104 
away at a distance over the marshes. ‘There is no 
sound of the morning dove, though he is so often 
heard here tootling out, his song of “ sailor’s. coat’s 
true blue.” The moving smoke through the morass 
is the train speeding on the railway, and there it is 
that the white egrets are on the wing. The glanc- 
ing sunlight tips the salient mountains. We have 
reached the Wherry-wharf, and are in Kingston 
again. 
But what good has the change done me? A 
ereat deal. ‘ Le plus lent & promettre est toujours, 
le plus fidele & tenir,” says Rousseau. ‘The sea- 
breeze is not, however, slow in promising to then- 
valid, and he keeps his word. Aslong as he made 
music for me, my blood circulated with renovating 
power. Afternoon clouds brought scudding rain 
along the mountains, and the wind from the sea 
died away suddenly, and a squally chill blowing 
from the land, would make me cough again. ‘The 
ocean air was always soothing ; the ocean voice had 
always a sound of consolation. Its good work was 
done by degrees, and like work so done it promised 
to be successful; but for a cure Thave come away 
too soon. Friday, 27th April, 1855. 
