CHAPTER XIII.THROUGH LANGUOROUS LANDS OF THE SUNNY SOUTH.

TOMB OVER THE GRAVE OF WASHINGTON’S MOTHER, AT FREDERICKSBURG, VIRGINIA.

New York City possesses many attractions for the cosmopolitan, but not for the artist, who prefers nature’s solitudes to the artificial glamor and noisy hum of a large city; hence our stay in that city was only for such time as it required to make preparations for extending our pictorial journey through summer lands of the southeast. Instead of carrying our original plans into immediate execution, however, it was decided to visit the battle-field of Gettysburg, which our artist coming up through Virginia and Pennsylvania did not find it convenient to include in his journey. The town of Gettysburg has a population of some 3,500 souls, and is the capital of Adams county, Pennsylvania, the center of a blooming and bounteously-producing agricultural district. Our route to reach the place was by way of the Pennsylvania Railroad to Hanover, and thence by the Western Maryland Railroad, a distance of 250 miles from New York. The landscape thereabout is undulating, occasionally rising to hills of considerable size; but scenically there is nothing particularly attractive, aside from the beautiful farms and truck-gardens that clothe the knolls with prodigal harvests. Historically, the place is imperishably famous, for here was fought, on the 1st, 2d and 3d of July, 1863, the bloodiest and hottest-contested battle of the civil war. From every eminence this dreadful field, though it now smiles with plenty, still presents memorials of that ever-memorable conflict. There is Cemetery Hill, the old grave-place of the town, where thousands slept before the awakening alarms of cannon and musket enveloped the scene in battle-smoke. Here it was that the Union forces, under General Meade, pitched their quarters, because it commanded a view of the adjacent country. One mile towards the west is Seminary Ridge, the spot chosen by the Confederates, under General Lee,as their vantage-point and headquarters. Now sweep the horizon and mark the places where the battle waxed fiercest; where the dead lay thickest and the thunder of conflict was loudest. There is Willoughby Run, where the battle began and where Buford’s cavalry was hurled upon the steel of Hill, and for two hours withstood the hell of ball and bayonet until flesh could endure no more. There is Round Top, another eminence where the Union lines reformed, with the left wing thrown around the ridges to Cemetery Hill. There is where Longstreet struck Sickles with such fearless resolution, and a whole day was spent in a contention for Great and Little Round Top, without advantage to either side, but with frightful losses to both. Now on Cemetery Hill the eyes of the world must rest, for here it was, on the third day, that such fighting was done as Greek nor Roman ever knew. After a lull at midday, two hundred brazen throats were opened with boom and screaming shells; the air became filled with smoke, and the earth was choked with dead, until there came a lull, out of which broke a column three miles long, whose gray uniforms soon proclaimed the advance of General Pickett leading his army in a desperate resolve to storm the Union position. No charge ever made was more terrible, no repulse was ever more fatal. Americans, whatever be their sympathies, whatever their prejudices, may feel proud of the heroism displayed by both armies on that day of carnage around Cemetery Hill. It was a courage that glorifies America.

THE DEVIL’S DEN, BATTLE-FIELD OF GETTYSBURG

ROUND TOP, OVERLOOKING THE BATTLEFIELD OF GETTYSBURG.—The battle that was fought at Gettysburg on the first, second and third of July, 1863, has been justly classed as one of the great battles of the world. It was the final turning-point in the war between the North and the South, and each side, on this field, displayed a heroism that will forever shed a light of glory upon the courage and fortitude of Americans as soldiers. Fifty-four thousand of our countrymen gave up their lives at Gettysburg. They were distinguished by uniforms of blue and gray then; now they are clothed with robes that are woven without color. Let the head be uncovered and the eye moist with tears as we stand upon the ground made sacred by their blood.

A VILLAGE SCENE OF HAPPY CONTENT IN VIRGINIA.

The 54,000 souls that laid down their arms and answered roll-call the morning of July 4th on the parade-grounds of paradise, were our countrymen. They were distinguished by uniforms of blue and gray then; they are invested with robes now that are woven without color. Let the trumpets blare, and the drums be beaten, but let it be on Memorial Day, as salutes of remembrance for the heroes who died within the gates of Cemetery Hill, at Round Top, the Stone Fence, Culp’s Hill, Seminary Ridge, Willoughby Run and Benner’s Hill.

