Last Island was the Saratoga and Long Branch of the South, the
southern-most watering-place in the Gulf. Situated on a fertile coral
island enriched by innumerable flocks of wild-fowl, art had brought
its wealth of fruit and flower to perfection. The cocoanut-palm,
date-palm and orange orchards contrasted their rich foliage in the
sunshine with the pineapple, banana and the rich soft turf of the
mesquit-grass. The air was fragrant with magnolia and orange bloom,
the gardens glittering with the burning beauty of tropical flower,
jessamine thickets and voluptuous grape arbors, the golden wine-like
sun pouring an intoxicating balm over it; graceful white cottages
festooned with vines, with curving chalet or Chinese roofs colored
red; pinnacled arbors and shadowy retreats of espaliers pretty as a
coral grove; and a fair shining hotel in the midst, with arcades and
porches and galleries--the very dream of ease and luxury, as delicate
and trim as if made of cut paper in many forms of prettiness. Here was
the nabob's retreat; in this balmy garden of delight all that luxury,
art and voluptuous desire could hint or hope for was collected; and
nothing harsh or poor or rugged jarred the fullness of its luxurious
ease.

Ten nights before its fragrant atmosphere was broken into beautiful
ripples by the clang and harmony of dancing music. It was the night of
the "hop." The hotel was crowded. Yachts and pleasure-vessels pretty
as the petals of a flower tossed on the water, or as graceful shells
banked the shores; and the steamer at twilight came breathing short,
excited breaths with the last relay, for it was the height of the
summer season. In their light, airy dresses, as the music swam
and sung, bright-eyed girls floated in graceful waltzes down the
voluptuous waves of sound, and the gleam of light and color was like a