CHAPTER VIII.

To-day and yesterday.—General experience of travel in the South.—The associated Southern Railways.

Onfirst starting Southward everybody warned us of the great discomfort of Southern travel; we were therefore prepared for all kinds of inconvenience and annoyances by the way—partly arising from the alleged dearth of proper meal stations, and the long waits at the little wayside stations, where we expected to be turned out of one train and left disconsolately waiting in the wilderness till we are picked up by another, and we were prepared to resign ourselves to jolting cars and rough roads, indeed to a series of jerky rickety journeys, ill fed by day, ill lodged by night.

Having reached thus far, we have continued to pick up many crumbs of experience by the way, and I think this is a fitting place to pause, and say a few words on this and some few other subjects. First, I have no doubt that my many friendly informants spoke according to the light which illuminated theirminds, reflected from the days gone by, when things generally were in a chaotic state, trembling in the balance between order and disorder; or perhaps they thought retrospectively of a time still earlier, when there were few travellers and scarce accommodation—for the one must grow in accordance with the other.Mais nous avons changé tout cela.In no country in the world are changes so rapid and complete as in the United States. North and south, east and west—all are animated by the same spirit of progress; always on the onward march; carrying on their social revolutions with a rapidity that astonishes and takes away the breath of the dear old world, which has been working for centuries building up cities, gathering peoples together, making laws, and evolving constitutions from the heart of ages, lopping off and pruning the rotten branches till it has grown tired of its labours, and would fain fold its hands and rest. But the new world has its life before it; like a strong young Samson, it is full of restless energies, it must always be “up and doing,” and trying its strength in all directions—building up on theoretical principles, bombarding and pulling down as practical necessities lead them, changing the features of the land, modelling and remodelling day by day till, were the whole skies turned into a looking-glass, it would not recognise its own face as reflected therein.

The South of to-day is not the South of theyesterdays. It has slept and dreamed through so many generations of beautiful repose beneath sunny skies and soft sweet airs, enjoying an eternaldolce far nienteand giving no thought to anything beyond itself. Now it is awake, it has unsealed its eyes, shaken off the luxurious flowery chain that has held it like links of iron, stretched its limbs, and, as a sleeping army springs to life at the sound of the trumpet, it is up and doing; developing its marvellous resources on the earth and under the earth, building factories, opening mines, and utilising its wonderful water power—forcing the quiet river out of its accustomed way, lashing it till, after much foaming, flashing, and groaning, it grinds the corn, crushes the rough ore, and labours at the world’s work like a sentient being.

In the old days there was not much travel through the Southern States. The wealthy planter lived literally under his own vine and fig tree—a life of luxurious ease and sweet contentment. There, on his own domain, he kept a kind of feudal state, surrounded by his dusky subjects. There was no stimulant, because no need for exertion; the refinements and elegances were in a state of high cultivation, and his requirements were gratified by his immediate surroundings; he rarely looked beyond them. Everything bloomed in his own garden, except, perhaps, heartsease, for he always listened for thestorm which he knew must arise on some future though indefinite day. Perhaps in due course his sons went the tour of Europe, and then returned to the old homestead to tread in their father’s footsteps, and live through life in the old primitive, luxurious fashion. On the rare occasions when they decided to travel through their own states to and from points out of the beaten path made by the main railway lines, or the steamboats ploughing their watery highways, they had to journey across the country where roads were rough or existed not at all; the arrangement needing much consideration and being attended by considerable expense.

The journey they could take in twelve hours by rail would occupy four or five days, when they must carry their own servants and provisions with them, and also be provided with a supply of tents, and generally camp out from the beginning to the end of the journey. They required to travel very carefully too, not only from the generally swampy state of the country, but from the risk they ran of making acquaintance with slimy reptiles and other odious creations. These considerations rendered the expedition one that could hardly be taken for pleasure; but now, in these later days, it is a delight to travel in this sunny land; travelling is made easy even to the most remote portion of the Southern States, and every day things are everywhere improving andmaking a royal progress as near perfection as we can ever hope to arrive.

The main line of railway runs, like an iron vertebra, a kind of backbone, from north to south; the directors of the southern line of railway, realising the necessity of extension, and desirous of giving easy access to all parts of the country, have laid down branch lines in all directions, running out like the arms of an octopus, grasping at distant towns and villages, and halting at the most beautiful secluded spots in the inmost quarters of the land. Having due regard to the fact that people will not travel unless they can do so with a tolerable amount of ease and comfort, the projectors of the southern lines of railway have paid due respect to the requirements of the public, and have formed their plans and carried on their operations with a view to the convenience and comfort of their temporary guests.

The lines are carefully laid over level roads with the best steel rails, and are carried through some of the most picturesque as well as the most weird and wild portions of the country. The carriages are new, the drawing-room and sleeping cars elegantly fitted up with luxurious spring seats, mirrors, and gorgeous surroundings.

In order to insure safety, so far as safety can be assured in any branch of human life, the trains are in the command of the most experienced engineers,and are supplied with the patent Westinghouse automatic air brakes, and all other new and improved appliances, so as to reduce the risk of travelling to a minimum degree. Everything is done with leisurely dignity and quietude in the South; there is no bustle or confusion, no general rush, even at the depots. The iron horse, in his bright brass harness, comes up to the platform with a few dignified snorts; there is no puffing, nor blowing, nor demoniacal shrieks, as though a score of fiends were struggling to get free from their fiery prison. He deposits his living freight according to their several desires; then, answering to the call of the engine-bell, as a good steed responds to the spur of his rider, with a stately tramp moves onward, the thin blue smoke curling from his cavernous nostrils, as though he were some metallic monster going for an evening stroll with a gigantic cigar between his iron lips.

