ALONG THE HILLSBOROUGH. 91 



identity, 1 I turned about and protested that 

 I had never seen red cedars before. One, 

 in St. Augustine, near San Marco Avenue, 

 I had the curiosity to measure. The girth 

 of the trunk at the smallest place was six 

 feet five inches, and the spread of the 

 branches was not less than fifty feet. 



The stroller in this road suffered few dis- 

 tractions. The houses, two or three to the 

 mile, stood well back in the woods, with 

 little or no cleared land about them. Picnic 

 establishments they seemed to a Northern 

 eye, rather than permanent dwellings. At 

 one point in the hammock, a rude camp was 

 occupied by a group of rough-looking men 

 and several small children, who seemed to 

 be getting on as best they could none too 

 well, to judge from appearances without 



1 I speak as if I had accepted my own study of the 

 manual as conclusive. I did for the time being, hut 

 while writing this paragraph I bethought myself that 

 I might be in error, after all. I referred the question, 

 therefore, to a friend, a botanist of authority. " No won- 

 der the red cedars of Florida puzzled you," he replied. 

 " No one would suppose at first that they were of the 

 same species as our New England savins. The habit is 

 entirely different ; but botanists have found no characters 

 by which to separate them, and you are safe in consider- 

 ing them as Juniperus Viryiniana." 



