nor uttered a
falsehood. A brick monument, in the shape of a little tomb, with a marble
slab inserted in front, has this inscription:

"In memory of Henrietta Gatlin, the infant stranger, born in East
Florida, aged 1 year 3 months."

A graveyard is hardly the place to be merry in, but I could not help
smiling at some of the inscriptions. A fair upright marble slab
commemorates the death of York Fleming, a cooper, who was killed by the
explosion of a powder-magazine, while tightening the hoops of a keg of
powder. It closes with this curious sentence:

"This stone was erected by the members of the Axe Company, Coopers and
Committee of the 2nd African Church of Savannah for the purpose of
having a Herse for benevolent purposes, of which he was the first
sexton."

A poor fellow, who went to the other world by water, has a wooden slab to
mark his grave, inscribed with these words:

"Sacred to the memory of Robert Spencer who came to his Death by A Boat,
July 9th, 1840, aged 21 years.

Reader as you am now so once I
And as I am now so Mus you be Shortly.
Amen."

Another monument, after giving the name of the dead, has this sentence:

"Go home Mother dry up your weeping tears. Gods will be done."

Another, erected to Sarah Morel, aged six months, has this ejaculation:

"Sweet withered lilly farewell."

One of the monuments is erected to Andrew Bryan, a black preacher, of the
Baptist persuasion. A long inscription states that he was once imprisoned
"for preaching the Gospel, and, without ceremony, severely whipped;" and
that, while undergoing the punishment, "he told his persecutors that he
not only rejoiced to be whipped, but was willing to suffer death for the
cause of Christ." He died in 1812, at the age of ninety-six; his funeral,
the inscription takes care to state, was attended by a large concourse of
people, and adds:

"An address was delivered at his death by the Rev. Mr. Johnson, Dr.
Kollock, Thomas Williams, and Henry Cunningham."

While in Savannah, I paid a visit to Bonaventure, formerly a country seat
of Governor Tatnall, but now abandoned. A pleasant drive of a mile or two,
through a budding forest, took us to the place, which is now itself almost
grown up into forest. Cedars and other shrubs hide the old terraces of the
garden, which is finely situated on the high bank of a river. Trees of
various kinds have also nearly filled the space bet