Those who take delight in going at express speed must abandon that idea in travelling South. There is no rapid transit there, no “Lightning Express” nor “Flying Dutchman” thunders through those sylvan scenes; but you are carried along at a decorous pace, at the rate of twenty, sometimes thirty, miles an hour. This is a great gain to those who travel for pleasure only, as they are enabled thoroughlyto enjoy the scenery of the state they are moving through.

The rich, romantic forest, with its hoary-headed army of grand old trees—grim cedars, lofty pines, and light skirmishing lines of graceful palmettoes, all dressed in their regimentals of varied greens—march slowly and solemnly by, saluting you gravely with their bowing branches as they pass in panoramic review before your eyes; you have time to take in the individual character of these glorious hummocks and savannahs as you pass them by. For personal enjoyment it is surely better to travel in this leisurely fashion than to fly through the air, hurled and whirled along at express speed, till earth and sky seems blended together in one blurred mass of mingled blue and green.

There are well-provisioned restaurants stationed at certain intervals all along the road. The excellence of these, of course, varies according to the management; at most you may enjoy the luxury of a thoroughly well cooked meal—the universal steak, fried chicken, varied vegetables, dessert, and milk and coffeead libitum. At some you get a dainty meal that even an epicure might enjoy; I call to mind one perfectly luxurious entertainment. The train drew up at a secluded wayside spot; it was no station at all, only a few pretty cottages emboweredin trees were scattered about in sight. We were convoyed by our polite train conductor through a blooming garden to one of these, with the porch overgrown with honeysuckle and a wealth of white roses; here, in a simply furnished dining-room, preparations had been made for our entertainment. We were a party of about twenty, including the engineer and conductors; and while the brown bees were droning at their pleasant work outside, the brilliant-hued flowers peeped in at the windows, nodded their plumed heads at us, and kept up a whispering concert while we regaled ourselves on the good things set before us. It was a dainty feast, fit for the gods; there was no vulgar display of huge underdone joints—the very sight of which is apt to chase away the appetite without cost to its owner; there were broiled chickens with mushrooms, delicate lamb, crisp salad, new potatoes stewed in cream, new laid eggs, strawberries, dainty omelets, and other tempting dishes. A steaming cup of fragrant coffee was handed round as, our twenty minutes having expired, we were summoned to depart by the stentorian cry of “All aboard! All aboard!” Everybody complimented our hostess—a widow lady—on her pleasant entertainment, and promised to advise everybody to stop there and taste her hospitality.

The train only stops here once in the twenty-fourhours; the rest of the time the cottage and its inhabitants are left to enjoy their sweet seclusion. Of course this kind of thing is an exception, though at several stations we enjoyed excellent meals well worth the tourist’s while to remember. As the happiness of a human being largely depends on the state of his stomach, if that portion of machinery is judiciously treated it helps to keep the rest in order, and is an aid to general good spirits.

At one place—Smithville in Georgia—a capital home-made wine, “Scuppernong,” was supplied liberally and without extra charge. The cost of a meal was sometimes fifty cents, but more usually seventy-five cents. Occasionally the steak may be tough, the “rooster” have outgrown his early youth, but with plenty of fresh eggs and bacon, vegetables, salad, and bread and butter, the hungry may be well satisfied.

I have perhaps dwelt on this subject more than it was necessary I should have done; but so many misapprehensions exist, so many false reports (no doubt ignorantly) circulated concerning Southern travel, that I have thought it well to give my slight experience on the subject, and I am sure my testimony will be supported by all who have followed or may follow in my footsteps. Of course, in the great army of tourists there is always a contingent ofnative-born grumblers who are never satisfied, and wander through the sullen groves of discontent and fret the very air with their endless complaining; and even when they enter the gates of heaven they will complain, like the dissatisfied cherub, that “their halo doesn’t fit.”

En routefor Jacksonville.—A few words about Florida.—Its climate.—Its folk.—Its productions.

Whenthe associated Southern railways cease to exist the Florida Transit takes up the matter, and conveys you with equal comfort to some of the most attractive points of the state.

We are soonen routefor Florida, which is the kind of Mecca of our hearts’ desires. Florida! The very name is suggestive of sunshine and flowers, orange groves, and the sweet-scented air of “Araby the blest.” I have but little time and little space to devote to this varied and beautiful land, and fear that my brief sketch will convey but a faint idea of the country; though it may perhaps serve to waken the interest and induce some few to follow in my footsteps, or rather to make a visit of inspection on their own account and see and judge for themselves. If they go from mere curiosity only they will find plenty to gratify it, and if with any idea of settling there the field is so wide, the attractions so varied,they will find no difficulty in settling according to their hearts’ desires; whatever they seek in the way of climate or of soil they will surely find there if they give themselves time and trouble to seek it out.

This being one of the younger children of the state, having been born into it indeed only in 1845, its progress has been slow—much slower than that of many of the other states in this “go-ahead” land, many of which have grown to maturity at a single bound, like the magic tree the Indian jugglers show us, which is planted, grows, bears buds, flowers, and fruits in the very hour of its birth. Although the natural advantages of Florida are unequalled, its development has been very gradual, and its population, scanty and scattered, is much smaller in proportion than that of any other state in the Union. We may, perhaps, except Nevada and Colorado, both of which are mountainous, rocky regions, whereas Florida is a level land, its highest elevation being about 500 feet above the sea, and very rarely attaining to that. There is, however, a constant tide of immigration flowing into the state, and the increase of the population during the last dozen years is surprising. Still some of the finest portions of the state are yet unpenetrated—luxuriant wildernesses left in a state of nature; but these are being rapidly cleared, and there is room enough for another million of workers and a promising field for their speculations.Let the settlers flock in as fast as they may, provided they come with an adequate supply of patience, industry, and discrimination in their choice of a settlement, a prosperous career may be assured to them; for Florida has a soil fitted for the production of every possible kind of fruit, flowers, vegetables, and forest produce that can be cultivated in any part of the temperate or semi-tropical world.

