Alexandria gazette. [volume] (Alexandria, D.C.) 1834-1974, 1921-08-19
THE LITTLE CITY
By Frances Thompson
FLOR The .Gazette)

When a city becomes possessed OF
individuality and speaks language
of its own to its people, it is one OF
the great cities, though it's popula-
ton be but a handful and it is known
elsewhere as q zone horse town." SIX
miles below the city of Washington is
such town. Although the average
Westinghouse knows it chiefly by
the humorous references made to II IN
vaudeville shows, Alexandria IS, TO
those who know ner, like an old lady
of quality. who, with true southern
pride, remembers the fine material OF
which she is made and smiles up her
sleeve at +ho crude jests of wanton
comedians. -
She is overshadowed by Washing
ton, but she makes no attempt TO lmi-
tate her. Washington IS new. Deautl-
full, like a lovely modern young girl.
but Alexandria is possessed OF a quiet
beauty Of her own. She is not less
lovely than Washington, but hers IS
like the loneliness of deep blue sap
phire placed next to sparkling dla-
mond. 1t has been said that woman
is most charming when she reaches
that stage when she no longer 1eeis
it necessary to attract admiration,
and Alexandria has reached tha'
stage of composure. -, :
It's streets are paved roughly IN
places with cobble stones, put tne
houses which line each side OF them
are reminiscent OF colonial Times;
Substantial bricks, some req anu
some yellow, with broad tiat 1ronCs
and big green shutters, nearly every very
one with a ward and a shade tree.
These are lust homes, but | can re-
member nov one old mansion when
once had a square of ground around
II and il houses the descendants OF
one Of the first families Of Virginia.
It is square and dignified, OF dark
brick. and the stairs come straight
down to the hall at the pig 1rone
doors as if welcoming, with Virginia
hosnitality, any visitor who may come
II IS entirely possible, too, that these
th;ck oak doors once swung open TO
admit General Washington. Indeed
# is this spirit of past glory when
nervades the town and gives to IL als-
tinction. Everything about 1t seems
to remind us that Washington ana
I,ee are two or three grandtathers
behind US. LIN
What American would not be thrill
ed bv the wonder of Old Christ
Church beautiful both in itself and IN
tic associations. In May when the
morning sun in Christ Church vara
turns the grass to vivid green anu
under the trees, older than living men
are cast darker shadows we can see,
if we but half try, the bellies OF COL
onial times. with their bright dress
es and parasols, discussing the latest
fashions before riding off IN their
coaches and four. l am sure that they
loitered in the church yard for chat,
for human nature does not change
with time.
There is no architect in America
who has the witchery in his fingers to
build a church as beautiful as this
low and hallowed one of dark red
brick, with it's fence of iron pallngs
closing in from the world it's solemn
loneliness. The charm Of it is like tnat
of yellowed ivory, revered because OF
the touch of gone and beloved hands.
To fully describe it would be like
telling the variation in the beauty OF
q woman in her different gowns.
Christ Church is real aristocrat be-
cause, though the little birds that
drank from the pools in the uneven
pavement at her doors only little
welcome with gentleness and grace.
| remember the church, too, in the
furry of snow storm at Christmas,
the white down covering the trees
with loving care, making the head
stones still winter and finding a rest
ing place in the window stills. have
seen it in the heat-storms OF summer,
unafraid of the lightning; and IN the
warm suns of June, and | have found
that in all conditions of nature, it
assumes new charms.
Then there is Windmill Hill, a gen.
tie eminence at the foot of Lee Street,
which directly overlooks the Poto-
mac. Every summer evening after
supper the people gather in small
groups to watch the river boats. An
old man comes, followed by a child
bringing a chair for him. Once the
old man brought chair for his grand
father to Windmill Hill, but the tide
has ebbed and flowed many times
since then. The old man and child take
their places among the crowd. 1t is
story hour for the boy, and his grand
father tells him of those days in the
Civil War, when he was the lads age,
and the little city was surging war
town. He tells him Of the old veteran
who was shot on King street because
he dared to sing, in the presence of
Northern soldiers:
''I'm a good old rebel
That's inst what I am