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ON THE GULF. 
 
 The Companion Library. 
 
 Number Fifteen. 
 
 SELECTIONS 
 From The Youth's Companion. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 NEW ORLEANS . . . . HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD. 3 
 
 GALVESTON HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD. 9 
 
 A SOUTHERN FARM ........ MAX OWEN. 13 
 
 A WINTER HOME ON THE GULF . . . . M. A. DENISON. 19 
 
 LIGHTS OF THE FLORIDA REEFS .... KIRK MUNROE. 22 
 
 FLORIDA WRECKERS . . . . . . KIRK MUNROE. 27 
 
 THE FLORIDA EVERGLADES M. B. WILLIAMS. 32 
 
 A TREE THAT BUILDS ISLANDS . . . CHARLES T. SIMPSON. 37 
 
 PINEAPPLES KIRK MUNROE. 42 
 
 THE PURSEWEB SPIDER ..... HENRY C. McCOOK. 47 
 
 CORN-SHUCKING IN THE SOUTH . . . EUGENE SOUTHERN. 53 
 
 A SOUTHERN VILLAGE . . . . . HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH. 57 
 
 ST. AUGUSTINE HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH. 59 
 
 Copyright, 1898. 
 PERRY MASON & COMPANY, 
 Boston, Mass. 
 
New Orleans. 
 
 So mighty is the Mississippi, curving in a crescent as it 
 sweeps by the city, and so vast are the bayous and lakes 
 about her, that one would not easily suppose New Orleans had 
 raised her splendor more than a hundred miles from the sea. 
 There is something romantic and marvellous in her seat 
 among so many waters and below the level of the river that 
 pushes itself through innumerable mouths far out into the 
 Gulf below her. 
 
 The town is protected by an embankment called a levee, 
 generally used as a wharf by throngs of steamers and packets. 
 This levee rises several feet in a gradual slope, so that no flood 
 in the river will overflow the streets ; on one side of the city 
 the levee skirts the lake, and is a protection against the 
 backwater of storms. 
 
 These embankments are in use all along the course of the 
 Father of Waters, and when by any caprice of the river, by 
 undermining because of bad building, or in any other way, a 
 break in them occurs, miles and miles of country are swept 
 under the current to the destruction of everything but the 
 virgin soil, and sometimes even of that. 
 
 It is one of these occurrences that suggested to Mr. Cable 
 the incidents of a powerful story. The unnoticed river, eating 
 its slow way through the levee, suddenly at night bursts all 
 bounds, and the land, and the house, with its lights and harp- 
 players and dancers, go down and disappear in the horrible 
 darkness. 
 
 The water-works of the city have now brought the Missis- 
 sippi into the hydrants, and the gutters are flushed by the 
 great river that, when kept in close bonds, does good service. 
 
 The city occupies the whole parish of Orleans, which 
 contains about a hundred and fifty square miles, but only about 
 forty of them are used. One mile of it was originally laid out 
 
 & 
 
 r- 
 
4 
 
 NEW ORLEANS. 
 
 by De la Tour, with the streets crossing at right angles, the 
 cathedral at the front centre ; but where the town has extended 
 it has done so irregularly. There are beautiful parks and 
 squares, canals for commerce and for drainage, hospitals 
 and hotels, a mint and a custom-house, a city hall of white 
 marble, a host of markets and public schools. Canal Street, 
 which is a splendid avenue a hundred and fifty feet wide, 
 divides the old town from the new. 
 
 The old town is chiefly the ancient French settle- 
 ment, where the streets are often not forty feet in width, 
 with quaint names, like Rue Royale, Rampart, Esplanade, with 
 quaint signs, and with quainter people frequenting them. 
 Because of the unusual in face and speech, and because of 
 its historical character, replete with legend, this is the most 
 interesting portion of the city. 
 
 In. the more modern part of the city are broad, well-shaded 
 streets and spacious houses in the midst of gardens, where the 
 sward is greener than emerald, and one looks through the open 
 palings upon clusters of the deep pink crape-myrtle, upon 
 palm-ferns, and upon open galleries peopled by lovely ladies in 
 lawns and laces. Beautiful magnolias lift their dark towers of 
 shining greenery, and here and there an old palm-tree invites 
 the eye up its thirty or forty feet of scaly bark, to its tufted 
 foliage where high in the blue air it drops its old brown boughs 
 and puts forth its bright new plumes. 
 
 It makes a child of New England feel far away from home, 
 when looking at the lovely marvel of a palm-tree ; yet, 
 nevertheless, if once inside those pleasant places, one is made 
 to feel very much at home. One seems to be in a land of 
 enchantment, when looking out at one of these gardens in 
 full bloom just as a shower has fallen, and a norther comes 
 up to freeze every drop of the rain, and sheathed in the thin 
 film of ice that has formed too quickly to wither them, every 
 flower sparkles in the returning sunshine with ruby and 
 sapphire and topaz petals. 
 
 There are several features of New Orleans that are to be 
 
NEW ORLEANS 
 
 5 
 
 seen in few other cities. The stranger soon notices the sewage 
 in the open gutters, that one has to step over at every crossing, 
 and that one meets a little way out of the more populous 
 portion of the place in a canal ten feet wide. 
 
 It would seem as if the Mississippi hydrants might do their 
 work a little more effectually in flushing these gutters ; but 
 perhaps it takes even a stronger power than the mighty 
 river to clean them, as after they have run their slow length 
 
 to their receptacle, the contents have to be pumped up, and 
 discharged into deep water. 
 
 Although water is brought into town, nearly every house 
 has its cistern for rain-water besides. The cisterns are built 
 above ground, lest any of the moisture of the damp soil should 
 percolate through their sides; they are circular, and hooped 
 like a gigantic hogshead, and sometimes reach to the top of 
 the third story. One gets interested in the sight, and feels 
 that only those in this climate have wealth and luxury, who 
 have broad galleries and enormous cisterns. The water is 
 
 In the Old Cemetery. 
 
6 
 
 NKW ORIvEANS. 
 
 cooled for drinking by ice, which is manufactured through 
 chemical means, of a finer grain and at a rather cheaper rate 
 than nature can supply it, taking freight into consideration. 
 
 It is this wet soil which makes it impossible to dig a cellar 
 or a grave in New Orleans. All the dead are buried above 
 ground in little ovens, as one might call the mounds, or in 
 stately tombs. This necessity has brought about a pleasing 
 custom of making the cemeteries beautiful. 
 
 Although there is something disagreeable to unused eyes 
 and sensibilities in the little marble temples, whose glass 
 doors allow one to see the caskets on their shelves, with their 
 wreaths of immortelles, or of fresh flowers, yet with the 
 customary renovation just before each All Saints' Day, the 
 alleys and fountains, the temples and groups of sculpture, 
 the willows and the live-oaks draped in funereal mosses, the 
 magnolias and palms and flowers, make these cemeteries places 
 of great beauty. 
 
 The whole region of New Orleans is remarkably pictur- 
 esque. In the city, even where the houses are in blocks 
 and rows, they are covered with lace-like fronts of iron 
 balconies, and many of the dwellings are of a peculiar 
 architecture, pretty, low, masked in vines and surrounded by 
 small gardens. 
 
 There is a charming drive to Lake Pontchartrain, on the 
 Shell Road, and one of the favorite diversions is to go out on a 
 hot night, either by rail or road, to the old Spanish fort or to 
 the restaurants at the West End, and order a supper of pompanos 
 and soft-shell crabs and other delicacies, served on the veranda, 
 while the cool, delicious breeze blows off the lake, and sails 
 steal slowly about far out on the horizon's edge of the purple 
 waters. Nothing is more weird and captivating to the fancy 
 than the lighthouses down among these lonely waters. 
 
 By whatever way you enter New Orleans, you can gather 
 an idea of the amount of wealth of which it is and is to be the 
 centre ; whether you see it coming down the river in barges 
 and three-decker steamboats, or whether on the huge freight 
 
NEW ORI.EANS. 
 
 7 
 
 steamers that wind in the other direction along the rich regions 
 of the southern shore. 
 
 Perhaps no richer regions exist in the world than these, the 
 great plantations of the Teche and of St. Mary's Parish. 
 Immense plains, teeming with rice, sugar and cotton, and 
 broken by no other fence than at long intervals a blossoming 
 hedge or else a wilder reach of cypress-swamps, stretch their 
 
 The Carnival Procession. 
 
 dazzling tender green into the distant sky. There are lofty 
 trees gay with a wild luxuriance of vine and gorgeous bloom, 
 and flashing pools of water on whose edges one often sees a 
 basking alligator, a beautiful blue heron, or a rosy spoon-bill, 
 while here and there a narrow waterway opens, down which 
 float the cypress ties, cut far back in the forest, and fastened 
 together by chains and ropes. 
 
 The people of New Orleans are, perhaps, as cosmopolitan 
 
8 
 
 NKW ORLEANS. 
 
 as any in the world, if not more so. Among them are many 
 Roman Catholics, and that may be the reason why certain 
 festivals of the Carnival season are kept by them with great 
 display, especially that of the Mardi gras, which the French 
 citizens began to celebrate about the year 1827. 
 
 It is a legal holiday, under the control of King Carnival, 
 known as Rex, who appears suddenly upon the streets, attended 
 by his special guard and escorted by footmen and mounted 
 knights, in a procession of surpassing beauty. Group after 
 group arranged with superb effect, and regardless of expense, 
 move slowly along in a dazzle of splendor. 
 
 This group, perhaps, illustrates Egypt, — pyramid, palm-tree, 
 Pharaoh, with Cleopatra in her barge, with the fellah of the 
 Nile and the Sphinx watching these various eras of her 
 children ; and that one is chivalry, with the knights and ladies, 
 falcons and mediaeval accessories ; another is music, it may 
 be, or it is the event of some especial epoch, such as the 
 meeting of the Kings in the Field of the Cloth of Gold, or 
 the walk of Hypatia, where Jew and Greek and Goth and 
 early Christian met on the same spot. 
 
 The idea of each group is a central one, and it is carried 
 out with spirit. Jewels and velvets and cloth of gold are but a 
 part of the sumptuous array where everything is on a princely 
 scale. The affair has been of so long date that even the 
 children know the characters, and can call them by name. 
 
 A ball, at which Rex chooses his queen, takes place after a 
 series of matchless tableaux. The whole arrangement is made 
 as superbly scenic and processional as possible. One prefers 
 not to see in this anything like an advertisement to bring the 
 money of strangers into the place, but if it were so, it is certain 
 the strangers get their money's worth. 
 
 On the whole, few places have more to offer strangers than 
 New Orleans, and its climate is one of balm, the frost seldom 
 amounting to discomfort, and the heat always tempered by a 
 Gulf breeze. 
 
 Harriet Prescott Spofford. 
 
Galveston 
 
 The Bay of Galveston is the best harbor in the v^hole 
 circle of the shores of the Gulf. It is eighty miles long, and 
 in some places fifty miles wide, and has an anchorage of five 
 fathoms protected by the thirty miles of the island that gives 
 it its name, its existence and its shelter. 
 
 The advantages of such a harbor have been fully recognized 
 in commerce, as is evident in the many lines of steamers plying 
 between Galveston and domestic ports as well as Mexico, 
 Central America, and the great commercial cities of Europe. 
 
 For the management of so much shipping about two miles 
 of water-front, comprising four miles of wharfage, are in service, 
 and more than double this amount of deep-water frontage is 
 available when needed. 
 
 The island is one of those masses of sand thrown up by the 
 sea in many places along our Southern coast. These meet the 
 bars of rivers, and are kept from reaching the mainland by 
 the volume of water which the rivers pour down in such 
 quantity as to push off the encroaching particles while they 
 deposit their own, and hold the battle between themselves and 
 the sea in an even scale. 
 
