e
journey. I do not mention it to excite sympathy, for I am happy to say
that I have since purchased a new and a better one; and in case my old
one is found, I hereby will and bequeath the same to the mayor of
Peterborough, his heirs and successors, hoping that they may wear no
other until a railroad round or through the town connects the termini.
Again we mount the iron horse--time flies--light mingles with
darkness--and at nine o'clock I alight at the Royal Exchange Hotel,
Richmond. Soap and water, tea and bed, follow in quick succession, and
then comes the land of dreams and oblivion.

Richmond is a lovely spot, situated on the northern bank of James River,
one hundred and fifty miles from the sea, and is the capital of
Virginia. It contains nearly 30,000 inhabitants of whom 1000 are slaves.
Being built upon several hills, it is free from the eternal sameness of
level and regularity of lines which tire the eye so much in New York,
Philadelphia, &c., and its site resembles more that of Boston or
Baltimore. The James River is navigable for small vessels as high as
Richmond; but just above the town there is a barrier which arrests alike
the navigator's course and the traveller's eye. This barrier is called
the Rapids, and is a most beautiful feature in the scenery.

The Rapids are about three-quarters of a mile in extent, having a fall
of more than one hundred feet in that distance. The stream is broad, and
interspersed with endless little wooded islands and rocks, around and
above which it dashes the spray and foam in its impetuous descent. The
climate is lovely, the atmosphere pearly; and when, from the height
above, you look down upon the panorama spread beneath your feet, it
recalls to the mind the beautiful view so many of us must have
frequently been entranced with, while inhaling the meditative weed and
strolling along Richmond-terrace on a summer afternoon, gazing on old
Father Thames glowing in the rays of a setting sun, and looking doubly
bright from the sombre shade of the venerable timber which fringes the
margin of this sluggish stream. Pardon this digression; those only who
have wandered so far away can feel the indefinite, indescribable
pleasure with which one grasps at anything that recals the home of one's
affections, the scenes of early days, and the dear friends who are still
enjoying them.

The best place for reviewing the Rapids is from the drive leading to the
Cemetery, which here, as in most la