presides over the destinies and dinners of the Pavilion Hotel. His portly person, and shining morning face, and hearty welcome, are all so many speaking testimonials in behalf of his establishment. His own looks are eloquent arguments for his larder. His jocund visage asserts more loudly than any language, the virtues of his cook and cellars. His free, degagée manner carries with it an air of invitation not to be withstood by those who prefer ease to ceremonial, and creature-comforts to any velvet-cushioned chair of state.

great, if not the greatest, of Southern house- | nó properer host than Mr. H. L. Butterfield, who keepers, having a fame among the dilettanti, from the Capes of Virginia to the Pan of Matanzas, and the Gridiron of Chagres. We ourselves can bear testimony to his excellence in his official capacity. We have suffered ourselves to have been made happy at his board on more than one occasion, when, at the conclusion of the feast, the general reflection of all the circle was uniformly the same: "It is enough. What need of more life? This day's delight can never be excelled." And we should all have yielded to the fates without a struggle but for the happy suggestion, "But if to-morrow should yield such delights as to-day! And why not? We have Nickerson's security." And with this security we consented to prolong our existence, which had already reached its crowning felicity. The Mills House is one of high finish, costly in furniture, rich in decoration, and in supreme odor among all the fashionable gentry.

The three establishments whose portraits we have given will suffice to show that the people of the Palmetto City are far from insensible to what is due to the august, the beautiful, the spiritual, and the esthetic, in that mortal temple of an immortal nature which your vulgar moralists are but too prone to disparage. There are sundry other excellent establishments, devoted to the same domestic deities, which are, no doubt, quite as capable of ministering happily to the appetites of the race; but as our daguerreotypist has thought proper to confine us to these three illustrations of the order, we sub

Half a mile above, in the same street, you find spacious accommodations at the Pavilion Hotel. This structure, though of less pretension exteriorly than its two neighbors, is yet a fine, ample, commodious building, capable of re-mit to his decision; particularly as our aim is ceiving and entertaining happily, almost as many the architectural rather than the gastronomical, guests as either. Its style, within and without, and designed to show where our Charlestonians is less ornate and expansive. Its tastes are feed, rather than how they feed. And here, for simpler, and it appeals more to the grave, quiet, the present, we might close our labors, having and solid portion of the community than to the sufficiently sampled from the city to satisfy the gay, flaunting tribes in the courts of fashion. curiosity of the stranger. Hereafter, we may Hither come the sturdy farmers, and the brood-extend our gallery. A single specimen, howing merchants, and the philosophical politicians, and all who love their ease at their inn," without feeling the necessity of putting on dress breeches for dinner, or exhibiting themselves in costume of character at the bal masque by night. For all this class of persons, there is, perhaps,

ever, of the more recent among the private dwellings of Charleston may not be amiss, particularly as it exhibits a singular departure from the usual style of modeling in a region where, as we have said before, there is no end to the variety, and where each man who builds makes

a law for himself, doing what he deems meet in his own eyes, with his brick and mortar, without caring to ask what eye of taste he may gravel by his performances. Here is the residence of Mr. J. T. Mikell, a planter, we believe, and lawyer.

are some very pretty and imposing ones to be
found in the several burial-places, dedicated by
affection to private worth. We shall select but
one of these, which we find in the Magnolia
Cemetery-a very lovely City of the Silent, an-
swering, in the Palmetto City, to the Mount Au-
burn of Boston, the Greenwood of New York,
and the Laurel Hill of Philadelphia.
just without the city, and has been laid out with
very happy taste on the banks of Cooper River.
The Porter's Lodge, the Chapel, and the Re-

It is

This is one of the most ambitious of the private dwellings of Charleston. The fence, bythe-way, which is shown in the picture to be of wood, is to be superseded by an open railing of iron. Our daguerreotypist was simply a little too quick for the contractor. Talking of daguerreo-ceiving House are all happily designed in a typers, by-the-way, reminds us to report that we owe our pictures to several of the best in Charleston, Cook, and Cohen, and Bowles and Glenn; all of whom deal with the sun on familiar terms, making as free use of the solar establishment as if they had a full partnership in the concern. We suppose, however, that the privilege is not confined to these parties, and that Brady and others are permitted a share upon occasion, and when Apollo is not engaged with better company.

