Pleasant indeed were the hours I passed here; lovely was the climate, beautiful was the landscape, hearty was the welcome:  every day found some little plan prepared to make their hospitality more pleasant to the stranger; nature herself seemed to delight in aiding their efforts, for though I arrived in a deluge, I scarce ever saw a cloud afterwards.  As the morning light stole through my open window in undimmed transparency, the robin, the blue-bird, the mocking-bird, the hosts of choral warblers, held their early oratorio in the patriarchal elms.  If unskilled in music’s science, they were unfettered by its laws, and hymned forth their wild and varied notes as though calling upon man to admire and adore the greatness and the goodness of his Maker, and to

  “Shake off dull sloth, and early rise,
  To pay his morning sacrifice.”

If such were their appeal, it was not made in vain; for both morning and evening—­both here and at Shirley—­every member and visitor gathered round the family altar, the services of which were performed with equal cheerfulness and reverence.  I felt as if I could have lingered on and on in this charming spot, and amid such warm hospitality, an indefinite period; it was indeed with sincere regret I was obliged to bid adieu to my agreeable hosts, and once more embark on board the steamer.

The river James lacks entirely those features that give grandeur to scenery; the river, it is true, by its tortuous windings, every now and then presents a broad sheet of water; the banks are also prettily wooded; but there is a great sameness, and a total absence of that mountain scenery so indispensable to grandeur.  The only thing that relieves the eye is a glimpse, from time to time, of some lovely spot like the one I have just been describing; but such charming villas, like angel’s visits, are “few and far between.”  Here we are, at Norfolk.  How different is this same Norfolk from the other eastern ports I have visited!—­there all is bustle, activity, and increase,—­here all is dreariness, desolation, and stagnation.  It is, without exception, the most uninteresting town I ever set foot in; the only thing that gives it a semblance of vitality is its proximity to the dockyard, and the consequent appearance of officers in uniform; but in spite of this impression, which a two-days’ residence confirmed me in, I was told, on good authority, that it is thriving and improving.  By the statistics which our consul, Mr. James, was kind enough to furnish me, it appears that 1847 was the great year of its commercial activity, its imports in that year valuing 94,000l., and its exports 364,000l.  In 1852, the imports were under 25,000l. and the exports a little more than 81,000l., which is certainly, by a comparison with the average of the ten years preceding, an evidence of decreasing, rather than increasing, commercial prosperity.  Its population is 16,000; and that small number—­when it is remembered that