The streets of Savannah present the most striking contrast to those of Charleston. There, scarcely a white inhabitant of the city was to be seen. The merchants, the small shopkeepers, the _restaurateurs_ were all gone, and, where the soldiers had not taken possession, shutters, barred and bolted, closed in their establishments. Here, on the contrary, the town had been taken, inhabitants and all. The difference is about that between having a watch and a watch case. As a smart sailor from the Wayanda said, “this town isn’t dead; it’s wound up and running.” The stores were all open; business of every sort progressed precisely as usual. Save that the schools were filled with negroes, and the rebel newspapers had been succeeded by loyal ones, and guards in blue, instead of gray, stood here and there, it was the rebel Savannah unchanged. The streets were filled with the inhabitants, dressed somewhat antiquely, but giving no signs of suffering; little knots gathered in the public squares, or around the saloons and shops, to discuss the news and their prospects; and curious eyes followed us at every corner, as if to say, “There go some more of the Yankees.” Every house was occupied; the front windows were open as usual; and the ladies seemed to have no particular prejudice against being seen—old clothes and all. Some of us went to the hotel, nearly opposite the plain, square shaft erected in honor of Pulaski, and, as an experiment, tried their breakfast. As an experiment it was quite successful; as a breakfast, very poor; but we had a dozen rebel officers as neighbors, and passed salt and broke bread with them as indifferently as though they were not yet wearing the very uniform and side arms that proclaimed their treason. The furniture of the hotel had grown shabby with four years’ use; dishes had been broken and forks stolen, and there had been no means of supplying the loss; even napkins were scarce, but negro waiters were abundant, and as polite as ever. The bar was doing a thriving business; swarthy and ringleted cavaliers in gray were pledging each other in bumpers of liquors altogether too strong for the climate, and old acquaintances were producing their hoarded rolls of greenbacks to “treat” the returning braves. “Well, Colonel, you don’t come back victorious, but I’m d——d glad to see you, any way. Your old friends are proud of you. Come and have a drink.” “Sorry about that ugly wound, Captain. A hand is a bad thing to lose, but it wont hurt you among the ladies of Savannah. There are plenty that you can persuade to give you one. What’ll you drink?” * * * * *