shops, or sauntered past them; easily
distinguished by their clothing and their air of unaccustomed and
dissatisfied languor. One could pick out at a glance the new-comers
just up from Florida; they were so decorated with alligator-tooth
jewelry, and gazed so contemptuously at the oranges and bananas in the
windows. The native Southerners were equally conspicuous, in the case
of the men, from their careless dress and placid demeanor. A plentiful
sprinkling of black and yellow skins added to the picturesque
character of the scene. Over it all hung a certain holiday air, the
reason for which one presently detected to be an almost universal
wearing of flowers,--bunches of roses, clusters of violets or trailing
arbutus, or twigs of yellow jasmine; while bare-footed boys, with
dusky faces and gleaming teeth, proffered nosegays at every corner.
The Aiken nosegay has this peculiarity,--the flowers are wedged
together with unexampled tightness. Truly enough may the little
venders boast, "Dey's orful lots o' roses in dem, mister; you'll fin'
w'en you onties 'em." No one of the pedestrians appeared to be in a
hurry; and under all the holiday air of flowers there was a pathetic
disproportion of pale and weary faces.

But if they did not hurry on the sidewalk, there was plenty of motion
in the street; horses in Aiken being always urged to their full
speed,--which, to be sure, is not alarming. Now, carriages were
whirling by and riders galloping in both directions. The riders were
of every age, sex, and condition: pretty girls in jaunty riding
habits, young men with polo mallets, old men and children, and
grinning negroes lashing their sorry hacks with twigs. Of the
carriages, it would be hard to tell which was the more noticeable, the
smartness of the vehicles or the jaded depression of the thin beasts
that pulled them. Where Park and Ashland avenues meet at right angles
the crowd was most dense. There, on one side, one sees the neat little
post-office and the photographer's gallery, and off in the distance
the white pine towers of the hotel, rising out of its green hills; on
the other, the long street slowly climbs the hill, through shops and
square white houses with green blinds, set back in luxuriant gardens.
At this corner two persons were standing, a young man and a young
woman, both watching the Bishop. The young woman was tall, handsome,
and--always an attraction in Aiken--evidently not an invalid. The
erect grace of her sl