The history of the land is full of romance, from its early discovery by Ponce de Leon, who came hither in search of the Fountain of Youth--that fountain which plays so sweet a tune, and sparkles and flashes a glorious baptism once in every life, and then is seen or heard no more. Men seek for it as a kind of holy grail, but find it not. Ponce de Leon shared the fate of the rest of the world, and instead of finding the Fountain of Youth drank of the bitter waters of death. He was driven back from these sunlands with great disaster, and retired to Cuba, where he died of his wounds, aggravated by disappointment. Deeds of crime, of cruelty, and of treachery, brightened here and there by the noblest heroism of which humanity is capable, mark the annals of Florida. The whole land is aglow with unwritten poetry, romance, and passionate combinations, which, gathered together, would supply the place of fiction for ages to come; but through her many tribulations, quarrels, and martyrdom, she has come out the peaceful, sweet land we see, teeming with the richest fruits and flowers of the earth. But here, even as in the paradise of old, there lurks a whole hydra-headed brood of serpents among the flowers. However, for the present, I must confine my attention to Fernandina. No trace remains of the original city. The houses of the Spaniards and the huts of the natives are all swept away; it is fresh, new, and bright. It has many of the characteristics of Jacksonville, but is much quieter, and there is an appearance of quaint old-world dignified repose about it, which lively, bustling Jacksonville does not possess--the one, in festive dress, is always on the alert for pleasure or amusement, the other is sweetly suggestive of home and peace. The streets are wide and well shaded with fine oaks and magnolias; the pretty houses are generally hidden away out of sight by the luxuriant growth of tropical flowering shrubs, and are surrounded by smooth lawns and gardens. There are no iron rails laid down, no cars running through the Arcadian streets, no traffic, indeed, except the hotel omnibuses, plying leisurely to and from the railway station. The resident population is between two and three thousand, the number of course being largely increased during the winter months. Every arrangement is made for the reception and luxurious accommodation of travellers. The “Egmont” is the finest hotel; it is beautifully situated, palatial in its appointments, and with a fine view of the town and surrounding country, in front of it a pretty little grove of palmettoes.