The forenoon of Tuesday I spent in bidding adieu to some friends on Long Island. The weather was bland and spring-like. No snow could be seen in the vicinity', but an occasional block of ice floated by on the moving tide of the Hudson. Yet nothing seemed to indicate an appearance of mid-winter except the dried flower-stalks', the leafless boughs', and the oblique rays of the sun', laboring unsuceessfully to produce vegetation.

A little past 4 o'clock, P. M., I found myself and baggage on board a comfortable boat sailing up East River', propelled by a spiteful little engine. The great London of America, with its spires, and towers, and steeples', and the many lovely and picturesque seats on Long Island', fast receded from view. I could gaze on the enchanting scenes which I was leaving probably for the last time', and with which I had been familiar for months', without any sensations of regret. Indeed, I was elated at the thought that I was journeying towards " Home, sweet home," and was confident that I should be received under the paternal roof with warm greetings, and an affectionate welcome.

I paced the deck until the sun had sunk beneath the western horizon, and the boat had safely passed Hurlgate. I then went into the cabin with the intention of spending the evening in reading newspapers, writing in my journal', and holding chit-chat with the passengers. The medley of characters with which stages and steamboats are filled, is not always such as would be drawn together by mutual choice. My present design is to exhibit some traits in the character of an individual who was conspicuous, among fifty gentlemen passengers', for loquacity, affability, and intelligence on common subjects. I will introduce him to the reader by the name of Capt. Tipton. He was in the full growth of manhood'-apparently about 40 years of age. I was not long in forming an opinion, from his external appearance, that he was recently from a southern climate', where the sun's burning rays had changed the color of his countenancè, and that he was in the woful habit of taking internally a burning liquid which was not only changing his natural appearance, but was evidently fast undermining his intellectual and physical constitution.

Probably no other one in the company formed the same conclusion, as I was alone in the opinion that my tumbler of water at the tea-table would do me no harm without a little

brandy. Capt. Tipton was master of one of the largest packets that sail between Havanna, in the West Indies and New York'; and, when the events of this narrative occurred, he was traveling to Quebec on some commercial business. Learning this fact, I felt quite sure that he would be my fellow traveler until I arrived at my journey's end. The boat landed at New Haven about midnight. Capt. T. and myself took seats in the same stage', and were soon rolling away at full speed towards Hartford.

During our passage through the Sound the weather had materially changed, and seemed to portend a blustering storm of snow. All our forebodings in this respect were fully realized before arriving at Hartford. The rough northeastern gale, loaded with chilling snow, formed no very agreeable contrast with the mild air we enjoyed the day before in New York. However, it was no time then to talk of summer suns and mild climates. To preserve our single selves from the growing inclemency of the weather while traveling, seemed to be the principal object. Capt. Tipton, who, one month before, walked on the island of Cubá, had the forethought, when in New York', to purchase a cloak, cap, and mittens well lined with fur. Though he was wrapped from top to toe in the very warmest clothing', (which by the way I considered wisdom in him',) yet he was continually shivering, chattering his teeth, and preparing himself for a long and cold journey by frequently heating his vital parts by means of liquid fire, introduced through his "open sepulcher." I have insinuated before, that Capt. Tipton bore the marks of a drunkard. He did so, indeed. He was naturally high minded, gallant and daring-but the luster of virtue shone not in his eye! The hydra, Intemperance, had struck his fangs deep and deadly', and was fast dragging him down to the pit.

We left Hartford before sunrise, and darted up the valley of the Connecticut almost with the speed of a Lapland deer. The keen north wind swept down the valley, and whistled by the coach', in no very pleasant unison with the music of the merry bells. An occasional gust of wind, to clear the coach of the alcoholic exhalations of the sea captain, was, on my part, quite welcome. The intense cold itself, or his cold preventives', had by this time caused the loquacious Captain to become almost a complete mute', and insensible, or indifferent, to every thing except cogniac* and cigars.

*Pronounced co-ni-ac. A kind of brandy.

As regularly as the stage halted at a tavern, Capt. Tipton would not fail to call for these articles, which he used thus freely "to prevent the bad effects of the climate."