Gettysburg is of itself a monument to human courage, but its field of blood has been made a national cemetery of seventeen acres, which was dedicated with imposing ceremonies on November 19, 1863, at which President Lincoln made the greatest address ever delivered on American soil, “With malice toward none, with charity for all.” A soldiers’ monument was erected in 1868, which is sixty feet high, surmounted by a marble figure of Liberty, and occupies a crown of the hill, where it is a conspicuous object for miles, and arranged in semi-circles about the base are the graves of nearly three thousand of the unidentified victims of the dreadful conflict.

“Thus sleep the braves who sank to rest,By all their Country’s wishes blest.”

“Thus sleep the braves who sank to rest,

By all their Country’s wishes blest.”

AN OLD COLONIAL HOUSE AT APPOMATTOX, VIRGINIA.—This picturesque old mansion, built while Virginia was still a colony of the mother-country, stands yet as a landmark of an earlier civilization and a social era that has passed away. The wealthy pioneer who planned it took as his model some still older mansion of the merry England from which he had emigrated, and thus sought to transplant in the wilds of America a memorial of some loved spot in his native country. Its halls are now filled with the ghostly recollections of the past, for even the mighty events which took place in this immediate vicinity in April, 1865, seem almost like ancient history, so rapidly does time speed away on the wings of steam and electricity.

FORTRESS MONROE, VIRGINIA.

From Gettysburg our route was southwest to Washington, and thence by way of Fredericksburg to Appomattox. From Washington the Richmond, Fredericksburg and Potomac Railroad runs through a sterile section, unrelieved by either picturesque scenery or smiling field, so that a part of it has long been known as the Wilderness, famous, however, as the scene of many great battles in 1863-4, many traces of which are still to be seen from the car windows of passing trains. Fredericksburg is distinguished also as the vicinity in which Washington was born, and where he spent the greater part of his youth. Here it was also that Washington’s mother lived for a long time, and died in 1789. A monument erected in 1883, in the suburbs of the town, marks the place of her sepulture. Twelve miles beyond Fredericksburg is the battle-ground of Spottsylvania Court House, where Stonewall Jackson received his death wound, May 2, 1863. Indeed, the region for fifty miles thereabout is still scarred by the strokes of contending armies delivered thirty years ago, and cemeteries in which repose the heroic dead of both Union and Confederate are numerous, marked by many monuments to attest the appreciation of the living for the sacrifices which were endured in those dreadful years of the sixties. But if the country is somewhat barren, and gruesome with reminders of fratricidal strife, it is not entirely destitute of the phases that lend cheerfulness to life. Here is essentially the land of happy negroes, where poverty abounds with joy, for absence of responsibility is contentment of mind with the colored race. At the depot there is always a swarm of pickaninnies eager to scramble for pennies thrown to the crowd, and the most comical scenes imaginable occur at these tussles, for the little darkies themselves, in an array of all sizes and shades of black and brown, a company of tatterdemalions that would put Punch and Judy to rout, are ludicrous enough to make a goat laugh. The street-scenes of villages near-by, as well as in the suburbs of Fredericksburg, are equally whimsical, presenting, as they often do, human nature in its most grotesque aspect. Horses are rarely used by negroes for draught purposes; mules more frequently; but bulls, cows and yearling calves are the chief dependence, and carts the popular style of conveyance with these happy-go-lucky people. There is no need for haste, and the loads are never large, hence a yoke of cattle are as handy as a span of horses, and preferable because slow movement allows more sleep on the way. The sun makes the tobacco grow, and the rain makes music on the cabin-roof; so rain or shine the darkey’s heart is always light and the future is hidden from him by a veil of present delight. Such sights teach the value of content, even if they do offend ambition, and in them the philosopher’s stone has its hiding-place.

AN OLD CABIN HOME IN GEORGIA.—The old log cabin is a familiar sight in Georgia, as well as other parts of the South. Often it is vine-wreathed, showing signs of great antiquity, with roof of clapboards, upon which the rain patters like the long-roll beat of the snare drum. Homely, battered by time, and affording few comforts, yet in such cabins greatness has often had its birth, nor scorned such humble nativity. How many men of high estate lie down in the drapery of fine linen and, when night has folded the earth in her sable arms, think of the old cabin home in Georgia; of the long-time ago; of the bubbling spring in the hollow and the gourd that hung by it; of the grape-vine swing, and the cows mooing in the pasture; of father and mother, and the graves on the hillside. And there is a sigh from the heart for these pleasures of a past that have departed forever.

DRUMMOND’S LAKE, IN GREAT DISMAL SWAMP, VIRGINIA.

