Down South by Oliver Optic

The band struck up a lively air as the boat started; and nothing could be more exhilarating than the strains of the music, in the soft sunshine and mild, sweet air of that semi-tropical region. It was March; but the air was like summer. As soon as we had passed the first bend, the St. Johns appeared more like a far-reaching lake than a stream. The river is from one to six miles wide below Pilatka. The shores are never elevated, for there is not a bluff upon it that is more than thirty feet high, while generally the land is only a few feet above the level of the water. The highest elevation near the river hardly exceeds sixty feet.

The country is almost wholly covered with woods, as seen from the river. With the exception of a few villages, hardly a house can be seen from the passing steamer. One seems to be nearly alone with nature while voyaging on this broad tide. The trees are pines and magnolias, and now and then one sees a patch covered with jasmine, the vine of which climbs the trees and shrubs, and blossoms there. There are plenty of flowers, even in the early spring. Compared with Maine or Michigan, where I had spent most of my life, it was fairy-land in March.