Many of us have heard (and regarded as fabulous) of its growth of oranges and lemons, but these marvellous accounts are in no way exaggerated. Some orange groves have produced for their owners from 300 to 3,000 dollars an acre, and a single acre of pines has produced as much as 1,200 dollars in one season! Such prolific productions and large profits are by no means uncommon, especially when there is a railway depot near at hand which renders the transport easy.

It is not uncommon to see wide stretches of wheat fields ripening in January. Sugar cane and pines are largely cultivated in the semi-tropical portions of the state, which yield an immense profit; and of garden vegetables, sometimes, nay often, two or three abundant crops are produced from the same tract of land within the year. Common vegetables as well as dainty fruits grow abundantly, and peach trees attain to a prodigious size; the largest known grows in Volusia County, its branches spreading nearly eightyfeet in diameter! Everything grows with a spontaneity that is surprising—fruits and flowers everywhere in the woods and wildernesses in wild luxuriance. The very nature of things seems to be reversed; pears grow on graceful vines, peas on stately trees, and some things (as witness the air plant) grow on nothing at all. But in spite of the richness of the soil, the geniality of the climate, Florida is not exactly a paradise; here as elsewhere man must carry out the great law, and labour for his daily bread. Nature is prolific, and yields her treasures ungrudgingly, but she demands something in return. Men must come to her with a strong arm and patient brain, bring their intelligence to the fore, learn to watch her varying moods and seasons, and prune and train and use her after her own fashion; all this has to be learned by a new comer, for the agricultural process and the treatment of fruits and flowers is quite different from that which is necessary in their culture elsewhere; but given a certain amount of prudence and knowledge, and more comfort with less labour may be obtained here than in any other part of the world, for it is rarely too hot, rarely too cold. Frost is never an expected visitor, though in certain years it has been a most unwelcome guest, and amply revenged itself for its general expulsion from the soil. The winter of 1880 was exceptionally severe; it girded on its frosted garments and travelled southward,sweeping through the northern part of Florida and laying its icy hand upon orange and lemon groves, freezing the fruit upon the trees, working sad havoc wherever it took its frozen way, causing great loss to all, ruin to some; but this visitation was confined to a very small portion of the state. In the larger and more numerous districts frost is simply unknown, and its advent would cause as much wonderment as a snowstorm in Calcutta. The truth is, there is trinity and unity in the state, three Floridas in one, which may be thus classified—the tropical, semi-tropical, and temperate or northern Florida. The latter, northern Florida, is a land of wheat, corn, cotton, rice, apples, grapes, etc.—indeed, all cereals, fruits, or vegetables that are cultivated in the northern provinces may be grown here, as well as some few of the hardier Southern products. Slight frosts and cold snaps are not of infrequent occurrence, and the scenery is the most picturesque of all the state, being varied by grand rolling forests, grey, rugged rocks, and beautiful winding streams, where fish and wild fowl of all kinds are most abundant. The temperature is delightful all the year round, and it is in this region the finest live stock is raised.

In middle or semi-tropical Florida the soil is of a sandy character, the country flat and uninteresting, unvaried by streams or rivers; it is only in the orange lake region that a fair extensive lake mayhere and there be found, hidden away in some wooded tract of uncultivated land. Here many of the products of the temperate or tropical regions, such as lemons, figs, guava, and citron trees, may be found growing side by side, all the year round; and delicious vegetables, tomatoes, beets, lettuce, cucumbers, and fine marrowfat peas, are shipped daily in large quantities, and despatched northward during the months of January, February, and March. Strawberries, too, are largely cultivated, and yield an immense profit.

Strangers are daily flocking into this district from all points of the states. Many prefer this to the more southern parts of Florida, and large settlements are growing rapidly everywhere, especially along the line of the Transit Railway, which runs between Cedar Keys and Fernandina. Almost fabulous quantities of the hardier fruits and vegetables are produced here, and as the facilities of transportation lie near at hand, they are at once placed in the hands of the consumer, and with the slightest expense to the grower. This region is, however, always liable to frost, which may be looked for any time during the winter months, but may not appear for many years; but when it does come, the crops are ruined for that season.

Southern Florida is really the tropical region, the Egypt of the United States, where frosts areunknown, and every fruit or flower, or forest product, which grows in the most tropical quarters of the world, is or may be cultivated with complete success. Pine-apples, bananas, cocoanut, guava, almonds, olives and figs, with a long list of other tropical fruits, are produced in luxuriant abundance, but we no longer wander through groves of orange or lemon trees. Of scenery in these parts there is nothing to speak of; in the interior it is made up of sunshine, fruits and flowers. The land is level and uninteresting till you reach the coast line, where all along the Atlantic shore you have fine picturesque ranks of bold rocky landscape, flanked by the glorious old sea. For 1,150 miles the sea washes the shores of Florida, and yet throughout this long stretch of seaboard there are but a very few good harbours, and these are chiefly on the Atlantic coast.