 The city, which is located on the extreme eastern end of the 
 island, at first glance from the Gulf side, seems to sit upon 
 the sea with a soft, silvery veil about it, so low in the water 
 that it could well be fancied one of those mirages that are so 
 frequent over these waters. 
 
 Galveston was named for the Count of Galvez, to whom 
 New Spain, as all that part of the continent was once called, 
 owed many reforms in its government. It was a daring idea of 
 the first settlers to plant their fortunes upon this long and 
 narrow strip of the salt sea-sand more than two miles from the 
 mainland. 
 
 But time has proved the wisdom of their venture ; and from 
 
lO 
 
 GALVESTON. 
 
 beginning with part of an old wreck half imbedded in the sand, 
 for a hotel, and with nothing but a wild beach undergrowth on 
 the island, there has grown up a large and populous city, with 
 a number of hotels equal to any in the land, with great com- 
 mercial houses and dwellings charming to a degree, with 
 gardens of flowers and streets that are so shadowed by 
 
 Loading Cotton. 
 
 blossoming and fragrant trees that they might be the walks of 
 an Eden. 
 
 There are broad and long avenues lined with the China 
 umbrella-tree, whose masses of darkest green foliage are 
 forever tossing like thick plumes in the vSea-wind, whose shade 
 is almost black, and whose clusters of pale purple flowers 
 make the air heavy with sweet odors. Thriving luxuriantly 
 on perpetual sunshine, and all the water they want to drink a 
 
GAIvVKSTON. 
 
 II 
 
 foot below the surface, are oleanders the size of apple-trees. 
 Some are loaded with bunches of blossoms in deepest pink, 
 and others in purest white, all shedding abroad a delicate and 
 delightful vanilla-like perfume. 
 
 Over the high walls of gardens, with their pomegranates 
 and figs, rise great orange-trees loaded with bloom and fruit, 
 perhaps as beautiful objects as the round globe offers ; and 
 within those gardens half the flowers that people of the North 
 pay great prices for at the greenhouses, drop into the hands for 
 the taking. Of course all this has not come to pass without 
 great trouble and pains and labor, in the perpetual enriching of 
 the soil, and a constant pride in its production. 
 
 There is not a city on our shores that makes a more 
 delightful summer residence than Galveston. The heat is only 
 a soft and delicious warmth, tempered by the Gulf breeze with 
 which the trade- winds continually blow over the island. 
 Everybody dresses to meet it, in white linen and sheer muslins 
 in their season, and after a siesta there is a constant round of 
 social gaieties in which most of the ladies wear Paris costumes 
 in the last whim of fashion and expense, notwithstanding the 
 fact that the not unhealthy dampness spots silks and kid 
 gloves, as if they were on a sea-voyage. 
 
 Wealth has made all luxuries here comparatively easy of 
 attainment ; for the cotton-trade has been the means of center- 
 ing great resources in Galveston. This wealth is evident in 
 the spacious mansions and the buildings on Tremont Street 
 and on the Strand and elsewhere, in the opera-house, churches, 
 race-course, cemeteries, street-railways, gasometers and daily 
 papers. 
 
 Not the least delightful custom of the pleasant life of the 
 place is the sunset driving upon the beach. This beach is one 
 of the finest in the world, being thirty miles of hard sand where 
 the horses' hoofs will not leave a print, and where the waters 
 of the Gulf of Mexico, with all the vivid splendor of its color, 
 swing to shore in a long roller. 
 
 Within five minutes by electric car from the principal parts 
 
12 
 
 GALVESTON. 
 
 of the city one may find at the beach the finest of hotels and 
 the most perfect accommodations for bathing. Whether sporting 
 in the waves, resting on the hotel lawn, or dancing in the 
 parlor, one finds every pleasure appropriate to a charming 
 watering-place. 
 
 There are some citizens who have cottages on the beach, in 
 which to pass the night when they want to be cooler than in 
 
 Bath-Houses, Galveston Beach. 
 
 town, but generally the nights are cool enough for sleepers to 
 need a blanket over them anywhere on the island. 
 
 One cannot leave Galveston without admiring the enterprise 
 of bringing to the city an abundant supply of pure water, 
 which is piped under the bay from artesian wells on the main 
 land. 
 
 Another object of interest is the steel bridge, two and a 
 seventh miles long, connecting the city with the mainland. 
 A drive over this bridge and on the shell road, reaching far 
 back into the country, gives an experience to be remembered 
 with pleasure, long after one has left this charming and 
 progressive city of the South. 
 
 Harriet Prescott Spofford. 
 
A Southern Farm. 
 
 A Northern man who has never been South in summer, 
 naturally fears the heat above all other discomforts when he 
 finds he must spend at least two weeks in New Orleans in the 
 latter half of July. 
 
 Such were my feelings as the train bore me for the first 
 time on a summer's day into the Crescent City. I had no idea 
 whatever of the possibilities of the pleasant surprise awaiting 
 me. 
 
 My business required only short and decisive interviews 
 with several firms, and a delay of some days for the completion 
 of our transactions. I dreaded the interval, but it proved a 
 fortnight of pleasures. 
 
 On the second day in the city, after I had completed my 
 preliminary business, I was so fortunate as to meet my old 
 professor at the door of the hotel ; and here my story of 
 surprises begins. 
 
 After the first greetings I mentioned a probable fortnight 
 of suffering in the heated city, when the professor most 
 cordially urged me to go home with him and enjoy the cool 
 breezes at his farm. The idea of a New Orleans farm puzzled 
 me, because I knew something of the city and its surroundings. 
 
 In answer to my questions the professor said, with a twinkle 
 of his eye, "It is on the first bit of dry ground east of New 
 Orleans, a little ride over the line into Mississippi." 
 
 That same evening I was seated with the professor on 
 his veranda, enjoying paradise. The moonlight gave magic 
 touches of color and tint to flower, shrub and vine, to tropical 
 plants, trees and fruits, to the emerald lawn, and in front of all 
 to the peaceful waters of the Gulf, whence came the most 
 delicious zephyrs, which every night of my stay lulled me 
 into the slumbers of fairy-land. 
 
 I was amazed. I was enchanted. Aladdin had transformed 
 
14 
 
 A SOUTHERN FARM. 
 
 the surrounding region with the magic of his power ; and for 
 nearly two wxeks the professor's story of his farming was more 
 charming to me than the Arabian Niglits' Entertainments. 
 
 For many years wealthy New Orleans families have enjoj^ed 
 the comforts of summer residences along the shore of the Gulf, 
 particularly in the vicinity of the beautiful city of Bay St. IvOuis. 
 The soft summer breezes from the Gulf drive away the languor 
 natural to a hot city, and every night is perfect for comfortable 
 sleep. Such a climate and such conditions make possible the 
 
 most charming society in the world. But the professor lived 
 too far from society to be drawn often into the pleasures of 
 their frequent evening entertainments. 
 
 It seems that an unfortunate "carpet-bagger," feeling that 
 his presence was not cordially welcomed in the aristocratic 
 New Orleans families, bought a small plantation at some 
 distance from the cottagers, and proceeded to transform it into 
 a model farm and a beautiful summer residence. When the 
 collapse of carpet-bag rule came, his isolated place had few 
 attractions for society, and our professor bought it at a very 
 low price. 
 
 To the lavish lawn and house decorations the professor 
 added only the touches of his own artistic taste. To the tilling 
 
 i m 
 
A SOUTHERN FARM. 
 
 15 
 
 of the farm he added the practical supervision of a skilled 
 agriculturist who is also a master of horticulture. 
 
 A heavy mortgage compelled the professor to plan methods 
 to secure the best and surest profits, which he laughingly says 
 have made him a successful truck farmer ; for while waiting 
 for his first crop of corn and cotton he found close at hand an 
 immediate market for all the vegetables and small fruits he 
 could raise. - 
 
 Every early vegetable is forced into readiness for market, 
 and all through the year different plantings give the choicest 
 of vegetables in season and out of season. In May, August or 
 November the same spring vegetables are found on the tables 
 of many a New Orleans family. 
 
 Moreover, the professor delights in every variety of berries, 
 fruits and nuts that will grow in that region. His large 
 eggshell pecans are all bought in advance by a famous 
 confectioner. He boasts of a few choice orange-trees and other 
 sensitive tropical plants, which his men protect on the 
 occasional frosty night of winter by canvas tents. These he 
 calls his only luxuries. 
 
 His best market is in summer at the houses of his neighbors, 
 the wealthy families from the city. His mule- wagons make 
 daily trips all the way to Bay St. Louis. The year I visited 
 him he sold to his neighbors fifty thousand pears in small daily 
 lots at an average price of one cent each, while his peaches, 
 plums, apricots, figs and grapes added a pretty sum to the 
 sales. 
 
 In the months when the professor is with his classes, and 
 the cottagers have returned to their city residences, the farm 
 products are sent by contract to certain city markets where 
 the freshest and choicest eatables are to be found. Even in 
 sending goods to the city market the professor shows the 
 economy of a thoughtful system. Every shipment is made in 
 boxes or crates that can be returned in nests, that is, one box 
 fits just inside the next larger. All the little cheap berry - 
 baskets are bought in fiat bulk from the factory and, like all 
 
•J 
 
 i6 
 
 A SOUTHERN FARM. 
 
 crates and boxes, are made in the carpenter's shop on the 
 farm. 
 
 The professor's herd of cows contains only the choice 
 breeds. All the milk he can produce in summer finds a quick 
 sale in the neighborhood. All the butter he can sell in winter 
 finds eager purchasers at the city market. He feeds to his 
 cows many succulent vegetables and fruits which would be 
 considered fine in the city, for he allows only the choicest and 
 
 best of every product to go to 
 
 market. Moreover, he will not 
 
 allow any inferior varieties of 
 plant or fruit tree to grow on 
 his farm. Yet there always re- 
 mains an abundance fit only for 
 food to his large herd of swine. 
 
 One more branch of farming 
 completes the professor's outfit. 
 He has large flocks of hens, 
 turkeys, ducks and geese, kept 
 in their proper pens and yards, 
 a few peacocks, to which the 
 liberty of the lawns is given for 
 ornament, and a dovecote of 
 pure white pigeons. 
 
 Best of all, the professor has 
 made his farm an educational institution. Every department 
 is conducted with the best skill that agricultural colleges and 
 practical training have taught. There is also some training in 
 wood and iron work, for all the carpentry and blacksmithing 
 necessary to the estate is done under the direction of a skilled 
 mechanic. 
 
 Most of the work is done by colored students from a large 
 institution of learning in the city. They thus earn money to 
 pay their tuition, and they learn the best methods of making a 
 home, which many carry into practice after graduation. 
 
 The young women are housekeepers and cooks, they have 
 
 A Student's Window. 
 
 i 
 
A SOUTHERN FARM. 
 
 17 
 
 full charge of the dairy, they pick the berries and vSmall 
 fruits, and prepare all these for market by careful packing in 
 small boxes or baskets. The young men do all the heavy 
 work, from plowing and seeding to gathering corn and picking 
 cotton. By a system of right-angle planting nearly all the 
 cultivation is done by mules with plow, harrow or horse-hoe, 
 and severe manual labor is reduced to the minimum. 
 
 The young men's quarters are situated convenient for 
 bathing, for in that respect the professor is a tyrant. He 
 insists that in every department there shall be cleanliness if 
 not godliness. As a token of appreciation, and help to 
 intelligence, he gives them a season of rest in the heat of the 
 day, and provides a reading-room which contains the daily 
 Picayune and several weekly papers, with religious and literary 
 publications, including the Youth's Companion. 
 
 These things I learned as I talked with the professor on his 
 veranda, watching the lights twinkle on the waters of the Gulf, 
 as I walked with him over his enchanting lawn, and on 
 horseback as we rode through the paths of his fields and 
 pastures. 
 
 All this is the professor's play and recreation. His real 
 work is molding the minds of his many students, and equipping 
 souls with intelligence that develops into the life eternal. 
 
