The scenery on either side of the river is picturesque, and rarely romantic throughout; and yet in no single feature does it bear any resemblance to the weird wildness of the Ocklawaha. In many places it is six miles wide, and is seldom less than one; the current is slow, and it moves with feeble pulsations on its course; it is never flustered or stirred to headlong rashness, it creeps quietly, with a grand placidity, round anything that lies in its way, never dashes or tumbles over it; no wind can lash it into fury, no storms disturb its sweet tranquillity; it is more like a long chain of lakes and lagoons, fed from a thousand springs, than a restless river. Perhaps it owes some of its placidity to the fact that it flows the wrong way, and by no human agency can it ever be set right. Unlike the rest of the American rivers, it flows due north; the why and the wherefore is one of Nature’s mysteries. It is always spacious and majestic: here a tiny island with a crown of green foliage studs its surface; there tall reeds and rushes and wide-leaved grasses sway in the slow-flowing current, as though they have wandered from the land, and are trying to save themselves from drowning. Not unfrequently the river rises out of its natural bed and overflows the low-lying banks on either side till the land seems covered with tiny lakelets. All sorts of queer birds, long necked, long legged, long billed, some with snowy plumage, some grey, some with red bills and golden green wings, flamingoes and curlews fly overhead, and solemn-looking storks stand meditating on the watery shore. If we approach too near some of the conglomeration of odd-looking birds throw out their long necks, elongate their unwieldy-looking bodies, rise gracefully and wheel in slow gyrations over our head till they are lost in the distance. So far as the eye can reach there are rolling lands covered everywhere with a dense growth of vegetation, large tracks covered with marshy grasses, and maiden cane, which is a spurious kind of sugar cane, grows to the height of twelve or fifteen feet, and resembles a waving field of ripening corn. Here and there are clumps of dwarf palmettoes, tall pines, dog-wood, and sweet gums, stretching away till they are lost in the distant horizon. Looking back we see the zig-zag of the stream curling and curving in watery hieroglyphics behind us. The whole journey through this long river of many hundred miles is most picturesque and interesting--a constant panorama of tropical scenery and strange animal life. The alligators we see on the shores of this river are much larger than those on the Ocklawaha; they are more shy, too, and don’t let us get near them. We have no chance of studying their physiognomies here, for, as we approach, we see a black mass like an animated tree trunk skurrying and splashing head-foremost into the water. In watching the animate and inanimate life along these shores it is impossible to find a moment’s monotony anywhere.