86 FLORIDA DAYS.

 The rim of laughing sea mocks with its un-
changed expanse the promises on the coquina
slabs of endless memory and regret, and con-
duces to trite reflections upon the vanity of


Life. In this forsaken burying-ground, overrun
by hens and dogs, and full of blossoming weeds,
with broken and neglected tombs, the readiest
thought, and for the moment altogether sincere,