All along this coast line the country is very prolific, and in the woods, in the air, in the lakes, and in the rivers, fish, flesh and fowl—especially oysters and turtles—are most abundant. This is a delightful region wherein to enjoy a perfect summer climate during the winter months; but at the midsummer time, gnats, flies, and mosquitoes are swarming, and become a perfect scourge. Here, too, at the furthermost southern point, jutting out between the Atlantic Ocean and the Gulf of Mexico, are the celebrated “Everglades”—an immense tract of country consistingof many thousands of square miles of flat prairie land, completely covered with fresh sweet water, clear as crystal, and varying from six inches to six feet deep. This in turn is studded with islands which bear an immense growth of oak, hickory, palmetto, pine, cedar, and other valuable timbers, and here in these peculiar wilds dwell the remnant of the Seminole Indians, once the most powerful of all the Indian tribes which formerly inhabited those isolated regions. It needs not be said that no white folk are dwellers herein, though occasionally a bold party of hunters will penetrate these desolate regions; and on their return to the civilised world they bring a pleasant account of the simple hospitality and kindly spirit of the inhabitants.

There is some talk of draining these Everglades; if this idea be carried out, it will open up millions of acres of valuable cotton and sugar lands, and will, no doubt, be quickly occupied by an adventurous multitude.

The first great need here, as in other parts of Florida, is population. Let a party of pioneers start with pickaxe and shovel, and hew out the first pathway; one builds the first shanty, a companion follows and builds another; men are gregarious animals, and the nucleus once formed, soon gather together. Small storekeepers bring thither the necessities of life (a saloon and liquor store is among thefirst erections); then follows the wholesale dealers, the bankers, and soon solid prosperity is assured to the little colony. Villages spring up and soon expand into cities, for wherever labour leads capital quickly follows. There is no need for labour to languish for want of funds, industry and brains are more valuable than money in the market; and no matter how poor, even penniless, a man may be, if he is willing to work and to aid in the developing another man’s land, he will surely end by cultivating his own. It is not wealth that has made the first step towards progression in any land, it is always the poor emigrant, with his rifle and wheelbarrow, who first penetrates the wilds, turns the first sod, and so lays the first stone of cities and civilisation.

Nowhere can the capitalist find so large a scope for his speculations, and nowhere can the poor man find a better market for the labour of his hand or the fruits of his brain; with industry and prudence he may be assured of present comfort and future prosperity—limitless prosperity, provided also that he be energetic and wise.

The development of Florida has generally been carried on by the northern people. Everywhere throughout the entire state they are planning fresh improvements: draining swampy lands, fertilising the soil, and experimentalising with strange crops, building railways, cities, mills, and churches—infact, endeavouring to cultivate, and turn to good account the most neglected and wildest regions; and everywhere their endeavours are crowned with success, for on every side you find evidence of northern capital and northern enterprise. No one who thinks of settling and establishing a permanent residence in this “flowery land,” can do better than consult Barbour’sFlorida, from which he can extract all he desires to know.

Mr. Barbour has visited all parts, and penetrated the remotest recesses of the state, and has made himself thoroughly acquainted with the resources of every special district, and has boiled his varied experiences down, and reproduced them in the aforenamed volume. He gives no advice, makes no attempt to influence settlers in their choice of a location; he merely states facts, gives a descriptive account of each district—its capabilities, its climate, its soil, and gives a list of such cereals, fruits, flowers, and vegetables, etc. as have been, or may be, most successfully cultivated in each place; thus imparting most valuable information to those who most need it, never misleading the inquiring mind or twisting the imagination awry.

I have no time to consider the subject of Florida so particularly as I desire to do; I can only generalise, as a rule, and visit such special places as are easy ofaccess, and are, or are likely to become, places of popular resort, either for the invalid or pleasure-seeker; my object is to enjoy the season, and see what there is for other people to enjoy.

Some transient visitors who have eyes yet no eyes, sensibilities without sense, give a brief but sweeping opinion of Florida, and say—

“It’s a hot, dry, dusty place, nothing in it but oranges and alligators—good enough in winter for those poor creatures who don’t care to run the risk of freezing in the north; and that’s all there is in it.”

Such hastily uttered opinions are no doubt attributable to a bilious temperament or bad digestion. Every season brings a fresh influx of visitors, some in search of health, some in search of pleasure; there is a plentiful supply of both, and each may choose his own fashion of taking it. Some love to lounge on the wide verandahs looking over the perfumed garden of fruits and flowers, enjoying in January the soft balmy breath of June; or they may wander through miles of orange groves, or row upon the quiet moonlit lakes or rivers, or indulge in fishing expeditions up the wonderful “St. John’s,” varying that gentle pastime by shooting wild ducks or alligators.

Those who are inclined to enjoy a pure pleasuretrip, a ramble through the ancient Spanish cities and modern towns, to take a trip up the Royal St. John’s, or the weird wild Ocklawaha—the most wonderful water-way in the world—may let loose their imagination and go with me, for I amen routefor Jacksonville.

Pine forests.—Arcadian scenes.—Strange companionship.—We reach Jacksonville.

