ital.

Apparently, after the war, Miss Harrover never resumed her school, as,
in 1870, it was being used as an apartment house. I rather think it must
be the oldest apartment house in the District.

The part of the building on the corner was torn down several years ago
and the Edes Home built. It is a home for Georgetown widows. As the
money for it was left by Miss Margaret Edes, who was certainly never a
widow, and the wording of her will said "for the indigent widows of
Georgetown," many people think it was a mistake and was meant to read
"the indigent women of Georgetown."

Just across the street from the Seminary stands the house which was "Old
Dr. Tyler's" home. First of all, it was the home of George W. Riggs;
after that, for many, many years, that of Dr. Grafton Tyler, the beloved
physician. He was a native of southern Maryland, and a cousin of
President Tyler.

During his long life Dr. Tyler enjoyed many honors of high professional
distinction and was the intimate friend and companion of distinguished
statesmen, jurists, and scholars.

In those days doctors took families at "so much" a year, including the
slaves. Not long ago I heard this story about the dear old doctor. For
years and years he had attended a family where there was an addition
almost annually, and he had never sent a bill. Finally, when they were
all nearly grown, the father inherited a nice little sum of money. Not
long afterwards Dr. Tyler was called in for a slight illness. When the
first of the year came round Dr. Tyler sent a bill. The morning after
its receipt the father burst into the doctor's office in a rage, "What
did he mean by sending him a bill? Tut, tut!" And there the matter
ended.

[Illustration: DR. GRAFTON TYLER]

For a great many years Dr. Tyler was the physician for Georgetown
College. It is still a tradition in the family about the turkeys and
the very delicious raisin bread that came every Christmas from the
priests.

His son, Dr. Walter Bowie Tyler, followed him, but not for long, as he
had consumption, as tuberculosis was called in those days. He was asked
to be pall-bearer at the funeral of a young lady who, as a dying
request, asked to be carried up to Oak Hill because she had a horror of
being put in a hearse. Dr. Tyler struggled along for two or three blocks
when my father, who was very fond of him, stepped in, pushed him aside
and finished the journey.

On the block above, on Washington (30th) Street, in a