HE rail-way journey from Orangeburg to Augusta was extremely monotonous in scenery and incident. At Branchville, on the banks of the Edisto, where the rail-way from Charleston connects, the immobility into which the passengers were subsiding was disturbed by the advent among us of a "turban'd Turk," in full Oriental costume. His swarthy complexion, keen eye, flowing black beard, broad turban, tunic, and trowsers, made him the "observed of all observers," and kept the passengers awake for an hour, for "Yankee curiosity" was too busy to allow drowsiness. "Whence I came, and whither I go, ye know not," were as plain as a written phylactery upon his imperturbable features, and I presume the crowd who gathered around him in the street at Augusta knew as little of his history and destiny as we. It is pleasant sometimes to see curiosity foiled, even though
"It came from heaven—it reigned in Eden's shades—
It roves on earth, and every walk invades:
Childhood and age alike its influence own;
It haunts the beggar's nook, the monarch's throne;
Hangs o'er the cradle, leans above the bier,
Gazed on old Babel's tower—and lingers here."
—Charles Sprague.
The scenery by the way-side alternated between oozy swamps embellished with cypresses, cultivated fields, and extensive forests of oak and pine, garnished occasionally by a tall broad-leaved magnolia. The country was perfectly level through Barnwell District, until we passed Aiken into Edgefield, and turned toward Silver Bluff, on the Savannah River, * when we encountered the sand hills of that region. These continued until we reached the termination of the road at Hamburg, on the northern bank of the Savannah, opposite Augusta.' There we were packed into huge omnibuses, and conveyed to the city across Schultz's bridge.January 24, 1849 It was sunset—a glorious sunset, like those at the north in September—when we reined up at the United States. A stroll about the city by moon-light that evening, with a Northern friend residing there, was really delightful; for the air was balmy and dry, and the moon and stars had nothing of the crisp, piercing, and glittering aspect which they assume in a clear January night in New England.
Early on the following morning we rode over to Hamburg, and ascended to the summit of Liberty Hill, a lofty sand bluff, three fourths of a mile from the river. Flowers were blooming in the gardens on its brow; and over its broad acres green grass and innumerable cacti were spread. The view from this eminence was charming. At our feet lay the little village of Hamburg, and across the shining Savannah was spread out in panoramic beauty the city of Augusta—the queen of the inland towns of the South. Like a sea in repose, the level country extended in all directions; and city, river, forest, and plain were bathed in the golden haziness which characterizes our Indian summer at the North. From that point the eye could survey the whole historic arena around Augusta, where Royalists and Republicans battled, failed, and triumphed during our war for independence. While the spirit is charmed with associations awakened by the gleanings of sensuous vision, let us for a moment open the tome of history, and give inquiring thought free wing.