Dec. 28. — Charleston, South Carolina. We arrived here after a journey of 160 miles through the pine forests of North Carolina, between Weldon and Wilmington, and a voyage of about 17 hours, in a steam ship, chiefly in the night between Wilmington and this place. Here we find ourselves in a genial climate, where the snow is rarely seen, and never lies above an hour or two upon the ground. The rose, the narcissus, and other flowers, are still lingering in the gardens, the woods still verdant with the magnolia, live oak, and long-leaved pine, while the dwarf fan palm or palmetto, frequent among the underwood, marks a more southern region. In less than four weeks since we left Boston, we have passed from the 43d to the 33d degree of latitude, carried often by the power of steam for several hundred miles together through thinly peopled wildernesses, yet sleeping every night at good inns, and contrasting the facilities of locomotion in this new country with the difficulties we had contended with the year before when travelling in Europe, through populous parts of Touraine, Brittany, and other provinces of France.

At Charleston I made acquaintance with several persons zealously engaged in the study of natural history, and then went by an excellent railway 136 miles through the endless pine woods to Augusta, in Georgia.