await the morrow, the ever-memorable fourteenth of April, 1865.

The day dawned at length, mild and verdant with the breath of spring,

"And o'er the bay,
Slowly, in all his splendors dight,
The great sun rises to behold the sight."

Turning toward the city we could easily distinguish the long line of edifices along the Battery, their windows glittering in the yellow sunshine. Quickly dressing, we set forth on a ramble through the deserted metropolis. There was plenty of time, as the transports were not to leave for Fort Sumter till ten o'clock. Vaughan and I sauntered down East Bay street, among the crumbling and deserted warehouses, to the Battery. This was a long and straight promenade, with stone pavement, commanding a fine prospect of the bay and fortifications. Here, four years before, all was activity and bustle; here the populace assembled, and sent up their frenzied shouts as the flag of the Republic was lowered, and the ensign of Rebellion supplanted it for a season.

How changed the scene! The streets were deserted. The crowds were scattered and gone forever! The silence of desolation reigned on every hand, disturbed only by the songs of the summer birds. Not even a newsboy assailed us with the Mercury or Courier, containing an account of the latest victory over the Yankees. Here, along the Battery, were many of the finest residences, stately mansions with broad verandas, which bore the terrible effects of the long bombardment. Their walls were scarred and rent. The roofs were crushed, the glass shattered, piles of rubbish and other débris encumbered the ground, and the grass was growing in the streets. The siege of the city had steadily and relentlessly continued for five hundred and eighty-eight days. It was commenced on the twenty-first of August, 1863, by the opening of the Swamp Angel Battery on Morris Island, five miles away. On the seventh of September, Fort Wagner and Battery Gregg were taken, and more guns were trained upon the city (notably the water battery), compelling the evacuation of the lower part. During the long siege not less than thirteen thousand shot and shell were thrown into the city.

We strolled into the garden of one of the deserted mansions, which still exhibited evidences of taste and culture, even in neglect and decay. Borders of box lined the graveled walks and encircled beautiful flower shrubs, or clusters of japonica, of manifold hues; the mock-orange, the lilac and magnolia tree were blooming luxuriantly, and grew to a remarkable height. What a contrast to the bare gardens we had left at home, amid a cold and cheerless storm. We were now in another zone, in the full bloom of summer. After helping ourselves to roses in abundance, the largest I had ever seen, we passed on up the street. Notices like the following were posted on the doors of some of the houses: "Occupied by permission of the Provost Marshal, the owner having taken the oath of allegiance to the United States." Similar cards in the shop windows announced that the occupants had permission to transact business.

A Charleston lady complained to one of our officers, saying, "You treat us well enough, but the niggers are dreadful sassy. They don't turn out now when you meet them; they even smoke cigars, and go right up to a gentleman and ask him for a light!"

We now began to meet contrabands of all ages and of all sizes, from the little barefooted piccaninnies and chimney sweeps to the old, gray-haired uncles and turbaned aunties. While all appeared bubbling over with joy, yet they were quiet and orderly, greeting us with bows and courtesies, and a "God bress ye! we're so powerful glad ye've come!" Said one old negro to another, "Yer mus' try now, an' do as yer done by, Uncle Rube." "Yeth," said Uncle Reuben, "but de fact am dis chile ain't never been done by! Dat's where de shoe pinches!"

We took great pleasure in calling with other friends upon Colonel Lorenzo Potter, one of the veteran Union citizens, formerly of Providence. He had been at home only a few weeks, but his family had remained through the long and dreary siege. Fortunately the shells from the Union batteries had spared the home of these devoted loyalists.

I remember a fine fig-tree in his garden, laden with fruit, and my disappointment at finding it in a green state, "for the time of figs was not yet." Reluctantly leaving this hospitable family, we made a hasty tour of several public buildings and banks, which we found in a sadly broken and ravaged condition. The elaborately carved counters and wainscoting had been reduced to fragments; the tiled floors and frescoed walls were plowed up and ruined by exploding shells. In one of the banks I secured a collection of both Continental and Confederate notes, the obsolete currency of two centuries. On one of them I read this curious endorsement: "Payable two years after a treaty of peace between the Confederate and United States Governments." But right before me lay the effective protest of the Union shot and shell against any treaty of peace with armed rebellion, in the shape of an immense pile of débris,—broken brick and glass, and charred timbers, the ruins of a once fine and imposing structure. I was told of an estimable lady of Charleston who, after investing her all (fully $5,000) in these Confederate "promises to pay," brought them out at last, and kindled her morning fire with the worthless chaff. Most of the citizens who were considered wealthy at the beginning of the war were reduced to penury at its close, and were to be seen carrying their rations through the streets of Charleston.

"General Wade Hampton needs horses," read the last order of the Governor to the citizens, on the twenty-first of January, 1865, "and I have told him he shall have them. Put aside your please-carriages for the time, and bring or send in your horses to Columbia. Colonel C.T. Hampton is charged by me with the duty of receiving with thanks all that will be sent, and of taking all that are withheld. The horses will be paid for. No one shall suffer from his devotion to the State."

The public conveyances kindly placed at our disposal by the authorities, showed how effectively this order had been carried out. Such a sorry looking set of horses, mules and donkeys, attached to omnibuses, army ambulances and fish-wagons, would appropriately have found a place in a Providence Antique and Horrible procession!

Passing on to the Market Building we stopped to chat with the darkey shop-keepers who occupied the few stalls which were open. We purchased here some sugar-cane and strawberries, the first of the season. The darkeys proved to be pretty shrewd traders, and promptly declined all offers of Confederate currency in payment. One shook his woolly head, saying, "O, sar, we'd better gib um to you, sar!" They had evidently acquired some of the sharpness of their old masters, one of whom I read about used to make his negroes whistle while they were picking cherries, for fear they would eat some! But now they could sing their Jubilee hymn, as their colored brethren sung it, marching through Richmond:

"De whip is lost, de han'cuf broken,
An' massa'l hab to whistle for his pay;
He's ole enough, big enough, an' ought to known better
Dan to went an' run'd away: