“Yes, it takes a good deal o’ sunshine to set things a startin’ out; sometimes I think I’d as lief be lyin’ down there in the dark as starvin’ up here in the sunshine—leastways the sun don’t always shine, not on me. I’ve been a soldier, marm,” he added with a slightly Irish accent, “and done my duty on many a gory field, and—oh! a—ah!”
He groaned a low guttural sort of groan—his feelings were evidently too much for him; he took out a red cotton handkerchief, shook it out for one moment as though unfurling a battle flag, then buried his face in it and boo-hoo’d behind it till his broad shoulders shook with emotion. I felt embarrassed. I was not sure I should not have that six feet of suffering manhood in another moment grovelling at my feet; but he recovered his mental equilibrium, replaced his handkerchief, shook his hat well forward on his head, and said somewhat irrelevantly but with a mournful intonation—
“‘Tain’t no use trying to cross yer fate. I’ve tried it, and it don’t answer; but one thing always puts me in mind of another; n’ flowers, n’ trees, n’ grass, n’ sich-like strikes me jist now as oncommon like human natur, for the sun o’ charity must shine on the human heart, before it will open up and give out the perfume from its inhuman pockets as it oughter—” There was a momentary and suspicious silence on my part; then my ragged and somewhat poetic philosopher added insinuatingly, “Yer don’t happen to hev a stray quarter hanging about yer clo’es anywheres? ’cause a sight of it would do me a deal o’ good.”
This ancient sinner wheedled the quarter out of my “clo’es,” and fearing lest he might move up his guns for another attack I got up and walked away a poorer and wiser woman, resolved never again to become the prey of a hoary impostor, but to fly from the first wag of his tongue as from the first clash of the tail of a rattlesnake.
We saunter on, and looking from the eastern point of Magnolia we have a magnificent panorama of the city and the clustering vessels afloat in the harbour, while stern and grim Fort Sumter looms in the distance; the white sails flutter to and fro, and dainty vessels curtsey to their own shadows reflected on the placid water; not a ripple stirs its surface, and the sun pours down a flood of silver on this sea of glass, lighting up and brightening the prospect all around, the purple pines and low-lying forts on the surrounding islands forming a charming background to the panoramic scene.
Charleston is reported by its inhabitants (and surely they ought to know) to be a perfectly healthy city, free from epidemics of any kind; if you dared to doubt it, all good Charlestonians would have you stoned to death on the spot. It certainly may be true within the limits of the city, but of its surroundings the healthfulness is more than doubtful. It lies low, and is surrounded by marshy lands, which at certain seasons of the year are covered with water—the overflow of the two rivers, Ashley and Cooper, which compass it on either side.
On returning through the suburbs from our visit to the cemetery, we come upon a very handsome house in a solitary situation, surrounded by a somewhat neglected garden and wide-spreading meadows. Leading to the entrance is an avenue of fine old English oaks, draped with grey Spanish moss. Although secluded, it has the spires and steeples and other prominent features of Charleston city in full view. It is in a state of perfect preservation, with no signs of dilapidation anywhere—it is simply deserted utterly both by man and beast. The dog kennels are empty, not a bird sings from the boughs, not even the domestic cat crouches upon the tiles or creeps along the weedy garden paths; even the stone lions which guard the entrance look in a damp depressed condition, as though they too would be glad to get away if they only could! On inquiring the cause of this desertion, I am answered:
“Oh, it belongs to a very fine family—they cleared out some weeks ago. They always leave in March and come back in October.”
“What a pity! It seems to me that they are away at the very pleasantest season.”
“But the most unhealthy; it is impossible to live about here during the summer months.”