From Fredericksburg our route was northwest to Appomattox and thence east by way of Richmond to Fortress Monroe, on the peninsula. We were a little disappointed to find the site of the culminating event of the war destitute of any special feature of interest of either a natural or artificial character. The scene of surrender is not even marked by a monument, and the country thereabout is a pale and somber stretch of poorly-cultivated lands. Yet there are exceptions; for occasionally the monotony of cabin and broken fence is relieved by prolific tobacco-fields, pretty towns, and inviting manors adorned with colonial houses that still preserve their old-time air of comfort and Southern hospitality. Virginia well deserves the title of the Dominion State, not only because she is the mother of Presidents, but because she is also distinguished as the native state of many of the greatest men and women born on American soil. “To be a Virginian, is to be a gentleman,” has passed into an adage; and the country is proud of her for a hundred reasons, which reference to history will explain. If her soil is not the most fertile, yet her legacy is the richest, for she gave to the world such men as Washington, Madison, Jefferson, Randolph, Clay, Lee and a thousand others whose names and deeds are alike imperishable. Fortress Monroe is reached by the Chesapeake and Ohio Railroad, over which route we traveled from Appomattox. It is located at the point of a peninsula, formed by the Fork and James Rivers, which projects into Chesapeake Bay where it joins the Atlantic. The situation is particularly favorable for a Government fortress, and its natural and commanding advantages have been fully utilized, for it is the largest and strongest fortification in America. Hampton Roads separates the point of the peninsula from the opposite land. This body of water is about five miles wide and forms the outlet of James River. It was in the Roads that the most famous of modern naval battles, between theMonitorand theMerrimac(Virginia), took place, March 9, 1862. Two miles below Fortress Monroe is Old Point Comfort, a very popular resort and the seat of the National Soldiers’ Home. Newport News is nine miles above the Fortress, on Hampton Roads; and Yorktown, the place of Cornwallis’ surrender to Washington, October 19, 1781, is twenty-five miles north, on York River, both places possessing great historic interest for events of which they were the scene during the Revolutionary war.

OLD FORT AND SEA WALL AT ST. AUGUSTINE, FLORIDA.—This old fort possesses a peculiar interest for Americans, being the oldest historic fortification of our country. Its construction was begun by Menendez de Aviles, a Spaniard, in 1565, but it was not completed until two centuries later. It was then called Fort San Marco, but with a ruthless disregard of historic associations characteristic of our people, it has been changed to Fort Marion, without in the least adding to the lustre of the renown of the great Revolutionary patriot of the South. The walls of the fort are composed of a conglomerate called coquina, which is formed of shells and sand brought from the island of Anastasia. Originally soft and pliable as plaster, it becomes almost of granitic hardness by exposure, affording a safe protection against the primitive artillery of that period.

A HUNTER’S CABIN ON THE CANAL, DISMAL SWAMP.

Crossing Hampton Roads by steamer to Norfolk, we proceeded southward by the Norfolk Southern Railroad, through a region known as the Dismal Swamp, famous alike in fact and fiction. The term has been indelibly affixed to two extensive stretches of morass, the larger of which lies between the James River on the north and Albemarle Sound on the south, thus covering a part of Virginia and North Carolina, having a length of about forty miles and a breadth of twenty-five miles. Little Dismal Swamp is wholly within North Carolina, in the peninsula between Albemarle Sound and Pimlico Sound, and while occupying considerably less than one-third as much area as Great Dismal, is probably better known to readers because of the tragedies which have been enacted within its dark and gloomy districts. Speaking generally, the swamps are composed of a spongy, vegetable soil, but without any mixture of earth, which supports a dense growth of aquatic plants, brush-wood and timber. Sir Charles Lyell, the distinguished geologist, was first to bring to notice the curious fact that the surface of the swamp is actually twelve feet higher in many places than the surrounding country, so that its drainage is outward, except where a few small streams flow in from the west side. The center of Great Dismal is occupied by Drummond’s Lake, an oval basin six miles long and three wide, with perpendicular banks and fifteen feet depth of water. In and around this lake is a veritable paradise for hunters, for its waters abound with fish and wild fowl, and the adjacent woods are the favorite haunts of deer, bears, wild-cats, coons and swamp-rabbits. The region, inexpressibly dreary as it is, contributes largely to commerce by furnishing immense supplies of timber. To facilitate transportation the Great Swamp is intersected by canals, the two largest being those which connect the Elizabeth and Pasquotank Rivers, and Elizabeth River with Carrituck Sound.

