“That, Captain, is Jones's Hotel,” said the Colonel, pointing to an odd-looking house of antique and mixed architecture, with a large convex window above the hall-entrance, in the second story. This house is situated in Broad street, next to the aristocratic St. Michael's Church, one of the most public places in the city. “In years past, that house was kept by Jones, a free nigger. Jones was almost white, a fine portly-looking man, active, enterprising, intelligent, honest to the letter, and whose integrity and responsibility was never doubted. He lived in every way like a white man, and, I think, with few exceptions, never kept company with even bright folks. His house was unquestionably the best in the city, and had a widespread reputation. Few persons of note ever visited Charleston without putting up at Jones's, where they found, not only the comforts of a private house, but a table spread with every luxury that the county afforded. The Governor always put up at Jones's; and when you were travelling abroad, strangers would speak of the sumptuous fare at Jones's in Charleston, and the elegance and correctness of his house. But if his house and fare were the boast of Carolinians, and the remark of strangers, his civility and courteous attention could not be outdone. Jones continued in the popularity of his house for many years, reared a beautiful, intelligent, and interesting family; at the same time accumulated about forty thousand dollars. The most interesting part of his family was three beautiful daughters, the eldest of whom was married to a person now in New York. She was fairer than seven-eighths of those ladies who term themselves aristocracy in Charleston, and promenade King street in the afternoon.