"The house at Raven Hill is a huge affair of the Revolutionary period, with numerous modern additions, which fail entirely to harmonize with the quaint architecture of the original. The stables and servants' quarters give the place the appearance of quite a settlement—a survival of slavery days one sees here and there in the South.
"We were shown to a suite of sunny rooms in the east wing which had been especially prepared for us, and soon made ourselves thoroughly at home. From this agreeable vantage-ground we set out upon many pleasant expeditions into the countryside, returned the visits of our neighbors, and attended the chapel at the Crossways in truly rural style. Nothing amused us as much, though, as the negro servants. To them Elizabeth was 'Honey,' and I, 'Marse Livingstone'; and over at the quarters the little darkies gave rare exhibitions of dancing for our benefit, while solemn, gray-haired Uncle Ashby picked a greasy banjo. The men sang in nasal, but not unmelodious tones, weird, crooning songs, with occasionally an up-to-date composition which found its way, no doubt, from nearby Richmond. I shall never forget those happy evenings at Raven Hill; and in my dreams I often see and hear the negroes as they danced and sang in the moonlight.
"There were some good horses in the stables, and we did not spare them. Our cross-country dashes were most exciting, and the total absence of fences in the region gave us an apparently limitless expanse over which to wander. And that reminds me of a never-to-be-forgotten fox hunt which was attended by riders from all over that section of the country. Half a dozen foxes were corralled at the 'round-up,' and I could not help thinking how tame our alleged 'chases' at home appeared by the contrast.
"One day while roaming about the lower portion of the Raven Hill estate we stumbled quite by accident into Dark Forest, vaguely hinted at by the negroes as a place to be avoided. This Dark Forest is a large tract of scrub oak, birch and holly, with dense undergrowths of briar; the haunt of innumerable small birds that dart in and out, chirping faintly. In its depressed portions the 'forest' has degenerated into a marsh through which a sluggish stream wends it way to the distant river. Slimy reptiles bask in the warm sun and glide lazily over the black, oozy soil. At intervals the stillness is broken by the splash of a gigantic bullfrog returning to his favorite pool. This acrobatic feat is usually accompanied by a deep-throated cry of satisfaction, not unlike the twanging of an ill-tuned guitar. On the edges of the marsh mud-covered terrapins drag themselves through the weeds and disappear with surprising swiftness when they see an intruder.
"Through this singular region, and overgrown with rank, sedgy grass, is a wagon trail, here and there along its winding course several inches under water; and into this wretched road we turned our horses. After a half a mile or so we left the marsh and struck into firmer ground. Then came a sharp bend in the undergrowth, and a clearing, several acres in extent, burst into view. Here stood a white-washed cabin in the midst of a little garden enclosed by a paling fence, and tall sunflowers, swaying to and fro in the breeze, brushed the low-hanging eaves. Flowers grew everywhere in profusion, and the rude porch at the front of the dwelling was half buried in a mass of fragrant honey-suckle. White curtains, gracefully looped, hung at the windows, and there was a charming air of femininity and comfort about the place. We dismounted, and tied our horses at the gate. As we approached the cabin an immense cat dozing on the stoop sprang up hurriedly and darted into the vines. We knocked repeatedly at the door without response. Finally, some one was heard approaching, so we walked to the lean-to at the rear, and there saw, coming up from the spring at the foot of the enclosure, a young and astonishingly pretty girl. She was not at all startled by seeing us; in fact, led us to believe from her manner that we were rather expected than otherwise.
"'Walk right in,' said the little beauty. 'I reckon you folks must be pretty well beat out after your long ride in the hot sun. It's a goodish bit from here to the Hill, ain't it?'
"'How do you know that we are from the Hill?' I asked in surprise.
"'Oh, I know,' she replied. 'I saw ye both at the station when ye first come, and then again at meetin' on Sunday. And you air a bride?' she added, turning to my wife.
"'Yes, and a very happy one,' said Elizabeth, placing her hand upon my shoulder in loving fashion. The child, for she was hardly more than that, gave an odd little sigh, but quickly brightened up again.
"'I'm downright glad ye came,' she said heartily. 'I do so like folks to be neighborly and sociable. Ye ain't stuck up, nuther, like most city folks; no airs, nor the like o' that. Pap'll be home soon, and he'll be glad to see ye too!'