LETTERS FROM FLORIDA.

WHEN on board the

steamer which was to bear

me from the coming snows of the
North to the soft, balmy air of our
Southern shores, you requested me to
The request,

send you some letters from Florida.
on recalling it, strikes me as somewhat indefinite. If
you look for something sensational or romantic, you
are doomed to a grievous disappointment. That is
not my vocation-more's the pity! For never was
there a more ample field for the imagination to revel
in uncontrolled, or richer opportunities for blending

romance and reality, than this land of flowers offers to the gifted; but, to do it justice, to develop half the wonderful beauties of these bewildering regions calls for a more skillful artist. I can but look with longing on this promised land, this storehouse of poetry and romance; I may not unlock the gates and enter in.

Right here, close by where I now write, from among the beautiful palmettoes, and under the grand old oaks, one still hears the whispers of a wild and terrible tragedy, as full of strange and thrilling incidents from which to weave a story as the most sensational writer can desire-one abundantly able to satisfy those who are only content with graphic or startling narratives, or who most delight to "sup on horrors." We refer to the' Mandarin massacre of 1841, which left this lovely village desolate. The Indians destroyed every living soul save some of the inhabitants who were absent on a hunting expedition, and one little boy who escaped their fiendish tortures by hiding in a dense grove of palmettoes. That same boy, now a middle-aged man, still resides here, occupying a house built on the spot where all his friends were murdered.

St. Augustine is one vast reservoir of infinite suggestions and rich material, that have come down from all the prominent nations of the earth as a legacy -a bountiful supply for some future genius of our own land, who, as Walter Scott did for his country, will collect and weave into story or song the many strange, wild scenes, the romantic incidents and thrilling adventures in which this region abounds. Such

a one will win immortal fame by saving the history of this fair land from "sinking into the darkness of oblivion."

Until within a comparatively few years Florida was a bone of contention, or the foot-ball of whichever nation had the skill or craft to gain possession of her and keep her the longest. For a year or two it was in the hands of the French; then wrested from their grasp by the Spaniards, only to be snatched from both by the strong arm of England.

The French coveted this lovely country because they saw in its profusion of fruits and flowers, its brilliant and sweet-singing birds, and soft, balmy air, the promise of a life of ease and perpetual enjoyment, and hoped to find among its wonderful mineral springs the legendary "fountain of life and perpetual youth." The Spaniards reached out after it, hoping, with arrogant and despotic power, to wring from the toil of natives, through merciless taskmasters, fabulous wealth, which they imagined was hid in its bosom. The English, more practical, discovered at once that its great wealth lay in the rich fruits and productions of its soil, which through well-directed labor would give to them a rich possession. They sought to develop the resources of the land by suitable cultivation and organizing manufactories for such work as promised to bring forward the best that Florida could yield in the most remunerative manner.

But neither held this goodly land long enough under their rule to enjoy much of that which each most desired. Yet the very strife and misrule that

prevailed until a recent period have made Florida rich in wild and fanciful lore; and ere long, under wise and more permanent government, this now sparsely settled region will become populous. Then towns and villages lovely as any New England can boast— and where can you find any more lovely?—will look out from these graceful palms and palmettoes, or find grateful shade under the lofty magnolia and gigantic live oak, gray with moss, that stand like giant sentinels all along the shores of the grand and beautiful St. John's.

Amid such surroundings some one will rise up whose fertile imagination can combine and skillfully weave together the many romantic incidents to be found among the curious legends of Florida. But that is a work upon which I may not venture. Truth unvarnished is, however, full of elements possessing more abiding attractions than the most brilliant story; and to that I shall most strictly adhere.

Finding it necessary to spend the spring months of the last few years in Florida, the impressions made by these visits have greatly strengthened and become more of a fixed belief with each year's experience. This seems to me strong evidence that these impressions are worthy of credence, and may have more substantial value than should be conceded to simple novelty or a passing fancy.

There are not many ladies so situated that they are obliged to witness or understand so much of the sufferings and deprivations among the poor as is daily brought to our door; and the utter impossibility of

giving substantial relief to any appreciable extent is a source of acute distress.

Some assistance is needed every morning, and, to be effective, must often be renewed every evening, and for an indefinite period. The sick, the wicked, the unfortunate, and those ready to perish, are "legion." They come from all nations and from every class of people. Who shall feed this great multitude? But who can turn a deaf ear to their complaints, or send them away empty, without a grievous heartache? There is no end to their calls-for help. No permanent relief for those who suffer.

That much of this destitution is the result of improvidence, carelessness, or actual wrong-doing, no one can deny. But when the curse has fallen, and want and suffering take hold of them, it is too late to speak of the sad mistakes. At least, let the past sleep if you can, while looking for present help, and by sympathy and kindness endeavor to build up a better life. How can this be done?

It is a well-established fact that giving to the poor and unfortunate is a bad policy, and usually, except in extreme cases, demoralizing to the recipient. It is a perpetual tax on the benevolent, as well as a cruel kindness to the poor, destroying eventually all energy and self-respect.

Give work, not alms. Find something, however trifling, which each applicant for charity must do, to earn even the crumbs that fall from the rich man's table.

Ah! yes. This may be wise and most excellent