 Max Owkn. 
 
Our Winter Home. 
 
A Winter Home on the Gulf. 
 
 After a journey of thirty-six hours we find ourselves in a 
 new world as regards climate and the beauty of the vegetable 
 productions of the country. The roads are like plowed sand, 
 the woods are yellow with sage-grass and bristling with pines 
 that look, in the distance, with their straight, bare trunks, not 
 unlike the palm of the tropics. A cloudless blue stretches 
 above the smiling landscape, a brisk, clear wind stirs the 
 orange leaves, and the sun smiles cheerily over all. 
 
 The home life on the Gulf is delightful. The children play 
 on the wide verandas ; there the ladies of the house gather 
 with their wicker chairs and work-baskets, sometimes wheeling 
 the sewing-machine out under the leafy shade, and so dispose 
 themselves for their daily tasks. 
 
 Beyond is the garden, with its lovely walks. Near us 
 stands a bushel basket heaped with enormous oranges, not the 
 products of the trees that stand in groups all over the yard, for 
 their yield is over, but grown about two miles from here ; 
 splendid specimens of the fruit, for which one has to pay dearly 
 in Northern climes. 
 
 Breakfast is over, the rooms are cleaned and darkened, and 
 we look out from our parlor on the garden in front of the 
 house. It comprises about an acre, and is laid out in evergreen 
 trees, among which the live-oak is conspicuous. These trees 
 grow to an immense size, and cast a shadow from fifty to a 
 hundred feet in circumference. 
 
 Could you see, as I do, a group of merry children in their 
 white frocks and blue ribbons, frolicking under the broad- 
 spreading branches, you would find it difficult to imagine that 
 there is winter anywhere in the world. The flower-beds are 
 finished in circles and heart shapes, and abound in a great 
 variety of lovely flowering shrubs. 
 
 One of these is the century plant, whose bristling clumps, 
 
20 
 
 A WINTKR HOME ON THK GULF. 
 
 rich with the life of over a hundred years, stand up like giants 
 with their myriad spike-like leaves. Not far from them are 
 immense cacti with pear-shaped leaves, in the midst of which, 
 before many weeks, will come bursting forth magnificent 
 crimson flowers, to challenge the admiration of the looker-on, 
 and intoxicate the senses with their delicious perfume. 
 
 Above our heads the yellow jasmine shakes down its 
 flowers of starry gold, and these, too, fill all the morning air 
 with fragrance. The oleanders are not yet in bloom, but their 
 graceful forms and thick, bright leaves add much to the 
 beauty of the garden. L<oveliest of all the flowers is the cape 
 jasmine. Imagine a bush, or small tree, every leaf glistening 
 as if varnished, blooming all over with great white flowers as 
 finished and as beautiful as the white camellia, and of the most 
 exquisite perfume. 
 
 Over the porch hangs the crimson honeysuckle in clusters, 
 and at intervals lines of orange-trees form a vista that makes a 
 scene of enchantment. Nothing is more lovely than the 
 orange-tree in bloom, except the magnolia. Northern gardens 
 cherish the puniest specimens, but here stands a magnolia 
 sixty feet high, every leaf as polished as if coated with wax. 
 
 Though there are no flowers observable, yet the time of 
 bloom is very near, and the tree is bursting with buds. In a 
 few weeks its subtle, delicious perfume will invade the house 
 and make the air as odorous as if invisible lily-buds were 
 floating by on every breeze, or angels bringing the spices of 
 the gardens of paradise. 
 
 Here, there and everywhere the roses stand, great, 
 strong-limbed bushes with vigorous, beautiful buds, ready to 
 put on their rich garments. Here the rose has no enemies to 
 encounter. The worm at the root is never known, and no 
 colonies of green, swarming pests vex the soul of the garden- 
 lover. Everywhere roses grow side by side with monster beds 
 of geranium in all its variety of color, from flaming crimson to 
 pearly white, while between are beds of verbena, callas, 
 pomegranates and crape myrtle. 
 
A WINTKR HOME ON THE GUI^F. 
 
 21 
 
 Outside of the pretty, ornamental plants are stout, scrubby 
 fig-trees, all starting out for the season. Now to have your 
 own figs for winter use is no mean experience. The people 
 her^ know how to put them up, and they make a delicious 
 preserve. 
 
 Let us step beyond the fence enclosing this paradise, to the 
 lot beyond where stand the peach-trees, cloudy with their pink 
 blooms. Here are the forcing beds, thick with cucumber-vines 
 and young tomato-plants. Farther on are green peas, almost 
 ready for picking for the table. 
 
 Yonder are cabbages of full growth and every variety, 
 radishes, young beets, sweet potatoes and celery. These are 
 planted between rows of sturdy orange-trees, each of which 
 bears four or five thousand oranges a season. Perhaps the 
 most beautiful sight of all is an orange-grove of from ten to 
 twenty acres, loaded with fruit. 
 
 It is pleasing to meet polished and cultivated men and 
 women where expectation had pictured a meagre civilization. 
 It is no unusual thing to welcome an assemblage of neighbors 
 from a radius of ten to fifteen miles around. 
 
 At the house where we are staying forty carriages brought 
 their loads of human life. Every family had prepared a basket 
 of delicacies, so that the supper-table was loaded with good 
 things. In that gathering were representatives of fifteen 
 different states, and all of them people of refinement. There 
 were recitations, readings, music of violin, organ and guitar, 
 and no mean music at that. Everybody brought his quota of 
 information, and dancing closed the order of the evening. 
 
 It was a picturesque sight to see them taking their departure 
 at midnight : the teams standing about the house in the vivid 
 moonlight ; here and there father and daughter on splendid 
 horses, the young men in the saddle riding off, after making 
 their adieus, with many a laugh and cheer down the long 
 orange-bordered avenue. It was like a scene out of a novel, 
 and one never to be forgotten. 
 
 M. A. Dknison. 
 
Lights of the Florida Reefs. 
 
 No more important or interesting chain of lights exists on 
 any part of the American coast than those which flash their 
 brilliant rays over the two hundred miles of coral reefs 
 bounding the southern extremity of Florida. 
 
 The terrible Florida reef, with its bewildering maze of 
 shoals, tortuous channels, fierce currents and coral heads lifted 
 almost to the surface, is an ever present menace to the mariners 
 of those waters. Since the date of its discovery it has probably 
 been the cause of more disasters than any other region of 
 similar extent in the world. 
 
 Proud British frigates and treasure-laden Spanish galleons, 
 merchant ships of every nation, coasting schooners and fishing 
 craft have been enticed into its siren-like embrace, and paid 
 tribute to it with their lives. 
 
 A startling record is that of the Spanish treasure-fleet of 
 thirteen galleons which sailed from Vera Cruz in 1737, and 
 yielded twelve of its number to the demands of this all- 
 devouring reef. 
 
 The seaward face of the reef drops abruptly into the 
 fathomless depths of the Gulf Stream. Inside of its coral 
 banks is a broad channel of smooth water, beyond which lies 
 a parallel chain of palm-covered keys, or islands, of great 
 fertility and beauty. 
 
 For upward of three centuries these reefs, channels and 
 low-lying keys afforded a very paradise for pirates, buccaneers 
 and wreckers. In their swift, light-draught schooners these 
 freebooters threaded the shallow passages with impunity, and 
 defied capture. They had innumerable retreats among the 
 keys, where they lay concealed beyond the chance of discovery. 
 
 It is only in the present century that our government has 
 found time to hunt out these freebooters, and penetrate their 
 fastnesses with small but powerfully armed vessels of as light 
 
tiGHTS OF THK FLORIDA RKEFS. 
 
 23 
 
 draught as their own ; and it is within fifty years that the first 
 reef light of the present splendid system was erected. 
 
 Before that there were two brick lighthouses, one at Cape 
 Florida, on the coast, inside the northern extremity of the 
 reef, and the other at Key West, though a fourth-order light 
 was shown above a bastion of Fort Jefferson, at the Tortugas, 
 as early as 1825. 
 
 To erect a number of masonry towers, the material for 
 which must be transported over a thousand miles, seemed too 
 great a task to be undertaken. Thus it was not until after the 
 introduction of iron screw piles for foundations that it was 
 deemed feasible to light the entire reef. 
 
 In 1852 an iron tower one hundred and six feet high, 
 upheld by a pyramidal framework of iron trusses, and resting 
 on a foundation of iron piles 
 screwed into the coral rock, 
 was erected above Carysfort 
 reef, where it rises to within 
 two feet of the surface. The 
 building of this tower was 
 accompanied by the bitter 
 curses of the wreckers ; and 
 when the first beams of its 
 powerful light flashed far 
 and wide over those dreaded 
 waters, the}^ realized that 
 their occupation was gone. 
 
 Sand Key light was built 
 the following year. Som- 
 brero in 1857, and the light 
 on lyOggerhead Key, the 
 most western of the Tortu- 
 gas, in 1858. This last is 
 the only brick structure on the reef. Then the Civil War 
 interfered, and the next reef light, known as Alligator, was 
 f not erected until 1873. In 1878 the old Cape Florida light 
 
I^IGHTS OF THE FLORIDA REEFS. 
 
 was discontinued in favor of the splendid new one set on Fowey 
 Rocks, seven miles out at sea, on the northern extremity of 
 the reef. Both this light and Carysfort, which is the next one 
 to it, preserve the names of two British frigates cast away at 
 these points. 
 
 The Fowey Rocks light is one of the most perfect structures 
 of its kind on our coast. It was first set up in Fairmount Park, 
 
 at Philadelphia, during the Cen- 
 tennial Exhibition, as a typical 
 American lighthouse. 
 
 The old tower on Cape Florida, 
 which witnessed many a stirring 
 incident during the palmy days of 
 piracy on that coast, during the 
 two Indian wars that raged about 
 it, and during that of the rebel- 
 lion, became the headquarters of 
 the Biscayne Bay Yacht Club, the 
 most southerly organization of its 
 kind in the United States. In 1880 the American Shoal light, 
 twenty miles east of Sand Key, was erected, and in 1886 the 
 long chain of flashing beacons was made complete by the build- 
 ing of a lighthouse on Rebecca Shoal, eighteen miles to the 
 eastward of the Tortugas. 
 
 These structures are similar in character, and rest on 
 foundations of iron piling. With the exception of Sand Key 
 light, which occupies a tiny islet of sand and shells, the most 
 southerly bit of territory under the stars and stripes, they all 
 stand in the water. 
 
 In each the lowest platform, about ten feet above the 
 surface, is used for the storing of boats and fuel. Ten feet 
 higher up is another platform surrounded by a railing. On this 
 rests a huge iron cylinder, resembling the turret of a monitor, 
 which is divided into rooms. It is the house in which the 
 keepers live, and where all their provisions, as well as a year's 
 supply of oil for the light, are stored. 
 
 American Shoal Light. 
 
I.IGHTS OF THK FI^OKIDA RKKFS. 
 
 25 
 
 In some cases this house is of two stories, when it is very 
 roomy and comfortable. From the centre of the dwelling rises 
 a slender iron tower in which a spiral stairway leads up to the 
 laxitern, lifted from one hundred to one hundred and fifty feet 
 above the water. 
 
 In these isolated reef structures, where the only sights are 
 sky and water, with a low line of distant keys on one hand and 
 the passing ships on the other, life is not so terrible as might 
 be supposed. There are three keepers to each light, and one 
 of them is nearly always off on vacation. Consequently the 
 time of the others is fully occupied. 
 
 They must keep their lamp in order, and every bit of glass 
 and bright metal about the lantern polished until it glistens. 
 Their house must at all times be spotlessly clean, and as neat 
 as the deck of a man-of-war. Its exterior must be kept 
 painted, its boats must always be in order, and a daily record 
 must be kept of all passing vessels. Then the keepers must 
 cook, eat and sleep. 
 
