154 FLORIDA 



atout two miles up the tiver northward, to the 

 house where, on my first day at Ormond, I had 

 seen a Cherokee rosebush just breaking into 

 flower. This time it was at the top of its glory, 

 such a glory as I have no hope of describing. 

 At a moderate calculation the mound of leafy 

 stems must have borne four or five thousand 

 roses, every one the very image of purity and 

 sweetness. Those who are familiar with the 

 Cherokee rose will perhaps be able to imagine 

 the picture of loveUness here presented; and 

 such readers will be glad to know that a lover of 

 beauty (not an idle, time-killing tourist, but a 

 man at home and at work), having heard my 

 report of the bush, walked four or five miles on 

 purpose to see it, and declared himself amply 

 repaid for his labor. " The poetry of earth is 

 never dead ; " and there is never wanting some 

 poet's soul to enjoy it, and so to make it twice 

 alive. 



Though it is near the end of March there is 

 comparatively little sign of bird migration. 

 Chuck-wiU's-widows — Southern whippoorwiUs, 

 if one chooses to call them so — have arrived 

 and are abundantly in voice. The nights are 

 scarcely long enough for all they have to say. I 

 hear of a cottager who is awakened by one so 

 persistently and so early in the morning that he 



