ON THE BEACH AT DAYTONA. 
Tue first eight days of my stay in Day- 
tona were so delightful that I felt as if I 
had never before seen fine weather, even in 
my dreams. My east window looked across 
the Halifax River to the peninsula woods. 
Beyond them was the ocean. Immediately 
after breakfast, therefore, I made toward the 
north bridge, and in half an hour or less was 
on the beach. Beaches are much the same 
the world over, and there is no need to de- 
seribe this one — Silver Beach, I think I 
heard it called — except to say that it is 
broad, hard, and, for a_pleasure-seeker’s 
purpose, endless. It is backed by low sand- 
hills covered with impenetrable scrub, — 
oak and palmetto,— beyond which is a 
dense growth of short-leaved pines. Per- 
fect weather, a perfect beach, and no throng 
of people: here were the conditions of hap- 
piness; and here for eight days I found it. 
The ocean itself was a solitude. Day after 
day not a sail was in sight. Looking up 
