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IN leaving Fernandina we come out Amelia River, which is formed by the tide-water from the Atlantic. We pass Old Town, one mile from Fernandina, which has a look-out for pilots who take vessels across the bar, besides a few houses, the residence of Spaniards. Fort Clinch is the last noticeable point before we reach the St. John’s River bar.

It is the month of January—a bland breeze greets us, when our thoughts revert to the early settlement of this country, when the Spanish galleons—a strange-looking craft—navigated these waters; also ponderous old ships, with sailing figures of various devices carved on their prows, and high-peaked sterns, the timber used being mahogany and cedar, many of which were driven to pieces in a most merciless manner among the breakers, thus scattering their treasures of silver and gold on the strand, to tempt and satisfy the cupidity of those who found them. Vessels dread this bar, as those drawing only six feet of water are oftentimes detained when going and returning with their cargoes of lumber. The white caps wave their snowy plumes, as a warning, when the wind blows, which sends terror to the hearts of the timid, but the more daring exclaim, It looks grand!

As we cross the bar we are in sight of two resorts—Mayport and Fort George Island—both places arranged for the accommodation of summer and winter visitors. Fishermen also live in these diminutive towns, and are engaged, like the apostles when their Saviour called them, in mending their nets. Shad-fishing is very profitable here during the season. Shad abounds in this river, and being a delicious fish, it is much sought after.

The various descriptions published from the pens of those who visit Florida now are read by persons looking to this locality as a winter-resort, or in search of new homes and health, as items of unsurpassed interest. For this reason writers should be reliable in their statements. In many tourists the emotional current is created so far from the surface that it is a difficult matter for them to be impressed with external objects. For this cause we meet with a multitude of fault-finders.

Settlers living in remote localities from the St. John’s River complain because visitors resort there in preference to all other parts of the State. If the facilities and inducements were the same elsewhere, the desire to go would be equal; but it requires the fortitude of a Livingstone to commence a trip into many of the most attractive parts of Florida, with the indistinct prospect how they are to get away when inclined to make a change. The Americans are a restless, roving people, fond of varied scenery, and when confined where they cannot get away, manifest very much the disposition of caged captives.

Laudonnière thus speaks of the St. John’s River: “The place is so pleasant that those who are melancholy would be forced to change their humor.” This stream, with its tributaries, is the great artery of the State, where the savage roamed at will for nearly three hundred years after its settlement by the Spaniards, who came in search of hidden treasures, its former history being a page in the past. Here this river glides before us, with its dark, coffee-colored waters, and no perceptible current except where the tide comes in, it being a remarkable stream, unlike any other in North America. The coloring matter it contains is not precipitated by standing, and for this reason is attributed to a colored earth through which it passes from the upper lakes, together with the different kinds of vegetation that environ it. It varies in width from one to three miles, and is thought by many to be an estuary. From the mouth of the St. John’s to Pilatka there are numerous bluffs, some of them ten or twelve feet in height, with an under-stratum of shells, on which elevations the pine-tree flourishes. The cypress, ash, and cabbage-palmetto grow on the banks above Pilatka. The weeping cypress, with its leafless, conical excrescences, called knees, and dropsical feet, loves to be alone. It gives a friendly erecting to the gray moss, which lives and swings from its tallest limbs to the lowest twigs, furnishing a complete mantle of grace to the naked-appearing trees. This moss has no affinity for the pine or palm, which thrives in close proximity, colonizing and fraternizing in groups, oftentimes solitary, sighing or rustling as the sea-breeze comes to meet and kiss its feathery crowns and perennial foliage. A few of the trees are deciduous, as the swamp-oak, ash, and poplar; most of the others are persistent, the change of foliage occurring so quietly it is scarcely observed. The mistletoe, with its green, tufted foliage, fastens on the oak, and is a regular parasite—a thief—for it deprives the tree of vitality. The mistletoe seeds are used as an article of food by the birds, and, being thus transported to the forest-trees, adhere by means of a gluten until germination commences.

The change of flags in 1821 produced a change with many of the citizens, when much local information connected with the history of Florida was lost. This province, when ceded to the United States, was divided in two parts, called East and West Florida. Petitions were then frequently forwarded to Washington, with a request to have it remain divided, as it was inconveniently large. During the war which soon followed, many new explorations were made in the hidden hummocks and intricate recesses of the State.

