254 THE STORY OF A BIRD LOVER 



a " boom " had set in. Seaside winter resorts, 

 orange groves, pineapple culture, and many other 

 industries and enterprises, formed a seeming basis 

 for a great future. Speedily the wilderness was 

 transformed. Small towns and hamlets dotted 

 the state; scarcely a portion of it had escaped. 



The Gulf Coast, formerly an almost unsettled 

 region, where only seven years before tourists 

 were unknown, was dotted up and down with 

 small towns, separated by intervals of only a few 

 miles. It began to appear as if this seacoast 

 might rival that of New Jersey in the continuity 

 of its panorama of towns and houses. 



Tarpon Springs is situated on a bayou leading 

 out of the Anclote River, not far from its mouth. 

 The land about is high and rolling, and formerly 

 the pine forest reached to the water's edge. 

 About a mile inland is Lake Butler, a very con- 

 siderable body of fresh water. In the town, 

 where most of the pines had been cut down, 

 water-oaks and live-oaks afforded shade, cabbage 

 palmettos were among the common trees, and 

 hedges of oleander flourished wherever planted. 

 In an enclosure, but a few steps from the bayou, 

 we found a little house surrounded by such shade 

 trees and shrubs. The house was new, built of 

 the fragrant yellow pine (the most available wood 

 of the district), and provided ample room for us. 

 It was of one story, and on the whole not unlike the 



