ALONG THE HILLSBOROUGH. 87 
twenty feet above the level of the sea), and 
spent more than one pleasant hour upon its 
grassy summit. Northward was New Smyrna, 
a village in the woods, and farther away 
towered the lighthouse of Mosquito Inlet. 
Along the eastern sky stretched the long 
line of the peninsula sand-hills, between the 
white crests of which could be seen the rude 
cottages of Coronado beach. To the south 
and west was the forest, and in front, at my 
feet, lay the river with its woody islands. 
Many times have I climbed a mountain 
and felt myself abundantly repaid by an off- 
look less beautiful. This was the spot to 
which I turned when I had been reading 
Keats, and wanted to see the beauty of the 
world. Here were a grassy seat, the shadow 
of orange-trees, and a wide prospect. In 
Florida, I found no better place in which a 
man who wished to be both a naturalist and 
a nature-lover, who felt himself heir to a 
double inheritance, 
‘The clear eye’s moiety and the dear heart’s part,”’ 
could for the time sit still and be happy. 
The orange-trees yielded other things be- 
side shadow, though perhaps nothing better 
