<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_16" id="Page_16">16</SPAN></span></p>
<h2>A FLOWERY JANUARY IN FLORIDA.</h2>
<p class="left45"><span class="smcap">Mandarin, Fla.</span>, Jan. 24, 1872.</p>
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<p>ES, it is done. The winter is over and
past, and "the time of the singing of
birds is come." They are at it beak
and claw,—the red-birds, and the cat-birds, and
the chattering jays, and the twittering sparrows,
busy and funny and bright. Down in the
swamp-land fronting our cottage, four calla-lily
buds are just unfolding themselves; and in the
little garden-plat at one side stand rose-geraniums
and camellias, white and pink, just unfolding.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_17" id="Page_17">17</SPAN></span>
Right opposite to the window, through which the
morning sun is pouring, stands a stately orange-tree,
thirty feet high, with spreading, graceful top,
and varnished green leaves, full of golden fruit.
These are the veritable golden apples of the
Hesperides,—the apples that Atalanta threw in
the famous race; and they are good enough to
be run after. The things that fill the New-York
market, called by courtesy "oranges,"—pithy,
wilted, and sour,—have not even a suggestion
of what those golden balls are that weigh down
the great glossy green branches of yonder tree.
At the tree's foot, Aunt Katy does her weekly
washing in the open air the winter through.
We have been putting our tape-measure about
it, and find it forty-three inches in girth; and for
shapely beauty it has no equal. It gives one a
sort of heart-thrill of possession to say of such
beauty, "It is mine." No wonder the Scripture
says, "He that is so impoverished that he hath
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_18" id="Page_18">18</SPAN></span>
no oblation chooseth a tree that will not rot."
The orange-tree is, in our view, the best worthy
to represent the tree of life of any that grows
on our earth. It is the fairest, the noblest, the
most generous, it is the most upspringing and
abundant, of all trees which the Lord God
caused to grow eastward in Eden. Its wood is
white and hard and tough, fit to sustain the
immense weight of its fruitage. Real good ripe
oranges are very heavy; and the generosity of
the tree inclines it to fruit in clusters. We
counted, the other day, a cluster of eighteen,
hanging low, and weighing down the limb.</p>
<p>But this large orange-tree, and many larger
than this, which are parts of one orchard, are
comparatively recent growths. In 1835, every
one of them was killed even with the ground.
Then they started up with the genuine pluck of
a true-born orange-tree, which never says die,
and began to grow again. Nobody pruned them,
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_19" id="Page_19">19</SPAN></span>
or helped them, or cared much about them any
way; and you can see trees that have grown up
in four, five, and six trunks,—just as the suckers
sprung up from the roots. Then, when they had
made some progress, came the orange-insect, and
nearly killed them down again. The owners of
the land, discouraged, broke down the fences,
and moved off; and for a while the land was
left an open common, where wild cattle browsed,
and rubbed themselves on the trees. But still,
in spite of all, they have held on their way
rejoicing, till now they are the beautiful creatures
they are. Truly we may call them trees
of the Lord, full of sap and greenness; full of
lessons of perseverance to us who get frosted
down and cut off, time and time again, in our
lives. Let us hope in the Lord, and be up and
at it again.</p>
<p>It is certainly quite necessary to have some
such example before our eyes in struggling to
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_20" id="Page_20">20</SPAN></span>
found a colony here. We had such a hard time
getting our church and schoolhouse!—for in
these primitive regions one building must do for
both. There were infinite negotiations and
cases to go through before a site could be
bought with a clear title; and the Freedman's
Bureau would put us up a building where school
could be taught on week-days, and worship held
on Sundays: but at last it was done; and a
neat, pleasant little place it was.</p>
<p>We had a little Mason and Hamlin missionary
organ, which we used to carry over on Sundays,
and a cloth, which converted the master's
desk of week-days into the minister's pulpit;
and as we had minister, organist, and choir all
in our own family, we were sure of them at all
events; and finally a good congregation was
being gathered. On week-days a school for
whites and blacks was taught, until the mismanagement
of the school-fund had used up the
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_21" id="Page_21">21</SPAN></span>
sum devoted to common schools, and left us
without a teacher for a year. But this fall
our friend Mr. D., who had accepted the situation
of county overseer of schools, had just
completed arrangements to open again both
the white and the black schools, when, lo! in
one night our poor little schoolhouse was
burned to the ground, with our Mason and
Hamlin organ in it. Latterly it had been found
inconvenient to carry it backward and forward;
and so it had been left, locked in a closet, and
met a fiery doom. We do not suppose any
malicious incendiarism. There appears evidence
that some strolling loafers had gotten in
to spend the night, and probably been careless
of their fire. The southern pine is inflammable
as so much pitch, and will almost light with the
scratch of a match. Well, all we had to do was
to imitate the pluck of the orange-trees, which
we immediately did. Our neighborhood had
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_22" id="Page_22">22</SPAN></span>
increased by three or four families; and a meeting
was immediately held, and each one pledged
himself to raise a certain sum. We feel the
want of it more for the schoolhouse than even
for the church. We go on with our Sunday
services at each other's houses; but alas for
the poor children, black and white, growing up
so fast, who have been kept out of school now a
year, and who are losing these best months for
study! To see people who are willing and
anxious to be taught growing up in ignorance
is the sorest sight that can afflict one; and we
count the days until we shall have our church
and schoolhouse again. But, meanwhile, Mandarin
presents to our eyes a marvellously improved
aspect. Two or three large, handsome
houses are built up in our immediate neighborhood.
Your old collaborator of "The Christian
Union" has a most fascinating place a short distance
from us, commanding a noble sweep of
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_23" id="Page_23">23</SPAN></span>
view up and down the river. On our right hand,
two gentlemen from Newark have taken each a
lot; and the gables of the house of one of them
overlook the orange-trees bravely from the river.</p>
<p>This southern pine, unpainted, makes a rich,
soft color for a house. Being merely oiled, it
turns a soft golden brown, which harmonizes
charmingly with the landscape.</p>
<p>How cold is it here? We ask ourselves, a
dozen times a day, "What season is it?" We
say, "This spring," "This summer," and speak
of our Northern life as "last winter." There
are cold nights, and, occasionally, white frosts:
but the degree of cold may be judged from the
fact that the Calla Ethiopica goes on budding
and blossoming out of doors; that La Marque
roses have not lost their leaves, and have long,
young shoots on them; and that our handmaiden,
a pretty, young mulattress, occasionally
brings to us a whole dish of roses and buds
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_24" id="Page_24">24</SPAN></span>
which her devoted has brought her from some
back cottage in the pine-woods. We have also
eaten the last <i>fresh</i> tomatoes from the old vines
since we came; but a pretty severe frost has
nipped them, as well as cut off a promising lot
of young peas just coming into pod. But the
pea-vines will still grow along, and we shall
have others soon.</p>
<p>We eat radishes out of the ground, and lettuce,
now and then, a little nipped by the frost;
and we get long sprays of yellow jessamine, just
beginning to blossom in the woods.</p>
<p>Yes, it is spring; though still it is cold
enough to make our good bright fire a rallying-point
to the family. It is good to keep fire in a
country where it is considered a great point to
get rid of wood. One piles and heaps up with a
genial cheer when one thinks, "The more you
burn, the better." It only costs what you pay
for cutting and hauling. We begin to find our
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_25" id="Page_25">25</SPAN></span>
usual number of letters, wanting to know all
this, that, and the other, about Florida. All
in good time, friends. Come down here once,
and use your own eyes, and you will know more
than we can teach you. Till when, adieu.</p>
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