I have never had many personal interviews with Princes.  Setting aside a few with different Excellencies of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, I never had but one such interview, which prolonged itself far enough to deserve a place in these memoirs of our time.  This was with a President of the then United States,—­with him who was, I fear, the Last of the Virginians.  At least, I know no one on the line of promotion just now who seems to me likely to succeed him.

“Have ye travelled in Virginia, Mr. Larkin?” said the President to me.

I said I had not, but that I hoped to see the Valley of Virginia before I went home.  That is the name given, in those regions, to the district west of the Blue Ridge.  The President listened, but expressed himself dissatisfied with my plan.

“Ah, Sah!” he said, “ye sh’d see Jeems River.  Every American sh’d see Jeems River.  Ye’ll not see the appearance of a large population, to which ye’re used in Massachusetts,—­the—­customs,—­the —­arrangements,—­the habits—­of—­our—­laboring people—­are such—­that—­that—­their residences—­are—­are—­more distant—­from the highway than with you;—­but—­but—­ye’ll be greatly interested in seeing Jeems River.  We’ve not the cities to show that ye have in Massachusetts,—­but—­there are great historical associations with Jeems River.”

I bowed assent,—­and when the President spoke again with some depreciation of their productions, I made up my mouth to say, in courtly vein,

  “Man is the nobler growth your realms supply,”

when I recollected that that remark was too literally true to be complimentary to a State which made its chief business the growing of men and women for a distant market.  So I did what it is always wise to do,—­I said nothing.  And the President, warming with his theme, said,—­

“Yes, Sah, ye sh’d see Jeems River.  There, at Jeemst’n, America first gave a home to the European,—­and hard by, at Yorkt’n, the tie with Europe was sundered.  There ye may see Williamsburg,—­and our oldest college.  There ye may see the birthplaces of four Presidents,—­and there the capital of Virginia!”

With such, and other temptations, did he direct me on my journey.

I have been thinking how little the poor man foresaw that the time would come when in the valley of “Jeems River” the traveller would see the grave of the only President of the United States who ever in his old age turned rebel to the country which had honored him.  How little he foresaw that other campaigns were impending, which would give more historical interest to the valley than even Cornwallis’s marchings and countermarchings! how little he dreamed of Monitors and Merrimacks in fierce melee before his own little Hampton! how little, while he sowed the wind that winter, he looked forward to the whirlwind-reaping,—­of which, indeed, he lived to hear only the first fierce sigh!