Some queer little cabins are built along these water-ways, a few being occupied by timber cutters, but generally they are the temporary abodes of hunters who find shooting and trapping both pleasurable and profitable, and who work at logging out of game season. Little Dismal Swamp, though smaller than its more northern neighbor, is very much more dense with brush-wood, and decidedly more forbidding, because its gloomy depths rarely echo with the voice of man, or the sound of the woodman’s ax. Fifty years ago it was the refuge of runaway negroes, and a dangerous place for a white man to be seen, because the blacks who hid in its thick coverts were usually of the most desperate character, who would not hesitate at crime. One of the best-remembered, because the most tragic, negro insurrections that ever occurred in Virginia was headed by a Samsonian black named Nat Turner. Under his leadership more than a hundred armed negroes rose against their masters and massacred a score of men, women and children. When a sufficient force of whites was mustered to oppose them, the negroes fled to Little Dismal Swamp, where, after great length of time, they were starved into surrender. Nat Turner, however, was last to submit to his pursuers, and committed so many crimes, while the search for him continued, that his very name became a terror; but he was at last captured through betrayal by a negro whom he trusted, and after due trial was convicted and hanged.

PONCE DE LEON HOTEL, ST. AUGUSTINE, FLORIDA.—This photograph represents the court of the hotel, around which the walls extend in the form of a hollow square. The hotel itself is a revival of the richest examples of Moorish architecture. It is old Spain of the golden reign of Ibn-l-Ahmar transported to American shores. With its lavish adornment, picturesque style and exquisite grounds, in which every known tropical plant is made to add its beauty and shed its fragrance, while flowing fountains cool the summer air, the Ponce de Leon is not only a reminder of the great palace of Spain in the time of Columbus, but it is also one of the best representatives of modern convenience, comfort and artistic beauty of architecture and construction.

BONAVENTURE CEMETERY, SAVANNAH, GEORGIA.

Our next halting place on the flight southward was Savannah, the Gate City, as it is the Queen City of the South. Next to Atlanta in commercial importance, Savannah is easily first of all sunny metropoli in the superb beauty of its situation and the park grandeur of its surroundings. Here it was that General Oglethorpe founded his Georgia colony early in 1733; and the flourishing city, from which the first ocean steamer that ever attempted to cross the Atlantic sailed, and its rank as the second cotton port of the United States, are striking proofs of his foresight and excellent discrimination.

The city is situated on a bold bluff overlooking the Savannah River, along which it extends in a curved front for a distance of three miles, affording excellent wharfage. The streets are all very broad and magnificently shaded, while parks containing one to three acres occur at all the principal intersections, charmingly laid out and beautified with flowers, which grow in that warm climate in the richest profusion. Flower gardens constitute one of the most characteristic features of the place, for a majority of the residences are surrounded by ample grounds that are abloom with flowering plants throughout the year. This is the borderland of southern evergreens, where the stately oak is festooned with pearl-gray mosses, and the orange and the magnolia fill the air with delicious perfumes. Along the streets, too, are rows of flowering oleanders, pomegranates, palmettos, bananas, laurels, bays and sweet crape-myrtles. But of all the beauties about Savannah none rival the charms of Bonaventure Cemetery, four miles from the city, on Warsaw River, and reached by a shell road that is equal to any drive-way in the world. Every grave is a flower-bed, and the long avenues canopied with moss-garlanded oaks present a picture Arcadian in its loveliness, and suggestive of those flowery glades through which immortals might delight to wander.

OLD CITY GATES, ST. AUGUSTINE, FLORIDA.—As St. Augustine is the oldest town in America, having been founded by the Spaniards in 1565, it is quite natural that we should find here many relics of the past mingled with the bright and better features of modern life. The old city was surrounded by a wall as security against attacks from the outside, and of this wall the gates, so beautifully photographed on this page, are about the only remaining relics. It is one of the links connecting the present with the earliest events of discovery in our country—a link rusty with the blood of conquest and martyrdom. Here it was that Spanish cruelty and French retaliation were carried to the most barbaric extreme, and cruelty is always in need of strong walls to protect it from the enemies it creates and nourishes.

A HOME IN THE MOUNTAINS OF GEORGIA.