The drinking-water used in Florida does not come from mountain-streams or arctic regions, but in summer, mixed with sugar and lemon-juice, or sour orange, forms a most palatable and healthful mixture.

Land-snakes are not plentiful, as many have supposed, there being very few but water-snakes, which can be easily accounted for, as the intense heat from the fires which sweep through the long grass every year destroy them; then there are no rocks for their hiding-places, where they could rear patriarchal families.

Musquitoes abound in some places on the coast, and to the dwellers in tents the impression has, no doubt, been received that the air was made of these insects. There is a due proportion of fleas in portions of Florida, but not more than in the sandy soil of other countries.

The climate is constantly tempered by the Gulf Stream, that conducts away the tropical heat, returning in a submarine current, the cooler waters from the North thus producing an atmosphere of salubrious influences and life-renewing properties.

No month is without its fresh products and fruits, while every warm day the mocking-bird sings above our heads on some airy perch.

Many theories have been advanced in regard to the formation of terra firma on our continent, the one most generally received being that it was all once submerged under water—as a proof of which shells and other marine fossils have been found in elevated positions, which only could have been placed there by the sea overflowing the land, and afterward receding. When this conclusion is attained, Florida cannot be included, as every year the land augments from the combined efforts of the coral insect, limulus, and barnacles, together with the débris which is deposited upon them afterward. If the disturbing influences along the shores were less, the increase of land would be much greater, as winds and waves are as destructive to the prosperity of these subterranean architects as tornadoes and cyclones to the growth of fine forest-trees. The coral insect is constantly working in his briny bed, making masonry which resists the action of the element in which it is placed, thus laying the foundation for islands and continents. It is the work of these madrepores and polyps that form reefs which wreck so many vessels on its coast, thus making fortunes for those who follow salvage entirely for a support.

The fact of Florida as a health-resort has long been established, the proof being furnished by the length of time consumptives who come for the purpose of lingering a little longer than they otherwise could North, and living in the enjoyment of sufficiently good health to pursue any lucrative vocation their tastes may decide, is sufficient evidence of the efficacy of the climate for pulmonic complaints. Exposure in Florida, as in other places, has its penalties affixed. Near bodies of water a chilliness pervades the air as soon as the sun sets, which is plainly perceptible to all delicate persons. No barometer was ever more sensitive to atmospheric variations than the feelings of a sick person; no magnet was ever attracted to steel more suddenly than their nervous sensibilities to an agreeable or disagreeable object. This prescribing invariable rules for every disease is all a humbug; the patient is usually the best judge. The resort for invalids, when the dew and shades of night are falling on the face of nature, is before a pleasant light-wood fire, surrounded by cheerful companions—remembering that an interview of the internal emotions frequently for the sick is not beneficial. Try and keep from thinking how badly off you really are, as much as practicable. Many have lived for years with only one lung. All sudden changes from heat to cold should be avoided: when you are cold, get warm as soon as possible, and when you are tired, stop—your life depends upon it. All invalids should select a locality which best suits their malady; then settle down, with the determination to extract all the sweets of contentment in store for them which the world contains, keeping their bodies comfortable in every respect, their minds free from all exciting or unpleasant thoughts, their hearts purified while living, and, if death comes, prepared to meet their Maker.

About ten miles from the mouth of the St. John’s Laudonnière established his Huguenot colony, building his fortification on a hill of “mean height,” naming it Caroline, from their sovereign, Charles IX., of France, now known as St. John’s Bluff. The former site of Fort Caroline can be traced with some degree of accuracy, from the fact of this being the first point on the river above its mouth where its banks are approached by the stream, besides being the only elevated spot where a fort could be built between the St. John’s Bluff and the mouth of the river. As Fort Caroline was constructed more than three hundred years ago, from materials of so perishable a nature—being pine-logs and sand—none of it remains to be seen at the present day.

