ought it and made it a charming house with a lovely
garden.

Through the alley just north of here, described in the title as "a
private road," we can reach another house built on that same property of
the Harry's, but just who built it I do not know. It also was vacant
when I was a girl, for I remember going to a Fair there one night in the
spring when it had been loaned for some charity. In 1930 the house was
bought by Miss Harriet and Miss Mary Winslow, who have added a lovely
music room at the rear, but have kept the old-time appearance of the
house. A mammoth oak tree, the pride of the owners, stands near the
house.

The next house on Congress (31st) Street has another fine oak tree in
front of it, and used to have a companion even larger on the other side
of the walk. This property also came through Mrs. Harriot Beall Williams
to Mrs. Brooke Williams, senior, and her daughter, Mrs. Johns, who lived
there with her family.

A romantic story is told of how Captain William Brooke Johns, of the
United States Army, one day saw at a picnic the beautiful Miss Leonora
de la Roche, and fell in love with her immediately. But, since it was
not considered good form in those days to be presented to a lady at a
picnic, he watched her from a distance all day. The next afternoon he
went to call. It was a case of love at first sight for both, and the
wedding soon followed, with all the military splendor. As was told
before, when the Civil War came he left the Union Army. Captain Johns
had quite a talent for carving, and did a very good medallion of General
Grant, who continued always to be a true friend to him. He also invented
a tent which was used during the Civil War by the Northern Army.

This house was, for more than a generation, the home of Colonel and Mrs.
John Addison.

At that time it was a two-story house, with quite a different roof. It
was a big, merry household with four sons and four daughters. The
daughters were reigning belles in those days, and the old custom of
serenading was much in vogue. One lovely moonlight night four swains
with their guitars stationed themselves under the windows of the
handsome old house and sang plaintive love songs for an hour or more.
Finally a shutter was pushed open very gently, and the four hearts went
pitter-patter, anticipating the sight of a lovely young girl's face.
Instead, appeared an old, black one, capped by a snowy turban, and these
words floated down: "I'se sorrie, gen