The country district about Savannah is somewhat similar in appearance to that of Western North Carolina, except that its mountains are not nearly so high. The soil, however, is practically the same, as are the social conditions; and hence the constant reminder of that section which we have already described. The old log-cabin is a familiar sight in Georgia, often vine-wreathed, and showing signs of great antiquity, with roofs of clap-board, upon which the rain patters like the long-roll beat of a snare-drum. The picture which we present is typical of this class, and an example as well of rural simplicity. Homely, battered by time, and affording few comforts, yet in such cabins greatness has often had its birth, nor scorned such humble nativity. How many men of high estate lie down in the drapery of fine linen and, when night has folded the earth in her sable arms, think of the old cabin home in Georgia; of the long time ago; of the bubbling spring in the hollow and the gourd that hung by it; of the grape-vine swing, and the cows mooing in the pasture; of father and mother, and the graves on the hillside. And there is a sigh from the heart. The old time was the flush of life’s morning; it is growing evening now, and the shadows are creeping up the slopes. Soon the present will be the “old times” to our children. How many men who have achieved greatness would exchange their possessions and positions for youth and the old cabin home as they see it now in their dreams! Many, yes, very many.

Inseparable, almost, from the log-house of the Southern poor, is the cabin home of the negro, because the two are separated by such a thin line of distinction that only critical inspection can prevent them from assimilating in the minds of those unfamiliar with Southern life. There is the same stone-chimney and clap-board roof, but the colored man’s cabin is a single room, and the front is porchless. More hasty construction is also noted, for the logs are laid like a turkey-pen, and clap-boards are used again, not for weather-boarding, but as a substitute for batten. Windows are not needed, through which to exchange civilities with the season, for there are holes and crannies to let smoke out, and plenty of accidental entrances for the warm summer air to get in. It is thus at small effort and no care the worst weather is kept out, and contentedness reigns within.

AMONG THE PALMETTOS ON THE BANKS OF HALIFAX RIVER, FLORIDA.—This is a typical Southern scene, and one of the most delightful to human senses that could be imagined. It is so perfectly in accord with nature that in imagination we can hear the bursting of the buds as they grow beneath the fructifying influences of the Southern sun, and feel the soft, hazy atmosphere as it gently rolls in from the cooling waters of the sea, and floods the intervening spaces of the moss-covered trees. In the Garden of Eden there must have been many bowers such as this, where Adam and Eve whispered the first vows of devotion and human love.

THE HEAD OF HALIFAX RIVER, ABOVE ORMOND.

Through Georgia and into the land of orange groves we sped, stopping a day at Jacksonville, and then hurried on to San Augustine, the oldest town in America (founded by the Spanish in 1565), and possibly the most interesting. It is a link which connects the present with the earliest events of discovery in our country—a link rusty with the blood of conquest and martyrdom. Here it was that Spanish cruelty and French retaliation were carried to the most barbaric extreme, and the enslavement of native Indians began. Passing through the first ordeals of settlement, a century later it was bitterly afflicted by raids of Indians and the plundering of pirates, so that its growth was prevented, and not until the British surrendered possession to the United States in 1821, did the place show any indications of permanency, or that it would attain to any importance beyond what it had before reached as a very small village.

St. Augustine is located on a narrow peninsula formed by the Matanzas and San Sebastian Rivers, and is separated from the ocean by Anastasia Island. From a place of little consequence, in the last few years it has become distinguished as the most popular winter resort in the South. Several things have conspired to bring about this change, chief of which, however, was the enterprises of Mr. H. M. Flagler, who, recognizing its favorable location, resolved to convert the town from a listless, sleeping, poverty-stricken village into such an Eden of loveliness as the arts of man can create. In accomplishing this object he spent $6,000,000, and the improvements are of such a character as may well satisfy his ambition. The Ponce de Leon Hotel is a revival of the richest examples of Moorish architecture. It is old Spain of the golden reign of Ibn-l-Ahmar transported to American shores. And strange coincidence it is, that the year in which Columbus set sail on his first western voyage in quest of eastern lands, the year of the Moorish Expulsion, the beautiful Alhambra, most magnificent building that ever graced the earth, was given over to vandalism and spoliation. The Ponce de Leon, with its lavish adornment, picturesque style and exquisite grounds, in which every known tropical plant is made to add its beauty and shed its fragrance, while fountains cool the summer air, is a reminder of the great palace of Grenada, and the chivalry of Spain in the time of Columbus.

