course, with other disadvantages; but it has beaten its old and pampered rival out of the field. Only one little steamer plies on the Dismal Swamp Canal, and even this must disappear as soon as a necessary railroad is run through the eastern swamp region.
But let us return to our canoes and recall some of the pictures of the lake and swamp.
"Abeham," said Moseley, on our first afternoon at the lake, "put some bait in my boat; I am going to fish till supper time."
And he goes one way from the camp in his canoe with his rod and his gun, while I go another out on the lake. The camp is a rude frame house, with a few bed places or "bunks" in it, built on the edge of the lake by Captain Busby of Suffolk, probably to induce sportsmen and fishermen to visit the place. Instead of pitching our tent in a snake country, this safe and dry shelter is most gratefully accepted. Contrary to our expectations, the nights were quite cold, and I had reason to be thankful that I had brought with me a large raw silk blanket (one of those made by George S. Brown of Boston, whose excellent goods ought to be known to all who are fond of athletics and outing).
Our camping ground had associations, too, that
