a roof of green, and at every turn appear new scenes of
beauty and luxuriance. Occasionally the banks are moderately high, and
we see long stretches of solid ground covered with verdure. There is one
spot where two large trees stand, one on each bank, close to the water,
and the distance between the two is so small that as our boat glides
through this natural gateway there is scarcely a foot of room to spare
on either side.

Although the river is such a little one that we are apt to think all the
time we are sailing on it that we must soon come to the end of its
navigation, we go on more than a hundred miles before we come to the
place where we stop and turn back. The trip up the Ocklawaha requires
all the hours of a day and a great part of a night; and this night trip
is like a journey through fairyland. On the highest part of the boat is
a great iron basket, into which, as soon as it becomes dark, are thrown
quantities of pine-knots. These are lighted in order that the pilot may
see how to steer. The blazing of the resinous fuel lights up the forest
for long distances in every direction, and, as may easily be imagined,
the effect is wonderfully beautiful. When the fire blazes high the scene
is like an illuminated lacework of tree-trunks, vines, leaves, and
twigs, the smallest tendril shining out bright and distinct; while
through it all the river gleams like a band of glittering silver. Then,
as the pine-knots gradually burn out, the illumination fades and fades
away until we think the whole glorious scene is about to melt into
nothing, when more sticks are thrown on, the light blazes up again, and
we have before us a new scene with different combinations of illuminated
foliage and water.

It often happens that during the night our little steamer crowds itself
to one side of the river and stops. Then we may expect to see a splendid
sight. Out of the dark depths of the forest comes a glowing, radiant
apparition, small at first, but getting larger and larger until it moves
down upon us like a tangle of moon and stars drifting through the trees.

This is nothing but another little steamboat coming down the river with
its lighted windows and decks, and its blazing basket of pine-knots.
There is just room enough for her to squeeze past us, and then her
radiance gradually fades away in the darkness behind us.

[Illustration: FORT MARION--VIEW FROM WATER-BATTERY.]

We travel thus, night and day, until we reach Silver Spr