The first lumber-mills on the St. John’s are located near the estate of Marquis de Talleyrand, eight miles from Jacksonville. The busy hum of industry now echoes from the shores, where pine-logs are being sawed into material for making houses, not only in Florida, but in Boston and other Northern cities. Mr. Clark’s mill, in East Jacksonville, received an order, after the big Boston fire, for a million feet at one time. These mills, besides being a source of revenue to the owners, furnish work for the poor, and the refuse pieces fuel, while in cold weather the big fires that consume the slabs afford a free lodging for benighted travelers; also for those who have no good houses, and would be unwelcome visitors in almost any place.

Twenty-five miles from the sea, on the banks of the St. John’s, once stood an insignificant place, known as Cow Ford, but now the line, thriving city of Jacksonville, named in honor of General Andrew Jackson. This city is the head-center of Florida, where visitors can come, and stay, with no prospect of starving, and from which place they can migrate when and where they please, with ample facilities furnished them at all times for the furtherance of their plans.

A combination of singular emotions here seizes the Northern visitor, after being transported in midwinter from his frozen home to a clime where every thing is fresh and blooming, where the market is furnished with cabbages, sweet potatoes, lettuce, turnips, green peas, and radishes, just gathered, besides strawberries red as the blush of morn, with bouquets of rose-buds, upon which still lingers the morning dew-drop.

Many persons come here with unhappy temperaments, to whom peace and contentment in any place, or under all circumstances, has been deficient, but always vainly expecting to find happiness hanging on every new object they meet, waiting for them to pluck; but, unfortunately, it hangs so high they can never reach it—when they commence abusing every thing with which they come in contact. We hear them constantly exclaiming, “Too much sand! too little to eat! too high prices for things!” Nothing can please them. Their faces are drawn up in disgust, and their tongues ready to strike with the venom of contempt, at every person who has a good word to say in favor of Florida.

The unbroken quiet which has been with us since we left Savannah is interrupted as soon as the steamer touches the Jacksonville wharf. We are importuned and jostled on every side by black boys, dray and carriage-drivers, who worry us for our baggage, raising their whips with the imperious movement of a major-general, and suddenly lowering them at half mast when we say, No! Then the officious hotel-runners, who scream in our ears to patronize the houses that employ them, until we are on the verge of desperation, and feel as though the plagues of Egypt could not have been worse. Most of these public criers are dirty, ragged, and lazy, having no legitimate vocation, except what they can make from visitors, or in drumming for boarding-houses. This city has fine accommodations, and for that reason receives more envy than admiration from other Florida towns. It can furnish more than one hundred good places of entertainment, among which may be found several colossal hotels, capable of containing two or three hundred guests, also boarding-houses of less pretentious dimensions, where, no doubt, a nearer approximation to the acknowledgment for value received is oftener realized. Selections can be made where money may be expended rapidly or slowly, according to the inclination of the visitor. Here, as in other places, we meet with boarding-house complainers. This class of grumblers must remember that hotel-keepers stand fault-finding as quietly as a delinquent schoolboy his deserved punishment; they are used to it; they expect it, and would be disappointed if they did not get it.

The influx of visitors commences sooner some seasons than others. The first cold blast from the North sends the feeble invalid South to bask in the summer sunshine of a milder atmosphere, and when spring comes he returns home like the migratory birds.

Jacksonville and its adjacent towns number a population of over twelve thousand inhabitants, the whole area being three miles long and about two wide. The different names given to this small space of country looks larger on the map than in reality. These corporations are distinguished from each other by the names of Jacksonville, East Jacksonville, Brooklyn, La Villa, Riverside, Springfield, Hansom Town, etc.—each town containing, from fifty to fifteen hundred houses. The inhabitants say they were laid out into lots and named, with the expectation of a large increase of persons; consequently there are desirable building-spots in these surveyed sites for growing cities, for sale at all times upon moderate terms.

