I wonder if I can convey to any one an idea of the Ocklawaha river! It can be compared with no other river that I have ever seen, heard, or read of, and its fairest wonders are at our starting point, Silver Springs. Looking forward I see nothing but a wide expanse of pale green water. Our steamer gives a series of short asthmatic puffs, and we are moving slowly over the surface of the Silver Springs--so slowly we are scarcely conscious of any movement at all. We lean over the side of the vessel, and look down upon a world of wonders; we can hardly believe that it is really water we are passing through. It seems as though all the jewels from all quarters of the globe had been gathered together and melted down, and poured into the great earth hollow we are gliding over. The spring is eighty feet deep, the water so clear that the sweet fairy flowers at the bottom of it seem to lie close at hand; you feel as though you could lean over and pluck one from the bed, which seems to be formed of holes, arches, and deep crevasses of many-coloured rocks; variegated blues and greens and greys, all amalgamating together, beneath the soft rippling water, give it the many brilliant, ever-changing hues, till we feel as though we were sailing through a stream of liquid gems--opals and emeralds, amethysts and sapphires--enough to make gorgeous the purple robes of all the kings of all the earth. Submerged trees are standing tall and strong in this watery world; long ribbon grasses are gracefully waving as though stirred by the breath of some fair floating Undine, and starry white flowers open their blue eyes dreamily as we glide slowly over their silent home. Silver scaled fish dart in and out from among the tall reeds and rocky islets, and infant turtles with their ugly awkward little bodies propel themselves along; while thin, long-bladed fish flash hither and thither like sharp swords wielded by invisible hands, crossing and recrossing, parrying, and thrusting--coming within a hairsbreadth, but never smiting. Our wee craft is only too brief a time crossing this “pool of wonders;” then we seem to be running straight into a wilderness--a veritable bit of the forest primeval--where a tangle of dense “hammock” seems to stop our watery way, but by a sudden turn our little vessel strikes an opening and takes us out of the Silver Springs, and on to the river.