Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1924-08-25
THIS AND THAT
By C. e. TRACEWELL.


is gentleman's park. q gentlewom-
| ans park. 1t is old Georgetown's
pride.
Over in Montrose Park you will
find no rowdy children, no objection
able characters, but plenty of whole
some boys and girls. playing tennis
and enjoying life generally, with a
fair sprinkling of their elders
One OF the charms Of this place is
That 1t is never overcrowded. Why
| this Is SO 1t is difficult to say, unless
1t that Georgetown. in the vicinity
OF Il street, is not 80 thickly popu-
lated as some other sections of Wash
ington.
I am sure that If Montrose Park
| were suddenly picked up and put
down in Mount Pleasant or Columbia
Heights, the park police would be
forced to put up standing Room
only signs every day.
X
AS 1t is, and where it is, Montrose
| reminds one of private estate, with
It's rolling hills, giant trees, tennis
courts nesting among shrubs, beds
| OF fragrant roses, fresh green grass
To enter 1t is to leave the city be-
hind, whether one come in by the
central. formal gate, or by the Low
er's Lane doorway. This is a strik-
ing transformation, one in which the
National Capital abounds, however
In minute one can ride from metro
polls to forest shade, almost stepping
across line from city to country,
IL seems, the whole process taking
place in the heart of a city of 50O,-
600 persons.
Girls with bobbed-hair are playing
tennis. What clean hair they have,
as ~ blows in the wind that comes
up the hills from Rock Creek, nes-
Ting down there somewhere to tho
nortn. Womens hair, 1T seems to me,
mas lost none Of its charm by being
bobbed. 80 long as a woman takes
the trouble to get the sort of bob that
looks well with her style of beauty.
These girls playing tennis, in their
tennis shoes and colored stockings.
orlns home to one, here meath forests
as prmeval as ever Longfellow
praised, the futility of Freud-I al
most write 1t Fraud-and his doc
tflnes. In their essence they may be
right, but plastered across all crea-
ton, as is the tendency of many Of
mis- followers, they are bunk
There is nothing "sexy'' about these
bright creatures, playing here in
harmless joy. The man was wrong
who wrote about love being Of mans
lie thing apart, but woman's
truth.
Sit beneath these far-spreadine
trees, giants when George Washing
ton was a boy. This was one of his
taVor1te towns, and no doubt he
walked here many a time. George
town, 1t may be said in passing, was
not named after Washington, but
after two landhoIders both of whom
were named GeorRel
Now we sit here, looking out along
graVeled walks to that far hedge of
trees hiding the slope to the creek.
The sun flashes on the bright hair
OF the tennis player.
Two men, reading q newspaper on
bench, some distance away, but
still beneath the shade of this, our
Dough, are discussing the news of the
day as set forth.
Them cartoons are drawn nv
Teller named Bergman" says one.
The voices of girls, like the chirr
or birds, mingle with the hoarser
cries of boys shouting over to the
east on Montrose playground. Here
the words sound as If trickled
through gauze.
This is good grass beneath these
trees, friend. Shade has not spoiled
it. Many a larger park would give
a good deal to have thick grass
around its trees, admittedly a hard
place to make grass grow.
Everything blooms in Montrose
Park, it seems, from the squirrels
with bushy tails to the roses that
blow on green bushes. Near the
central courts are masses of rose
bushes, standing man-high.
There goes yellow dog chasing a
white butterfly. Color, color, color!
Everything toned down by the grass
Here is a tiny formal garden, set
in a hedge, filled from brim to brim
| with pink, pink roses Their petals
are soft and pink, like a babys
cheek.
Comes the sound Of voices, calling
Let us afoot, to see what we may
see. for this Is life in summer, when
hearts are light and nature seems to
be one with US in enjoyment.
Past the shady little house, with its
benches; past the beds Of Columbia
roses, plainly marked on a white
stake; past the hedges where the but
terflies flirt with the bees
Here is the noisy playground at
last. with its twenty children Of all
ages, playing the usual playground
games.
Get out, let me Slide" commands
a girl, busting to the top Of a slide.
why should To- asks the red
headed boy at the foot.
There is more tennis, sandwiched
swinging, sliding.
On the other side Of that green
hedge lies Oak Hill Cemetery. There
are few places in Washington where
life and death sit side by Side as they
do here. Through the green may be
seen the tombs along the western
side of this supremely beautiful ceme-
terry. where lie the dead Of many gen.
erations- The sky leans down DER
state seems to understand the other.
The groves were Gods first tenn
pies Ere man learned
To hem the shaft. and lay the architrave.
And spread the roof above them-ere he framed
The lofty vault, to gather and roll back
Amidst the cool and science, he knelt down
And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks
And duplication.
It is something OF this same feel
ing that makes Montrose Park what
it is. Even the f1appers cannot play
tennis beneath these giant trees
without feeling 1t. 1t Is the ancient
trees that give Montrose Park its
tone.
Even the small boys, plunging up
the path from the creek, feel 1t. They
are friendly. but not boisterous.
20 mister, you ought to see it" says
little Jim.
TT stuck it's head up. just as quick,
and snapped out its little tongue"
breathed Bill.
AN threw q rock at It. and when
1t started to run, tell you 1t made
me pale, I'll bet" cried Sam.
The boys had found a water snake
In the creek, behind = rock, and had
made 1t move on its way. It was a