Jacksonville makes a display of architectural skill, in which are seen the improvements of the nineteenth century. Yards and lawns are laid out fronting many of the residences, where the beauties of landscape gardening may be found blending in harmony with the artistically-arranged walks and pleasure promenades. The sidewalks are made of plank and brick, shaded and overhung with live-oaks, forming archways of inviting appearance, from which swings pendant moss, presenting a perennial, picturesque scene of nature’s grandeur. There are over twenty church-edifices in and around the city, where both white and colored people come to worship in crowds. We are happy to state these statistics find the inhabitants in a much better spiritual condition than has been represented. However, we have no partiality for many of the doctrines preached by itinerant reformers who come here. We prefer our old orthodox faith, which made us contented while we lived, and carried us to heaven when we died. But these new isms, such as Spiritualism, Liberalism, Free-loveism, and every other species of modernized infidelity that is now gaining ground and receiving accessions from our Sunny South, are designed only to delude and drown the souls of their followers in eternal misery. The Churches here are representatives of various creeds and beliefs—Methodist, Presbyterian, Protestant Episcopalian, and Roman Catholic.

The Sabbath dawns in Florida with its recreations and steam-boat excursions, well patronized by Northern visitors, as very few appear to bring their religion when they come South.

Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe is here to-day from her home in Mandarin, for the purpose of attending church. Dr. Stowe, her husband, accompanies her as he preaches. When they both entered the Southern Methodist church a slight rustle was heard in the congregation, and a few persons left the house. Mr. and Mrs. Uncle Tom were more than a Sabbath dose for some of the Jacksonville community. Harriet B. has no resemblance to a perpetrator of discord or scandal, or one who has swayed the divining-rod of Abolitionism with sufficient potency to immortalize herself for many coming generations, or probed the private life of a man who, during the period of his checkered existence, never carved out virtue for his shrine. The three snowy curls on each side of her face give her a matronly look, and her stout-built frame, well covered with flesh, a substantial appearance.

The service was opened by a very long prayer from Dr. Stowe, after which he preached a purely orthodox sermon on the subject of godliness. Mrs. Harriet had confidence in the ability of her husband; she knew the discourse would be right without her vigilant eye, and she went to sleep. Like other sleepers, she nodded naturally; her digits were concealed beneath kid covers, and thrusting at no one. She looked the picture of content, and was no doubt dreaming of that far-off, beautiful country, where those who create dissensions and stir up strife can never enter.

Places of worship have had an existence for both colors throughout the entire South since the country was settled, the negroes being naturally inclined to religion more than the whites. The African Church has always been a full-developed institution, attended with its peculiarities and noisy accompaniments, where the colored zealots could always give vent to their religious enthusiasm by howling their emotional feelings among others equally excited. The preacher usually leads the singing with his loud, soul-stirring strains, manifesting much fervor, sometimes improvising a strain or two with his own invention, if the rhyme and tune do not measure equal.

The following is a correct copy of an original sermon delivered by a very black Baptist brother to a Jacksonville colored congregation a short time previous to the Freedmen’s Bank explosion, which appears prophetic in regard to that swindling institution. The text was, “Lay up for yourselves treasure in heaven”:

“My Dear Bredren:—De Lord is here to-day, goin’ from de African to de white folks church, ridin’ on a milk-white steed in de air. He knows all yer hearts, and what you’re thinkin’ about. Ef yer hearts are not right, dey must all undergo a radical change until dey are made good. De Lord taught his disciples on de lake of Genesis, and I’m now telling you all de way do do. I ’spec you all cum to de house of de Lord just kase yer friends are here. While yer preacher is tryin’ to permulgate de gospel, you is lookin’ down de street to see what is comin’, and den you’re thinkin’ about what you will wear to-night when you come to preachin’, payin’ no attention to me, who is tryin’ to save yer souls.

“O my bredren, dis is a fine new meetin’-house, but we should all seek a house whose builder and maker is de great Lord! Labor not for de perishin’, spilin’ meat!

“Last night was Saturday, and you have spent most of yer week’s wages and earnin’s, dun put de rest in de Freedmen Savin’ Bank, and you don’t know as you’ll ever see it any more in dis world! Somebody may git it, or you may die, and den you will leave it. How much did you bring here for de Lord? O my bredren, when dem jerudic angels come you will be sorry you haven’t done more for de Lord! When dey come, ef you hasn’t dun nothin’ for yer blessed Jesus, den dey will not say, ‘Come, ye blessed, home!’

“You must do nothin’ wrong ef yer want ter git up by dat great white throne among dem snow-white angels, and be one yerselves. You must never cuss or drink any whisky. Paul told Timothy his son to drink some wine when he had de stumak-ake. My bredren, don’t think yer sufferin’ when yer not, jest for an excuse to git a dram. Old Master in heaven knows when yer sure enuff sick! Can’t fool him about nothin’!”