 In spite of these manifold duties, they find time for reading 
 and study. A presiding officer of 
 the Florida Senate studied law 
 and fitted himself for admission 
 to the bar while acting as assistant 
 keeper in a reef lighthouse. 
 Several other young stu- 
 dents of my acquaintance - 
 pursued the same course. 
 
 A reef lighthouse is 
 always well supplied with 
 the latest novels, maga- 
 zines and papers by New 
 York steamers that pass close to it every day. A keeper puts 
 out from the light in a small boat. The mate of an approach- 
 ing steamer has already collected such papers, magazines and 
 novels as the passengers are willing to spare, done them up in 
 a bundle, and tied them to a billet of wood. 
 
 Sand Key Light. 
 
26 
 
 LIGHTS OF THK FLORIDA RFEFS. 
 
 I 
 
 As the steamer passes the waiting boat, the package is 
 tossed overboard. The lighthouse man waves his thanks, 
 captures the dripping prize, and carries it back to his iron 
 dwelling, where its contents are sorted and dried. 
 
 Often the steamer slows up long enough for him to exchange 
 a thirty-pound kingfish or a fine string of Spanish mackerel 
 with the steward for a piece of Northern beef or mutton, and 
 perhaps a cake of ice. The light-keepers are far better supplied 
 with news, literature, fresh meat and other luxuries than their 
 shore neighbors of the keys. 
 
 The reef lights are surrounded by some of the most wonder- 
 ful marine gardens in the world. The water above which they 
 stand is perfectly clear. From the bottom rise delicate coral 
 forms, sponges, sea-fans and feathers of vivid colors, and 
 forests of exquisite algae. Amid these dart thousands of 
 strange fish, brilliant of hue and curiously marked. Here the 
 lighthouse man fishes or gathers curios, and w^hiles away many 
 an hour of the bright tropic days. 
 
 He cannot make a home of his lighthouse by having his 
 family with him, for a rule of the department forbids any 
 woman to spend a night in one of these reef beacons ; but he 
 may visit his wife once a month if he chooses, and spend nearly 
 a third of his time at home. 
 
 Thus, on the whole, the life of a reef lightkeeper is not an 
 unhappy one, and there are always more applicants for the 
 positions than there are vacancies to be filled. 
 
 Kirk Munroe. 
 
Florida Wreckers. 
 
 Curiously enough, the term wreckers, formerly applied to 
 those who sought to wreck ships for the sake of plunder, has 
 come to signify those who save ships. In Florida the wrecker 
 of to-day is one who strives to rescue ships from destruction, 
 who often perils his own life for his fellows, and whose 
 legitimate business is the recovery of cargoes that but for his 
 efforts would be irredeemably lost. 
 
 Of the entire American coast, no portion has so many 
 wrecks in a year as the great reef stretching for two hundred 
 miles from Cape Florida to the Dry Tortugas. Consequently 
 nowhere else does the trade of wrecking so flourish. But the 
 lighting of the reef from end to end has seriously affected 
 the prosperity of the trade, and the lawful wrecker of to-day 
 obtains insufficient means for the prodigality that marked his 
 lawless predecessor of fifty years ago. 
 
 The city of Key West owed its foundation and its very 
 existence up to the time of the Civil War to the gains of 
 wrecking. The same occupation built up a riotous rival town 
 on a key half-way up the reef. To-day this island is as lonely 
 and bare of any traces of its wrecker occupants as Key West 
 might be did it not occupy a commanding position on one of 
 the great ocean highways. 
 
 In spite of being lighted, buoyed and carefully charted, this 
 vast web of reefs still destroys many a helpless vessel, and 
 wrecking is still an occupation in which every dweller along its 
 length is intensely interested. 
 
 Between the Bahamas and the Florida coast the Gulf 
 Stream rushes northward with an average velocity of four miles 
 an hour. To escape the strength of this current, the weekly 
 fleets of steamers from Northern and foreign ports hug the 
 coast as closely as they dare. Now and then one of them 
 brings up with a grinding crash on some outlying shoal or 
 
28 
 
 FLORIDA WRECKERS. 
 
 coral head that had not been allowed for in the captain's 
 calculations ; or some becalmed sailing-vessel is insidiously 
 drawn toward the reef by the treacherous currents. 
 
 When there are no wrecks in sight, there is always plenty 
 of wrecked material coming ashore, especially on the strip of 
 beach extending northward for thirty or forty miles from Cape 
 Florida. Nearly everything which finds its way into the water 
 along the whole line of the reef is borne opposite to this point 
 by the current of the Gulf Stream, and then driven ashore by 
 the northeast trade-winds sweeping around the upper end of 
 the Bahama Islands. 
 
 Some winters ago an old, unseaworthy Spanish barque, 
 deeply laden with wines and bound for Havana, had nearly 
 reached her destination, and was within sight of Morro Castle, 
 when she was driven out to sea by an offshore gale, and 
 foundered near the Tortugas. A month later her entire cargo 
 of great pipes of red wine and casks of sherry was cast ashore 
 on the beach just north of Cape Florida, two hundred miles 
 from the scene of the wreck. 
 
 The first person to discover this treasure was a Frenchman 
 who visited the beach in search of wrecked lumber with which 
 to build a house. His one complaint against that wild section 
 of this country had been that in it he could not obtain the 
 cheap wines of his native land. Now to find what he had most 
 longed for in such quantities as he had never dreamed of, and 
 to be had for the taking, seemed to him little short of 
 miraculous. 
 
 He returned to the settlement across the bay in a state 
 of the wildest excitement, bearing his wonderful news. At 
 that time there were not fifty white men to a hundred miles of 
 that coast, and they were widely scattered. But before nightfall 
 they were all on the beach, rolling the oaken pipes and casks 
 up from the breakers to places of safety. 
 
 Every man put his private mark, which was respected by 
 all the others, on the packages that he rescued from the 
 breakers, or claimed by priority of discovery half-buried in 
 
FI^ORIDA WRKCKKRS. 
 
 29 
 
 the sand. All were jubilant over the wealth they were to 
 acquire by the sale of this gift of the sea. One man, aided by 
 his two sons, secured over five thousand gallons of wine, that 
 he was confident would yield him one dollar per gallon. 
 
 During the ensuing week he conceived numerous brilliant 
 schemes for the investment of his wealth. Suddenly they were 
 all rudely dispelled by a mandate from the Collector at Key 
 
 West, to the effect that, since the wine had landed without 
 paying duty, none of it could be sold. 
 
 Then ensued such a scene of riotous waste as I never 
 beheld before or since. In their rage against this decision, 
 men beat in the heads of the pipes and casks, until the thirsty 
 sands were deluged by torrents of Spanish wine. Some was 
 saved in bottles and jugs ; but these were so scarce that 
 probably not over a hundred gallons was rescued in this way. 
 
 Cotton is much more satisfactory ; for even water-soaked 
 and sanded cotton is worth fifteen dollars per bale. Therefore, 
 whenever cotton is reported as being on the beach, the wildest 
 kind of a race ensues. 
 
 Men hurry across the bay in any kind of a craft that will 
 
 Bales of Cotton from a Wreck. 
 
30 
 
 FI.ORIDA WRECKERS. 
 
 float, and then on foot up the beach. Each man marks the 
 bales that he reaches first as his property, by leaving on them 
 bits of his personal belongings— a hat, a handkerchief, a knife, 
 even a shirt, anything will do. 
 
 A bit of wood with the claimant's name scrawled on it is 
 sufiicient to make good his claim, and cause it to be respected 
 by those who come after him. 
 
 If all the bales were already on the beach the swiftest 
 runners would secure more than their share of the spoils ; but 
 most of the bales are still in the breakers, from which they 
 must be dragged and placed beyond the reach of high water. 
 
 Squared logs of mahogany and Spanish cedar are every-day 
 finds on this beach, and so much yellow pine timber comes 
 ashore that every house in the adjacent settlement is framed of 
 it. On the piazzas of these houses may be seen steamer chairs 
 that have come from the beach. 
 
 A baby's cradle was picked up last winter b}^ a wrecker, in 
 whose family it was a prime necessity just then ; and nearly 
 every man in the settlement owns a derelict boat. So the list 
 of curious and useful things yielded by that kindly beach 
 might be continued indefinitely. 
 
 Every man on the reef who owns a boat of five tons' burden 
 or upwards can become a wrecker by paying a yearly fee of 
 two dollars, and obtaining a license from the United States 
 Admiralty Court in Key West ; and there are very few who 
 neglect to avail themselves of this privilege. 
 
 With this license in his pocket the wrecker is so keenly on 
 the lookout for stranded or distressed vessels that a ship can 
 hardly touch on any point of the reef before several small 
 schooners are seen hurrying toward her from the low-lying keys 
 that form a continuous chain behind it. 
 
 If the captain of the stranded vessel refuses assistance, the 
 wreckers must keep off, and no one from them is allowed on 
 board. Then they anchor and await developments. 
 
 When the captain has exhausted his own resources and 
 asks for aid, the first licensed wrecker to set foot on the vessel's 
 
X 
 
 FivORIDA WRECKKRS. 3 1 
 
 deck becomes wreck-master, and takes entire charge of the 
 operations of lightening the ship, running kedges, and either 
 getting her off or saving the cargo. 
 
 Any agreement entered into between him and the captain 
 as to the amount of salvage to be paid is equally binding upon 
 the wreckers and the ship's owners. 
 
 If the vessel is given up and only the cargo is saved, this 
 must be taken to Key West and sold at public auction by a 
 United States marshal. Of the proceeds, half goes to the 
 underwriters and 
 
 half to the wreckers. .^-^ " " ""^-r*^ 
 
 The latter portion 
 is divided equally 
 between the wreck- 
 ing boats and their / 
 
 crews. " The amount f^^^f. ^ ^ ^ 
 
 allotted to each crew '^^^ \ 
 
 is divided into as ^ 
 many shares as there 
 
 Running to the Wreck. 
 
 are men on board. 
 
 The prize most eagerly desired by the wreckers is a general 
 cargo wreck, such as was afforded by the Ward line steamer 
 Ci(y of Alexandria in the spring of 1890, when the beach was 
 strewn for miles with provisions, clothing, pianos, sewing- 
 machines, cases of imitation jewelry, and the thousand articles 
 that comprise a freight of general merchandise. 
 
 On the other hand, a stranded steamer loaded with railroad 
 iron, cement, or coal, that invariably floats as soon as she has 
 thrown overboard her cargo, which as invariably sinks, is 
 regarded as much worse than no wreck at all. 
 
 Kirk Munrok. 
 
The Florida Everglades, 
 
 Several attempts have been made to penetrate the 
 Everglades. One party was sent out by the United States 
 Government, but the difficulties in the way seemed insur- 
 moi^ntable, and the explorers turned back, baffled, at the very 
 beginning of the quest. 
 
 The New Orleans Times-Democrat in 1883 equipped a party, 
 which, under the command of Major Archibald P. Williams, 
 set out to explore the Everglades from a northern point to 
 Whitewater Bay in the extreme south. 
 
 The explorers coasted the southern shore of Lake Okee- 
 chobee, in search of some outlet which would enable them to 
 penetrate the dense jungle which borders the Everglades, and 
 came to the mouth of a river running in the direction of the 
 Everglades. The stream was one hundred yards wide and 
 eight feet deep, the water as clear as crystal, and it had no 
 perceptible current. 
 
 Hoping that this stream would take them some distance in 
 the right direction, they entered it full of hope. The banks 
 were beautiful, fringed with a dense tropical growth of trees 
 and shrubs, which presented a wall of vivid green to the eye. 
 
 Two miles farther and the river narrowed. The walls 
 of foliage almost met ; large roots and low-lying branches 
 forbade further movement in that stream. The line of 
 alligators in their wake increased, and they found that the 
 river ends in an impenetrable morass, or swamp. 
 
