ty on such excursions as they desired
to make. Of course Owen went with the Shepards.

Chloe had made herself so agreeable to the ladies that they desired her
to accompany them on shore. The steamer was in first-rate condition,
and there was nothing for anybody to do but eat and sleep. Mr. Kirby
Cornwood was still sulky because he had not been permitted to pilot the
vessel up from the ocean; but I was not disposed to comfort him. About
four o'clock, it was so quiet on board, I thought I would go on shore
for a while. Washburn was asleep in our room, and I did not disturb
him, for we had all been up till after midnight the night before,
listening to the music, and enjoying the moonlight.

I landed at the boat wharf opposite the Grand National Hotel, on Bay
Street. This is the principal street of the city, and both sides of it
are lined with stores, warehouses, and the principal public buildings.
It extends parallel with the river. At one end of it is the railroad
station and the Grand National; near the other end are the Carlton
Hotel and the Yacht Club house. Nearly all the business of the city is
done on this street.

When the stranger leaves Bay Street he seems to enter another country
in passing the distance of a single square. About all the other streets
are bordered with live-oaks or water-oaks, and every house has a
flower-garden and an orange grove, on a small scale. The balconies and
verandas are loaded with vines, which are in full flower in March. The
air is scented with the fragrance of the jasmine. The sidewalks are of
wood, and the roads are the original soil, which looks like the blue
house-sand of the North.

St. James Park is two squares from Bay Street. All of one side of it is
occupied by the St. James Hotel. In the centre of the park is a small
kiosk, from which one may take in the surroundings. Like all the rest
of Florida, even the fertile orange groves, the soil looks like blue
sand. There are plenty of semi-tropical plants, and the scene is as
unlike anything in the North as possible. In every lot there are
orange-trees, with oranges on them; but they are not the eatable fruit.
They are bitter or sour oranges, which remain on the trees all winter.

The orange-trees blossom in March; and then the air is densely loaded
with their perfume. The leaves remain green all winter; but in the
early spring they begin to put forth new shoots and leaves. The old
leaves are dark green, and the new ones lig