the seat
of an industrial population which shall wax fat upon the growth of the
nation's needs.

By the middle of the afternoon, we were at Wheeling (91 miles). The
town has fifty thousand inhabitants, is substantially built, of a
distinctly Southern aspect; well stretched out along the river,
but narrow; with gaunt, treeless, gully-washed hills of clay rising
abruptly behind, giving the place a most forbidding appearance from
the water. There are several fine bridges spanning the Ohio; and
Wheeling Creek, which empties on the lower edge of town, is crossed by
a maze of steel spans and stone arches; the well-paved wharf, sloping
upward from the Ohio, is nearly as broad and imposing as that of
Pittsburg;[A] houseboats are here by the score, some of them the
haunts of fishing clubs, as we judge from the names emblazoned on
their sides--"Mystic Crew," "South Side Club," and the like.

For the first time upon our tour, negroes are abundant upon the
streets and lounging along the river front. They vary in color from
yellow to inky blackness, and in raiment from the "dude," smart
in straw hat, collars and cuffs, and white-frilled shirt with
glass-diamond pin, to the steamboat roustabout, all slouch and rags,
and evil-eyed.

Wheeling Island (300 acres), up to thirty years ago mentioned in
travelers' journals as a rare beauty-spot, is to-day thick-set with
cottages of factory hands and small villas, and commonplace;
while smoky Bridgeport, opposite on the Ohio side, was from our
vantage-point a mere smudge upon the landscape.

Wheeling Creek is famous in Western history. The three Zane brothers,
Ebenezer, Jonathan and Silas,--typical, old-fashioned names these,
bespeaking the God-fearing, Bible-loving, Scotch-Presbyterian
stock from which sprang so large a proportion of trans-Alleghany
pioneers,--explored this region as early as 1769, built cabins, and
made improvements--Silas at the forks of the creek, and Ebenezer and
Jonathan at the mouth. During three or four years, it was a hard fight
between them and the Indians; but, though several times driven from
the scene, the Zane brothers stubbornly reappeared, and rebuilt their
burned habitations.

Before the Revolutionary War broke out, the fortified home of the
Zanes, at the creek mouth, was a favorite stopping stage in the
savage-haunted wilderness; and many a traveler in those early days has
left us in his journal a thankful account of his tarrying here. The
Zane stoc