AVENUE OF MOSS-COVERED OAKS, NEAR ORMOND, FLORIDA.—Laying aside the question as to whether the command to work, that was imposed upon our first parents, was a curse or a blessing, it is easy to conceive that one reared among such scenery as this, where there are but few wants which the spontaneous growth of nature does not supply, would naturally regard hard labor as the greatest curse that could be pronounced against mankind. Here, side by side and of their own volition, grow the orange, the pomegranate, the fig, the melon, and nearly all the other fruits and vegetables necessary for the support of physical existence, while life is made delightful with the blossom and odor of thousands of bright-hued and ever-blossoming flowers. Here let us rest and dream, and think of work only when the flaming sword of necessity drives us forth to exertion.

PALMETTO HUTS NEAR TITUSVILLE, FLORIDA.

But the interest to St. Augustine visitors is not confined to the Ponce de Leon, glorious as it is, joined though it be to its almost equally superb annexes, the Cordova and Alcazar, for the city is filled with the relics of an olden time, and associations that are almost painful to recall. Along its water-front extends a sea wall one mile in length and ten feet broad, built of coquina and coped with granite, forming an incomparable promenade between the old Franciscan monastery, now used as a barracks, and the ancient fort of San Marco, now known as Fort Marion. Though not the most formidable, these antique fortifications rank all others of this country in interest. Their construction was begun by Menendez de Aviles in 1565, at the time of the founding, but were not completed until two centuries later, all of the work being performed by enslaved Indians. The fortifications cover about four acres, and the walls are of coquina, a conglomerate of shells and sand brought from Anastasia Island, which, soft when dug, hardens by exposure. The fort is a splendid example of the best military architecture of the time, being in the shape of a trapezium, surrounded by a wide and deep moat, and with walls twenty-one feet high, sharp bastions at the corners, thick casemates, and subterranean passages and vaults which might serve equally for refuge ports or dungeons. That some of these were used for the latter purpose is proved by the fact that in one of the least accessible dungeon-rooms, the entrance to which was accidentally found, two skeletons chained to the wall were discovered. What a story of suffering these might tell if they could speak!

In the earlier centuries a wall extended across the peninsula, which protected the city from attack on the north side, but nothing now remains of this defence except the old city gates, at the head of St. George street. These are massive square towers fifteen feet high, pierced with loop-holes, and at the base of each is a sentry-box, which the guards occupied when on duty.

Near the center of the business part of the city is the old slave-market, adjoining which is thePlaza de la Constitucion, containing a monument erected in 1812, commemorative of the Spanish Liberal Constitution, while another monument stands in front of the old Market, which was erected in 1879, in honor of the Confederate dead.

Besides being a great winter resort, St. Augustine is a place of some commercial importance, its largest industry being the manufacture of palmetto hats, while in the convents a fine quality of lace goods is made, by girls and the nuns in charge.

RUBBER OR BANYAN TREE, ON BANANA RIVER, FLORIDA.—We are now among the wonders of the semi-tropics and the paradisaic delights of a marvelous sun-browned land, where the mocking bird opens the matin competition in the college of vernal hymns, and the palmettos are vocal with the softly stirring breeze. The landscape is a dreamy haze of incomparable loveliness, where a feast of flowers is perpetually spread, and the voice of peris may be heard down under the green waters of a murmuring sea. The ocean is so near that the music of its rolling beach comes like a gentle lullaby through the clustering branches of the scented trees, bringing the hush of the still small voice that reminds us of the presence of Deity.

IN THE DEEP PALMETTO SOLITUDES ALONG INDIAN RIVER.

It is about seventy-five miles from St. Augustine to Ormond by the Jacksonville, Tampa and Key West Railroad, one of the branches of the Plant System, whose terminus is Daytona, five miles below Ormond. Indeed, nearly every road in Florida is the property of the Plant company, which has proven a factor of incalculable benefit to the State, and has reaped correspondingly great reward. Ormond is located on the head of Halifax River, which is a part of the Indian River Lagoon, connected by the Mosquito Haul-Over, or canal. We are now in the sub-tropics, and among the paradisiac delights of a marvelous sun-browned land, where the mocking-bird opens the matin competition in the college of vernal hymns, and the palmettos are vocal with the softly stirring breeze. The landscape is a dreamy haze of incomparable loveliness, where a feast of flowers is perpetually spread, and the voice of peris may be heard down under the green waters of a murmuring sea. Only a thin stretch of golden beach lies between the mainland, on which Ormond is located, and the ocean, so near that the billows are distinctly heard beating against the shore. Along this water-front of lagoon and sea are gleaming sands so hard that step nor wheel make any impression, and so inviting that nymphs might make it a playground. West of the village is a typical hummock of tropical growths, penetrated by a glade that is embowered and sweetly shaded by massive oaks gracefully festooned with pearl-gray mosses, and palmettos that flaunt their tangled, rustling branches before the beaming sun. Hereabout, too, are groves rich-laden with fruits as golden as those that were plucked by Hercules in the garden of Hesperides; where the orange and the banana bend beneath the weight of their own deliciousness, and pour out their honey to the bees in rich extravagance.

