, which stands on the lower road between Congress Heights and Piscataway. Addison Chapel is at Seat Pleasant, a lurge and prosperous village at the eastern point of the District, and where one changes from the trolley to the steam train for Chesapeake Beach and many other places between Washington and the bay. In the churchyard of Addi- gon Chapel is one row of tombstones to which the Rambler calls attention. The first is {ns-ribe: “In memory of Christopher Lowndes, who departed this life on the 8th day of January, 1785.” The others are: ; “In memory of Mrs. Elizabeth Lowndes, Relict of Christopher Lowndes, Esq.. who departed this life on the 15th day of September, 1789, in the sixty-third year of her age; “In memory of Anna Margaret'a Lowndes, who died January 16, 1822, in the 74th year of her age; “Sacred to the memory of Francis Lowndes, who departed this life April 21, 1815, after a long and painful ill- ness, which he bore with Christian fortitude, aged about 63 years; *Fannie E. Nicholson, daughter of Capt. J. Nicholson and Rebecca Holt, died July 21, 1850. In memory of Edward Lloyd Lown- des, who dled January 7, 1832, aged twenty-five years. He was the second son of Tasker Lowndes. In another part of the cemetery are these tombs: In memory of Richard Tasker’ Lowndes, who died the 19 Sep- tember, 1815, aged eleves years and three months. He was the eldest son of Richard Tasker Lowndes. In memory of Ann Lowndes, Who died the 20th of February, 1841, aged seventy-two years. A Christian lady. In memory of Richard Tasker Dieudonne told me that the copy of the song was given her in Rome by an Italian officer. She did not say whether he was revenue officer, army officer or naval officer, but I got the impression that he was an army offi- cer. You should drop in at the old Dieudonne house some Sunday after- noon, and if you make a hit with the children Mrs. Dieudonne may sing for you, and if you are as skillful in free- \Lowndes, who died the 1st of Oc- hers is the voice of 2 young girl. Mrs.i v 1840, aged about seventy-six years. In memory of Anna L. Lowndes who died the 1st of May, 1850. Benjamin Ogle Lowndes, October 11, 1811-July 12, 1887. €« % % x LONG time ago, perhaps ten or twelve years, while the Rambler was copying inscriptions on the llomha in the burying ground of Ad- lunch diplomacy as the Rambler you dison Chapel, a Mrs. Owens, wife of a former sexton, told that the remains may be invited, etc. STy lof the wite of Bishop Pinkney had vl er mentloned |\ burled in the Lowndes lot, that Mme. “Chigaret’s” Academy of Phila- 2 delphia and admitted that he was only | they had rested !herebor ki, pebse guessing at the spelling of the lady's | 20 had but recently been removed. name. Yesterday he got more infor-| The Rev. Willlam dPlnkney. 1;1}«: mation about the matter. And it was|Pishop. was married to & Mis Lowndes. this way: The Rambler's old race- horse friend, Charlie Harris, whose le- gal name s Charles Townsend Harris, came down to The Star building. “Why, I remember Mme. Chegary well,” he sald. “You spell it C-h-e- g-a-r-y. I did not know that she had Here follow three epitaphs which may stir some memory in an old ‘Washingtonian: To the memory of Sarah Ann, wife of Lawson Vermillion, who was ac- cidentally killed in Washington, January 11, 1863, in the fifty-fourth an academy in Philadelphia, but I re- year of her age. To the memory of Thomas Albert, son of Lawson and Sarsh Ann Ver- million, who was killed by lightning at Good Hope, D. C., on Sunday, July 12, 1863, aged fourteen years. To the memory of Lawson Vermil- lion, who departed this life March 12, 1860, inilhe,rnny-uvemh year of his age. One of the graves in this old ceme- tery is that of Margaret Drowns, & young girl who was the victim of an atrocious murder. She and her mother kept the Seat Pleasant Hotel, before there was much of a settle- ment in that neighborhood. In that hotel Margaret was killed. That was back in the 90s, about 1896—and was & tragedy that shocked Washington. It was not far away in point of time from the murder of Elsie Kreglo, who was killed a few yards west of the west bank of Rock Creek and & few yards north of Kiingle ford, where the Klingle road bridge crosses the creek today. The Rambler knows the spot well. He “reported” the Drowns and the Kreglo murders. St. Elmo’s Fire. \HE phenomenon of a phosphores- ceft light at the masthead is one so rarely witnessed by others than superstitious sailors that it is seldom |one finds an intelligent account of it. The' story of it told by Dr. Mason, a missionary in Burma, is therefore of ex- | ceptional intere: On one occasion he was with others