bashfully forward contemplating the leap. Some
of her exultant companions, already safe, are
winding their way up and around a defile
beyond; each, with her taper held above her
head. Others are waiting on the ledge, in
tremulous anxiety lest they should be left the
last to grope their way among those gloomy
recesses.

By degrees the lights have vanished, and
only two or three remain, glimmering like sparks
in the profound obscurity. There is yet one
distant chamber to be sought, and away run the
last of the leapers to overtake their unseen
companions. And now they have wandered
far from the mouth of the cave. Already they
have lingered too long, the tapers are flaring
rapidly away, some are already burnt, out, and
others are growing unpleasantly short.
Suddenly the thoughtless throng awake to a sense
of danger. A general cry is raised:

"We shall be left in the dark."

"Take care of your candles."

One, more prudent than the rest, exclaims,
"Blow some of them out, and save them."

Immediately all the party recal the
circumstance of three or four gentlemen having lost
their way, when the cave was not so well
known as now, and spent, I do not know how
many hours, or days, groping about in the
darkness; so, with overmuch promptness, puff,
puff, puff, and out go the candles, one after
another, till a sudden gloom gives rise to
fresh alarm; for now there is equal danger
of darkness with plenty of candles at hand.
Order is at length restored, and the steady
ones of the party having secured a few of
the longest tapers to be kept in reserve, the
giddy pleasure-seekers put themselves in train,
and require no further urging to scramble up
the lovers' leap, and retrace their steps to day-
light.

The extent of this cave is said to be about
one hundred yards, but I doubt if it has been
very accurately measured, or even thoroughly
explored. There are many others of the same
character about the country, to some of which
access can be obtained only from the water.
Several are along the banks of the Chipola
river, and one, said to be very extensive,
opens from a spring, which has expanded into
a small lake, known by the name of the Blue
Spring.

These " clear water ponds" are of remarkable
beauty. The Blue Spring is ten or twelve
miles from the Natural Bridge, and is as popular
a resort of pic-nickians as is the cave just
described.

The inhabitants of Florida enjoy life in a
manner which, in our dewy and misty England,
we should scarcely associate with either health
or comfort. It consists in a custom of " camping
out," or leading, for a time, a gipsy life to
the letter. A family, or several families, with
their attendants, a supply of food and other
essentials, provide themselves with tents, and
form a little social encampment on the banks
of some inviting stream or lake, where they live
for a week or two, amusing themselves with
hunting, or fishing, and growing fat upon the
fruits of their sport; luxuriating in the purest
of baths, and reposing amidst the loveliest
scenes that nature can provide. The one great
drawback to their perfect felicity is the danger
of being, in their turn, devoured by insects,
but the inhabitants either get used to the
insects, or the insects to them; and as their
purpose is enjoyment rather than occupation,
the dolce far niente is not greatly interrupted
by the necessity of perpetual fanning in self-
defence.

No more lovely spot can be imagined than
this Blue Spring, which takes its name from its
deep transparent waters, through which the bed
of bluish or opal-green rocks is as distinct as
in a picture. To sit in a light skiff, and float
down with the imperceptible current of these
waters, is the most magical enjoyment that can
be conceived. Only over the immediate spot,
where, deep down among a cluster of rocks, the
spring oozes forth, is the perfect transparency
of the water disturbed. In every other part
one seems to be floating in mid-air over dark
ravines or smooth masses of white and coloured
rocks. Sometimes their summits can almost be
touched; then as we look over the boat's side, we
seem to be hung in air over a chasm forty or
fifty feet deep, and to the very depths the
smallest objects can be distinguished, washed
clear and clean and beautiful. Aquatic plants,
and the " long moss," with its coral-like rootlets,
and fine pine-like sprays stretching hither
and thither, are expanded into graceful masses
of dark green plumes, gently moved by the
action of the boat, waving, yet almost motionless.
There is motion enough in the current
for pure and beautiful life; a silent though
strong but imperceptible motion, typical of life
itself—fresh, vigorous, young life. If there be
Undines and Water Babies in this beautiful and
unlearned world of ours, they must surely dwell
in that " spring of silvery brightness," amidst
"those resounding crystal vaults, through which
heaven, with its sun and stars, shines in," and
where below " still glitter noble ruins high and
stately, and gently washed by loving waters.
That which dwells there is pure and lovely to
look upon, fairer even than"—the world
above.

Fortunately the banks of this beautiful spring
are firm and rocky, or knotted with the giant
roots of the wide-spreading water-oaks and other
forest trees, up which the trumpet-flower and
honeysuckle climb, and upon whose overhanging
lower branches we can step from our skiff, and
seat ourselves in a natural arbour, from which
there is a view down into a sub-aqueous
landscape of surpassing beauty.

I said that fortunately the banks are firm,
because in Eastern Florida, near another lovely
piece of water called the Silver Lake, a sink
occurred where a party was bivouacking, and
they returned from a ramble to discover that all
their victuals and drink had suddenly gone down
into the bowels of the earth!