April 20.
It is vain to propose and announce subjects from week to week. One must
write what one is thinking of. When the mind is full of one thing, why
go about to write on another?
The past week we have been engrossed by magnolias. On Monday, our friend
D----, armed and equipped with scaling-ladders, ascended the glistening
battlements of the great forest palaces fronting his cottage, and bore
thence the white princesses, just bursting into bud, and brought them
down to us. Forthwith all else was given up: for who would take the
portrait of the white lady must hurry; for, like many queens of earth,
there is but a step between perfected beauty and decay,--a moment
between beauty and ashes.
We bore them to our chamber, and before morning the whole room was
filled with the intoxicating, dreamy fragrance; and lo! while we slept,
the pearly hinges had revolved noiselessly, and the bud that we left the
evening before had become a great and glorious flower. To descend to
particulars, imagine a thick, waxen-cupped peony of the largest size,
just revealing in its centre an orange-colored cone of the size of a
walnut. Around it, like a circlet of emeralds, were the new green
leaves, contrasting in their vivid freshness with the solid, dark-green
brilliancy of the old foliage. The leaves of the magnolia are in
themselves beauty enough without the flower. We used to gather them in a
sort of rapture before we ever saw the blossom; but all we can say of
the flower is, that it is worthy of them.
We sat down before this queen of flowers, and worked assiduously at her
portrait. We had, besides the full blossom, one bud of the size and
shape of a large egg, which we despaired of seeing opened, but proposed
to paint as it was. The second morning, our green egg began to turn
forth a silver lining; and, as we worked, we could see it slowly opening
before us. Silvery and pearly were the pure tips; while the outside was
of a creamy yellow melting into green. Two days we kept faithful watch
and ward at the shrine; but, lo! on the morning of the third our
beautiful fairy had changed in the night to an ugly brownie. The petals,
so waxen fair the night before, had become of a mahogany color; and a
breeze passing by swept them dishonored in showers on the floor. The
history of that magnolia was finished. We had seen it unfold and die.
Our pearly bud, however, went on waxing and opening till its day came
for full perfection.
The third day, our friend again brought in a glorious bouquet. No
ordinary flower-vase would hold it. It required a heavy stone jar, and a
gallon of water; but we filled the recess of our old-fashioned Franklin
stove with the beauties, and the whole house was scented with their
perfume.
Then we thought of the great lonely swamps and everglades where
thousands of these beauties are now bursting into flower with no earthly
eye to behold them.
The old German legends of female spirits inhabiting trees recurred to
us. Our magnolia would make a beautiful Libussa. A flower is commonly
thought the emblem of a woman; and a woman is generally thought of as
something sweet, clinging, tender, and perishable. But there are women
flowers that correspond to the forest magnolia,--high and strong, with a
great hold of root and a great spread of branches; and whose pulsations
of heart and emotion come forth like these silver lilies that illuminate
the green shadows of the magnolia-forests.
Yesterday, our friend the Rev. Mr. M---- called and invited us to go with
him to visit his place, situated at the mouth of Julington, just where
it flows into the St. John's. Our obliging neighbor immediately proposed
to take the whole party in his sailing-yacht.
An impromptu picnic was proclaimed through the house. Every one dropped
the work in hand, and flew to spreading sandwiches. Oranges were
gathered, luncheon-baskets packed; and the train filed out from the two
houses. The breeze was fresh and fair; and away we flew. Here, on the
St. John's, a water-coach is more to the purpose, in the present state
of our wood-roads, than any land-carriage; and the delight of sailing is
something infinitely above any other locomotion. On this great,
beautiful river you go drifting like a feather or a cloud; while the
green, fragrant shores form a constantly-varying picture as you pass.
Yesterday, as we were sailing, we met a little green, floating island,
which seemed to have started out on its own account, and gone to seek
its fortune. We saw it at first in the distance,--a small, undulating
spot of vivid green. Our little craft was steered right alongside, so
that we could minutely observe. It was some half-dozen square yards of
pickerel-weed, bonnet, water-lettuce, and other water-plants, which, it
would seem, had concluded to colonize, and go out to see the world in
company. We watched them as they went nodding and tilting off over the
blue waters, and wondered where they would bring up.
But now we are at the mouth of Julington, and running across to a point
of land on the other side. Our boat comes to anchor under a grove of
magnolia-trees which lean over the water. They are not yet fully in
blossom. One lily-white bud and one full-blown flower appear on a low
branch overhanging the river, and are marked to be gathered when we
return. We go up, and begin strolling along the shore. The
magnolia-grove extends along the edge of the water for half a mile. Very
few flowers are yet developed; but the trees themselves, in the vivid
contrast of the new leaves with the old, are beauty enough. Out of the
centre of the spike of last year's solemn green comes the most vivid,
varnished cluster of fresh young leaves, and from the centre of this
brilliant cluster comes the flower-bud. The magnolia, being an
evergreen, obeys in its mode of growth the law which governs all
evergreens. When the new shoots come out, the back-leaves fall off. This
produces in the magnolia a wonderfully-beautiful effect of color. As we
looked up in the grove, each spike had, first, the young green leaves;
below those, the dark, heavy ones; and below those still, the decaying
ones, preparing to fall. These change with all the rich colors of
decaying leaves. Some are of a pure, brilliant yellow; others yellow,
mottled and spotted with green; others take a tawny orange, and again a
faded brown.
