That's one delightful thing about Florida--you get to see so many people that you never would see at home. And everybody mixes like candidates! For instance, you may have a mosquito on you one minute that you will see on a Russian anarchist the next. The mosquitoes down there are so big that you can easily recognize their features. And apt as not you'll go in bathing every day with a person _so famous_ when he's at home that he is never invited to dine with anybody that hasn't got monogram china and _pâté de foie gras_. I've noticed that the things people tell about after they come home from a trip depend a good deal on the disposition they carry with them on it. It's the way with Florida. If you're an optimist you'll come back and tell about the palms, roses and sunsets. If you're a pessimist you'll mention snakes, hotel bills and buzzards. The honest truth is there's quite enough of them all to go around. You're impressed with the country from the first morning that you get into it and raise up (half way) in your berth and look out the car window. At first there seems to be a mighty lot of just flat scenery, with tall trees that have all their branches at the tiptop. These trees remind you of pictures of the Holy Land that you used to see in the big Bible your mother and father would give you on Sunday afternoons to keep you quiet while they could take a nap. You begin to think that what you're seeing is too beautiful to be true, though, from the first minute you look out on a blue bay that is deep green in places, and has purple streaks in it. But when you row over to an island all covered with palms and find a strip of beach that has bushels and bushels of tiny shells, that the mermaids used to make necklaces out of--why, nothing on earth but your _feet_ hurting so bad makes you believe it is not a dream! Florida has all the things in it that you see when you shut your eyes and smell a jasmine flower! The climate is fine for the lungs, but very bad on the alimenary canal and curling-iron hair! We stopped at all the points of interest as we went on down. A point of interest is a place that the post-cards tell lies about. Still I do think Florida cards come nearer telling the truth than those of most places, for the country is very nearly as many colors as they make it out to be. Cousin Eunice said she thought sending post-cards was the _one_ melancholy pleasure of traveling, and so I bought a quarter's worth at every place. Traveling _is_ a melancholy pleasure when you have a baby that you won't let drink a drop of water unless it has had the germs all stewed in it. Waterloo is getting to be such a big boy now, too; but he still talks like a telegram--just the most important words of what he wants to say, with all the others left out. He's crazy about foot-ball, chewing-gum and billy-goats. And you just ought to hear him chew gum!