FLORIDA AND THE WEST INDIES gi 



soon as you penetrate beyond the salty sway of the 

 ocean into the dreamy hinterland beyond, all Nature 

 exhibits a lifelessness, soothing at the first, but soon 

 oppressive by reason of its stagnation. The low 

 shores of its thousand isles are suffocated in the 

 tortuous embrace of the ghostly mangrove, a vege- 

 table with something reptilian in its habits and 

 appearance. Swamp and backwater, the slimy 

 haunts of snakes and alligators, struggle with sand 

 and salt for mastery in a land of lifeless silence. 

 The quadrupeds are few in variety and shy in 

 showing themselves, and the reptiles remain in 

 hiding through the light of day. Yet, though the 

 inland scenery be jejune, the coast is certain to 

 attract those to whom a holiday is no holiday with- 

 out sea waves in the drawing. 



One great virtue at anyrate Florida has in the 

 holiday diary, and that is the complete lack of the 

 strenuous life so characteristic of the restless cities 

 of the North. This is the land of flowers, where the 

 hammock and siesta and the gospel of manana, a 

 legacy perhaps from the brave days when de Aviles 

 drove French heretics into the sea for the greater 

 glory of his master at Madrid, are part and parcel 

 of the daily life. Dollars are spent here, not made ; 

 and men drift down the sea of life much as their 

 flat-bottomed craft drift down the overgrown 

 Caloosahatchee. The free-and-easy unpunctuality 

 of the railroads suggests travel in the land of the 

 Pyrenees, and there is still less formality in the 

 water communication that plays so important a 

 part in this watery land. Every day, if the captain 

 is so minded, a mail-boat calls among the islands 

 and fish-houses, starting from Punta Gorda and 



