90 ALONG THE HILLSBOROUGH. 
distaste, unsocial and almost unmanly, for 
the bitter drinks which humanity in general 
esteems so essential to its health and comfort, 
I was developing new and unexpected capa- 
bilities; than which few things can be more 
encouraging as years increase upon a man’s 
head, and the world seems to be closing in 
about him. 
Later in the season, on this same shell 
mound, I might have regaled myself with 
fresh figs. Here, at any rate, was a thrifty- 
looking fig-tree, though its crop, if it bore 
one, would perhaps not have waited my com- 
ing so patiently as the oranges had done. 
Here, too, was a red cedar ; and to me, who, 
in my ignorance, had always thought of 
this tough little evergreen as especially at 
home on my own bleak and stony hillsides, 
it seemed an incongruous trio, — fig-tree, 
orange-tree, and savin. In truth, the cedars 
of Florida were one of my liveliest surprises. 
At first I refused to believe that they were 
red cedars, so strangely exuberant were they, 
so disdainful of the set, cone-shaped, toy-tree 
pattern on which I had been used to seeing 
red cedars built. And when at last a study 
of the flora compelled me to admit their 
