courteous, and affable, and looks--as he is--the gentleman and the
soldier.

From Hilton Head to Beaufort the same long, low line of sandy coast,
bordered by trees; formidable gunboats in the distance, and the gray
ruins of an old fort, said to have been built by the Huguenots more than
two hundred years ago. Arrived at Beaufort, we found that we had not yet
reached our journey's end. While waiting for the boat which was to take
us to our island of St. Helena, we had a little time to observe the
ancient town. The houses in the main street, which fronts the "Bay," are
large and handsome, built of wood, in the usual Southern style, with
spacious piazzas, and surrounded by fine trees. We noticed in one yard a
magnolia, as high as some of our largest shade-maples, with rich, dark,
shining foliage. A large building which was once the Public Library is
now a shelter for freed people from Fernandina. Did the Rebels know it,
they would doubtless upturn their aristocratic noses, and exclaim in
disgust, "To what base uses," etc. We confess that it was highly
satisfactory to us to see how the tables are turned, now that "the
whirligig of time has brought about its revenges." We saw the
market-place, in which slaves were sometimes sold; but we were told that
the buying and selling at auction were usually done in Charleston. The
arsenal, a large stone structure, was guarded by cannon and sentinels.
The houses in the smaller streets had, mostly, a dismantled, desolate
look. We saw no one in the streets but soldiers and freed people. There
were indications that already Northern improvements had reached this
Southern town. Among them was a wharf, a convenience that one wonders
how the Southerners could so long have existed without. The more we know
of their mode of life, the more are we inclined to marvel at its utter
shiftlessness.