Such hastily uttered opinions are no doubt attributable to a bilious temperament or bad digestion. Every season brings a fresh influx of visitors, some in search of health, some in search of pleasure; there is a plentiful supply of both, and each may choose his own fashion of taking it. Some love to lounge on the wide verandahs looking over the perfumed garden of fruits and flowers, enjoying in January the soft balmy breath of June; or they may wander through miles of orange groves, or row upon the quiet moonlit lakes or rivers, or indulge in fishing expeditions up the wonderful “St. John’s,” varying that gentle pastime by shooting wild ducks or alligators. Those who are inclined to enjoy a pure pleasure trip, a ramble through the ancient Spanish cities and modern towns, to take a trip up the Royal St. John’s, or the weird wild Ocklawaha--the most wonderful water-way in the world--may let loose their imagination and go with me, for I am _en route_ for Jacksonville. CHAPTER IX. Pine forests.--Arcadian scenes.--Strange companionship.--We reach Jacksonville. Our road still lies through cities of silent pines, stirred only by the voice of the moaning wind; whole armies of them are drawn up on either side, stretching away as far as the eye can reach. They look as though they have just come out of a great battle: some are crippled and stand tottering on their roots, others hang their lank limbs as though they have not strength to upbear their weight of leaves, and some are standing with huge gashes in their sides, and punctured wounds all over their bodies; their bark is stripped off, and their naked trunks are scarified all over, they are cut and stabbed till their poor veins are drained of their life’s blood. Here and there stands the rough, tumble-down shanty of the turpentine distillers--a hard-working and intelligent set of labourers, who are largely employed in these lonely forest regions, gathering the wealth of these gigantic uncomplaining pines. And how great is the wealth that is gathered therefrom--tar and rosin, phosphate of lime, of soda, of magnesia, potash, and many other important chemicals are wrung from their generous limbs. They give, give, give, till their strength is exhausted; then the distiller moves on and carries the war into another part of the country, while his victims are left to recuperate. But no sooner are they grown strong and vigorous again with renewed healthy life--the sap rising and refilling their empty veins--scarcely have their old wounds had time to heal, when they are again attacked by the ruthless requirements of man. Their sides are cut and stabbed, and once more their veins are emptied, and thus, like dropsical human kind, they are tapped again and again till they are dried up, and have nothing more to give. Their green crowns fall, their arms wither, and they are left to a lonely, though picturesque old age, and are perhaps more admired in the naked grandeur of their decline than