e obliged to await its disappearance.
At length the sun struggled through the clouds, and the mist cleared
rapidly away. We hauled out and steamed slowly up the Elizabeth River,
then past the Navy Yard, with its tall smoking chimneys, its long rows
of yellow buildings, its leaning derricks, its neat and trim little
square, domineered over by a lordly flag-staff, whose base is guarded
by cannon captured from the enemies of the Republic, and its
dismantled ships--relics of past naval architecture. As we pass, the
shrill cry of the boat-swain's whistle is heard on ship-board, piping
all hands to breakfast, mingled with the music of the busy clinking
hammers forging chains and anchors. A few miles above this naval
station human habitations cease, scarcely a living thing greets the
eye--we are in almost entire solitude.

The eagle is seen grandly floating on the air, or poised ready to
strike a defenceless animal or crippled bird. The buzzard, of
loathsome aspect, perched upon a blasted tree, waits for his gorged
appetite to sharpen, that he may descend and fatten upon some putrid
carcase. The river, narrow and tortuous, rolls its black waters
between low and marshy banks, flat, and running back to thin growths
of stunted pines and other badly nourished trees. As we go on, the
senses are now and then refreshed by the sight of a clump of pines,
which have persisted in growing tall and straight, with tufts of
bright green foliage waving gracefully in the wind. For many miles
this is about the description of country we pass through.

At Great Bridge we enter the locks of the Chesapeake and Albemarle
Canal. A battle was fought here in 1775 and the British defeated. Here
are the Company's houses, well constructed and neatly painted--a
credit to the corporation as well as to the guiding spirit. The
substantial locks and well kept dwellings and offices, like the gilded
signs over the doors of the haunts of vice, are pleasant to look upon,
but they do not tell of that which is within. If the passage up the
river is dismal, what shall we say of the journey through this canal.
It is a dreary sameness cut right through a great swamp, merely wide
enough to admit the passage of two vessels, with only a dull damp
settlement here and there--a country store and the inevitable porch,
with its squad of frowsy, unkempt idlers.

[Illustration: COUNTRY STORE.]

The country store and post-office is the same everywhere: it belongs
to every cl