above humanity-a being to be idolized, and looked up to, and prayed to. When such a love is not consummated, the passing away of the illusion is like taking the vital breath from the body; it is like the escape of air condensed by artificial means, which sometimes destroys the vessel that contains it. This sudden change of habit, of feeling sometimes, if acting upon a sickly imagination, destroys life. So that people do die for love, as well as for loss of property, and other misfortunes which take away interest in life, and leave a canker at the heart. But shall we conclude from this, that we may not feel attachment twice? Deprived, by freak, of one object of affection, though we may mourn the loss, if we discover qualities to admire in another, may we not wish to bring ourselves within the sphere of their influence?-to possess them? This is love. Is it inconsistent to have shades of remembrance of past friends? Are we unjust to the present, by reflecting upon the noble qualities of those we have lost? Is not the present possession raised in value, by feeling that it is something really true, and common, and rational, and lasting, that we possess? Young men, mad with wine, and tobacco, and young ladies - nervous from late hours, and tight lacing, and cologne water- may sneer at such reasoning; but we shall find it to be true in life.

There are many incentives to loving. The beauty of the object, the thought that we are beloved, the desire of returning an honorable attachment, the fear of wounding the pride of a delicate girl. I cannot say whether I felt most pleasure or pain, in suspecting that I had gained the affections of Rebecca Bond. If I had thought that she knew me, if she could have known all my weaknesses, and crimes, and faults, and then have loved me, I should have been thankful for her affection. But now she only knew me by present appearances. She was giving her earliest affections, her virgin feelings, to one who had run through the whole catalogue of vices. To not undeceive her, seemed like theft; and yet I could not do it. So that in reflecting upon the subject, I began in earnest to love her.

One evening I was about to start upon a journey to a distant part of the country, on urgent business for her father, and it so happened that we were left alone in the library. I began to talk of my contemplated absence, and to hope she would study a great deal, etc. I looked in her face, and it was suffused with tears. She felt the secret was out. Her simplicity could not save her; and all she could do, was to hide her face in my bosom. What could I have done? Upon the instant I determined to marry her. I saw no other ground I could honorably take. I consoled her grief, cautioned her about her feelings, assured her of my happiness, and said all I should have said, and perhaps more. The next morning I departed.

During my journey, she occupied my whole thoughts, and every stage only increased my passion. How superior,' thought I, 'is the love of this young girl, unaccustomed to the world, to that of the heartless and false doll of dress, whose every word is for effect, and every thought a desire for admiration; who can sacrifice all domestic pleasures, and follow fashion and vice-vice of thought; who lives only in crowds, and is miserable alone; who loves self supremely,

and takes a husband for his carriage and house, and enters into matrimony for the liberties it allows her.' There are such women; the idols of the ball-room, and the belles of watering-places. They enjoy a butterfly celebrity, and then decay early, in mind and body; the victims to fashion, or worse. What thoughts must linger around the bosoms of such women, on their dying beds, as they think of their neglected children, their neglected God! Young men know not what they follow, as they glide on in the wake of the pluméd syren of the dance. They are the false lights which meteors hold out to draw the tumbling ships upon the rocks. They lure us on with music, and the pattering of tiny feet, and their jewelled fingers, and false smiles, and falser hearts; and when the victim is caught, like the veiled prophet, they display their awful hideousness. No, no! Love is found in gentle hearts. It dwells not amid the riots of pleasure; it dies in the glare of splendor, and cannot live in the heart devoted to dress, and weak follies. It is more nurtured in quietness, than in loud applause, or the world's praise. Give me the hardly defined feelings of a young and timid girl, and I leave to you the confessions of the gaudy coquette. Give me the beaming glance of a liquid eye, and I yield the bright and flashing blaze of the proud beauty to others. I would not trust a belle nor a blue. They are each too philosophical in their own way.

His heart would have been cold indeed, that would not have been touched with the proofs of love I received from the gentle Rebecca, on my return. She had grown thin and pale, during my absence. The first time we were alone together, she wished the assurance of my affection, and I gave it to her, as truly as tears now blot the page for her sufferings. I explained to her as much as I could of myself, and warned her to be circumspect. I felt guilty in cherishing this secret attachment, but who can resist the fascinations of woman's love? The good Quaker suspected nothing wrong; and there was nothing wrong; though to be secret, might be wrong. I came to love her extravagantly, and was fast approaching the climacterac of my feelings. Her affections seemed pure from the hand of nature. Like the young bud of the wilderness, human eye had never looked upon her heart. Her heart was a bud blossoming because it was ripe, and I happened to be the first passer-by to snatch its fragrance. Would to God we had never met!

I am drawing near to the end of my story. I have got as far as it can do good for any one to know. Why must I harrow up my own feelings, by telling of the base suspicions that rested upon me? Yes, I was charged by the simple-hearted old man with the ruin of his daughter. The same simplicity that gave me all liberties, now was turned into the opposite scale. A kiss betrayed us.

William Garrets exculpated me, in his own mind, but he could not convince his friend. My eyes were open to the evil I had unconsciously committed. This,' said I, adds another heart, blighted by contact with mine, and one more link to the long chain of my unhappiness.'

