grants to twentieth century houseboats, we found our attention drawn
most to the reminiscences of Mrs. Douthat, told in the charming speech
of a day that had time for the art of conversation. She had childhood
recollections of the great Chief-Justice, and had treasured the family
traditions concerning him. We got all too little both of the personal
recollections and of the traditions; but they made it seem a very real
John Marshall that this granddaughter of his was talking about.

Mrs. Douthat could not add much to the little that we already knew
about a small brick building on the plantation that has long been
pointed out from the steamers' decks as one of the oldest buildings in
the country. It stands on the river bluff near the present home. If as
old as is usually supposed, it is doubtless one of the early garrison
houses, and must have seen desperate days on this Indian-harassed
peninsula.

In this house, up to the time of her death a few years ago, lived the
old mammy of the family. She was one of the last of a type developed
through generations of plantation life, and now disappearing with it.
Her place was at the end of a long line of dusky nurses, the first of
whom landed nearly three centuries ago at James Towne, and crooned to
the children of the royal governors the weird minor lullabies of
jungle-land.

At present, Elias, a gray-haired negro, lives in the little old house.
Every morning he goes to see Mrs. Douthat; and he seldom varies the
greeting: "How is you dis mawnin', Miss Mary? I sut'n'y is glad to see
you able to be up an' 'roun'. You know you an' me is chil'en of de same
day."

Weyanoke, like most of the large plantations on the James, has a
postoffice in the house. Our visit over, we gathered up quite a
promising lot of mail and started homeward with the Commodore looking
like a peripatetic branch of the rural free delivery. Evening was
gathering in as we walked back along the field roads. The air was warm,
a gentle breeze went rustling through the corn, and the autumn haze
just veiled field and marsh and distant woods.

Upon reaching our shore-boat, we pushed out upon the marsh waterway. In
our absence the tide had been slowly creeping up on reeds and rushes,
had reached its height, and (leaving a brown, bubbly line upon each
slender stalk to show that the law had been fulfilled) had started
slowly down again.

But the ebb had only begun. The marsh was yet almost tide-full, and all
its