LITERARY LANDMARKS.

BEING A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF CELEBRATED AUTHORS WHO HAVE LIVED IN WASHINGTON, THE LOCATION OF THEIR HOMES, AND WHAT THEY HAVE WRITTEN.

BY MARGARET BRENT DOWNING.

(Read before the Society, February 16, 1915.)

"All the birds sing in Arcady."

John Kendrick Bangs observed in a recent lecture that so universally is Washington accepted as the literary as well as the political capital of the nation that stand where you may and cast a stone you will surely strike a man or a woman who has written a book. Ainsworth R. Spofford, late librarian of Congress and an irreparable loss to this Society, read before it on February 10, 1902, a paper entitled "Washington in Literature." It was an invaluable addition to the archives and gave the complete and comprehensive treatment of the subject for which all of Mr. Spofford's writings are renowned. To enumerate the titles of all the books emanating from Washington which Mr. Spofford considered of national importance, required more than eight pages of solid printed matter.

In the thirteen years which have elapsed the making of books has gone forward with leaps and bounds. To cover the field with even a casual glance and add to Mr. Spofford's list would require quadruple the time that is allotted to the reading of these papers. Of the total population of Washington, it is estimated that more than twelve thousand engage in the profession of letters, some being writers exclusively, others adding that

gentle art to more serious avocations. The numerous officials of the government of whom President Wilson stands preeminent, diplomats, members of the Supreme Court and of the national legislature, the scientists of the Smithsonian and other branches of the government, the professors of the various colleges and universities, the great number of literati resident here and the members of the press compose this large body. Just to tell off their names and what they have written would be too lengthy a task.

But with the lighter charms of literature, historical memoirs, familiar speeches, favorite songs and popular novels, sprightly letters written by famous men and women, Washington has an intimate and pleasing association. William Wirt, for instance, was a near-Washingtonian, since he was born in the sleepy old village of Bladensburg and his long and useful life was affiliated with stirring chapters of national history. He wrote voluminously on many themes, "The Letters to a British Spy," the political essays signed "Bachelor" and the "Life and Times of Patrick Henry." He was Attorney-General of the United States for twelve years under Monroe and Adams, a term in the presidential council exceeded only by that of James Wilson, of Iowa, who for sixteen years was Secretary of Agriculture. Mr. Wirt was prosecuting attorney for the government against Aaron Burr and his speech "Who is Blannerhassett?" will probably continue his greatest claim to fame when his finer efforts are forgotten. No public utterance has been so frequently the victim of academic oratory. The passage where he describes the lovely young wife of Burr's victim "whom he lately permitted not the winds of Heaven to visit too roughly, shivering at midnight on the banks of the Ohio and mingling her tears with the torrents which froze as

they fell," still calls forth tears and laughter from any American audience, especially of an older generation.

Mr. Wirt resided for twelve years in the fine old brick mansion on G Street between Eighteenth and Nineteenth, the former home of Tobias Lear, Washington's private secretary and Jefferson's commissioner to end the war in Tripoli. A lovely garden surrounded the house and the high brick wall enclosing it remained until recently. Mrs. Wirt was Elizabeth Washington Gamble, daughter of Colonel Robert Gamble, of Richmond. She was accomplished in many ways and figures prominently in the social annals of the day. She wrote the first book on flowers published in this country, "Flora's Dictionary, being a complete botany, a floral letter writer and a book of quotations." It was published in Baltimore in 1829 and may still be found in libraries of the Maryland and Virginia gentry who were Mrs. Wirt's kindred. The Wirt mansion figures again in literary annals as the home of John P. Kennedy, Poe's benefactor, and also the intimate friend of Washington Irving. A few rods east of this ancient domicile is the stately mansion where Edward Everett lived as Secretary of State and Jefferson Davis as Secretary of War.

When Adelina Patti, by many considered the greatest of all lyric sopranos, made what really proved to be her last appearance in Washington, she sang in response to thundering encores two songs, intimately associated with its literary history: "Home Sweet Home" and "My Life Is Like a Summer Rose." Of the first in its chronological order later. Of the second, few know that it was written here in 1817 when its author, Richard Henry Wilde, of Atlanta, Georgia, was a member of the Lower House. Mr. Wilde has claims to lasting fame in his excellent translation of Petrarch's

sonnets and his monumental work, "History of the Love, Madness and Imprisonment of Torquato Tasso," with a complete English version of Tasso's works. Mr. Wilde lived for years in Florence and discovered and published three forgotten manuscripts on the life and times of Dante. It was he who finally located in the Bargello the famous old fresco of the Divine Poet by Giotto, which had for centuries been covered with whitewash and paint. But his name, in his native country at least, now lives through his old song, written as part of an epic poem to relate the adventures of Pamfilio de Narvaez, adventurer of Madrid, who entered the Bay of Tampa in 1573 with five ships and six hundred men. All of the voyagers perished except Juan Ortiz, and the song was his lament when held captive in Mexico, whither his boat had been blown.

Mr. Wilde, possibly discouraged that his larger efforts were unappreciated, took umbrage at any allusion to his pretty song. To sing or recite "My Life Is Like a Summer Rose" was to send him in a towering rage towards the door, especially after that laughable incident connected with his friend Barclay, who translated the verses into Greek, published them in the North American Review, and then gravely charged Wilde with plagiarism. Barclay afterwards acknowledged the practical joke but the fiery Georgian resented the incident and his friends allege that ever after it was tantamount to courting a challenge to a duel to mention "summer" in connection with a "rose."

This recalls the attitude of another member of the Lower House towards a beloved old song-Thomas Dunn English, of New Jersey, who in the days of his youth wrote "Ben Bolt." Mr. English bitterly repented that dalliance with the Muses and he would abruptly depart from a company should any one dare

to play his melody. It is recorded that he had promised to address the graduating class of a well known seminary. When he stepped onto the stage the orchestra began softly, "Don't you remember sweet Alice." Mr. English glared around and took his leave without any explanation. Every one here can recall the fury with which the late Senator Thurston of Nebraska received any reference to that poetical composition, written before he was twenty, "I Said to the Rose, O Red, Red Rose," and the everlasting parodies on it, especially that popular one, "I Said to My Nose, O Red, Red Nose," published broadcast over the land. All of these horrible examples may explain why so few public men now write poetry.

The sweet singer of Erin, Thomas Moore, came to Washington in 1804 and he tells specifically that he was entertained at 2020 K Street. He thought very poorly of Washington and its people, and has so expressed himself in rhyme, but as he later confesses himself, without reason. He explains in later years that coming to the American capital with Anthony Merry, the British envoy, during the heat of that famous controversy over precedence, he was prejudiced beforehand and saw everything with a jaundiced eye. The letter which he dated from Washington to the Viscount Forbes, in which he arraigns the integrity of the entire governmental body, did not smooth the way for Mr. or Mrs. Merry. On the contrary, there was so much friction and complaining, first to the Secretary of State here and to the Foreign Office of London, that for years Great Britain made it a practice to send only bachelor ministers to this capital. As Emerson so aptly shows, social vices are so much more tangible than social virtues. Washington and the nation have long ago laughed off their resentment over Moore's grotesque