Evening star., 1934-06-03

hospitalites" Again, on Saturday March IL:
Charles Dickens, author of the admirable
story of Oliver Twist and other of the most
popular works of fiction known to the history
of English literature, arrived in Washington
on Wednesday evening, last. accompanied by
his lady, and took lodgings at Fullers Hotel.
These estmable strangers will remain in this
city few days, and then proceed to the South
as far probably as Charleston"
CUILERs HOTEL occupied the site of what
is now the New Willard Hotel, where a
hotel, or tavern as they called it in the early
days, was kept as far back as 1918 by Joshua
Tennison, group of buildings having been
erected here by John Tayloe two years before
In 1924 it became the Mansion House, when
it was conducted by John Strother. Later
Basil Williamson became the proprietor, when
it became known as WilliamsonS Mansion
House. Frederick Barnard succeeded William
son, then came Azariah Fuller about 1888, and
he was still the proprietor when the distin-
guished Englishman made his first visit to this
city. Since then, 100 years ago, things have
changed in this neighborhood considerably as
one might naturally suspect, and what Mr..
Dickens then said about it would seem like
fairy tale, if it were not in the main only too
true. This is his description:
THE hotel in which live is long
of small houses fronting the street. and
opening at the back upon a common yard, in
which hangs a great triangle. Whenever a
servant is wanted somebody beats on this
triangle from one stroke up to seven, according
to the number of the house in which his pres
ence is required; and as all the servants are
always being wanted, and none Of them ever
come, this enlivening engine is in full perform
ance the whole day through.
Clothes are drying in the same yard; female
slaves with cotton handkerchiefs twisted round
their heads, are running to and fro on the
hotel business; black walters cross and recross
with dishes in their hands; two great dogs are
playing upon a mound Of loose bricks in the
center Of the little square; a pig is turning up
his stomach to the sun, and grunting that's
comfortable; and neither the men, nor the
women, nor the dogs, nor the pig, nor any
created creature, takes the smallest notice of
the triangle, which is tinghng madly all the
time
Il walk to the front window and look across
the road upon a long, struggling row of houses,
one story high, terminating, nearly opposite
but little to the left, in a melancholy piece
of waste ground with frowzy grass, which looks
like a small piece of country that has taken to
drinking and has quite lost itself. Standing
anyhow and all wrong upon this open space,
like something meteoric that has fallen down
from the moon is odd, lop-sided, one-eyed
kind of wooden building that looks like
church. with flagstaff as long as itself stick
ing out of steeple something larger than a
tea chest.
Under the window is a small stand Of
coaches whose slave drivers summing them
selves on the steps OF our door and talking idly
together The three most obtrusive houses
near at hand the three meanest. On one
a shop, which never has anything in the win
dow and never has the door open-is painted
in large characters, The City Lunch At
another, which looks like backway to some
where else but is an independent building in
itself. oysters are procurable in every style. At
the third, which is a very very little tailor's
shop. pants are fixed to order; or, in other
words, pantaloons are made to measure. And
that is our street in Washington"
unimportant. but the city directory of 1s43