Charleston is not, like Baltimore and Savannah, a city of monuments. As yet she has not reared a single one to any of the remarkable men who have made her annals famous. But there

graceful and modest fashion. The natural beau-
ties of the site which the Magnolia Cemetery
occupies have been very happily brought out,
and Art and Nature seem to have united their
forces to make appropriate to the purpose, and
grateful to the sentiment, this last lodging-place
of humanity. There are miniature lakes and
islands, solemn groves and bird-frequented gar-
dens, which soothe the sentiment, beguile the
eye and mind to wander, and fill the soul with
a grateful melancholy. The place is new, and
lacks nothing but time to hallow it with great
and peculiar attractions. We detach a single
one from several of its monuments. It is wrought
of Italian marble exquisitely chiseled.
four niches are occupied
by statues representing an-
gels. This beautiful and
costly structure was raised
by a lonely widow to the
memory of a husband
"Too well beloved of earth

The

To be withheld from heaven." We have said that Charleston has raised no monuments to any of her great men. She is beginning to feel the reproach which should follow this neglect, and there is some promise that she will shortly relieve herself from all censure on this score. The ladies of Charleston have taken in hand the erection of a monument to the memory of Calhoun; have raised some $30,000 or $40,000, and are now meditating the design after which they will build. They have not yet resolved upon any plan, though several have been submitted. One of these, the only one which we have seen, has been lithographed, and we therefore

copy it. It was adopted originally by the military of Charleston, who entertained the project of a monument themselves; but money came in slowly. Republicanism and pa

triotism, which pay the living very reluctantly, are not apt to waste much money upon those who can no longer urge their claims in any way; and the military gave up their project in despair, transferring the cash they had collected-some $5000to the fund of the ladies, who have thus far shown themselves first-rate assessors, and bid fair soon to realize in stone the conception of the artist. The graceful monument which is here given is from the design of Jones. It makes a very pretty picture, but its cost would be beyond the estimates of the ladies. It would require $100,000 to carry out the design as here given; and $100,000 are neither more nor less than -$100,000!

We have seen another sketch, in private hands, which we are not permitted to use, done rudely with a pen, but with great spirit, and of very novel design. It represents a wild, irregular pile of rock, shelving, precipitous, with huge crags, beetling, hanging over, as if above the sea, and

shooting up into slivered pinnacles, sharp, eagle hangs, saltant, with wings outspread, eye erect, but irregularly disposed, one finally ris- dilating, and the whole action indicative of vigiing up in the centre and overtopping all the lance, a fiercely aroused passion of indignation, rest, rising slenderly, like a lance, in air mid- and an eager impatience for the strife. You way;-the boulders crop out, forming a sort of follow the glance of the eagle and see the occacavern, the entrance of which is irregularly sion of his watch and anger in the gradual erected, as if done in a sport of nature. It is progress of a monstrous snake, which, with braoverhung with moss and ivy. In this cavern zen crest, arching neck, and cunning restlessness stands the statue of Calhoun, visible from below, of eye, is crawling upward, and has already and nearly at the entrance. To this point you coiled himself above the rock of the Constituascend by a flight of stone steps within, the ma- tion. There are other adjuncts. The arms of sonry of the interior, whatever the rude, wild the Palmetto State are boldly scored upon one character of the outside, being carefully con- of the boulders; the palmettos shoot up from structed, and conducting to a fine chamber, the crevices; a laurel springs out from the rocky which from without seems a mere cavern, proper clefts, just beside the entrance of the cavern, for a hermitage. A congeries of boulders forms bearing a single great white flower. On one of the foundation of the cavern, cropping out on the most salient of the boulders which make the every side-here and there rounded by attri- base, the name of "Calhoun" appears in letters. tion and action of storm and wind-sometimes There is very little detail besides. The effect broken and slivered as by lightning; but all so is from the boldness of the conception. The arranged as to simulate the wildest workings of mass of rocks has the general aspect of some Nature in her own sovereign abodes of rock and isolated mountain-spur by the ocean side, forest. One of these boulders, the largest, juts which the thunders of Heaven have smitten and out just below the entrance of the cavern, and the lightnings have slivered for a thousand is inscribed with the word "Constitution." On years, but which remains unshaken. The boula projecting shelf of rock above the cavern anders below and the segregated shafts forming so

ΟΝ

TLERS OF NEW ENGLAND.

the 11th of November, 1620, the stormbattered May Flower, with its band of one

many pinnacles above, confer upon it its monu- ADVENTURES OF THE EARLY SETmental aspect; and the detail is so happy that the effect is two-fold, compelling the mind at the same moment to feel the equal pressure of Art and Nature in the work. It is difficult to describe the gradual process by which the pin-hundred and one Pilgrims, first caught sight of nacles are evolved from the mass, and how they the barren sand hills of Cape Cod. It prerise, one shooting beyond the other, unequally sented a cheerless scene, even for those weary ascending, until one alone passes into the firm- of a more than four months' voyage upon a ament far beyond the rest-slender all of them, cold and tempestuous sea. But, dreary as the even as we sometimes see them in the snow- prospect was, a leaky ship, the storms of apcrowned pinnacles of the Swiss and Tyrolese.proaching winter, and the perils of innumerable We give, as a proper sequel to this sketch, a copy of an Ode on Calhoun by one of the Carolina poets, which was spoken at the theatre on a benefit night given to the Calhoun Monument. It has never been in print before; and with this we conclude our present sketches from the Palmetto City:

CALHOUN.-ODE.

