They can travel express through the mystic musical region of the highest of high churches, where the spiritual leader takes the train in hand and is answerable for all accidents by the way; or they may wander through quiet, peaceful meadow-lands, where only the voice of the shepherd calls their attention to the tinkling bells of salvation in the distance, whose music will ring out clearer and sweeter as they near the great beyond. Indeed, people may take their religion in any form they please; the means are abundantly supplied, from the undiluted draught of simple faith to the modest mixture of half-and-half measures, where soft music is falling, candles faintly burning--and always extinguished at the right moment--and on to the hottest, strongest spiritual essence, with incense burning, banners flying, and--why not?--drums, fifes, and trumpets playing on the march to celestial glory! And no doubt the Salvation Army will soon come streaming from the east, laden with patent piety warranted to cure the most diseased soul, and secure a front seat in the halls of heaven in a single day!--not without payment, though, for the “almighty dollar” plays a prominent part in these spiritual proceedings. The many handsome churches and public buildings add largely to the attractions of Charleston, and are, to a certain extent, a reflex of the minds of the people. As the descendants of old families concentrate their energies and their pride on their ancestral home, so the good Charlestonians from generation to generation have devoted theirs to the glorification of their beloved city; and in erecting new buildings, public companies as well as private individuals, instead of building according to their own special taste, have had some regard to that of their neighbours; every stone has been laid thoughtfully one upon the other, not only with regard to its own features, but as a part of a whole, and in perfect harmony with the general aspect of the city. One building never mars the effect of the other; the eye is hurt by no incongruity of architecture, no false colouring, but everywhere is a pleasant blending of symmetrical forms and delicate tints. The effect upon the eye is the same as that of a perfect melody upon the ear--no slurred notes, no flat where a sharp should be, nothing jarring, no false rhythm anywhere. In secluded streets as well as in the public quarter of many a large city the eye is often struck with discords in bricks and mortar, marble, or stone; each structure perhaps tasteful enough in itself, but the effect being marred, and marring by contrast the work of its neighbour. Fancy the effect of knee-breeches and a tall beaver on the Apollo Belvedere, a flat nose on “Antinous,” or a _nez retroussé_ on the Venus of Milo! The first question you are asked on entering a southern city is: “Have you been to the cemetery?”