TUCKAHOE 



EN miles west of Richmond, on the highway known 

 as the River Road, an abrupt turn to the south 

 brings one to a cedar-lined lane which leads into 

 the plantation of Tuckahoe. 



For one mile this double line of cedars stretches, 

 and, though serious gaps have been made in the 

 broad avenue by time and weather, the continuity of the evergreen 

 trees, through successive plantations, is now unbroken. The oldest 

 of these trees in their lusty age extend arms farther afield than in 

 their youth, their naked trunks standing stiff and upright, so like the 

 pipes of some cathedral organ that one would not start at the 

 sound of deep, reverential tones coming along the lane. It is most 

 impressive. 



Down the lofty nave of this forest cathedral gleams, at the 

 end, under the open sky, the old, white gateway which bars the 

 lane from the lawn. And straight ahead in the distance, upon a 

 little rise of ground, the old house stands like some fading seven- 

 teenth-century picture shut away in its immediate world. Approach- 

 ing it through the old gateway, one will never forget the picture, 

 especially if the season be spring. Hoary-headed elm trees and 

 clouds of golden daffodils literally surround it. Goldfinches and 

 mocking-birds twitter a welcome, and, girdling all, James River 

 in the distance. The daffodils bend and sway, seeming to beckon 

 one nearer, and the hospitable face of the old house wears the same 

 warm welcome it wore in colonial days. 



Tuckahoe, which is today one of the best examples of the 

 colonial plantation left in America, was founded in 1674 by Wil- 

 liam Randolph, of Turkey Island, for his second son, Thomas. 

 The acreage contained originally in the estate has been placed as 



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