At Ormond boat was taken for a trip down Indian River, a journey which all the speech of adjective and imagery cannot justly describe. Indian River and Halifax River are not streams, but shallow lagoons, strips of the ocean enclosed by narrow tongues of sandy beach, severed by occasional inlets through which the billows break tumultuously. Its extreme length, for the two are now joined by a canal, is about two hundred miles, and though rarely more than three feet deep, and in places less, the lagoon is navigated by a line of stern-wheel boats, which, in winter-time, are crowded with excursionists, notwithstanding their sleeping accommodations are confined almost entirely to cots in the cabins. One line runs to Titusville, and there connects with another, which carries passengers as far south as Jupiter, the southern limit of the river. In the last year (1892) a railroad has been built from Titusville to Rockledge, and is being pushed southward, so that in another year or two the trip to Jupiter may be made by rail. But the boat journey, though beset by some harassments, consequent upon narrow passages and low water, will lose little of its popularity, because it will always remain one of the most delightful that can be taken. The connection between Halifax and Indian Rivers is by means of a canal that requires constant dredging, and through which it is difficult to pass with boat when the wind is blowing hard; while at times it is so choked with sand that the boats have to be literally dragged through by means of hawser and capstan. New Smyrna is a town of some importance, as is Titusville, but besides these, the landings are of no consequence as trading-places, consisting of never more than one or two stores and as many houses. This sparseness of population increases the interest of travelers on the river, for the charm of primeval beauty and attractiveness thus remains.

ROCKLEDGE, ON INDIAN RIVER, FLORIDA.—Rockledge is a resort of great popularity, but of no commercial importance, for it does not contain a single store. For beauty it is almost unrivaled, being richly adorned by nature and lavishly ornamented by the arts of man. The large cabbage palmettos that grow up wildly along the coquina banks were suffered to remain, and between them avenues were laid out and covered with shells, so that from the river there is a long prospect of gleaming walks ramifying a shore of brilliant green. Here also the orange grows to its most delicious perfection, likewise the lemon, banana and grape fruit; and such a breeze of perfume greets the incoming passenger as paradise itself might exhale.

SPOUTING ROCK, NEAR JUPITER.

As a rule the banks are covered with spiney-palmetto, which is almost as difficult to eradicate as Canada thistle, and hence few attempts are made to reclaim the land, as the cost of clearing exceeds the value. But at occasional intervals the banks are diversified with orange groves, and bananas are also raised to some extent, but the chief industry is fishing, for the river abounds with sheephead, pompano, mullet, cavalli, and green turtles. Rockledge is a resort of great popularity, but of no commercial importance, for it does not contain a single store. For beauty, however, it is almost unrivalled, being richly adorned by nature and lavishly beautified by the arts of man. The large cabbage palmettos that grow up wildly along its coquina banks were suffered to remain, and between them avenues were laid out and covered with shells, so that from the river there is a lovely prospect of gleaming walks ramifying a shore of brilliant green. Here also the orange grows in its most delicious perfection, likewise the lemon, banana, and grape fruit; and such a breeze of perfume greets the incoming passenger as paradise itself might exhale.

ORANGE GROVE AT ROCKLEDGE, INDIAN RIVER, FLORIDA.—A trip down Indian River is a journey that all the speech of imagery and adjective cannot justly describe. It is here that the orange reaches its best perfection, and on every hand are groves laden with the yellow fruit, while the more modest banana bush bends beneath the weight of its own deliciousness, and pours out its honey to the bees in rich extravagance. Nature is so luxurious in her productions that she supports nearly all the plants and trees and flowers belonging to this delightful climate, so that within the limits of an orange orchard may be found nearly everything that grows in the semi-tropics.

LAKE OKEECHOBEE, FLORIDA.