 The explorers returned to camp, and upon investigating 
 the shore, found the mouths of eight rivers, all running south 
 and in the right direction. To six of these rivers boats were 
 assigned, with instructions to follow them as far as possible. 
 When the report was brought into camp that night, one 
 sufficed for all. The rivers ran only one or two miles, and 
 then ended suddenly in swamps. 
 
 They decided upon one, the Rita River, as the point of 
 
THE FivORIDA KVKRGIvADKS. 
 
 33 
 
 departure. It took them within half a mile of the marsh 
 which bordered the Everglades, and which they now decided 
 they had to penetrate by some means or other. 
 
 The next day the hard work began and the compass was 
 the only guide. The river had ended in a dense swamp of 
 
 Discouragements of the Journey. 
 
 custard-apple. Axes and machetes were employed to cut 
 away trees and vines, and in the afternoon of the fourth day 
 the explorers found themselves in a marsh of grass and 
 scrub- willows with five inches of water and fifteen feet of mud. 
 
 Climbing a tree to take observations, they saw south of them 
 only an interminable marsh. There was no use discussing the 
 
34 
 
 THK FLORIDA EVKRGLADKS. 
 
 situation. Orders were given for every man to go overboard, 
 and overboard they went ; and the canoes were propelled 
 inch by inch through the mud. 
 
 The difficulty of getting through the grass was so great 
 that Major Williams decided to fire it. The men suffered 
 terribly from their legs and feet coming in contact with the 
 roots of the wampee, w^hich produces a burning and stinging 
 sensation, as if the skin had been rubbed off, and red pepper 
 rubbed in. 
 
 In pursuit of scientific information, Major Williams tasted 
 the wampee. A thousand needles seemed pricking every 
 nerve of his face for hours afterward, and the pain was 
 maddening. 
 
 Two men w^ho had been sent ahead to fire the grass, found 
 one foot of water about two miles and a half from camp. This 
 was encouraging news, as the progress by pushing the canoes 
 through the mud was painful and wearisome in the extreme. 
 
 But the explorers found their route to the desired water was 
 beset with new difficulties. They had to penetrate not only 
 the marsh-grass, but a species of scrub-willow with small 
 stems, but having roots as large as a man's leg, which reached 
 several yards outward and lay a few inches below the surface 
 of the water. 
 
 As the canoes were only a fifth of an inch thick, to snag a 
 hole in one of them would mean its abandonment. The 
 bateaux, with provisions, were unable to pass these obstruc- 
 tions, so the men went ahead with machetes to cut a way. 
 
 It was hard work, and the expedition advanced one day 
 only three-quarters of a mile. In fact, on the fourth day from 
 Lake Okeechobee, their progress had been so slow that they 
 never lost sight of a large cypress-tree standing at the point 
 of their departure from the lake. 
 
 The next morning a survey was taken from the high mast of 
 the bateau. The prospect was one unlimited expanse of tall 
 marsh-grass. They were unable to distinguish where the marsh- 
 grass ended, and instead of ten miles of this grass, which 
 
THK FLORIDA KVKRGLADE:S. 
 
 35 
 
 they had anticipated, the field-glass showed a boundless extent 
 of it. 
 
 By firing the grass in front they made slow headway, and 
 the men were discouraged. Moccasin snakes slipped between 
 their legs as they crawled through the mud ; alligator snouts 
 were at their backs, though they never were attacked by them ; 
 
 Alligators in the Waters of the Everglades. 
 
 the wampee stung them, and clouds of mosquitoes added to the 
 general miseries. 
 
 After two weeks they saw two columns of smoke about ten 
 miles to the southwest, which they understood were made b}^ 
 Indians. Their smokes were quickly answered to the front 
 and westward by similar smokes. 
 
 Four days later they sighted the cypress timber which lines 
 
36 
 
 THE FLORIDA EVERGLADES. 
 
 the western border of the Everglades. That day numerous 
 flocks of ducks and curlews flew overhead, and they killed a 
 supply of them. The next day they entered a basin, and found 
 on its banks five feet square of dry ground, the first seen since 
 leaving Lake Okeechobee. In three days more they reached 
 the first island of the Everglades, and entered the grassy 
 waters which surround it. 
 
 The island is about three miles in extent, and covered with 
 wild fig and custard-apple-trees, with about twenty feet of dry 
 ground. From the top of a high tree they could see hundreds 
 of little islands, divided from each other by grassy waters. 
 There the weary explorers camped, to mend their boats and 
 rest from the fatigue of their toilsome journey. 
 
 The men suffered, too, from leech bites, which pests had 
 fastened upon their legs and feet in the mud. After that the 
 difficulties were over. There was plenty of water for the boats. 
 The islands grew thicker as they went on, and the timber on 
 them was larger. The signal smokes of the Indians were seen 
 constantly, but none approached the expedition. 
 
 There is little dry land on any of the islands, and some 
 are so infested with snakes that the men were not willing to 
 risk a landing. The bottom of the basin of the Everglades is 
 solid rock, and as the men moved on they found this rock 
 beginning to crop out above the surface, and they were obliged 
 to lift their canoes over the ledges. 
 
 At the end of one month they reached Shark's River, and 
 soon found themselves in Whitewater Bay, thus coming out in 
 the Gulf of Mexico, without diverging a mile east or west from 
 their due southern course. 
 
 The result of the expedition proves that the Everglades is 
 an irreclaimable marsh, and for ages to come will remain so. 
 It cannot be drained, the rocky barrier which surrounds it 
 offering almost insurmountable obstacles. No telegraph line 
 can be established or kept up in it, and it is safe to predict that 
 white men will not soon brave its perils. 
 
 M. B. Williams. 
 
A Tree That Builds Islands. 
 
 • Along the low, sandy shores of southern Florida there grows 
 the small, round-headed mangrove, a tropical tree which may 
 well be called a vegetable wonder. It has glossy oval leaves, 
 and grows in shallow water along the shores of the sea, or on 
 muddy or sandy banks that are submerged at every high tide. 
 
 Shortly after the blossoms open in July the seeds ripen, but 
 do not fall off to germinate in the ground, as most seeds do. 
 They sprout at once, but remain on the tree, and send out a 
 long radicle or main root. 
 
 This curious root is about the color of a cigar, but is lighter 
 on the point, or lower end. It sometimes attains a length of a 
 foot or more, and the size of one's little finger, and when the 
 trees are loaded with them, hanging thickly from every branch, 
 the sight is strange indeed. 
 
 When they have received all the nourishment they need 
 from the parent tree, they let go and drop, usually into the 
 water, not, however, until they have formed a leaf-bud and 
 often a pair of shining young leaves. Millions of these man- 
 groves, for they are no longer seeds, but 3^oung trees, may be 
 seen floating about the bays and on the open water along the 
 shores of the southern half of the state. 
 
 Most plants would soon perish cruising about in this way 
 in salt water, but, like an old sailor, no matter which way the 
 wind blows or the tide drifts, they are perfectly at home on 
 the sea. The light-colored end of the root being a little larger 
 and heavier than the other, sinks below the surface, and in the 
 course of the wanderings of our young tree it usually sends out 
 several small rootlets, so that it is ready at once to begin the 
 business of life as soon as it reaches a suitable place. 
 
 By and by it drifts into some partly sheltered ba}^ or in 
 behind a low,, sandy island, and its heavier end strikes the 
 mud in the shallow water. The motion of the waves drills 
 
38 
 
 A TRKK THAT BUILDS ISLANDS. 
 
 the point into the mud, the fibrous roots catch hold, and our 
 wandering mangrove comes to anchor for life, and is as much 
 at home as if it had alwa3'S lived there. 
 
 After the plant is established, the stem grows up erect and 
 rather slender for some distance, when it throws out, from a 
 
 A Mangrove Swamp. 
 
 height of several feet above the water, an air-root, with a point 
 almost exactly like that which the seed had when it was 
 growing on the parent tree. 
 
 This new root arches over and out in an easy, graceful- 
 curve until it reaches the muddy bottom, where it throws out 
 fibres and forms at once a strong buttress for the support of 
 the tree against waves and storms. Other root branches are 
 
A TRnn THAT BUII.DS I.SI.ANDS. 
 
 39 
 
 thrown out in the same way in different directions, each 
 fastening itself in the mud and making a network of braces. 
 
 The tree now, with its low, dense, round head of evergreen 
 foliage, mounted on its odd, stilted roots, bears some resem- 
 blance to a great spider, or granddaddy-long-legs. Nature 
 seems to have created it in one of her humorous moods, as she 
 has done some other things, on purpose to make people laugh. 
 
 Certainly one of these mangroves, seen for the first time, 
 standing high up on its long bow-legs, is a comical sight. It 
 has no trunk where it leaves the water, for it will be found that 
 even in large trees the original stem has increased but little 
 below, though high up above the sea it may become as large as 
 a man's body. 
 
 From the branches other air-roots begin to drop down 
 vertically, like those of the East Indian banian, and anchor as 
 the rest have done, and the tree soon begins to spread. I have 
 sometimes seen an acre of mangroves all tied together by a 
 network of roots and branches, which had evidently sprung 
 from a single seed. 
 
 Nothing could be better adapted to resist the swell of the 
 sea, or heavy storms, as the roots occupy but little space, few 
 of them being more than an inch in diameter ; they are very 
 strong and tough, and brace in every direction. The whole 
 upper growth may bend over and sway about, or even be 
 washed under during a gale, but it is pretty sure to right itself 
 again like a well-ballasted vessel. 
 
 Strangely enough, oysters grow on the roots of this tree, 
 attaching themselves firmly b}^ the lower valve. Sometimes 
 the common cove oysters form in great clusters on the points of 
 these roots, the growth of which they stop, and like strange 
 pendulums swing about, tossed by wind and tide. 
 
 There is something almost uncanny and gruesome about one 
 of these mangrove swamps. The sense of lonesomeness and 
 desolation, the swinging and creaking of the trees as the tide 
 makes in and out, or the wind blows among them, and the rat- 
 tling of the pendent and often shell-laden air-roots, the impure, 
 
40 
 
 A TREE THAT BUIIvDS ISI^ANDS. 
 
 greenish water, and above all a noisome odor that never is 
 absent, and the swarms of mosquitoes that here find a home, all 
 these make it a place to be shunned by every one but a naturalist. 
 
 Mud and debris wash in and accumulate, and in a few 
 years, when circumstances are favorable, the mangrove barrier 
 has been the means of building an island which keeps its head 
 above water except at high tides. Other trees, not quite so 
 aquatic in their habits, now come in and find a congenial home. 
 
 A Mangrove Island. 
 
 More debris is washed in during very heavy storms, and lodges 
 in the almost impenetrable thicket. 
 
 " Trees of one species send up from their roots thousands of 
 quill-like spines, in some places so thick that they almost 
 touch each other ; and these bind the loose soil together 
 wonderfully, and a great deal of rubbish and small drift is 
 caught. From the very first there seems to have been a fixed 
 purpose to build an island, or extend the shore, and everything 
 works with that object in view. 
 
 Even the storms, which sometimes sweep away acres of 
 mangroves and the land they have so laboriously builded, on 
 the whole wash up more than they carry away ; and I have 
 
A tre:k that buiIvDS islands. 
 
 41 
 
 often seen these large trees which had been torn loose by the 
 violence of the sea and thrown up on the beach, or among 
 other mangroves, taking hold and growing as vigorously as 
 though nothing had happened. 
 
 • The mangrove rarely attains a height of over twenty-five 
 feet wherever it is found throughout the American tropics, and 
 as one travels northward it gradually diminishes in size, until 
 it becomes a mere shrub, and finally disappears altogether 
 somewhere in the vicinity of Cedar Keys on the west coast, 
 and in a corresponding latitude on the east side. This is no 
 doubt on account of the increasing cold of winter, as it is a 
 tropical tree and will stand but little frost. 
 
