78 FLORIDA DAYS.

wind which blows the worlds into order and
orbit."
 Here is the conclusion of the old negro, sit-
 ting with vacant face in the sunshine, in the
 crumbling doorway of the "'King's Forge." He
 might not recognize his own thought in the
 broader words; yet it is there. But if it is
 worth while, it is a pity to bear it in a mist of
 dreams; and this flood of noon blurs a man's
 thought, as the opiate fragrance of incense dims
 the aisles of a cathedral. Although, indeed, the
 soul is often too content with sleep even to
 desire a dream simply not to know, and, there-
 fore, not to care, or to suffer,-that seems to
 be the wisest thing in life.
 A white pigeon circles slowly through the
 placid blue depths above, round and round,
 until the eye ceases to follow it, and only sees,
 vaguely, a flash of silver coming and going, that
 soothes like the murmur of a song above a
 cradle. The rippling coo from milky-white
throats of pigeons, swaying and balancing on
the shelf of the cote, the soft gray of their wings
touched with iridescent gleams; the slow swing