58 FLORIDA DAYS.

 pillars crumbling slowly in the white, hot sun-
 shine, have seen quick and nervous lives and
 cruel deaths. The iron gates which used to
 hang between the two coquina towers were
 always closed at night, and fastened with pon-
 derous bolts, so that the little town might
 sleep peacefully within them. How many












 enemies of the King of Spain they have re-
 pulsed when the town was garrisoned by his
soldiers, and how often they have received
and sheltered terror-stricken wretches flying
from the outlaws of the plains beyond!
 A darky goes jolting through now, in a little
two-wheeled cart, full of yellow oranges. He
sings, perhaps, in a full sweet voice, but with a