Down South. Lady Duffus Hardy

spread their leafy branches far and wide. Turning their backs upon the town and facing this lovely land-and-water scene, stands a variegated collection of fine old-fashioned houses of quaint architecture. Some are landmarks of the old colonial days; each one differs in form and colour from the other, but all are fanciful structures with elaborate ornamentation; some are circular, some flat fronted, some curving in a fantastic fashion, and seeming to look round the corner on their friends and neighbours, to assure them they are not proud though they have turned their backs upon them; some have wide balconies of stone, some light verandahs with green venetian blinds or graceful ironwork clinging to their front; but everywhere creeping plants and brilliant flowers are growing.

      The view on all sides is most picturesque and lovely, and the fragrant air is a delight to the senses. Here is the real aristocratic part of the city, and here to this day, in spite of the many freaks of fortune, the descendants of the old Huguenot and Cavalier families inhabit the homes of their ancestors, whose familiar names still echo on the ears of the town. With lagging footsteps we take our way homeward through the city, losing ourselves and finding ourselves more than once. Altogether we come to the conclusion that Charleston is a sober suited, gentlemanly city strongly impregnated with the savour of old days; somewhat worn and grey, but thoroughly dignified and pleasant, full of old-world prejudices and decorum that no flighty tourist would care to outrage.

      We have merely glanced at the outer aspect of the city, to-morrow we must visit some interiors and the more definite features within and around it. As we enter our chamber after our long ramble we hear the sounds of merry voices, and the passing of people to and fro in the courtyard; then suddenly amid the shouting and the laughter there rises a choir of voices, a hush falls everywhere—they are singing “The sweet by and by.” We approach the window and look out. A group of coal-black negroes are sitting round one table piling up rich ripe strawberries for our dessert; close by is another party shelling peas. It is these groups who are singing. Their plaintive melancholy voices affect us solemnly; but even as the last notes are trembling on their lips they begin to play monkey tricks on one another, turning somersaults in the air, grinning from ear to ear, and chattering like magpies!

CHAPTER V.

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