rare specimens of Floridian curiosities, connected with a well-stocked bazaar, which is filled with all kinds of quaint things either for use or ornament. This is well worth a visit, as, in addition to other attractions, there is a kind of menagerie in the back part of the premises, where wild cats, owls, snakes, alligators, and many other monstrosities are on view. There is a large tank of infant alligators, varying from six inches to a foot long. These are for sale, and are greatly in request. I have seen them bought, packed in thick cardboard boxes with perforated tops, and sent as presents to friends in distant parts of the country, travelling by mail post-paid. I am told that they rarely meet with an accident by the way, but arrive safely at their journey’s end, hungry, but in good condition--a rather unique kind of present, and decidedly embarrassing token of friendly remembrance. For nearly a mile this busy business thoroughfare is lined on either side with shops of every possible description--houses of entertainment and variegated open stores, wine merchants, barbers’ shops, millinery stores, fancy goods; the windows gaily dressed, all aglow with bright colours and glittering ornaments. Elegantly dressed women and gentlemen, the _jeunesse dorée_ of the eastern cities, saunter to and fro. It seems as though a bit of Regent Street had been cut out and plumped down on the skirts of this semi-tropical city. We turn a few steps out of this animated thoroughfare, and are in a perfect elysium; we feel as though we had turned our backs upon the world, and are already on our way to paradise--we forget all about the serpent. Although it is still spring-time, the thermometer reaches to 85°. They tell us that that is the maximum summer heat, and that such weather is most unusual at this early season. The heat that would be unendurable elsewhere is by no means oppressive here; we enjoy a stroll through the shady streets at midday. Though the sun is at its zenith, there is no hot glare of light anywhere, but a soft delicious breeze is blowing--an “east wind” they call it, but it bears no resemblance to the stormy virago who plays that _rôle_ in more northern latitudes, hurling down church steeples, playing bagatelle with the chimney-pots, and, worst of all, attacking with its biting breath poor helpless humanity. In vain mankind buttons its greatcoat, and clasps its warm furs round it, the east wind finds out its weakest place, and plays the devil’s own tune upon its naked nerves, racks its bones with rheumatic twinges, shooting neuralgic pains, making a target of the human body and hitting the bull’s eye every time. Driven out of the open streets, people creep in and cower down at their own fireside, but it follows them, it cannot be kept out by bolts and bars; as subtle and invisible as thought it steals down the throat, gives an evil touch to the bronchial tubes, wrings the liver with a cruel hand, and even spoils the temper, like a