Nations themselves are but the monuments
Of deathless men, whom the Divine intents
Decree for mighty purposes. They rise
Superior, by their mission from the skies,
To thoughts of self; and, in self-sacrifice,
Assert the race: guide, fashion, and inform,
Direct for conquest, gather from the storm,
And build in strength!

Their powerful arms maintain

The realm of Peace, and consecrate her reign
By Justice, Truth, Protection. They defend
The land that gave them being, and commend
Her virtues to the love of other climes
That else had lapsed from weaknesses to crimes,
And so, to ruin! They foresee the fate,
And arm against the danger ere too late;
Meet the assailing foeman at the wall,

And nobly conquer, or as nobly fall.

Their lives-devote to patriot service-teach
How best to build the tower and man the breach;
Their hands, outstretched in blessing rites, have made
The nations safe and sacred in their shade!

We rear our humble column to the name
Of one who led our power and won us fame!
Whose wondrous genius, with Ithuriel spear,
Hath made the crouching fiend start up in fear;
Smote the foul reptile, even as he lay
Coiled round our altar, poisoning still his prey;
Expelled the foe that threatened as a fate,
And saved from loss the sacred shield of State!

His lips spoke lightnings! His immaculate thought,
From seraph source, divinest fervor caught;
His fiery argument, with eagle rush,
Spell'd mightiest Senates into trembling hush;
While the great billowy thunders, echoing still,
With rolling surges, round the Sacred Hill,
Struck with sharp terrors into nerveless awe,
The insidious enemies of Right and Law!
Even to the last, still battling in the van,
For the great truths and natural rights of man,
He died in harness, in the thick of strife,
His very death a triumph-like his life!

The Great fall from us. We have need to fear,
When voice like his no longer thrills the car!
When, in the Senate, owls and mousing things
Creep to high places, which were made for wings,
'Tis need we should do homage, and implore
Great shoulders, such as his white mantle bore!
'Tis reverence brings the prophet. If we praise
The perish'd virtue, and its altar raise,
We may recall the genius, lost too soon,
And find, 'mong other sons, a new Calhoun!

shoals, upon an unknown sea, compelled them to seek a shelter at the extremity of the bleak and verdureless Cape. Sundry explorations were made to find a place of settlement in the immediate vicinity. Failing in this, the shallop was launched, and eighteen embarked for a more extensive survey of the coast.

On the evening of the second day they dragged their boat upon the beach for a night's encampment. A dense forest was behind them, a bleak ocean before them. Throwing up a slight rampart of logs, with a warm fire blazing at their feet, they established their watch, united in their evening prayer, and fell asleep. Through the long night no sound disturbed their slumbers but the wind sighing through the forest and the surf dashing upon the shore.

The next morning they rose before the dawn of day, and anxiously prepared to continue their search. A drizzling rain falling through the night, had drenched them to the skin. The ocean looked black and angry, and sheets of mist were driven, by the chill wind, over earth and sea. The Pilgrims were preparing to reembark, and some of them had carried their guns, wrapped in blankets, down to the boat, when, suddenly, a fearful cry broke from apparently a thousand voices in the forest, and a shower of arrows fell upon their encampment. Four muskets only were left. By the rapid discharge of these they held the savages at bay until the others were regained. A fierce conflict now ensued, demoniac yells deafening the

ear.

Every Indian was stationed behind some tree or rock, which protected him from the bullets of his antagonists. Fortunately for the Pilgrims, their barricade of logs afforded them much shelter, while their thick garments were almost as coats of mail to ward off the comparatively feeble missiles of the natives. For some time the perilous conflict raged, the blaze of the guns flashing through the gloom of the morning, and the forest resounding with the report of musketry and the hideous war-whoop of the savages.

There was one Indian, of Herculean size, apparently more brave than the rest, who appeared to be the leader of the band. He had advanced beyond his companions, and had placed himself within half musket-shot of the encampment. Watching an opportunity when his elbow was exposed, a sharp-shooter succeeded in striking it with a bullet. The shattered arm