We make our way through a coil of green and are again in the narrow mazes of the mazy stream. Here and there at long intervals we pass a solitary landing-place, which leads by mule-tracks to some sort of civilisation far in the interior. Nobody gets off the vessel, nobody comes aboard. I don’t believe anybody ever does. Why should they, unless they wanted to establish relations with the friendly alligators, study their lives and write their biographies, or be lost in the wilderness? Now we come to a tall pine with a tiny red box impaled upon its trunk, bearing the inscription _U. S. A. Mail_; this is the post office for the convenience of people passing up and down the river. We are the mail, but there are no letters for us to-day. Presently we pass a dilapidated log-hut; its owner, a long-limbed stalwart-looking negro, lounges in the doorway smoking his pipe. He comes down to the boat and receives a hamper of provisions and a bundle of tobacco. He gives us in exchange a bundle of the “vanilla plant”--a weedy growth on the low-lying grounds of the Ocklawaha, and it is largely used to adulterate the cheap chewing tobacco. It is gathered in great quantities by the natives, who derive a very good revenue from the business. Soon there is a general stir, a buzz goes round, everybody crowds to the bow of the boat on the look out for the wonderful “Cypress Gate,” through which we shall soon be passing. Two tall straight cypress trees loom upon our sight; they stand one on each side of the river like lofty Grecian columns supporting a leafy dome above our heads, and framing the earth and sky beyond. So narrow is this natural gateway, that as our little boat glides through it is within an inch of the land on either side. At one o’clock precisely the dinner is served. The cosy little saloon is transformed into a commodious dining-room; the small round tables are drawn out and covered with a snowy cloth and shining glass and silver, while a goodly array of appetising things are set thereon. There are fowls and cutlets, pure and simple, crisp salads, a variety of vegetables, and such a dessert! Such delicious puddings and pies, tarts and _compotes_, quite an _embarras de richesses_ indeed! One wonders how so many gastronomic delights can be conjured out of our very limited surroundings. There are no wines to be obtained on board; those who wish to indulge in those luxuries must supply themselves. Our comforts are well looked after; at six o’clock the tables are again spread with cold meats, ham and eggs, and tea and coffee.