 But, strangely enough, in the vicinity of Rogers River, and 
 at Biscayne Bay on the opposite side of the state, it grows to a 
 great height, sometimes reaching a hundred feet, forming 
 dense forests, and having stems as straight as an arrow and 
 but very few branches. 
 
 These are the only two regions in which such a lofty 
 growth of this tree is known, and at these places it is so 
 different from the ordinary form that some naturalists have 
 taken it for a different species. It is quite durable and resists 
 the action of the boring-shell, so destructive to piling and 
 shipping, better than almost any other wood known. 
 
 From these two regions the trees have been sometimes cut 
 and shipped to Key West to be used in wharf-building, but the 
 labor of getting them out of the forests is immense. Stages 
 have to be built on which the workmen stand to fell them, and 
 it is a great hardship to drag them through the mud and w^ater 
 and tangled roots of the swamps, amidst the swarms of mosqui- 
 toes and sand-flies which everywhere abound and render the 
 lives of the wood-cutters almost unendurable. 
 
 Chari^ks T. Simpson. 
 
Pineapples 
 
 In England and all over Europe pineapples are eaten onl}^ 
 by the few who can afford to raise them in hothouses or pa}- 
 the extravagant prices for which they are sold. So rare are 
 they on the other side of the Atlantic that they are sometimes 
 hired to impart a crowning glory to banquets, where they may 
 be admired and longed for, but not eaten. 
 
 In England a pound, or five dollars, is considered a 
 reasonable price for a hothouse pine, and even in this country 
 as much has been paid for choice specimens of the fruit at the 
 season when they are not in the market. Until 1880 nearly all 
 the pineapples raised for market were grown on the Bahama 
 Islands, whence they were shipped by swift sailing-vessels to 
 New York or I^iverpool. 
 
 To-day the principal pineapple-producing district of the 
 world is in the United States, on a group of five small islands 
 or keys, lying off the extreme southern point of Florida. On 
 them about seven hundred acres are devoted to the cultivation 
 of pines, but from this small area four million five hundred 
 thousand pineapples were shipped to New York in one year. 
 
 The shipment from the Bahamas for the same year was 
 about two-thirds of this amount, while less than a million and 
 a quarter were brought into the United States from other West 
 Indian islands. 
 
 The mainland of southern Florida also produces pineapples 
 in great number. On the island of Cuba the sugar-planters 
 are just beginning to convert their unprofitable canefields into 
 pineapple patches. 
 
 The Bahama pineapples are losing quality on account of the 
 decreasing fertility of the soil, and the growers are turning their 
 attention to other products. On the other hand, the area of 
 pine lands in southern Florida is extended with each year, 
 and such pains are taken in gathering the crop that Florida 
 
PINKAPPI^KS. 
 
 43 
 
 pines, like Florida oranges, now command a better price than 
 any others. 
 
 Pineapple plants, frequently called trees by the growers, 
 rarely attain a greater height than three feet, and are provided 
 with stiff, sharp-pointed leaves like those on the top or crown 
 of a pineapple, except that they are much longer. In fact, 
 the crown of a pine is in itself a perfect plant, and if thrust into 
 the ground under the proper conditions, will bear fruit in 
 eighteen months. The 
 pineapple has no seed, 
 but is propagated from 
 slips or suckers. 
 
 Several slips spring 
 from the base of each per- 
 fected fruit, while the 
 suckers shoot from the 
 bottom of the plant. Each 
 plant produces a single 
 fruit and then dies, but 
 its suckers become bear- 
 ing plants a year later, 
 while its slips, if thrust 
 into the ground, will yield 
 fruit in eighteen months. 
 
 A Pine on the Stem. 
 
 About ten thousand 
 slips may be planted to the acre, and of these two-thirds will 
 bear fruit. Thus the yield of pineapples is about seven 
 thousand to the acre. If the growers could realize one dollar 
 per dozen on every crop, pineapple-raising would rank among 
 the most lucrative of agricultural pursuits. 
 
 But lack of transportation facilities and the dependence of 
 the growers upon commission merchants diminish the profits. 
 The pineapple is perishable, and there are many chances 
 against its reaching a distant market in good condition, 
 consequently it is generally considered best to sell the crop in 
 the field rather than to run the risks of shipment, 
 
44 
 
 pine:appIve:s. 
 
 One year a certain grower sent three ship-loads of pines to 
 England. Two of the ships were so long in reaching their 
 destination that their cargoes were worthless upon arrival. 
 The third made a quick trip, and landed her cargo in good 
 condition. The pines found a ready sale at eleven shillings, or 
 about two and a half dollars apiece, and the lucky shipper 
 cleared all his expenses, including the cost of his spoiled 
 cargoes, and twenty thousand dollars besides. The next year 
 
 he repeated the ex- 
 
 P # ^ periment with two 
 
 cargoes and lost 
 them both. 
 
 The land of the 
 keys on which pine- 
 apples are raised 
 would appal even 
 the heart of a New 
 England farmer, for 
 there is probably no 
 land in the world 
 more rocky that yet 
 produces paying 
 crops. It cannot be 
 worked with plow, 
 hoe or spade ; but it 
 does not need working. As soon as it is cleared of its dense 
 forest growth the pine slips are set out in the virgin soil, or 
 rather rock, and the result is awaited with confidence. 
 
 The planting is done during the rainy season, which 
 includes July and August, and the patch is kept free from 
 weeds for several months, or until it is no longer possible, on 
 account of the thick growth of their spiked leaves, to work 
 among the plants. Then they are left to their own devices. 
 
 A field of pines raised from slips will continue to bear fruit 
 for five years, though after the second year the yield steadily 
 decreases. A patch planted with suckers provides crops for 
 
 The Forest Land. 
 
PINKAPPLKS. 
 
 45 
 
 two years only. After this the land is exhausted so far as its 
 ability to profluce pineapples is concerned, and must have 
 its vitality renewed by the use of fertilizers or be given over 
 to other purposes, while a new territory is provided for the 
 crop. 
 
 This method is the one followed on the keys. Each grower 
 makes an annual clearing of a few acres of forest land, and 
 thus converts it into a pine-producing area. As the keys are 
 small, this process cannot be continued many years ; and when 
 the timcv comes that fertilizers must be used, the soil of the 
 mainland will be as available as that of the islands. 
 
 The cutting of pines for shipment north begins in April, 
 when the earliest of the fruit is full, but at least two weeks 
 before it is ripe. The season closes with the first of June. 
 During this time the great level field presents a most beautiful 
 picture. 
 
 Its whole expanse is a mass of gold, tinted with varying 
 shades of red and green. Here and there it is dotted with 
 clumps of bananas, palms, dark-leaved mangoes and other 
 tropical trees. Surrounding it is a dense forest or hummock 
 growth, that serves as a wind-break. 
 
 The fruit-bearing plants stand so close together, and their 
 aggressive-looking leaves are so interlocked that it seems 
 impossible for any human being to force a passage through 
 their serried ranks. The cutting season is also the beginning 
 of the mosquito season, and whenever a plant is touched 
 myriads of these winged terrors rise from it in blinding^ clouds. 
 
 The sun pours down a fervent heat, and the cooling 
 sea-breezes, that would otherwise sweep the field, are kept from 
 it by the impenetrable wind-breaks. 
 
 Under these conditions, the gathering of pineapples is no 
 easy nor pleasant undertaking ; but few white men can endure 
 the labor. Most of it is performed by burly Bahamian negroes, 
 who have been accustomed to it from their boj^hood. 
 
 Even these men refuse to enter the fields until the sun is so 
 high as partially to abate the plague of the mosquitoes, and 
 
46 
 
 PINEAPPIvES. 
 
 they generally leave off work by four o'clock in the evening. 
 During the cutting season they receive their board and two 
 dollars per day in wages, though at other times they are 
 willing to work at from twelve to twenty dollars per month. 
 
 In the field the laborers wear cowhide boots, canvas 
 trousers, leathern gloves, and often a head protection of 
 
 mosquito netting. In 
 order to avoid as much 
 as possible the dagger- 
 like points of the leaves 
 and the sharp, saw-like 
 teeth that line their edges, 
 the cutters do not lift 
 their feet in walking 
 through the field, but 
 shuffle along, pushing the 
 leaves aside with their 
 canvas-clad legs. 
 
 They are armed with 
 keen, long-bladed knives, 
 and carry large Bahama baskets of a peculiar shape. In 
 these they bring out from four to six dozen pines at a time. 
 
 The fruit that ripens in the field, and is thereby unfitted for 
 shipment, is at the disposal of any one who chooses to cut it. 
 Only those who have eaten a pineapple thus perfected have 
 any conception of its possibilities. 
 
 It is as yellow as an orange and as full of juice. Sugar 
 could not add to its sweetness. It melts in the mouth, and 
 above all it is so wholesome a fruit that any one may eat a 
 dozen in a day, if he chooses, without fear of discomfort. 
 
 In comparison with this perfect, sun-warmed fruit, the pines 
 that reach Northern cities are hard, sour, indigestible, and 
 unworthy the name they bear. They are, however, the best 
 that can be had until such time as railroads find their way to 
 the remote fields of southern Florida. 
 
 Kirk Munroe. 
 
The Purseweb Spider, 
 
 A few years ago I spent an April in Florida upon a plan- 
 tation at the southern end of Merrit's Island, on the Indian 
 River. While wandering through the palmetto grove of my 
 host, keeping a sharp lookout for the living creatures that 
 inhabit the woods, I noticed many ribbon-like strips of soiled 
 silk hung against the trunks of trees close to the ground. In 
 fact, they penetrated the surface. 
 
 These were the nesting-tubes and snares of a species of 
 spider long known as the black Atypus, whose popular name 
 is the Purseweb Spider. 
 
 In visiting Florida I had hoped to determine the life 
 behavior of this animal, of whose habits I knew something in 
 a general way. Here was my chance ! Everywhere in the 
 beautiful park and surrounding groves and jungles I found its 
 tubular structures. Here, against 
 this palmetto - tree, I counted 
 thirteen tubes. Some are large, 
 some are small. The large are 
 half an inch to three-fourths of an 
 inch in diameter, and eight or ten 
 inches high ; the small a few inches 
 long and not much thicker than 
 pipe-stems. 
 
 This is a colony of Pursewebs, 
 young and old, all having found 
 support for their tubes upon one 
 trunk. Almost every sapling that 
 I examined had a similar tube 
 attached to it, the longest that I have seen being fully a foot in 
 length. The first thing that attracts one's attention is that these 
 tubes are almost the color of the tree from which the}^ hang. 
 
 They are attached at the top and at several other points by 
 
48 
 
 THE PURSEWKB SPIDER. 
 
 clusters of silken threads that show distinctly against the bark, 
 being of a steel-blue color ; but all the rest of the tube is so 
 much the tint of the tree that the careless passer-by would be 
 apt to overlook them, or at least to think them nothing more 
 than stems of decayed plants. 
 
 This appearance is not the result simply of the aging or 
 weathering of the web. The spider has assisted the work of 
 
 the elements, for the tube, from the 
 very top to its entrance into the 
 ground, has been carefully covered 
 with particles of sand and bits 
 of vegetable mold and sawdust, 
 brought from the ground beneath, 
 or scraped from the outer surface 
 of the bark. 
 
 Evidently, the intention of the 
 builder of this snare is to disguise 
 its appearance. What can be its 
 motive for doing this ? We shall 
 see presently. 
 
 Meanwhile, let us follow this 
 tube along the base of 'the trunk 
 to its terminus in the ground. 
 We dig away the sand, which is thickly mingled with brown, 
 decaying vegetable mold, and find that the web runs down- 
 ward into the ground for a distance about equal to its length 
 above the surface, but generally a little less. Sometimes one 
 finds a short branch running out this side or that into the 
 adjoining sand, and often a rounded cell or den at the end of 
 the underground tube. Within this den one will be pretty 
 sure to find the occupant of the snare, if he has not hit upon it 
 before. 
 
