File:The Southern states of North America- a record of journeys in Louisiana, Texas, the Indian territory, Missouri, Arkansas, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, Florida, South Carolina, North Carolina, (14577389070).jpg

Identifier: southernstatesof00kingrich (find matches)
Title: The Southern states of North America: a record of journeys in Louisiana, Texas, the Indian territory, Missouri, Arkansas, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, Florida, South Carolina, North Carolina, Kentucky, Tennessee, Virginia, West Virginia and Maryland
Year: 1875 (1870s)
Authors: King, Edward, 1848-1896
Subjects: Southern States -- Description and travel
Publisher: London : Blackie & son
Contributing Library: University of California Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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ritable Florida ^back-country. There is not a house 388 AUGUSTINE BY NIGHT. along the route; hardly a sign of life. Sometimes the roll of the wheels startlesan alligator who has been napping on the track; and once, the conductor says,they found two little brown bears asleep in the run directly in their path. It isnight ere you approach the suburbs of the old city. The vegetation takes on aghostly aspect; the black swamp canal over which the vehicle passes sends up afetid odor of decay; the palm thickets under the moonlight in the distance setone to tropical imaginings. Arrived at the Sebastian river, an arm of the seaflowin<T in among long stretches of salt-marsh clad in a kind of yellowish grass,and inhabited by innumerable wild fowl that make the air ring with their cries,the horse-car stops, you are transferred to an omnibus, brown-skinned Minor-cans and French toutcrs for hotels surround you ; the horn sounds ta-ra! ta-ra-ta-ra ! and you rattle through the streets to the hotel.
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St. Augustine, Florida—An ancient gateway. There is no noise in the town; evening has brought with it profound quiet.As for me, alighting at the Magnolia, in a street as narrow as any in Valenciaor Genoa, I stroll, after supper, into the dark and mysterious lanes. This moon-less night is kindly ; it lends the proper weirdness—the charm which should bethrown about St. Augustine. Walking in the middle of the street, which is over-hung by wide projecting balconies, I detect a murmur, as of far-off music—a soft and gentle monotone. that I hear it clearly, surely it is the rhythm of the sea, and the warm breeze which blew across my face had a smell of the ocean.There is plainly the sound of water lapping on the shore. Ah! here is a half-ruined cottage built of coquina, with a splendid palmetto overshadowing itsremains, and some strange vines which I cannot identify in the darkness,creeping about the decaying windows ! A little farther on, an open plain—andhere an ancient gateway, w

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