tnesses of the swamp. The Dismal Swamp Canal was dug
in the old days of the wheelbarrow and spade.

The Albemarle and Chesapeake Canal, the entrance to which is sixteen
miles from Norfolk, on the right or east bank of the Elizabeth River,
and generally known as the "new canal," was commenced about the year
1856, and finished in 1859. It is eight miles and a half in length, and
connects the Elizabeth and North Landing rivers. This canal was dug by
dredging-machines. It is kept in a much better state for navigation, so
far as the depth of water is concerned, than the old canal, which from
inattention is gradually shoaling in places; consequently the regular
steam-packets which ply between Elizabeth City and Norfolk, as well as
steamers whose destinations are further north, have given up the use of
the Dismal Swamp Canal, and now go round through Albemarle Sound up the
North River, thence by a six-mile cut into Currituck Sound, up North
Landing River, and through the new canal to the Elizabeth River and into
Chesapeake Bay. The shores of the Elizabeth are low and are fringed by
sedgy marshes, while forests of second-growth pine present a green
background to the eye. A few miles above Norfolk the cultivation of land
ceases, and the canoeist traverses a wilderness.

About noon I arrived at the locks of the Albemarle and Chesapeake Canal.
The telegraph operator greeted me with the news that the company's agent
in Norfolk had telegraphed to the lock-master to pass the paper canoe
through with the freedom of the canal--the first honor of the kind that
had fallen to my lot. The tide rises and falls at the locks in the river
about three feet and a half. When I passed through, the difference in
the level between the ends of the locks did not reach two feet. The old
lock-master urged me to give up the journey at once, as I never could
"get through the Sounds with that little boat." When I told him I was on
my second thousand miles of canoe navigation since leaving Quebec, he
drew a long breath and gave a low groan.

When once through the canal-gates, you are in a heavy cypress swamp.
The dredgings thrown upon the banks have raised the edge of the swamp
to seven feet above the water. Little pines grow along these shores,
and among them the small birds, now on their southern migrations,
sported and sang. Whenever a steamer or tugboat passed me, it crowded
the canoe close to the bank; but these vessels travel along the canal
at so s