The Birmingham age-herald., 1919-08-07
Mrs. Reid's Letter From
 The Valley of Virginia

1 I have enjoyed a drive in the country
 Can you imagine Mrs. R. D. Johnston,
 the farmer, that she is, it is very won
 derful to me to see her domesticating her self after having been so many years do- ] ing things for other folks. She lives out about nine miles from town at White
 Post. Here she has an apple orchard, S2
 acres in bearing trees, and they are plant | ing young orchard this fall. She is a remarkable woman, and has wonderful adaptability, and always has something 1 on-hand for public service I spent Fri I day night with her, and Evans drove us out to Brentwood, beyond Berryvile You know Aubrey Harwell has purchased this estate of 217 acres, and magnificent house it Is, modern in every sense, though | of colonial style. You remember he used | to be on the staff of The Age-Herald. We'll he married Katherine Lewis daughter of Mrs. Ivey Lewis of Birming- ham, and moved to New York, and is one of our southern boys who made good, has lucrative business as newspaper broker, home on tile Hudson and this ideal summer country place, He doesn't talk New York much; he is absorbed in apples. That is a profitable game up here, and he is going to plant the greater part of his land in apples. l was very much impressed with the two children, Aubrey and Katherine. They were well posted
 
 nation worth while, and, too. one could see Aubrey and his dad were pais. Mrs Harwell looks well. and knows just how to tell old friends howdy' in the old-time style. The evening was most pleasantly spent. By the by, Mrs. Lewis. Mrs. Tipton and Rebecca Jones have re- gently returned to Birmingham rom months visit to them.
 You know l have been fortunate in knowing a good many people, and it is great source of pleasure While at Brentwood we were tied "audly" The home of Nellie Custis, was only two miles away: at once we all wanted to see so historic place. After the for mality of asking permission lover the rbone) to call with Alabamas Vice. Regent, D. A. R. Mrs. Johnston, MT. Har- well brought out his car and drove us all over there Let me tell you. had an idea that we would be invited into formal historic hall, met by some royal parsonage who made colonial courtesy and let us look Ca Ia Amelia Rives). Instead, MT. Archibald Cum mins, the owner of the place, met us at the gate, which he opened. and led the way to the house Mrs Cummins neatly attired, in a figured linen house dress met us and she was indeed chaming hostess. But let me tell you the funny part of it--Mrs. Johnston was busy ys looking at antiques. but could not keep my thoughts off of the comfort of such a home. Mrs. Cummings remarked in- cidentally she lived in Birmingham once and this aroused new interest in both of us. for while Mrs Johnston has adopted Virginia, her heart will always be with Alabama. at once began to ask questions. Mrs. Cummins was .annie Williams, daughter of MT. and Mrs. Peter Williams, formerly of Rich mond, who moved to Birmingham with quite a Virginia colony soon after the boom, and MT. Williams who has since died, was prominently connected with the Sloss company. I had visited their home on North Seventh avenue and we almost forgot Washington or Nellie Custis ever lived. and rattled away l with what the Birming gham folks were donfg-the Majors. Tutwilers. Toulvins. Pages. Johnstons, Sims. Dearborns, l ard dozens of families whom she re- ] IT, enb cred though she was but child l in those days.
 When we started home I used the | same old sterotyped expression, well. | the world is not so large after ali''- and I am glad if is not. For the few miles l can afford to travel hava made l me truly feel I know worlds of folks. | we then turned our faces homeward, but | did not reach there until we had driven | three quaint towns, Berryville, Royce and White Rose. and by the l stone church in which Washington used | to attend services and I kind of held | my breath, to think. and the words of | Byron appeared:
 "Think'st thou existence doth depend l
 on time?
 It doth but actions are our spochs;
 mine
 Have made my days and nights inn l
 perishable,
 Endless and all alike"
 Thus these little turns on the high | way will always carry the spirit of V ashington.