whether they look upon the grave of a prince or upon that of a
peddler--the narrow house of him who retired to the straw pallet of
poverty, will not then be known from that of him who reclined upon the
silken couch of affluence--

"Death levels all ranks,
And lays the shepherd's crook beside the sceptre."

[Illustration: ST. PAUL'S CHURCH, 1878.]

"On it, time his mark has hung;
On it, hostile bells have rung;
On it, green old moss has clung;
On it, winds their dirge have sung;
Let us still adore thy walls,
Sacred temple, Old St. Paul's."

Our party assemble, and we find the little steamer Cygnet at her
wharf, looking as neat and trim as the graceful bird after which she
is named. Newly painted, she was about to start on the first trip of
the season.

Half-past six was the hour of departure, but a heavy wet fog hung over
this city by the sea, and we were 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