Passing by one of these old Coquina homes I saw an old Spaniard sitting in the porch smoking his pipe, while his granddaughter, a bright-eyed brunette, sat rocking her baby by his side, while an immense fuschia tree in full bloom shook out its crimson flowers above them. I stopped to inquire the way to the “city gate.” He rose up, tall, straight, erect to his full height, over six feet, doffed his cap, and with the stately courtesy of his race came down, leaned over the fence, and directed us on our way, adding:-- “You’re strangers, I think? A good many come here nowadays.” We were in no hurry to go on; seeing he was conversationally inclined, we gratified him, and ourselves likewise; we lingered for a pleasant chat--one gains so much in these wayside gatherings. He volunteered some bits of interesting information about the place, about his family, and about himself. I made some touristical observation about the appearance of the city and its salubrious situation, and inquired how long he had lived there. “I was born with the century,” he said, “and I was born here in this very house I live in.” “Why, you don’t look like eighty years of age,” I remark. “No, nor I don’t feel like it, lady,” he answered; “but I’m in my eighty-second year, and I feel hale and strong yet. I’ve lived through some troublous times, too; it hasn’t always been fair weather here in St. Augustine.” Seeing we were interested in anything concerning St. Augustine, and anxious to glean any scraps of information, he opened the gate and invited us to “walk in” and rest. As we were scarcely a hundred yards from our hotel we did not want to “rest,” but we walked in nevertheless and sat down in the porch and prepared for a gossip; it was easy to lead him to talk of the old days, he seemed to enjoy fighting his battle of life over again. “Yes, I’ve seen a good many changes,” he said, warming to his work. “Few men have lived a life out on one spot and seen so much--so many revolutions, things, thoughts, governments and people changing, but the place remaining just the same; there’s been no pulling down old landmarks in St. Augustine, and the wear and tear of time isn’t much. You see the city is all built of coquina, and that is stronger than stone--the older it is the harder it becomes. Yes, I’ve seen the British flag flying from the old fort, the Spanish banner flying; now we are under the eagle’s wing, and the stars and stripes are fluttering over us.” “I suppose you would as soon live under one rule as another?” I venture to say.