"
How much pleasanter it would sound. There would be no mistake about your
destination, there being perhaps half a dozen Jones, Browns, or Smiths
within five miles of your home, but only one "Hickory Hill." Then, when
young folks make up their surprise parties during the long, cold, winter
evenings, in place of notifying each other that they are going to
surprise the James', the Jones', or the Jackson's, it would be, we are
going to surprise "Pleasant Valley" "Viewfield" or "Walnut Hill." Every
member of the surprise party would know the place intended, and the
squads and companies of sleighs with their closely packed loads of
laughing girls, and well filled baskets of good things would begin to
marshal on the several roads that lead towards the trysting place; and
when the merry-makers reach the well trimmed walnut grove from which the
farm takes its name, and march up to the dwelling, instead of shouting:
Mrs. Brown, we greet you, or Uncle Brown, etc., it would be: "Walnut
Hill" we greet you, which would include all the Browns, old and young.
One of the brightest spots in my memory is the remembrance of "Rose
Valley" my childhood's happy home.
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