"

SHE clung to me as if for life. Suddenly I felt a quivering sensation run through her body, and with a shrill cry of agony, she dropped

dead at my feet. Oh, my God! -the agony of that moment! The old man gave me one pale, wild glance; and the daughter he would not look at while living, he embraced when dead.

I staid in this city long enough for the affair to undergo legal examination, and then departed.. Where?

CHAPTER XVIII.

YES, where! I have traversed many lands, solitary and alone. I have never dared, since that fatal night, when my arms enclosed a corpse, to give or receive friendship. A curse seemed to light upon all associated with me; and it seems that I was born to become a beacon to others; kept alive to endure the buffetings of the storm, and, amid the tempests that well nigh overwhelm it, raising a light to warn off the approaching ship. My story is the light I was made to lift. I have told a long tale, because my approaching dissolution warns me to employ all my remaining strength, (which has been wonderfully preserved, it would seem, for the very purpose,) for the good of my fellow-men. All I can say more, is, let others look to the early years of their children. Let young men look to the early years still left them. Our early years color our whole lives, as surely as the fountain sweetens or embitters the waters of the stream.

THE TRUE HERO.

INSANAS curas, studiumque ignobile vulgi talia, mens horum sobria post habuit; sed quasi per latebras et amæna silentia vallis, innocuam vitæ sustinuere viain.'

OBSERVATIONS

ON THE TIDES OF THE OCEAN AND THE GULF STREAM.'

EY MOSES MOHAWK.

In every operation of nature, which we profess clearly to understand, we may remark that the most striking feature is SIMPLICITY. We find nothing at variance with, or in the least degree differing from, the plainest notions or conceptions of propriety and common sense. And not unfrequently, when we have removed a seeming veil, and unfolded a hidden mystery, our admiration and wonder are excited, as we are made acquainted with the apparently artless means by which Nature accomplishes her works. This is a prominent feature every where, and in every thing. It is this which so powerfully captivates our wondering sense,' and here we may trace the true source of the 'sublime and beautiful.' And yet, notwithstanding these manifestations, men are too much disposed to look to far distant causes of certain effects, when those very causes lie spread before them. Hence we find, that some investigators soar into the regions of space, and others plunge into the bowels of the earth, in search of facts and arguments to substantiate a favorite theory, when the causes they would endeavor to explain, surround them like the air they breathe, and are sometimes palpable to the touch.

The tides of the ocean have been an enigma to learned men through all time, and until within a late period, their movements were a mystery as incomprehensible as the structure of the heavens.

The Newtonian theory is now generally received as unquestionable truth, and is, I believe, the only one that is studied and taught in all literary institutions. Yet it is well understood, that many scientific men have long doubted its correctness, although they yield their acquiescence in its soundness, because no one has yet been found capable of substituting a better. Nor do I believe the secret will ever be revealed to man, so as to be made clearly intelligible, until it shall please the Great Founder of the system to infuse into some one of his humble creatures a double portion of his own incomprehensible and all-pervading spirit.

The theory of the tides, as explained in the present day, is so perfectly plausible, from its strict conformity with certain movements and operations, continually taking place, that few are disposed to call it in question, while most men readily yield it their unqualified conviction. With many, it would probably be deemed a waste of time, if not an evidence of presumption, to doubt its entire correctness, or withhold from it unreserved and implicit faith. To such I would say, I have no desire to disturb or unhinge their settled impressions, and therefore I address myself to those who are not so thoroughly wedded to preconceived and long-established notions, as to believe that no reasonable arguments can be brought forward to show their fallacy, or illustrate any new position.

The grand defence in favor of the prevailing theory, is the uniform action of the tides, in certain latitudes, corresponding with the position of the moon in the heavens, and this uniformity has served to confirm it in the opinion of numerous philosophers throughout the world. Many there are who maintain its unalterable truth; but with all becoming deference, I shall presume to call in question its correctness, and to express my full persuasion of its utter impossibility.

It is evident, to my understanding, that what is strictly a coincidence between the position of the planets and the tides of the ocean, has been interpreted into a law, or agency, of a very different character. There was to be a fulfilment of certain great designs, and this was to be done by simple and natural means, and not by resorting to a process so entirely strange as to be impracticable in itself, and so ill devised as to impeach the wisdom even of the Great Architect himself. In consequence of this coincidence, a most potent agency is ascribed to a secondary planet, at an immense distance, which, in my judgment, is as false in fact as it is absurd in theory. I am thoroughly convinced that no such agency exists, not only from the facts which shall be brought forward, and which are indisputable, but from the plainest analogy, and the evident fitness of things. It is at variance with all the obvious indications and purposes of nature, so far as they are made knwn, and plainly repugnant to the dictates of common sense. Let me but ask, why the power to impart so important and indispensable an impulse, should be placed in a secondary planet, at the distance of two hundred and forty thousand miles, when it could be so much more conveniently and beneficially placed in the primary planet itself? And if the moon must be admitted to exercise so decisive and commanding an influence on the earth, what then must be the influence of the earth upon the moon? for we must suppose the operation to be reciprocal. And if the