Coming back to the closed habitations, the homes of Justices Hunt and Swayne pass before the mind’s eye--the first closed by affliction, the latter by death. And long will linger in the minds of our old residents the unostentatious hospitality of the late George W. Riggs, banker, and whose “business house” was felt to be the safest in Washington, though avaricious. Mr. Riggs was known to be clean-handed, and he inspired the public to believe that his bank was as solid as the foundation of the earth. And who will forget the kingly hospitality of our late Mayor Wallach, so superbly assisted by his accomplished wife? The death of the ex-mayor, followed so soon by the death of Mrs. Wallach’s father, closes this mansion indefinitely. Coming to the houses occupied by what is termed in Washington “official society,” deserted within the time specified, memory recalls the costly dwelling occupied and owned by the late Senator Chandler. “Old Zach,” as he was familiarly called, had no taste for society proper, but he had great respect for his wife’s feelings, and when she gave the order that he should stand in the proper place with his huge hands encased in white kid gloves and welcome the coming guest it was done with the same vim and audacity with which he would conduct a campaign. One grasp of his solid palm would put the visitor at ease, if the ardor could be made to last through the cooling process of passing the gauntlet of the handsome hostess. Mrs. Chandler conducted society matters on the Victoria plan, everything perfect, superb and grand, but the thermometers always indicated the freezing point, unless “dear old Zach” was around to warm matters up and infuse a little life and spirit. Senator Carpenter, with all his faults--the mould was broken when he went away--on the floor of the Senate could be a statesman, but in society he had all the rollicking abandon of a school boy. Who can forget the charming Carpenter home, the little spinning-wheel in the parlor, at which sat the sole daughter of the house, with the flax slipping through her slender fingers? Ah, pretty tableaux! Gone, never to return!