LETTER FROM PROF. WOOD. 



Tallahasse, Fla., April 25, IBS?. 

 I HAVE visited the great "Wakulla Spring, and seldom have I spent 

 a more interesting day. It lies about fourteen miles southward of 

 this city. The ride thither for the first three miles is over hills 

 of red clay and through the deep, intervening valleys where either 

 a lively stream of water courses its babbling way or a quiet lake is 

 pent up in a basin. The latter feature distinguishes the region in 

 this vicinity. Bodies of water of all dimensions, from square rods 

 to leagues, nestle among the hills, evidently caused by subterranean 

 streams washing the underlieing layer of clay. These hills and 

 vales are of superior quality of soil, and, all around Tallahasse for 

 miles, have been reduced to cultivation, and alternately flourish 

 with crops of corn and cotton. The universal absence of green 

 meadows is here, as throughout the South, noted by the eye of the 

 northerner as a striking deficiency in scenery, more striking in 

 Spring however, than in Summer. Here the forest consists mainly 

 of oak with scattered pines (P. inops and variabilis ). Leaving the 

 hills, at length we again enter the vast "piny woods," or sand- 

 plains, over which lie the remaining ten miles of our journey, 

 with the long-leaved pine ( P. palustris), the true turpentine plant, 

 for our constant companion. During these ten miles we passed only 

 three settlements, that is, three framed houses with the usual sur- 

 roundings of slave cabins — the leading pursuit with all, appearing 

 to be turpentine. The appearance of those dwellings however, al- 

 though so far removed from neighbors, was neat and tidy, both 

 within and without, and seemed the abode of intelligence and 

 plenty. The monotony of the plain was here varied by an unusual 

 feature ; we passed many deep and broad depressions — basins — dry 

 or with lakes often of large extent, — no streams ; foreshadowing the 

 cause of the gigantic spring which we were approaching. At length 

 the last cabin is reached, and we are ready for dinner. Seeing 

 a black wench at the door, my companion (President Peyton, 

 of the Florida College, to whose urbanity I am indebted not only 

 for the pleasures of this day, but for all the attention shown me in 

 Tallahasse, ) addressed her, asking for refreshment. 

 " Massa and Misses not at home," was the reply. 

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