All trace of the tribe and of their dwelling is swept away; only the grand old trees marked by the finger of passing ages still stand, with gnarled and knotted trunks, quivering leaves, and withering branches, as though they were struggling in their death agony, and must soon lie low, with the rest of earth’s perishable things. Only a stretch of fancy, and we see Captain Smith surrounded by swarms of threatening faces, passing under their green vigorous branches, as he believes, to a barbarous death. Before descending the hill, we make a tour of inspection around the splendid groups of statuary which adorn the gardens. First in public favour and in general interest stands the Washington monument; a gigantic and finely executed equestrian figure of George Washington, mounted on an imposing granite column, rising from a star-shaped base; beneath and around him, standing on separate pillars, are the full sized figures of Patrick Henry, Thomas Jefferson, and sundry other heroes and statesmen of past days; but of later and fresher interest, is the bronze statue said to be a life-like portrait of Stonewall Jackson. This fine production is believed to be the last and best work of the celebrated English sculptor Foley; it bears the following inscription:-- “Presented by English gentlemen as a tribute of admiration for the soldier and patriot, Thomas J. Jackson, and gratefully accepted by Virginia in the name of the Southern people. Done A.D. 1875, in the year of the Commonwealth.” “_Look! There is Jackson, standing like a stone wall._” Yes; there he stands to-day, in dark and strong relief against the burning blue of his own Virginian skies! Stands, every inch a chief, as he will stand for ever shrined in the hearts of the Southern people--a monument of all that is staunch and true in human kind; not more immovable now upon his marble pedestal, than at that hour when the ranks of his men in grey stood like granite under the Federal fire. In the Capitol library hangs the Confederate flag, dusty and battle-worn, proudly pointed out to strangers, and regarded with reverence by those who followed it, and saw it flutter through the smoke of battle. Round the library walk are ranged the portraits of the great Southern leaders. Here is the noble and thoughtful face, “the good grey head that all men knew,” of General Lee, and there the dark stern brow of Stonewall Jackson; and here is Jefferson Davis, and many other statesmen and patriots of the fallen Confederacy. An ardent Virginian accompanied us on our tour through his beloved city; with lingering eyes, he gazed tenderly upon the figure of the general who had led them through so many fires.