Arrived at Peterborough, we found the population so far behind the American age, that they would not allow a railroad to pass through their town; we were consequently constrained to shift into omnibuses, and drive some three miles to the station on the other side.  As this trip was peculiarly barren of incident, it may gratify the reader to be informed, that in the confusion of shifting from one station to the other I lost my best and only hat.  I hope this simple record will be received as conclusive evidence of the monotony and dullness of the 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.