GRETTA, NEAR EAST RIVERDALE. “Gretta,” or “Miss Gretta” even though she was christened “Marga- ret” and not “Margaretta.” That is, this is the Rambler's understanding of the matter. As the Rambler has it from the Dieudonne family’ tree, Dr. Benjamin Day married Miss Martha Cooke of Howard county, Md. His daughter Margaret Rebecca married Nicholas Carroll Stephen, son of Judge John Stephen of Annapolis and Bladensburg, and their son, Benjamin Day Stephen, married Charlotte Mar- cel, daughter of Marcello Sues of Ge- neva, Switzerland. Gretta is an in- teresting -old house. It has stood up under all the storms of a century, looks young and prim in its fresh yel- low paint and in'its rooms are many of those antique objects which pass under the general name of heirlooms. If you are out that way you should make a call at Gretta and you might say that the Rambler sent you. But don’t let the watchdog hear you say it. Before moving on his way to Gretta the Rambler stopped at the old Dieu- donne house in Bladensburg for lunch, and before the table was set Mrs. Ju- Hana Jenings Brice Stephen Dieu- donne, daughter of Nicholas Carroll Stephen and Margaret Rebecca Day, sang. She told the Rambler that it ‘was rather strange how well her sing- ing voice had been preserved through all the years since she studied music with Miss Mingie Scott, now Mr: Richard Townsend, at Mme. Chegary’ fashionable academy in Philadelphia. And g0 it is. She sang Gounod’s “Ave Maria,” & few other good songs and one in Italian called “Mia Madre Me- lodia Chive D1 SoL” by one Luzsi, and . Xs member Mme. Chegary’s Female Acad- emy on Murray Hill, New York city. It was a flourishing place in the '30s, ’40s and '50s. Mme. Chegary lived to a great age and died only a few years ago in New York. There was a long| ebituary notice of her in some of the New York papers, and I am surprised that you didn’t clip it, so that you could work it over in a case like this. It was a swell school, and the daugh- ters of the Jays, Schuylers, Biddles and Wellings went there. Daughters of wealthy and fashionable families came from Washington, Baltimore, Richmond and Charleston and many other cities were represented in the classrooms and tie parlors—they had parlors in those days. Some of the Gebhart children went to Mme. Che- gary's—yes, Freddie Gebhart was of the same family. I recall that some of the Mays of Baltimore attended there. T happen to remember some of these names because my mother was a pupil at Mme. Chegary's. By the way, one of madame’s star pupils was Fannie Chauncey, who became the wife of Chauncey McKeever, who, as adjutant general of the Army, lived in Washington for a number of yéars.” * ok k¥ ERE and there In the course of the Bladensburg rambles I have mentioned Christopher Lowndes, who bullt the great house called Bostwick, which is still standing and is owned by James H. Kyner. The Rambler wrote the story of that house seven or eight years ago. Big iron letters and figures, set high up in the south chimney, are “C. L., 1746 . L stands for Christopher Lowndes. It waa about 1822 that Bostwick was on board a small schooner at anchor off Tavoy Point, when a severe squall of wind and rain, adcompanied by much thunder and lightning, came on. After the storm began to abate they were aroused by a cry on deck, “There is 2 ball of fire at the masthead!” They { went up and saw, what is very rarely seen, “the fire of St. Elmo,” or rather l“tha fire of St. Elmo and St. Anne.” It exhibited an appearance quite dif- ferent from all the descriptions the doctor had read. Phipson says: “Lord | Napler observed the fire of St. Elmo in ithe Mediterranean during a fearful ! thunderstorm. As he was fetiring to rest & cry from those aloft, ‘St. Elmo and St. Anne? induced him to go o deck. The masthead was completeiy | enveloped in a blaze of pale phosphoric light.” The St. Elmo that Dr. Mason saw did not envelop the masthead in a blaze at all, but it took the form of a perfect globe of phosphoric light, perhaps a foot In diameter. It was not on the summit of the mast, but touched it on jone side, playing about it, When the | yessel rolled, as a large soap bubble, a trifle lighter than the air. After remaining some ten minutes the light grew fainter, and finally died out like a soap bubble. Timing Lightning. BY means of’ & photograph made with ‘a vibrating lens, a British sclentist has calculated the time of a lightning flash. It comes out one- nineteenth of a second. The calcula- tion is based upon the multiple image in the photographs and the rate of vibration of the lens. The time ap- plies, of course, only to the particular fiash that was photographed.