Ourroad still lies through cities of silent pines, stirred only by the voice of the moaning wind; whole armies of them are drawn up on either side, stretching away as far as the eye can reach. They look as though they have just come out of a great battle: some are crippled and stand tottering on their roots, others hang their lank limbs as though they have not strength to upbear their weight of leaves, and some are standing with huge gashes in their sides, and punctured wounds all over their bodies; their bark is stripped off, and their naked trunks are scarified all over, they are cut and stabbed till their poor veins are drained of their life’s blood. Here and there stands the rough, tumble-down shanty of the turpentine distillers—a hard-working and intelligent set of labourers, who are largely employed in these lonely forest regions, gathering the wealth of these gigantic uncomplaining pines. And how great is thewealth that is gathered therefrom—tar and rosin, phosphate of lime, of soda, of magnesia, potash, and many other important chemicals are wrung from their generous limbs. They give, give, give, till their strength is exhausted; then the distiller moves on and carries the war into another part of the country, while his victims are left to recuperate. But no sooner are they grown strong and vigorous again with renewed healthy life—the sap rising and refilling their empty veins—scarcely have their old wounds had time to heal, when they are again attacked by the ruthless requirements of man. Their sides are cut and stabbed, and once more their veins are emptied, and thus, like dropsical human kind, they are tapped again and again till they are dried up, and have nothing more to give. Their green crowns fall, their arms wither, and they are left to a lonely, though picturesque old age, and are perhaps more admired in the naked grandeur of their decline than in their youthful prime; for are not the ruined castles of old days more impressive and attractive than the gorgeous palaces of the new? for there nature in the long run beats art even at her own work. As fast as art builds up time begins to break down, and does his work by imperceptible degrees: then nature with decorative ingenuity comes to the fore and clothes the dilapidations with soft moss and a graceful combination of ivy, ferns, and flowers, tillthe ugly skeleton with its empty sockets and crumbling limbs is all aglow with a beautiful new life—a picturesqueness that is only born of decay.

Here and there, creeping out from some watery waste within their midst, are wide shining pools, overspread with soft green lily pads, with fair white blossoms cushioned thereon, looking as pure and innocent as baby fairies asleep on a bed of green leaves.

As we jog solemnly along on our iron road the scene undergoes a gradual change, and we are soon in a new world of green; the change has been so gradual indeed that we hardly know when we took our last look of the dark sombre pines of the north. Their brethren of the South, with whom we are now making acquaintance, are of a lighter colour, and seem of a more airy frivolous nature than the northern forest kings whom we have left a few hundred miles behind us. Here they are tall, slim, and straight, with bare smooth trunks, and a chaplet of pale feathery green leaves waving like warriors’ plumes above their lofty heads. We have soon outrun the romantic cypress swamps, the salt marshes, and forest lands; the shining pools with their lovely water lilies give place to banks of fine white sand, but still among the yellow pines the white blossom of the dogwood streams out like a hidden banner half unfurled.

The form and character of the trees here are very different from the eastern or northern branches of their family, just as an oriental beauty differs from a Belgravian belle. We are no longer rushing through luxuriant “hammocks,” and tangles of a leafy wonderland; the ground is rough and uneven, and has but a scanty growth of green. Now and then we come upon a solitary date-palm, majestic in its stately loneliness; the surrounding trees seem to have fallen away from it and group themselves in the distance, as though in honour to its royalty. Here, too, is the tall palmetto, the parent of a large family of dwarf palmettoes which are gathered around it, with their sheaves of lance-like leaves lifted in the sunlight.

We thoroughly enjoy the novelty of the scenery, so different from that we have already passed through. We feel we are on the threshold of a tropical land, and wait eagerly for its wonder to unfold itself; the change is so subtle and silent we cannot tell where it began; we feel it in the very air we breathe, even the sunshine seems to fall from a different part of the heavens, and to bring with it a kind of perfumed warmth with its glorious light. Then we cross wide tracts of barren sand dunes—rich red sand—with here and there a stunted growth of green; these poor tracts of country are occasionally varied by rich hammocks or clearings, interspersedwith a tangle of wild orange trees or stately palmettoes, half smothered in the embrace of luxuriant vines.

Presently we stop at a kind of wayside hotel (the veriest hovel that sells a jug of lager or slab of corncake is dignified by the name of hotel); it is quite in the wilderness, a sort of travellers’ rest, with not a shanty nor even a pig-stye in sight, for the wild hogs (and their name is legion) run free—poor homeless tramps of the wilderness; and long legged, ragged-looking Cochin-Chinas are strutting about crowing their loudest, as though the whole world belonged tothem. This is no house of entertainment for us; we have been merely signalled to stop to take up passengers. For in a moment a fierce-looking portly gentleman, warranted fresh from his tailor, comes out of the low cranky door, and an attendant darkie hauls his portmanteau after him; an abundance of chains and seals dangle from his waistcoat pocket, and with much puffing and blowing, like a human grampus, he gets into the train, and glares defiantly round him. He is loud—loud in his dress, loud in his talk, louder still in his actions; he bangs into his seat, slams down the window, and bawls out some last instructions, then sinks into his seat, gives sundry wrathful snorts, and sits swelling like a frog who is like to burst. Two poor half-Indian women come down the narrowwinding pathway from the wilderness; they have evidently tramped many miles, and slink into a seat at the very end of the train, as though they had no business there; they have a timid, frightened look upon their dusky faces, and glance anxiously round at everything and everybody. We gather from their whispered confidences that they have come from some small settlement in the interior of the country, and had never been in a train before—possibly had never seen one; all their worldly goods seem to be contained in the baskets and bundles which they deposit beside them, and guard with jealous care. There is something pathetic in the care and attention these lonely women show to each other. They are evidently stricken by some great sorrow, for as they sit together side by side, staring out upon the landscape with lustreless eyes, a large tear that had been long gathering rolls slowly down the cheek of one of them; they speak no word, but huddle closer together with a dumb sympathy that is more eloquent than words.

We knew not whence they had come nor whither they were going; they were two lonely women, and by their talk alone in the world, mere waifs and strays of humanity—drifting, drifting on the tide of life, till they are cast upon that silent shore where the tide neither ebbs nor flows. If the engine gave an extra shriek or whistle they cast silent, inquiringglances round like frightened animals, but never spoke a word. At meal time they turned aside and ate surreptitiously from their baskets, nibbling slyly like mice at a cheese.

