For the benefit of those lady-passengers who, perchance, may travel this way, and have never been borne in arms since they were children, we can tell you there are no wharves here, no throwing out of planks, no stopping-places for ladies, between water and land. The vessel sails as near the shore as possible without grounding, and then the passengers on board are carried to _terra firma_. This is done by two sailors, who make a kind of seat by clasping their hands together, after which they receive the living freight. You put out each arm, and clasp your improvised sedan around their necks, to keep from falling. Sometimes one of the sailors is as black as tar; but it makes no difference--"civil rights" is not the question at issue now. You cannot wade, or wet your feet, and they will carry you safely, this being a portion of their duties, for which they are paid. Terrasilla Island is one of those charming spots which all admire, but none can describe. The principal inhabitant is Madam Joe, a German lady, celebrated for her hospitality. Here she came, with her husband, after the Florida war, to occupy lands given them by the Government. An adventure of some kind was then of daily occurrence. Nature poured forth her beauties in solitude, and from the dark recesses of the primitive forest-wilderness were echoed and reëchoed the war-whoop of the Indian, the howl of the jaguar, the scream of the catamount, and the threatening growl of old bruin. The rough hands, stalwart frame, and nut-brown face of this lady, indicate a life to which ease and idleness are unknown. Her home is now transformed from a wilderness to a place which recalls our youthful images of fairy-land. Here you constantly feel as though you were having a beautiful dream, which may be dissipated by some external irruption, and the spell broken. How delightful to any one who has a constant warfare with life to keep himself master of the situation is a visit to this beautiful island, where only the winds and waves strive for victory, and the excesses practiced in refined society are unknown! where orange-trees grow as tall as Lombardy poplars, and are laden with fruit hanging in luxuriant loveliness, designed to delight all those who partake. It is now February; new Irish potatoes, tomatoes, with green peas, and egg-plants, are abundant. Fresh flowers are in their bloom and beauty; the earth is enameled with the white petals of the forget-me-not, in lieu of the snow-banks which cover the ground farther North. Roses of immense size are open, together with verbenas of varied hues, geraniums, salvias, periwinkles, and corkwood-trees, all exhaling their fragrance in the open air. Here in this beauteous bower Madam Joe, after her day's duties are done, walks, with the bright moonbeams shining on her pathway, singing those German patriotic melodies so dear to the heart of every wanderer from the historic shores and vine-clad hills of the River Rhine--thus forming a symphony with the