_May 3rd._--We are going to Richmond to-day. In the first or original "programme" (a word which is spelt by Americans without the final "me," and, as it strikes me, correctly, if "telegram" be proper) the excursion on which the party started at 9 A.M. this morning was not included. However they were impressed with some of the reasons which were suggested for devoting one day to a Southern City which has especial claims to the consideration of Englishmen in the antecedents of the State of which it is the capital. At the outset of the war, the name became the watchword of the North, "On to Richmond!" was the cry. How it rung in one's ears in Washington that fervent summer of 1861! How it met the eye in broad type at the head of every leading article! It was as the "_à Berlin!_" of the Paris mob in 1870. For a time it seemed as though the answer might be given by the sound of the enemy's guns at Baltimore, Philadelphia or New York. From Washington to Richmond is only 116 miles. The road was barred for four years by the genius of Lee, the skill of his generals, and the fiery valour of the South. It would perhaps be ungenerous and unjust to say that the ineptitude of the North entered for something into the estimate of the causes which impeded the march of the Federal armies till Grant "whittled away" the life of his opponents. My friends had none of these recollection to distract their minds from the contemplation of the present. And this is Washington? How strange it all seems to one like myself, whose latest memories of the city which has expanded into such placid beauty teem with vision of vast camps--the march of serried battalions--the roll of artillery--the circumstance and pride, without the pomp, of war--the passion and fury of civil strife--the agony of a nation--to see it now staid and stately and calm as some lake which rests in the embrace of the mountain shores after the subsidence of the storm! Down Pennsylvania Avenue I have seen in full flow a river of sparkling bayonet waves, and have heard the refrain of "John Brown's body lies mouldering in the grave" pealing from myriads of lips, where now the bourgeois 'bus rolls over the asphalte, and the greatest excitement is a pair of fast trotters behind the vehicle of some well-to-do legislator on his way to or from the Capitol. There was a special train at "the Depôt" at 10 o'clock A.M.--palace cars--our ever-obliging, smiling, active attendants--the usual official courtesies--giant bouquets on the tables, and all the luxury of the road which Presidents and directors' friends enjoy in the Republic of Railroads. The old Long Bridge over which I rode the night of Bull Bun, bringing the news of the defeat to Lord Lyons at the British Legation, has been removed, and the Baltimore and Potomac Railway is carried across the Potomac on a more recent structure rejoicing in the old name. How could I expect my companions to be much