FLORIDA DAYS.


filmy bars of cloud against the still, deep blue
of the sky.
 Looking into the woods from the canoe, the
tops of the trees are blurred and dim with
















moss; it seems as though they were wrapped:
in cobwebs; only their great trunks stand clear
and regular in the morning light, with the blos-
soming bushes and the dim procession of the
cypress knees about them. Even when. the,
wind blows, these mossy trees are soundless;
one misses the silken rustle of the Northern
woods, hearing, instead, only a noiseless whis-