he descendants still love the old place
and consider it their ancestral home, for they had it longer than any
other family. Colonel Hollingsworth was the superintendent of Mount
Vernon before Colonel Dodge. I remember Colonel Hollingsworth well, a
tall, fine-looking old gentleman, with a long, white beard. Of course,
in those days we went to Mount Vernon by way of the river, on the
steamer _W. W. Corcoran_. It is still, I think, by far the most pleasant
way to approach the dignified old mansion, and Captain Hollingsworth
would often be on the boat and talk with us. I've never forgotten the
dear old-fashioned nosegay he picked and gave me from Mrs. Washington's
garden. Mrs. Hollingsworth was a tiny little old lady. I can see her now
with her snow-white hair and her big, black bonnet. Poor soul, it was a
terrible trial to her when the place had to be sold after her husband's
death.

[Illustration: THE SEVIER HOUSE (BUILT BY WASHINGTON BOWIE)]

It was put up for auction in 1890, and Mr. and Mrs. John Sevier, who
happened to be visiting Mr. and Mrs. Henry Dodge in Georgetown at that
time, though they spent a great deal of their time in Paris, heard of
the sale and bought the house on the spot. Mr. Sevier was a descendant
of the famous Tennesseean of that same name. Later they added the wings
extending far out on each side, which are really two charming little
houses. The old garden is still full of wonderful box, and besides,
there are lots and lots of lovely roses, the pride of their stately
mistress.

Mrs. Sevier told me of being at a spa in Germany one summer when she was
young, with Mr. Sevier. When they asked for the first floor apartment
instead of theirs on the second, they were told by the proprietor that
it was engaged for "some Englishman; he did not know whom." It turned
out to be the then Prince of Wales, Edward VII. The prince, on seeing
her, asked to be presented. She was very beautiful then, tall and fair.
She met him three times, in the garden or at the spring. When he was
leaving, he asked to say good-bye. She, unthinkingly, stood on the step
above him, (a terrible _faux pas_, she learned afterwards), gave him
some roses, and he presented her with a bouquet surrounded by lace
paper; it was the custom, always, on leaving a place.

When my father built his house in 1884 on the southwest corner of
Stoddert (Q) Street and Congress (31st) Street, it was in part of the
orchard of the old Bowie place. Some of