Washington is the home of our Federal Government; but it is more than
that—it is a delightful place to work, a stimulus to excellence in
mental activity. Those of us who had wandered about more or less
aimlessly before we discovered Washington well understand how its genial
climate called forth the Presidential praise of our honor guest from the
cool, green hills of Vermont.
Add to the delight of the climate, the charm of Washington’s setting,
and one appreciates why, from the Executive Mansion outward to the very
rim of federal activity, all remain, if they can, after leaving office.
Woodrow Wilson stayed here, until he passed away. President Harding was
hurrying home when his end came. The only living ex-president resides in
the District.
Abraham Lincoln was loath to leave Washington, it is said, and so
preferred a summer cottage in the Soldier’s Home Grounds, as did many of
his successors, rather than a more elaborate executive residence
elsewhere, while the White House was getting its annual dressing.
In the house now occupied by the Cosmos Club, Dolly Madison ruled social
Washington in such a scintillating setting that even the widows of
presidents, with few exceptions, have made their later homes here.
Nor is it strange, for this is the city the unequaled plan of which was
worked out with such loving care by Major Charles L’Enfant, as he leaned
over a drawing board in his home near the old Tudor Mansion; the parks
of the plan later beautified by the landscape gardener, Andrew J.
Downing.
And this magnificent dream city had the proper antecedents, too, for it
was from this very site the old Indian chief Powhatan ruled his own vast
territory before ever the white man had set up the capital of a nation
dedicated to peace and opportunity.
Many eminent statesmen and great orators have found Washington environs
so satisfying that they have spent their last years within this
forest-like city. The inimitable Henry Clay was buried here in 1852;
Elbridge Gerry, a signer of the Declaration of Independence, lies in the
Congressional Cemetery; and John Lee Carroll, a former Governor of
Maryland, found his last resting place in a local graveyard.
It was in Washington as the head of the Federal Party that that
distinguished orator, Daniel Webster, made his indelible impress on
American history.
In the old “Union Tavern” on a site now occupied by a large apartment
building one could have found hobnobbing with resident genius, in that
early yesterday, such guests as Louis Phillipe, Count Valney, Lord
Lyons, Baron Humboldt, Charles Talleyrand, Jerome Bonaparte, Washington
Irving, Charles Dickens, General St. Clair, Lorenzo Dow, John Randolph,
and perhaps Charles Goodyear, when he was asking for a patent for
vulcanizing rubber.
Even the dashing Robert E. Lee, leaving his ancestral home overlooking
Washington, rode regretfully away to duty in his beloved south.
One may perhaps concede that associations would attract retired admirals
and generals to a residence here—Admirals Evans, Dewey, Schley, Sampson,
Peary, and Generals Greely, Crook, Wheeler, Miles and Pershing, within
my own unprompted memory, but what is the secret which brings back to
Washington those who have looked upon the enchanting spots of our
wonderful country; the three Johns, for example, John C. Freemont, the
great northwest pathfinder; John W. Powell, explorer of the Grand Canon
of the Colorado; John A. Sutter, discoverer of gold in California.
Even Governor Shepherd, who _made_ Washington, and afterward was
practically banished to Mexico, prayed that he might be brought back to
the city of his dreams, and his wish gratified, he lies at rest amid the
grassy slopes of Rock Creek Cemetery.
It was ever thus; even stubborn old Davy Burns must have thought well of
Washington for he brought from his native land not only a charming
daughter but the bricks with which he builded a cottage for her, and
from whose humble door this Scottish lassie later went to a haughty
family and a mansion as the wife of Major General Van Ness.
Not only from official life, but from all fields of activity, the
capital city attracts to itself an unusual aggregation of
mentality—scientific and literary and industrial.
Poets and great writers, noted scientists and renowned inventors have
done their best work in the invigorating atmosphere of the capital,
washed clear by the mist of the Great Falls of the Potomac.
It was here Francis Scott Key lived when he wrote “The Star Spangled
Banner,” a spot marked by the new memorial bridge just completed; here
Harriet Beecher Stowe wrote that immortal story, “Uncle Tom’s Cabin”;
Walt Whitman the first edition of his “Leaves of Grass”; James Bryce
“The American Commonwealth”; and Owen Meredith his “Lucile.”
In a rose-covered cottage on the heights overlooking the river, across
from the Arlington National Cemetery, Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
wrought; and in a less flowery abode impecunious Edgar Allan Poe wrote
much of his “spooky stuff.”