The fierce-looking gentleman who had first attracted our attention was evidently in a hurry to get on; he pelted the guard with questions whenever he caught sight of him: “How far were we from this place?” “When should we get to that?” “How slowly we were going. I could race the engine and win,” he adds contemptuously; then he fidgeted in his seat, and fretted and fumed; he scowled at everybody, and seemed absolutely to swell with his own importance. He pulled out a big watch as noisy and fussy as himself; it looked so brazen and ticked so loud as though nothing in this world was going but itself—as though indeed it had nothing at all to do with time, but was rather in a hurry to get ahead of it, when it should have been minding its own business, done its duty, and ticked the solemn flight of the passing hours. We turn our backs upon this pompous individual, and our interest becomes absorbed in these two poor women, from whom we gather an outline of their history. It is a simple one: a story of trials and struggles, of tangles, of failures, and want and sorrow, of life and death; such as may be written of so many of the human family who reap only thorns and thistles in this world; but in the next who knows what rosesmay for them be blooming! Luckily for all such labourers, hope, like a will-o’-the-wisp, lights the distant shadows and dances before them, now here, now there, till they reach their journey’s end and drop unnoticed into nameless graves.

Presently we cross a narrow stream or river, and learn that we have left the rolling lands of Georgia behind and are now in Florida. We look round as though we expected a sudden transformation scene, but there is no violent change. Nature is full of surprises, but here in these latitudes she moves with a slow, subtle grace, in accordance with the soft sunshine, and warm, soft air of these semi-tropical regions, where nothing is in a hurry, and even the streams and rivers flow in a tender, languid ripple. She is still changing the expression of her countenance, but slowly; her white, gleaming sands flash more and more frequently in our eyes. We are on the rough, ragged edge of Florida; it is flat and sandy with a scanty growth of straggling yellow pines and stunted palmettoes, which seem cowering down trying to hide themselves from the sight of the sun.

Within an hour we are in Jacksonville, the first city in Florida, whence the tourist takes his first impression of the climate and the people. The train stops at a busy, bustling wharf, and as we step out we face the grand expanse of the noble St. John’s river, stretching away in gracefully curving lines tothe right and the left of us; a few fishing boats with brown patched sails are gliding to and fro, and one or two pretty miniature steamers are puffing lazily along its surface; the curving banks on the opposite shore are fringed with green to the water’s edge. We turn round and face the town: there is a wide stretch of land cut up in plots of garden ground, then a long, unbroken line of shops and houses, varied by the lofty and elegant façades of the Everett and Carlton Hotels which face the river front, the view however being slightly marred by the wharf and the railway station, which is a mere rough, wooden structure and has been hastily run up regardless of architectural appearance; a few rough, wooden benches under cover are all the waiting-rooms the passengers are likely to find. Adjoining the station, and indeed forming a part of it, are long wharves and packing-houses, where hives of busy bees are always working, especially during the months of January and February, packing and shipping strawberries and other delicate fruits to New York and other eastern and northern cities. At this point there is an immense amount of railway traffic, the iron roads running like the arms of an octopus in every direction; trains are constantly passing to and fro, but they are too far away for either the sight or the sounds to cause any actual inconvenience beyond slightly obstructing the view of the Bay Street hotels.If these ugly but useful structures were swept away, or stationed a little farther down the river away from the town, the land and water view from the whole line of Bay Street would be lovely in the extreme.

Lying farther back, as we afterwards find, are numerous other hotels, all erected in choice positions, some embowered in trees and gardens of blooming flowers; all are beautifully shaded and luxuriously appointed in every particular.

There are plenty of omnibuses waiting; we drive at once to the Everett, attracted by its handsome appearance and position, and knowing that there we should have the advantage of every breeze that blew from the river.

Jacksonville.—Our hotel.—Greenleaf’s museum.—Floridian curiosities.—East winds and tropical breezes.—Strawberry packing.

Weshake the dust from our garments and wash our travel-stained faces, and by the time we descend to the dining-room we find that the regulartable-d’hôtedinner is over, but the tables are still laid for the accommodation of late comers. Some of the lights are out, the rest are turned low, and scores of dusky shadows seem to be hiding in the distant corners of the big room. The tables are laid with snow-white cloths, and furnished with shining silver and glass and flowers, but the long saloon is so empty and still it looks like a dead banquet lying in state rather than the preparations for a social meal. However, as we enter with a few others, the lights flash up and everything is lively enough, the ever-attentive black waiters bustle briskly about, and by the time we are comfortably seated the first instalment of our meal is before us. Judgingfrom the first ladle of soup, you may generally tell what your dinner will be, they say. So from our first dainty dish of roast oysters we augured well for our general entertainment. They are evidently accustomed to cater for epicures and invalids; every dish is delicately served; even if you were not hungry you would be tempted to eat. We had scarcely commenced when our waiter inquired, in an insinuating whisper, “Would we like a little ‘blue cat?’”

We know that in some countries rats and mice are considered rare dainties, and even in the more civilised quarters of the globe snails and frogs are regarded as luxurious tit-bits. We desired the blue cat to be served, and half expected to see the feline animal served up—claws, tail, and all smothered in sauce piquante! And why not? I believe that French art could dress up the sole of an old shoe, or even a rusty door-nail so as to tempt the appetite and sit easy on the digestion. However, our blue cat turned out to be a familiar fish of most delicious flavour; we had made acquaintance with it before, but had not been introduced to it by its proper name; we had eaten “blue cat,” but knew it not.