The river at Rockledge is nearly six miles wide and furnishes the finest sea for sailing, for the salt-air is present, and the dangers of heavy billows are absent. Across this expanse lies a broad strip of land which is divided by another lagoon called Banana River, along which is a charming vista of wood that has been named by some admirer Fairyland. This strip of forest-growth is beautiful enough to justify the name, and wandering through groves of oranges, palms, magnolias and paw-paws, on shell-walks of snowy whiteness, fancy pictures a troop of dryads picnicking among the trees, and drinking nectar from flaming begonia flowers that sprinkle the woods with scarlet. At the lower end of Fairyland is a natural park in which gnarled oaks spread their giant shadows over a lawn of grasses, and on the margin is a grove of pine-apples, the fragrance of which almost stifles the odor from the orange-blossoms. A single cottage is the only habitation in this poetic retreat, before the door of which are lofty paw-paws waving their feathery crests, and a gigantic rubber, or banyan tree, whose branches woo the soil and have taken root therein. Only one other specimen of this remarkable tree, of equal size, is found in the United States, and it, too, is a native of Florida, being one of the chief curiosities of Key West. There are other species that exhibit a disposition to fix the points of their drooping branches in the ground, but it is peculiar to the banyan to send out shoots from its main stems, which, instead of growing upward, point straight down, and even before reaching the ground the ends put out root-tendrils, which strike into the soil and firmly attach themselves as soon as they reach the earth. As the boat proceeds southward from Rockledge the way grows in interest, for we soon reach what may be called “the region of water-fowls.” Ducks, coots, water-hens, absolutely cover the river’s surface, while pelicans increase in number until we reach Pelican Island, where they swarm by thousands. The rising of water-fowl before the boat is a wondrous sight, and the beating of their wings on the water produces a sound like a heavy fall of hail on a dry clap-board roof; there are positively millions, and the commotion which they create is almost pandemonium. Another remarkable sight which we witnessed was a school of porpoises that had strayed into the lagoon (for they are not commonly found there) which, being frightened by the boat, made a retreat across the river in such precipitation that the shallow water was beaten into foam, leaving a streak of white behind them that marked their course some time after.

A PINEAPPLE GROVE ON INDIAN RIVER, FLORIDA.—A pineapple grove is one of the most enjoyable places in the world. The broad green blades of the plants, the golden reddish yellow fruit, and the pleasant odor that fills the air form a combination of the most delightful character. No one can fully appreciate the delicious flavor of the pineapple until he has plucked it ripe from the plant and eaten it on the spot. The fruit that goes to market is cut when only half ripe, and thus loses the best part of its flavor, and is spongy and tough in comparison with that which is allowed to mature before being gathered.

A CAMP OF CONSUMPTIVES, NEAR LAKE WORTH, FLORIDA.

The character of the shore vegetation also changed, the spiney-palmetto giving place to mangroves that grow so thickly a man might almost walk on their tops. In these deep forests wild game is abundant, including deer, bear, panthers and ’coons; and on our journey we saw a ’coon that had so little fear it scarcely moved even when the boat brushed the limb upon which it sat. When night falls upon these solemnly somber deep woods a sense of dread steals on the traveler, though he be in a gay crowd on a good steamboat. The river narrows for nearly ten miles through the mangrove thickets, and during this interval the banks are within reach from both sides. The passage is tortuous, too, and the boat requires slow and careful handling, frequently the bow striking one bank and the stern the other, while the electric bull’s-eye light penetrates and flashes like a Druid’s fire dance in the tangled copse where many slimy and uncanny things have their haunts. An alligator’s grunt, a loon’s cry, a frog’s hoarse croak, and a snake-bird’s piping are some of the sounds that animate the solitudes, and cracking branches betray the proximity of some wild beast whose eyes are like lanterns in the darkness.

After hours of patient working, Jupiter Narrows are passed and the boat speeds on, her iron hull often grinding on the oyster-beds, and long waves breaking over the shallows. Eden is then reached, and the odor of the pine-apple is perceptible in the air. A stop is made to allow passengers to go on shore and visit the pine-apple grove near-by, where that excellent fruit is cultivated successfully by a gentleman who first lost a fortune in the experiment. A mile below Eden St. Lucie Sound and River extend several miles inland towards Lake Okeechobee, twenty-five miles distant. It is proposed to connect the lake with this river by means of a canal, and thus drain the swamps and everglades of Southern Florida. Another shorter canal on the west would connect the lake with Caloosahat River, and thus two outlets would be afforded, which would speedily accomplish the purpose of the company that has undertaken the enterprise.

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