aves."

In leaving Culpeper we retrace our path as far as Gordonsville, and
there turn toward Mechanicsville, on our way to Richmond. Again we come
through alternations of open, rolling, exquisitely pastoral country and
lush forest. Between Culpeper and Madison Mills we notice particularly
a little old red brick church set in the forest trees by the roadside. A
tablet on the building tells us that this is "Crooked Run Baptist
Church. Organized 1777, rebuilt 1910." Crooked Run, a swift, clay-red
creek, hurries along through the forest near the church.

One thing that interests us in Virginia is the frequency of family
cemeteries, quiet plots near the old farmhouses and mansions. Sometimes
they are surrounded by low brick walls, over which the honeysuckle
climbs. Sometimes they are open plots on a knoll in some field near the
house. After we pass Gordonsville the fine road changes to a
comparatively poor one and the open country with its park-like
appearance gives way to long stretches of rich forest. There are many
fine oaks and clumps of green pines. After passing Louisa we are more
than ever in what seems to be back country, lonely and apparently
sparsely settled. We drive over long stretches of old corduroy road, the
planks now much rotted. Here and there is a comfortable looking negro
cabin, and here and there a negro is clearing land. The soil looks very
rich and fertile after it has been opened to the sun. At a somewhat
lonely point we come upon three little negro boys and tell them that we
wish to take their pictures. I stand them in a row while T. gets his
camera, assuring them that each boy is to have two pennies for standing
quietly. They are somewhat awed by the occasion; and when T. produces a
tripod and begins to pull out its long legs preparatory to getting a
high stand for the camera, they are terrified. The face of the oldest
one melts into tears, but we reassure him and the picture promises to be
a success. We tell the proud mother of the oldest boy that we will
surely send her a picture and we are glad to keep our promise later.

[Illustration: 1. Three Young Virginians. 2. An Old Homestead on
Tidewater, Va.]

Farther on we pass some forlorn looking negroes in a field, clearing the
land. By the roadside sits the baby, a round little pickaninny in a
rustic baby carriage made of a soap box on wooden wheels. We stop the
car and ask if we may take the baby's picture. The older man looks very
troubled an