The citizens of Fernandina had recently been having an election for Mayor, and the old ways had been destroyed by the participation of negroes in the election. The violent Rebels of the place were all away in the Rebel army; the loyalists were very glad to be re-enforced by the negroes, and so they had been the first in the United States to exercise the right of suffrage. The Mayor elect, a M. Mot, was an enthusiastic little Frenchman, devoted to the idea that Fernandina might rival the olives of Seville, and that the olive oil of Florida might yet be fully equal to that of old Spain. He had not been sworn in, and so the Chief-Justice performed the ceremony in the little wooden building at the water’s edge—used for the custom house—in the presence of half a dozen witnesses. The little Frenchman may not make a fortune from his olive oil, but he enjoys the pre-eminence of being the first officer elected in the United States by universal loyal suffrage, and of having his election recognized by the highest judicial authority of the nation. The chances of the olive, however, seem to be also good. M. Mot came on board with a little bottle of oil, which he displayed in great triumph. “Bettare oleeve oil dare vas nevare.” And he seemed quite right. The old inhabitants say that every few years the frosts are likely to nip his olives; but we saw orchards of them growing beautifully in the open air, which had never been injured. If he should succeed, he will have added no inconsiderable element to the productive industry of Florida. Fernandina has been held by our troops for a long time, but for over a year the Rebels were just across the Bay, and the pickets of the opposing forces were often separated by only this narrow sheet of water. Mr. Hallett Kilbourn, the Government purchasing agent, has thus found his area greatly circumscribed. He boasts that he has bought enough to pay the expenses of his office, but beyond this his operations are not likely to extend. Rebels are beginning to return, and disputes as to property are already common. Men who find that the Government, while they have been fighting to overthrow it, has used their property, complain bitterly of the injustice with which they are treated; and through the very importunity of their complaints, they are not unlikely to carry some of their claims. A little negro school here, displayed the same rapid progress in the lower branches which has been observed all along the coast. Here, too, the negroes seemed deficient in love for the old masters, to whom we have been told that they were so much attached; and when informed of Jeff. Davis’ capture, spontaneously struck up the same song as at Hilton Head— “We’ll hang Jeff. Davis on a sour apple tree.”