Looking down upon the city from the east, John Howard Payne, in tranquil
contentment, on his return from a sojourn in a foreign land, wrote the
one song which will never die, “Home, Sweet Home.”
In isolated serenity in Rock Creek Park stands the cabin of Joaquin
Miller, “the poet of the Sierras,” now the shrine of the artist as well
as the writer.
Across Lafayette Park, opposite the White House, George Bancroft, the
great historian, calmly laid down his pen in his 91st year and passed to
his great reward.
And it was here that the painter James McNeill Whistler began his climb
to an artistic, world-renowned fame.
As for science, why Washington is the scientific center of the world.
More revolutionary discoveries which have been the foundations of great
industries have been made in the District of Columbia than any other ten
miles square in all the world.
It was here that the great Joseph Henry spent the most prolific period
of his sixty years of usefulness.
On the bosom of Rock Creek, Fulton first floated the model of his
steamboat, the _Clermont_; and on the Potomac River, Professor Langley
tested out the aerodynamic principles upon which all airplanes are
built, and at a time when the “flying machine” was a subject not
mentioned in elite scientific circles.
In the observatory on Cathedral Heights, that great astronomer, Simon
Newcomb, worked; and nearby Cleveland Abbe, the famous meteorologist,
published the first daily weather reports.
Between Washington and Baltimore, Professor S. F. B. Morse, in 1844, put
his telegraph to work, the first telegraph operator being Theodore N.
Vail, late president of the A. T. & T. Company. Dr. Graham Bell
perfected his telephone here, Professor Tainter the wax cylinder
phonograph, and Mr. Berliner the talking machine.
Both the typecasting machines, the linotype and monotype, were invented
in the District; and here a stenographer in the Life Saving Service
invented the first motion picture machine, the prototype of the
projector used in every picture theatre the world over to this very day.
From the hills of Virginia, across the river, the first wireless message
ever transmitted was sent into Washington; and from Washington to
Philadelphia the first photographs by radio were sent.
When the Daughters of the American Revolution sought a permanent home no
place could successfully compete with the charm of Washington; and here
also the American Red Cross and the Pan American Union set up their
respective domiciles.
In Kendall Green Park, in the northeast section of the city, the
Columbia Institute for the Deaf was set up, the only Institution of its
kind in the world, the gift of Gallaudet to the afflicted.
It was in Washington that another philanthropist, William W. Corcoran,
built the Louise Home for Southern gentlewomen, as well as the Corcoran
Art Gallery, the latter a gift to the city. He was laid away in Oak Hill
Cemetery, the resting place of an unequaled gathering of distinguished
Americans.
In the north of the city is the Walter Reed Hospital, named in honor of
Dr. Walter Reed, who heroically risked his life to prove that yellow
fever germs were communicated by mosquitos.
The Carnegie Institute “for the encouragement of investigation, research
and discovery,” and the Carnegie Geophysical Laboratory are both located
here.
In Washington the Geographic Society was established, and the unique
_Geographic Magazine_ is published; and here the beautiful home for the
National Academy of Science has just been dedicated.
So the atmosphere of Washington works its witchery on resident as well
as those who stop here but briefly, a mental stimulus of no uncertain
potency; and as for scenic beauty, it is unequaled and getting more
beautiful and more attractive all the time.
As I fly above the city its streets are hidden under a criss-cross of
green trees, with the superb white dome of the Capitol standing out
above the verdure in majestic splendor; and over to the west the Lincoln
Memorial, looking for all the world like a jewel box of alabaster. And
on the rim of the mist beyond stands a bowl-like marble amphitheatre
keeping watch over the grave of the Unknown Soldier, while still farther
around to the north looms the great National Cathedral on Mount St.
Albans, where lies “the man of peace.”
And it was this inspiring sight that greeted the homeward bound,
round-the-world flyers as they glided over the city to a landing in
Boiling Field.
An annual pilgrimage to this mecca of glorious past and wondrous
present, with its wealth of white buildings, its miles of park roads,
its spring cherry blossoms and autumn colors is always inspiring.
From whatever point of view, Washington well deserves the pride of
possession of all worthy Americans.
[Illustration:
Every normal man instinctively seeks a recreational activity—hunting,
fishing, riding, tennis, golf. The author’s relaxation from research
work is flying an airplane—and it’s delightful sport.
]
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