It is growing late in the month of March, and Jacksonville is not itself, they tell us. A month ago, and the hotels were all crowded, and so great was the influx of people they could not be comfortably housed; fair ladies and fastidious gentlemen wereforced into strange quarters, taking their places, like aristocratic stowaways, in garrets, in lumber rooms, or in any hole or corner where humanity can stretch itself and sleep. Such scores of invalids and pleasure-seekers come hither in search of health or amusement during the winter months, that although there are many first-class hotels, and over a hundred and fifty—counting those of a second-class and boarding-houses together—yet even then the accommodation is scarcely enough for the visitors. Everybody flocks to the large hotels; they like the elegantly upholstered drawing-rooms, with their gorgeous decorations and gilded mirrors, the lofty corridors, and, above all, the well-appointedcuisine. There are some people who would rather sleep on a shelf with their feet out of the window, likeAlice in Wonderland, and enjoy these luxuries, than occupy a large airy room with commonplace comforts.

During the season Jacksonville is the gayest of gay cities; its hotels are brilliantly lighted, and the sounds of mirth and music float from its open windows; there are concerts, private theatricals, picnics and water-parties, no end of them. The flagging spirits of the invalids are stirred and stimulated by the general gaieties round them; they are driven to forget themselves, and have no time to dwell upon their own ailments, as they are apt to do in their own domestic circle, with anxioussympathising friends around them. Perhaps in the early stages this is well, but in the later phases of disease the necessity of dressing, and dining, and living in public is the heavy penalty paid for such enjoyment. Some, however, seem to think that it is cheap at the price.

In the morning we sally forth on a tour of inspection through the streets of Jacksonville. The roads are so heavy with deep sand, that driving is attended with much dust and discomfort. A lumbering vehicle passes us on the road and we are enveloped in a cloud of fine white sand, and grope our way with closed eyes until it has had time to settle itself. No one, unless disposed to self-martyrdom, will think of entering a vehicle except under direst necessity; but there are delightful little street cars, running on an iron tramway, which take you the entire round of the city, past all the hotels, the stores and principal thoroughfares, and bring you back to the starting-place for five cents. Walking is here a most delightful exercise; the side-walks everywhere are laid with light springy planks on which it is a pleasure to tread. We stroll on in a kind of go-as-you-please, walking-made-easy fashion, as though we never wanted to stop. The streets are all wide, and beautifully shaded with vigorous young water-oaks, whose luxuriant green foliage is a contrast to the pines and palmettoes we have lately been passing through. Sorich and so dense is their wealth of leaves, so extensive their branches, that in places they reach above our heads across a roadway seventy-two feet wide, and we walk on under an arching roof of green; so rapid is their growth in these latitudes that some were pointed out to me which had attained to ten feet circumference in forty-two years. Some grow strong and lusty in the clinging clasp of the mistletoe, and are only saved from being smothered in its tender embraces by the pruning-knife, which cuts down and strews the ground with all such pleasant parasites as would otherwise sap the strength and destroy the life of the strong young oaks. Whichever way we turn we look through long vistas of green.

The homes of the settled population of Jacksonville are very beautiful, and are built in pretty fanciful styles—no sameness nor dull uniformity anywhere. Some are surrounded by blooming gardens, for here the gardens bloom all the year round; as one flower fades and falls another takes its place, so the floral army is always “in position.” Some are covered with creeping plants and vines, others buried in orange-groves or embowered in shrubs, oleanders, and magnolia trees. There is no unsightly or incongruous feature anywhere in this lovely city; it is literally composed of handsome hotels, elegant dwellings, and smiling gardens. The shops arecongregated on one spot, instead of being scattered in odd corners throughout the city, and are situated in a long line on Bay Street, where you may enjoy a pleasant promenade and transact your business at the same time. In these shops you will find every possible commodity of merchandise, from the baby’s teething coral to the grandfather’s gravestone, for sucharticles de luxeare sometimes wanted even in Florida. A brisk trade is carried on in all kinds of Floridian curiosities in this beautiful semi-tropical city. You may buy bracelets and earrings of delicately-tinted sea beans, set in silver or gold. Some say that these beans are the fruit of a leguminous plant, which drops from the pod into the sea; others suggest that they are washed over from the vines which grow along the shores of the West Indies; but wherever they come from they are here in abundance and in great variety of colours and shapes—some are opaque, some red, some a rich brown, and some (the choicest specimens) are smoothly polished and speckled like a leopard’s skin. Here also may be found some beautiful specimens of Indian shell-work, and graceful plumes of dried grasses, either natural or dyed in all the colours of the rainbow. The ladies wear palmetto hats trimmed with leaves or feathery flowers made from these grasses—quite a new and extremely elegant style of millinery. But alligators’ teeth are mostly in demand; gentlemen wear them on their watch-chains, as studs, as buttons, even as ornaments to their umbrellas and walking-sticks; the ladies wear them set in all kinds of fanciful ornaments. A lovely molar set in gold drops from her pretty ear, or a row of sharp incisors coil round her wrist and grin from their gold setting, as though they have just come from the dentist; or they twine, half smothered in coral tongues or trellis-work of gold, about her neck. Situated on this street, too, are the principal banks and wholesale mercantile houses, the proprietors of which are so energetic and enterprising they bid fair to make this the chief commercial city in the state. The Aston Buildings, where every possible information concerning anything or everything may be obtained—a collection of legal, shipping, and insurance offices—are situated on the corner of Bay and Hogan Streets. Close by, Mr. Greenleaf has quite a museum of rare specimens of Floridian curiosities, connected with a well-stocked bazaar, which is filled with all kinds of quaint things either for use or ornament. This is well worth a visit, as, in addition to other attractions, there is a kind of menagerie in the back part of the premises, where wild cats, owls, snakes, alligators, and many other monstrosities are on view. There is a large tank of infant alligators, varying from six inches to a foot long. These are for sale, and are greatly in request. I have seen them bought, packed in thick cardboard boxes with perforatedtops, and sent as presents to friends in distant parts of the country, travelling by mail post-paid. I am told that they rarely meet with an accident by the way, but arrive safely at their journey’s end, hungry, but in good condition—a rather unique kind of present, and decidedly embarrassing token of friendly remembrance.