 It is an odd-looking creature, as it lies bunched up in one's 
 hand. It has a broad chest, widest at the head, two black, 
 curving mandibles or fangs, eight black legs, rather short and 
 stout, with wdiitish rings marking the joints of the limbs, a 
 
 Irtto the Ground. 
 
THE PURSEWKB SPIDER. 
 
 49 
 
 plump abdomen covered with black, furry hairs, and having 
 at the tip four pairs of spinnerets, of which the upper ones are 
 twice as long as the others, and jointed like the legs. This is 
 the Purseweb Spider of Florida. It is half an inch in length or 
 more, if full grown, and of less size down to the little baby 
 spiderling that lives in a tube no thicker than a knitting-needle. 
 
 Curious to know something more of the habits of our 
 Purseweb, and especially to find out how it spins its nest, I 
 gathered a number of specimens and placed them in glass 
 fruit-jars, the lower parts of which had been well packed with 
 sand, and in the centre of which a stick was placed. It was 
 thus intended to give them an environment as nearly like their 
 natural habitat as possible. 
 
 For a while the captive spiders did nothing to satisfy my 
 curiosity. They lounged around their artificial home, and 
 sunned themselves upon the surface of the sand. But at last 
 I caught one of them at work, and solved the problem that had 
 vexed my curiosity. I discovered how the Purseweb Spider 
 builds its tube. 
 
 First she stretched a series of silk lines against the lower 
 part of the stick, fastened at one end to the soil in a half circle, 
 set a short distance from the point where 
 the stick entered the sand. The other 
 ends were carried about an inch and a 
 quarter upward and attached in a like 
 circle to the bark of the twig. 
 
 These threads, to use a familiar illus- 
 tration, looked like a lot of straight bean 
 poles leaned up against the trunk of a tree, 
 their tips touching the bark and their 
 butts placed in a circle upon the earth. 
 
 . ^ The Den. 
 
 These lines were the framework of a 
 tube. The spider next placed herself inside the frame, grasped 
 several threads with her feet, threw her body upward, and 
 set her little spinning factory working. 
 
 Thick filaments of white silk rapidly issued from the 
 
50 THK PURSEWKB SPIDKR. 
 
 Spinning tubes, and as her body moved down and up, down and 
 up, this spinning stuff was beaten against the lines, to which it 
 readily adhered. Then the spider ceased her spinning for a 
 moment, and, moving her long-jointed spinners back and 
 forward over the material already spun, she plastered it down 
 
 and smoothed it over, much 
 after the manner of a mason 
 who is plastering mortar 
 against the lathing of a wall. 
 
 One little patch being thus 
 finished, the weaver moved to 
 an adjacent point and repeated 
 the process already described, 
 until at last she had encom- 
 passed the whole inner surface 
 and covered herself from view. 
 A siniilar stretch of silk was 
 plastered against the stick, 
 
 First Threads. Covered. which UUitcd with the part 
 
 woven against the frame-work 
 lines, and completed the tubular snare. Now I possessed the 
 secret of the spider's handicraft, and it was not long before I 
 was able to determine that the tube is gradually carried up 
 the tree by simply repeating the process already described. 
 That is to say, the tube is built in sections and carried up 
 story after story, until it has reached a height which quite 
 satisfies the ambition of the cunning architect. 
 
 I cannot affirm that this is the only mode of construction, 
 but that it represents the ordinary manner I have no reason to 
 doubt. It certainly shows an admirable method of work. 
 
 One would think that our Purseweb Spider would be quite 
 satisfied with such a structure ; but no ! there is something 
 more to be done. The tube is entirely too white, and perhaps 
 much too sticky by reason of the silken material of which it is 
 composed, to suit the purposes of the architect. She therefore 
 descends to the earth, gathers a pellet of sand within her jaws, 
 
THE PURSKWKB SPIDER. 
 
 51 
 
 remounts her tube and deliberately proceed.s to daub the outer 
 surface with the sand. This process is continued until the 
 exterior of the tube is sanded over. 
 
 Thus it seems probable that the peculiar appearance of the 
 webs is not accidental, but results from a deliberate purpose. 
 As the sand in the groves and woods is mixed so thoroughly 
 with brown mold of decayed leaves, the white appearance 
 of the silk is soon destroyed, and the tube, as it hangs against 
 the tree, has the color of the trunk which supports it. 
 
 If one cuts the tube open, however, he finds that the inside 
 is kept scrupulously smooth and clean. 
 
 Having thus studied the character of the snare and its 
 method of construction, and determined the fact that it is 
 deliberately disguised by being daubed with sand or forest 
 mold, we may ask, What are the uses of this snare, and the 
 purpose of this mimicry ? Why should the spider wish to 
 make her tube look like the tree on which it is supported ? 
 
 If we have patience to sit in the woods and watch during 
 the day, and perhaps also throughout the night, we may find 
 an answer. The trunk of a tree is a favorite highway for 
 insects. All sorts of flies, beetles, and ants are in the habit of 
 passing to and fro upon it in search of food or resting-places. 
 One may sometimes see a column of ants streaming up a tree, 
 and, close by, a similar column streaming down and straggling 
 away into the woods. 
 
 These are foragers who have been to the outmost branches 
 for honeydew, perhaps, and who, having filled themselves with 
 the delicious store, are on their way home to feed the workers, 
 antlings, winged sexes and larvae. 
 
 From such insect travellers the spider secures her prey. 
 See that insect slowly climbing the tree. It straggles, at last, 
 towards the point where the Purseweb snare hangs. 
 
 The web lies almost fiat against the bark and looks so much 
 like it, and feels so much like it to the delicate touch of the 
 insect, that it is no wonder it does not suspect it to be the fatal 
 trap of its hereditary foe. 
 
52 
 
 THE PURSEWEB SPIDER. 
 
 But the spider is well aware of the matter. She is lurking 
 inside her tube with her back against the tree and her legs 
 outspread, lying as motionless and seemingly dead as the bark 
 alongside her tube. 
 
 The unwary insect has reached that part of the snare just 
 over the spider. Swift as thought the eight claws close in, 
 swinging the folds of the tube around the victim, while with 
 equal rapidity the sharp fangs, and perhaps also the claws, cut 
 from the inside a slit into the snare, 
 through which the jaws are thrust and 
 the insect seized. 
 
 The prey is secured, and is dragged 
 into the tube through the opening thus 
 made. When the victim is devoured, 
 the spider proceeds to close the rent it 
 has made, plastering it over with silk 
 and carefully covering with sand the new 
 material used for this purpose, so that it 
 may look like the rest of the snare. 
 
 One English species makes a burrow 
 in the ground and an external tube pre- 
 cisely like that of our Florida Purseweb ; 
 but instead of carrying it along a tree and 
 attaching it perpendicularly to the same, it bends the tube, 
 just after it leaves the burrow, and supports it upon the surface 
 of the ground or tufts of moss, grass or other vegetation 
 growing on the surface. 
 
 An American observer has recently seen a similar mode of 
 trapping prey practised by our Purseweb Spider in North 
 Carolina. When an insect alights upon the tube, the spider is 
 advised of the fact by the agitation of the web, and stealthily 
 creeps up to it. Then she flings the folds of her tube around 
 the hapless victim, slits the snare and drags her prey inside. 
 
 Henry C. McCook. 
 
Corn- Shucking in the South. 
 
 In the times when Southern farms were cultivated by the 
 labor of slaves, it was the custom of the farmers in some 
 regions to assemble their hands during harvest, and to 
 assist one another to gather in their crops, so that the burden 
 might be lighter upon each. The corn stood in shocks, and the 
 ground was covered with the golden pumpkins, only waiting 
 to be made into delicious pies. The trees were laden with ripe 
 walnuts and hickory nuts, and many were the marauding 
 parties of boys that invaded the yellow woods. 
 
 This was the time for the corn-shucking. Large wagons 
 were driven into the field of shocks, each of which usually 
 contained the product of sixteen hills, or a barrel of corn. 
 The appearance of the wagons was a matter of exceeding 
 disgust to the squirrels, who had looked upon this harvest as 
 their own, and of terror to the swift-footed rabbits, eying 
 askance the wholesale capture of their gleanings, to say noth- 
 ing of the timid quails who had hidden in the field from the 
 eagle and the hawk to feed and fatten for the hunter's gun. 
 
 But, quite unmindful of the claims of the previous occupants, 
 the human invaders went on with their work of destruction 
 until the corn was all torn from the stalk and hauled to the 
 scene of action at the buildings. 
 
 Then, when nature had donned her mantle of purple and 
 gold, and the cool air had put life into the veins, the working 
 force of the neighborhood was brought together on a moonlight 
 night, for work, sport and a jolly time. White and black 
 mingled, and every man did his part without regard to race or 
 social standing. 
 
 The corn was arranged in two piles upon opposite sides of 
 a double crib, separated by a space of some ten or fifteen 
 feet, all under shelter in case of rain. At each of these piles 
 one division of the party worked, and there was great fun in 
 
54 
 
 CORN-SHUCKING IN THE SOUTH. 
 
 the choosing of sides. Two captains were first chosen, one 
 for each side ; these two tossed up a coin for the first choice, 
 and then, one by one, the rank and file of the shuckers were 
 selected, beginning with the best and swiftest, and so running 
 down to those who were comparatively no account men and 
 
 boys. The captain was the absolute director of his men, 
 and was to receive a prize if successful. 
 
 When all was ready, the signal to begin was given. Such 
 a falling to as followed ! Songs and shouts kept time to the 
 rattling husks and the flying ears. The husks were thrown 
 back as much out of the way as possible, while the corn was 
 tossed into the crib. 
 
CORN-SHUCKING IN THK SOUTH. 
 
 55 
 
 There was much excitement when the space between the 
 cribs was too narrow for more than one pile, and this was a 
 huge one. In this case a heavy rail was laid across the centre 
 as nearly as could be measured by the eye, and this dividing 
 line must not be touched, upon penalty of losing the prize. 
 
 As the slippery ears were loosened and lessened by the 
 busy hands, the rail toppled. Then the captain's voice came 
 thundering to this or that man, Ned or Bob or Dick, to seize 
 here or catch there ; and at the very last, sly jostlings of the 
 rail to get the smaller half for our side made such uproar as 
 was long to be remembered. 
 
 Meantime the songs rose higher and higher. A favorite 
 song was a certain monotonous air, led by one of the best 
 singers, the entire force joining in the refrain. The words 
 were made up then and there, and the rhymes were endless, 
 every singer improvising his own. 
 
 By and by the last ear was shucked, and one side had 
 won the race. The announcement of the result was the 
 beginning of general rejoicing, even among the beaten, for all 
 had their thoughts upon the banquet in readiness at the 
 farmhouse. The captain of the winning side was lifted upon 
 the shoulders of stalwart men and carried around and around 
 the cribs, amid cheers alike of victors and vanquished, 
 and then the entire party marched to the house in high glee, 
 where the women-folks awaited them. 
 
 Such a feast as here tempted appetites that needed no 
 tempting ! Roast turkey, boiled ham, snowy rolls, fragrant 
 corn-dodgers, hot coffee, delicious pies, rich butter and cool 
 milk made up the main bill of fare, and for dessert a bushel 
 basket of juicy apples stood in the corner. 
 
 By this time the black helpers were at their cabins, enjoying 
 festivities of their own, while the white folks squared them- 
 selves for a dance. Quickly the dining-room w^as cleared ; the 
 squeaky fiddle was taken down, its rickety pegs were oiled, 
 and the dusty strings were coaxed into an inspiring walk-around 
 by the black musician. 
 
56 
 
 CORN-SHUCKING IN THE SOUTH. 
 
