It is growing late in the month of March, and Jacksonville is not itself, they tell us. A month ago, and the hotels were all crowded, and so great was the influx of people they could not be comfortably housed; fair ladies and fastidious gentlemen were forced into strange quarters, taking their places, like aristocratic stowaways, in garrets, in lumber rooms, or in any hole or corner where humanity can stretch itself and sleep. Such scores of invalids and pleasure-seekers come hither in search of health or amusement during the winter months, that although there are many first-class hotels, and over a hundred and fifty--counting those of a second-class and boarding-houses together--yet even then the accommodation is scarcely enough for the visitors. Everybody flocks to the large hotels; they like the elegantly upholstered drawing-rooms, with their gorgeous decorations and gilded mirrors, the lofty corridors, and, above all, the well-appointed _cuisine_. There are some people who would rather sleep on a shelf with their feet out of the window, like _Alice in Wonderland_, and enjoy these luxuries, than occupy a large airy room with commonplace comforts. During the season Jacksonville is the gayest of gay cities; its hotels are brilliantly lighted, and the sounds of mirth and music float from its open windows; there are concerts, private theatricals, picnics and water-parties, no end of them. The flagging spirits of the invalids are stirred and stimulated by the general gaieties round them; they are driven to forget themselves, and have no time to dwell upon their own ailments, as they are apt to do in their own domestic circle, with anxious sympathising friends around them. Perhaps in the early stages this is well, but in the later phases of disease the necessity of dressing, and dining, and living in public is the heavy penalty paid for such enjoyment. Some, however, seem to think that it is cheap at the price.