For nearly a mile this busy business thoroughfare is lined on either side with shops of every possible description—houses of entertainment and variegated open stores, wine merchants, barbers’ shops, millinery stores, fancy goods; the windows gaily dressed, all aglow with bright colours and glittering ornaments. Elegantly dressed women and gentlemen, thejeunesse doréeof the eastern cities, saunter to and fro. It seems as though a bit of Regent Street had been cut out and plumped down on the skirts of this semi-tropical city.

We turn a few steps out of this animated thoroughfare, and are in a perfect elysium; we feel as though we had turned our backs upon the world, and are already on our way to paradise—we forget all about the serpent. Although it is still spring-time, the thermometer reaches to 85°. They tell us that that is the maximum summer heat, and that such weather is most unusual at this early season. The heat that would be unendurable elsewhere is by no means oppressivehere; we enjoy a stroll through the shady streets at midday. Though the sun is at its zenith, there is no hot glare of light anywhere, but a soft delicious breeze is blowing—an “east wind” they call it, but it bears no resemblance to the stormy virago who plays thatrôlein more northern latitudes, hurling down church steeples, playing bagatelle with the chimney-pots, and, worst of all, attacking with its biting breath poor helpless humanity. In vain mankind buttons its greatcoat, and clasps its warm furs round it, the east wind finds out its weakest place, and plays the devil’s own tune upon its naked nerves, racks its bones with rheumatic twinges, shooting neuralgic pains, making a target of the human body and hitting the bull’s eye every time. Driven out of the open streets, people creep in and cower down at their own fireside, but it follows them, it cannot be kept out by bolts and bars; as subtle and invisible as thought it steals down the throat, gives an evil touch to the bronchial tubes, wrings the liver with a cruel hand, and even spoils the temper, like a wicked old wretch as it is. One doesn’t so much mind facing the good honest blustering north wind, it is an open foe, and in some way you can defend yourself against it; but the east is a malicious insinuating enemy, it will attack you even in your bed before you have had time to put a woollen nightcap on. Here, however, it is soft and balmy, full of aspicy fragrance; it seems to come down new-born, straight from the gate of heaven, breathing the breath of angels, and laden with the soft airs of eternal spring. Who can tell? Perhaps as it grows older and travels onward it may gather evil by the way, absorb the miasmic exhalations from the earth and from the miseries and vices of mankind till its temper is spoilt, and it becomes as hard, cruel, and bitter as the east wind of our own land—which we must again meet presently. But here all is fresh and delightful. We don’t find in the face of the child the inborn sins of its manhood, so we revel in this balmy breeze, and give no thought to the east wind that may be afar off sweeping our native streets, holding our friends and our foes alike in its cruel grip.

Down on the wharf the air is scented with strawberry perfume, for, as I think I have said elsewhere, the great packing-houses are situated here, and trains and vessels fruit-laden come from all parts of the state and disgorge their treasures. An immense trade in fruit and vegetables is carried on—early peas, young potatoes, asparagus, pine-apples, and strawberries being largely exported to the eastern and northern states; business is brisk everywhere, but there is no confusion. Hundreds of hands are busy packing the rich luscious strawberries in the ice-boxes—ice above, ice below, ice everywhere; thenthey are hermetically sealed and sent to New York or elsewhere, arriving there in perfection, as though they were just fresh gathered. In front of the wharf, lying along the river, are several small pleasure boats and some large three-masted schooners, dipping and fretting and tossing their mastheads, as though they were in a hurry to get their lumber freight and be gone; the huge mill is whirring busily, its iron teeth tearing the king of the forest to pieces as fast as it can, perhaps cutting up and slicing some of that large family of pines we have been lately passing through. Who knows? perhaps they may return one day shaped into the tall strong masts of some noble ship, bearing her fluttering sails on high, creaking and swaying in the wind as though struggling to get to their silent brotherhood on the plains up yonder, and tell them how much of the world they have seen, and what strange peoples they have borne across the seas.

The busy wharves, the beautiful river, picturesque streets and Arcadian surroundings, make this first glimpse of Florida delightful. We have nothing to do but revel in the breeze and bask in the sunshine, and we do it.

Jacksonville has so many advantages that it is rapidly becoming the favourite resort of travelling multitudes. So rapid has been its growth during the short period of its existence that its populationalready numbers about 11,000; it is everywhere lighted with gas, has an excellent water supply (though I cannot say much for the water, it should be used as an outward application only). The postal and telegraphic system is as near perfection as such arrangements generally are; they have even the latest scientific improvement, the telephone. You may travel to and from anywhere and everywhere. There is a perfect system of river traffic, and trains are dashing in and out of the city all day long.

It seems to us a pity that the invalid population should take their flight so early; the weather is still perfect, and I am told it is likely to continue so for the next two months, when it will literally be emptied, even of its floating population. Some of its infatuated inhabitants live there all the year round; they tell me it is delightful even in the height of summer—“there has never been a case of sunstroke known, there is no malaria, no fever,” no anything that humanity needs to avoid. But these are interested folk; I shall have something to say on that subject presently.

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