If there is one thing above all others of which we feel justly proud, it is our superb climate. The "glorious climate of California," and the sunny clime and golden skies of Italy bear no comparison with it. It is indescribable, and must be seen and felt in order to be fully appreciated. A Baptist clergyman--Hard-shell--who visited Braidentown last winter, was so fascinated and infatuated with the climate and surroundings that he said he verily believed that he was then nearer Paradise than he ever expected to be again while in the flesh. A timid person occasionally asks, "Are there Indians still in Florida?" A remnant of the once warlike Creeks and Seminoles--scarcely two hundred souls, including males, squaws, and papooses--still have an abiding place on the Caloosahatchee, the Kissimmee, and in the Big Cypress Swamp, south of Lake Okeechobee. They are peaceably disposed, and only mingle with the whites when they visit the country stores to dispose of their peltry and game and replenish their ammunition. Chipco and the elder Tigertail, two of their former chiefs, have been called to the "happy hunting-grounds" during the past two years. The former was a centenarian, having attained the green old age of one hundred and ten years. He participated in the Dade massacre, near Brooksville, in 1835. The latter died by the visitation of God, having been killed by lightning while crossing the Kissimmee in his canoe. The Indians have several negro slaves in their secluded camps, who have never been informed that the Emancipation Proclamation of the martyred Lincoln loosened their shackles and made them free men.