Journalism in Jacksonville is commencing to rest on a firmer basis than heretofore. The present population demand more knowledge on the subject of the country, consequently papers and periodicals published in the interest of the State are much sought after. The Semi-tropical, a monthly established here, will be found to contain both readable and reliable articles on the climate and various products of Florida. The Sun and Press is a daily democratic paper, unswerving in its efforts to inculcate correct principles among those in power. There were other organs whose politics was gauged for the season, and since the war until now have been on the winning side, the Republicans being in the majority. The ephemeral existence of newspapers has passed away here, and the morning news, fresh and well printed, containing the latest telegrams, are found lying on the breakfast-table, furnishing a potent auxiliary to the peace and happiness of the household.

The privilege of doing as one pleases is not to be overlooked in Jacksonville. No costumes, however peculiar, appear out of style, or the wearers, as in some other places, obliged to seek protection from the police. Celebrities or millionaires walk the streets without creating any sensation. The Mormon, with his four or fourteen wives, can come from Salt Lake City, take rooms at the St. James, enter all the frequented resorts with the same fear from molestation that a genuine Floridian feels of being Ku-Kluxed. Any strong-minded market-woman can don the Bloomer costume, make and sell sugar, brown as her own bun-colored face, and peddle vegetables verdant as the idea which prompted her to forsake the flowing robes of her fair sisters, and assume the half masculine attire of the sterner sex, without attracting any more attention than the lazy loungers in the market-house. The citizens are so accustomed to sight-seeing that nothing would astonish them but an honest politician.

Unfortunately for all parties concerned, this winter there is a large influx of men in search of employment, fifty looking for situations with only one vacancy. It is well to come prepared for all exigencies, and bring a tent to stop in, provided nothing better presents itself. The woods, waters, and oyster-bars are free to all; but boarding-house keepers, from the pressure of surrounding circumstances, have a peculiarly persistent way of watching strangers closely and interviewing them frequently, particularly if there is a suspicion that funds are running low with them. Camping in the open air in this genial clime is pleasanter than would be imagined by persons not accustomed to it, and is accompanied with more peace of mind than being dunned for board-bills without money to pay them.

Pleasant places of resort are springing up in the vicinity of Jacksonville, which furnish lovely drives behind some of the teams kept in the city. Moncrief Springs, four miles distant, now appears to be the most popular resort. Here the orange marmalade factory may be visited—a recently-developed branch of industry—making use of the wild oranges which flourish so abundantly throughout the State without culture. Many other improvements have been made at this place—bath-houses, bowling-alley, dancing-saloon, and restaurant—all of which contribute much to the diversion of strangers.

Visitors always form an idea of the cultivation or ignorance of a locality by the manner in which the dead are cared for, together with the various styles of monuments, inscriptions upon the tablets, neatness and taste displayed in the surroundings. Upon this hypothesis a favorable conclusion would be formed in regard to the Jacksonville cemetery, which last resting-place of its citizens is pleasantly located on a slightly elevated piece of ground beyond the city. It was on the Sabbath we visited it, when all kinds of people were present. Some of them were much stricken with grief, while others came for recreation. It is really very surprising why so many persons of exceedingly low morals resort to grave-yards for the sole purpose of enjoyment, and the indulgence of obscene conduct and conversation. Certainly rude sounds must jar very inharmoniously upon the feelings of those who come to visit and weep over the remains of their departed friends.

Too many invalids, before coming to Florida, wait until they have already felt the downy flappings from the wings of the unrelenting destroyer, and heard the voices from a spirit-land calling them, but come too late to be benefited and take a new lease on life. The climate should not be blamed because the sick will stay away until death claims them. Those who do not wait derive the same benefit in remaining that flowers receive from gentle rains in spring-time—the atmosphere being a tranquillizer, the pure sea-breeze on the coast a lotion and tonic to the lungs. God grant that the genial air which visits this peninsula may restore the health-seeking invalids to vigor, strength, and usefulness, that their presence may again gladden the hearts of those left at home, now saddened by their absence!