The afternoon sun, shining through this grove, gave all these effects of
color in full brightness. The trees, as yet, had but here and there a
blossom. Each shoot had its bud, for the most part no larger than a
walnut. The most advanced were of the size of an egg, of white tinted
with green. Beneath the trees the ground was thickly strewn with the
golden brown and mottled leaves, which were ever and anon sailing down
as the wind swayed them.
Numbers of little seedling magnolias were springing up everywhere about
us; and we easily pulled up from the loose yielding soil quite a number
of them, wrapping their roots in the gray moss which always lies at hand
for packing-purposes.
The place had many native wild orange-trees, which had been cut off and
budded with the sweet orange, and were making vigorous growth. Under the
shade of the high live-oaks Mr. M---- had set out young orange and lemon
trees through quite an extent of the forest. He told us that he had two
thousand plants thus growing. It is becoming a favorite idea with
fruit-planters here, that the tropical fruits are less likely to be
injured by frosts, and make a more rapid and sure growth, under the
protecting shadow of live-oaks. The wild orange is found frequently
growing in this way; and they take counsel of Nature in this respect.
After wandering a while in the wood, we picnicked under a spreading
live-oak, with the breeze from the river drawing gratefully across us.
Our dinner over, Mr. M---- took us through his plantations of grapes,
peaches, and all other good things. Black Hamburg grapes grafted upon
the root of the native vine had made luxuriant growth, and were setting
full of grapes. There were shoots of this year's growth full six and
seven feet in length. In the peach-orchard were trees covered with young
peaches, which Mr. M---- told us were only three years from the seed.
All the garden vegetables were there in fine order; and the string-beans
appeared to be in full maturity.
It is now five years since Mr. M---- bought and began to clear this
place, then a dense forest. At first, the letting-in of the sun on the
decaying vegetation, and the upturning of the soil, made the place
unhealthy; and it was found necessary to remove the family. Now the work
is done, the place cleared, and, he says, as healthy as any other.
Mr. M---- is an enthusiastic horticulturist and florist, and is about to
enrich the place with a rose-garden of some thousands of choice
varieties. These places in Florida must not in any wise be compared with
the finished ones of Northern States. They are spots torn out of the
very heart of the forest, and where Nature is rebelling daily, and
rushing with all her might back again into the wild freedom from which
she has been a moment led captive.
But a day is coming when they will be wonderfully beautiful and
productive.
We had one adventure in conquering and killing a formidable-looking
black-snake about seven feet in length. He had no fangs, and, Mr. M----
told us, belonged to a perfectly respectable and harmless family, whose
only vice is chicken-stealing. They are called chicken-snakes, in
consequence of the partiality they show for young chickens, which they
swallow, feathers and all, with good digestion and relish. He informed
us that they were vigorous ratters, and better than either terrier or
cat for keeping barns clear of rats; and that for this purpose they were
often cherished in granaries, as they will follow the rats to retreats
where cats cannot go. Imagine the feelings of a rat when this dreadful
visitor comes like grim death into his family-circle!
In regard to snakes in general, the chance of meeting hurtful ones in
Florida is much less than in many other States. Mr. M----, who in the
way of his mission has ridden all through Florida, never yet met a
rattlesnake, or was endangered by any venomous serpent. Perhaps the
yearly burnings of the grass which have been practised so long in
Florida have had some effect in checking the increase of serpents by
destroying their eggs.
As the afternoon sun waxed low we sought our yacht again, and came back
with two magnolia-flowers and several buds.
This week, too, the woods are full of the blossoms of the
passion-flower.
Our neighbor Mr. C---- has bought the beautiful oak-hammock, where he is
preparing to build a house. Walking over to see the spot the other
evening, we found a jungle of passion-flowers netted around on the
ground, and clinging to bush and tree. Another neighbor also brought us
in some branches of a flowering-shrub called the Indian pipe, which
eclipses the sparkleberry. Like that, it seems to be a glorified
variety of high huckleberry or blueberry. It has the greatest profusion
of waxen white bells fringing every twig; and, _blase_ as we have been
with floral displays, we had a new sensation when it was brought into
the house.
Thus goes the floral procession in April in the wild-woods. In the
gardens, the oleanders, pink, white, and deep crimson, are beginning
their long season of bloom. The scarlet pomegranate, with its vivid
sparks of color, shines through the leaves.
We are sorry for all those who write to beg that we will send by mail a
specimen of this or that flower. Our experience has shown us that in
that way they are _not_ transferable. Magnolia-buds would arrive dark
and dreadful; and it is far better to view the flowers ever fresh and
blooming, through imagination, than to receive a desolate, faded,
crumpled remnant by mail.
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