 "Turn your partner! Face her now!" shouted the 
 prompter, who must always be a black man if the affair was to 
 go off well. 
 
 At last, when word was given to " cut de pigeon wing an' 
 promenade all! " the floor was a whirl of breathless, panting 
 couples, as the feet flew fast and furious to catch each step the 
 
 In the Cornfield. 
 
 law allowed. Admiring spectators shouted their enthusiasm, 
 and sleeping bats awoke from midnight slumbers to view the 
 wild sport. 
 
 Tired nature at last clamored for her rights, and the roosters 
 were crowing in all the neighboring barns and poultry-houses 
 as the guests dispersed under the paling rays of the moon. 
 
 KuGKNE Southern. 
 
A Southern Village 
 
 Village and Town Improvement Societies are multiplying 
 in nearly all the states. They stand for local education, for 
 society with a purpose, and are one of the promising expressions 
 of American life. They teach the young to become public- 
 spirited and foster local self-respect. 
 
 I stopped for a day at Green Cove Springs, Florida, a town 
 delightfully situated on the St. John's River. It is one of the 
 most beautiful places in the South. It is hewed out, as it 
 were, of the forest primeval ; orange-trees fill the air with 
 fragrance, and mocking-birds sing in the clear sunlight. The 
 town looks out on the broad river through vistas of giant 
 live-oaks, gray with age and streaming with mosses. There 
 was discovered here nearly a century ago a spring of transparent 
 water, which has become famous for its healing qualities. 
 
 The town gives the stranger a most hospitable welcome 
 everywhere. This hospitality is not an outcome of speculative 
 advertising, but was the thought of a single benevolent citizen, 
 carried out by the Village Improvement Association. 
 
 The surroundings of the railroad station have been made a 
 park under these influences, and fenced with the giant logs of 
 the forests, and ornamented with the trunks of cypresses 
 inverted, so as to have the shape of floral fountains. 
 
 These inverted cypress trunks are set into the earth and 
 filled on the top with native evergreens and flowers. Near the 
 station the solitary visitor is arrested by a unique-looking 
 structure, in front of which is a sign-board that bears the 
 following legend : " A Place of Rest and Comfort. A Welcome 
 to our Residents, our Visitors and Strangers. I^adies' Village 
 Improvement Association . ' ' 
 
 On the opposite side of this courteous sign-board is written : 
 " We, the Ladies, bid you Good-by. Come again." 
 
 The visitor to this curious house will at once notice an 
 
58 
 
 A SOUTHERN VIT.LAGE. 
 
 American flag waving from a tall staff, itself a welcome. 
 Inside he will find a library of excellent books and periodicals, 
 free to every one ; beautiful rooms where windows look out on 
 orange-trees loaded with flowers or fruit, or both, that catch 
 the breezes of the river, and that are made musical by the 
 murmur of the pines ; and a polite hostess who will give any 
 
 The Inverted Trees. 
 
 information which may be desired about the town and river. 
 In the rooms above, the boys have an association, where also 
 a band rehearses which they have organized for playing on 
 evenings and holidays. 
 
 On his way the visitor may be surprised to see painted 
 barrels at the corners of the streets. The Boys' Village 
 Improvement Society use these for the purpose of collecting 
 garbage from the public ways, so as to keep the streets clean. 
 Some of these gay barrels have rhymed instructions. Here is 
 one of the ' ' pieces of poetry : ' ' 
 
 My name is Empty Barrel ; I'm here for a meal ; 
 
 Pray fill me up, kind stranger, with trash and orange-peel. 
 
 Hezekiah Butterworth. 
 
St. Augustine. 
 
 Out of a long region of shadowy palm crowns, sunny orange 
 groves, and swamp fields of glimmering palmetto, the train 
 swept into the open country by the sea, and crossed the 
 St. Sebastian. 
 
 What a wonderful change ! There is no other like it 
 anywhere. America seemed to vanish at the river. An 
 Oriental city of airy towers, red-tiled roofs, and acres of palaces 
 half-buried in ancient trees rose before the eye. The Spanish 
 tales of Washington Irving came to life again in memory. 
 Were we looking out upon some conquered Moorish town in 
 the Spain of the conquerors ? 
 
 My head became the region of romance from the moment 
 the turreted roofs and hanging gardens began to fill the eye. 
 The palaces of shell marble before me had arisen since I last 
 saw St. Augustine, as under the wand of an enchanter. 
 
 The train stopped at a long station, and we stepped out into 
 a tropical garden. The railway stations in England are famous 
 for their flower-gardens, but we never saw there any like this. 
 
 I stopped a moment to view the scene before me. The 
 town lay under the quiet blue sky, green with fringes of orange 
 groves. The sky itself was wonderfully beautiful. It was as 
 soft as that of Seville, a delicate blue arch over the luminous 
 air. The balmy Gulf winds just stirred the gray Spanish 
 mosses in the old live-oaks about the town ; pinnacles every- 
 where kindled and blazed ; open balconies and airy corridors, 
 all rising over acres upon acres of red-tiled roofs, and trees 
 eternally green. It was my first view of New St. Augustine. 
 
 " Have a 'bus for the Ponce ? " He Americanized the fine 
 old Spanish word. It seemed like the throwing of a bottle of 
 ink against a masterpiece of tone color. 
 
 My little cousin pulled me forward, and hurried me toward 
 the town. At every step the wonder grew. A long line of 
 
6o 
 
 ST. AUGUSTINK. 
 
 carriages swept ahead of the foot-passengers and travellers, and 
 these were already being welcomed by the Spanish band. I 
 was in the land of fancy again. America had at last produced 
 a poem of mosaic and native stone gems and sea marbles as 
 romantic as the Taj, as lovely as the Alhambra ; it was here. 
 
 Front Entrance to the Ponce de Leon. 
 
 * ' I am told that Flagler spent six millions of money on his 
 hotels, and is going to lay out four millions more. Do you 
 think that he will ever get his money back again ? " 
 
 This was prosaic enough, and clipped the wings of my 
 fancy again. It referred to the man who built the two 
 
ST. AUGUSTINB. 
 
 6i 
 
 principal hoteLs and the Memorial Church. There was some- 
 thing really noble in the answer to the mysterious question 
 which I had heard behind me. 
 
 " I think that Mr. Flagler feels a patriotic pride in what he 
 is doing ; that he is a true American gentleman, and does not 
 consider the matter of gains or losses at all. What he has 
 done is a historic credit to the whole country. A man who so 
 spends his money is a benefactor." 
 
 The Spanish hotel palaces now confronted us, and we stood 
 before the two lions' heads at the gateway to the Ponce de 
 Leon, under the iron portcullis and its beautiful arch of tracery 
 and airy colorings. Could this be America ? We stopped to 
 look around, amid the odors of rose gardens, the flash of foun- 
 tains and the music of mandolins. Courts, turrets, Moorish 
 towers, loggias and cool retreats ! acres of red roofs, with art 
 and beauty everywhere ! 
 
 There was a pull at my sleeve. 
 
 " Let us go up to the Children's Playroom. I want to see 
 the Devil among the Tailors. We shall have time to see these 
 things afterward." 
 
 " But what do you mean by the Devil among the Tailors ? " 
 
 "Oh, don't you know? It is a great game down here. 
 Everybody goes to see it. You spin a steel top on a marble 
 surface, and it goes whirring into a great doll-house, all full of 
 little doors and rooms. In the little rooms the tailors are at 
 work, and the top bounces around until it goes into every 
 room and knocks over all the tailors. Come, and I will show 
 you." 
 
 " But what do I care for a toy game amid all of this 
 magnificence ! ' ' 
 
 " Oh, there is too much of it ! It makes me tired ! I like 
 to see something I can understand." 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith once attracted much attention on a 
 London street until there came along a man with a hand-organ 
 and a monkey. He was then left to pass on unnoticed. He 
 thought the world was very strange and changeable. 
 
62 
 
 ST. AUGUSTINK. 
 
 The Ponce de lyeon's gorgeous courts and rooms all seemed 
 to lose their interest for young people after some genius 
 introduced into the Children's Playroom at the top of the 
 building the very funny game of the Devil and the Tailors. 
 
 I allowed the persistent little hand to lead me on. We 
 passed through the court, — who can describe it ? — through the 
 reception-room, all so bewildering as to be oppressive, amid 
 
 music and flowers and tone colorings, over pavements of 
 beautiful stone. 
 
 Up we went to a room in the rotunda, all beauty and 
 balconies, that looks out on pile upon pile of historic art. I 
 found myself amid a crowd that surrounded the seemingly 
 magic toy. 
 
 Presently a small, bright-looking girl drew the string around 
 the steel top through a hole in the board framework of a little 
 platform of open-topped rooms, so as to give it force. It began 
 to spin on the polished surface. It found its way into the first 
 little room and knocked over the tailor. It bounded around 
 the room until it found the next little door, when it entered 
 and continued its destructive work. 
 
 Rotunda of the Ponce. 
 
ST. AUGUSTINE. 
 
 63 
 
 It went on and on till it entered all the rooms and knocked 
 down nearly all the poor tailors. There was a joyous shout, 
 and the number of the tailors overturned was marked upon a 
 blackboard. It was fascinating, but what was I doing here in 
 a children's playhouse, while I was on such historic ground ? 
 
 There were the landing-place of the poetic old Ponce de 
 Leon ; the scene of the Spaniards' Mission and the Huguenots' 
 suffering ; the historic Matanzas, green with eternal palms ; 
 gray Fort Marion, survivor of so many national changes ; the 
 decayed plantations of the Minorcans, and the shell lands of 
 the Seminoles. 
 
 Here rose the pillar of stone with the arms of France ; here 
 Sir Francis Drake, who plowed a sea furrow around the world, 
 came pillaging the coast and returned thence for England 
 with a ship of gold ; here Menendez reddened the land with 
 noble blood ; here Father Juniper preached and Ribault sang 
 on the River of May, now the St. John's. 
 
 I broke away from the bewildering little game, and went 
 down the bewitching palace stairs. I glanced at the famous 
 dining-room and its panorama, where the exploits and dreams 
 of old Ponce de I^eon appear as if in a vision. Then I went 
 out beyond all the great area of the palace to the Plaza and 
 the old sea-wall. 
 
 The sky was flushed with the sunset, blue and amber and 
 crimson. I had stood on the same place years before, and had 
 seen the same Old Market by the waterside, and the white 
 shaft of the Spanish monument. 
 
 But old St. Augustine was gone. The frost had withered 
 its ancient date palms, and the fire had swept from the Plaza 
 the old cathedral and its cross of bells. Before me lay New 
 St. Augustine, with taller date palms and a grander cathedral, 
 with new spires and towers, and acres of palace-like structures 
 that had gathered to themselves the Spanish and Moorish art 
 of a thousand years. 
 
 I walked along the one grand thoroughfare, St. George 
 Street, northward toward Fort Marion and the city gateway, 
 
64 
 
 ST. AUGUSTINE. 
 
 the only noticeable remains of the elaborate system of 
 fortifications which once defended St. Augustine on three 
 sides. I passed out on the shell road beyond the towers of 
 the gate now dwarfed and humiliated by overtopping modern 
 houses. 
 
 I saw not their humiliation but their proud place in the old 
 wall that ran across the peninsula from Fort Marion to the 
 river St. Sebastian. I saw the deep moat in front, flooded at 
 every tide. I heard the sentinel of the tower warn me to return 
 before the firing of the sunset gun, when the drawbridge over 
 the moat would be raised and the gate shut, and there could 
 be no entrance for friend or stranger till morning. 
 
 The ditch is filled, the long walls are gone, but proud Fort 
 Marion still stands, the. well-preserved and only example of 
 mediaeval fortification in America ; a magnificent specimen 
 of military engineering of its age, but absolutely worthless as 
 a protection in modern warfare. 
 
 Hkzkkiah Butterworth, 
 
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