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.