nal Cemetery surrounded by a brick wall,
just as are those of Richmond and Culpeper. This is a smaller cemetery,
but there are rows and rows of little white headstones, marking the
graves of the fallen.

We drive for miles through the forest, the fine trees growing close to
the road. There is a special fascination in driving through open forest.
Here are willow oaks, live oaks, and green, green pines. Here is a heavy
undergrowth of young dogwoods. And here by the roadside are persimmon
trees, loaded with fruit. Wherever the land is cleared it is rich and
fertile. As we come nearer to the sea the forest growth is heavier. Here
and there are negroes working in neat little clearings or sitting on the
whitewashed wooden porches of their tiny cabins.

We are in water-melon country and great wagon-loads of the fruit are
being taken to the nearest station for export. All along the road we see
the pink and green fragments of discarded fruit. People eat water-melons
at this season as we eat oranges in the North. We can see the remains of
many an open air banquet, by the roadside. We stop by one wagon-load and
I ask a boy who is driving what a water-melon will cost. "Oh! fifteen
cents." "We don't want such a big one," say I. "Can't you sell us a
smaller one for ten cents?" "I reckon so." And he picks out a huge
water-melon, and passes it over. As we drive along we cut out cubic
pieces of the pink delicacy. Never have we tasted such a water-melon. It
has not been wilted by a long, hot train journey, but has just come from
the field, and is fresh and delicious.

At Williamsburg we stay at the Colonial Inn, a most pleasant hostel, on
old Duke of Glouchester Street. Williamsburg, known then as Middle
Plantation, was the settlement to which the Jamestown settlers moved
when they found Jamestown Island too damp and malarial for permanent
occupancy. It is one of the most interesting Colonial towns in the
United States. In Williamsburg I realize that many of our Virginia
forefathers were Englishmen of the aristocratic class. The coats-of-arms
on the old stones in the cemetery; the quiet elegance of the old parish
church with its handsomely draped governor's pew--all the marks of early
days' ceremonial are here. A service in Bruton Parish Church is an
experience, and it is also an experience to see the communion plate of
solid silver and the old prayer-book used in Colonial days. One can see
for one's self the pages in the prayer-book w