He was frequently reminded that his danger from the inclemency of the weather was tenfold increased by his course of management. But all to no purpose. He would mumble out in answer, "I guess I know what medicine does me the most good." My heart bled at his prospect-I wept for his errors. But what could be done'? He was deaf to reason-an independent man in a free country. About 9 o'clock in the evening, as the stage made a short halt at a comfortable looking tavern', our marine passenger was almost benumbed with cold. With the help of the landlord he hobbled into the bar room', and spreading himself before the fire', called for a good mug of flip and a Spanish cigar. I seriously told him that flip, taken into his stomach in the situation in which he then was', would have a very bad effect upon his health'; and very strongly urged him to share with mē a semicircle of excellent mince pie. But he was obstinate, and drank his flip-declaring at the same time', "if such warm stuff as that' wouldn't keep a fellow warm', he'd freeze up." At length we arrived at our lodgings, in a lovely village on the bank of the Connecticut. Capt. Tipton, after having his frozen fingers done up by the landlady', drank a glass of sling and went to bed-how he rested' the reader can judge for himself.

The next morning, before the sun had tinged the snowclad hills, the stage was in readiness to carry us on our way. As I was within 20 miles of home, I was early out of bed', and, being impatient for departure', was the first to take a seat in the coach. "All ready!" cried the driver'—" No, nò, hōld-Capt. Tipton isn't here!" "There he is,” cried the groom', "in the pig-sty', casting up the three glasses of bitters he just drank." "Hallo! Capt. Tipton', are you sick'? and shall I leave your baggage'?" The gallant captain made an affirmative grunt-the driver untied and left his baggage', mounted his seat', reined his horses', cracked his whip-and we were soon out of sight of so disgusting an object.

LESSON LVIII.

OBJECT OF ASTRONOMY.

ASTRONOMY is that department of knowledge which has for its object to investigate the motions, the magnitudes, and distances of the heavenly bodies'; the laws by which their movements are directed', and the end which they are intended to subserve in the fabric of the universe. This is a science which has in all ages engaged the attention of the poet, the philosopher, and the diviné, and been the subject of their study and admiration. Kings have descended from their thrones to render it homagé, and have sometimes enriched it with their labors; and humble shepherds, while watching their flocks by night, have beheld with rapture the blue vault of heaven', with its thousand shining orbs', moving in silent grandeur, till the morning star announced the approach of day.

The study of this science must have been coeval with the existence of man'; for there is no rational being, who has for the first time lifted his eyes to the nocturnal sky', and beheld the moon walking in brightness amid the planetary orbs and the host of stars', but must have been struck with admiration and wonder at the splendid scené, and excited to inquiries into the nature and destination of those far-distant orbs. Compared with the splendor, the amplitude, the august motions', and the ideas of infinity which the celestial vault presents', the most resplendent terrestial scenes sink into inanity', and appear unworthy of being set in competition with the glories of the sky.

When, on a clear autumnal evening, after sunset, we take a serious and attentive view of the celestial canopy'; when we behold the moon displaying her brilliant crescent in the western sky'; the evening star gilding the shades of night'; the planets moving in their several orbs'; the stars, one after another', emerging from the blue ethereal', and gradually lighting up the firmament till it appears all over spangled with a brilliant assemblage of shining orbs'; and, particularly, when we behold one cluster of stars gradually descending below the western horizon', and other clusters emerging from the east', and ascending, in unison', the can

opy of heaven'; when we contemplate the whole celestial vault, with all the shining orbs it contains', moving in silent grandeur', like one vast concave sphere', around this lower world and the place on which we stand'-such a scene naturally leads a reflecting mind to such inquiries as thesè: Whence come those stars which are ascending from the east'? Whither have those gone which have disappeared in the west'? What becomes of the stars, during the day, which are seen in the night'? Is the motion which appears in the celestial vault rêal, or does a motion in the earth itself' cause this appearance'? What are those immense numbers of shining orbs which appear in every part of the sky'? Are they mere studs or tapers fixed in the arch of heaven', or are they bodies of an immense size and splendor'? Do they shine with borrowed light', or with their own native luster? Are they placed only a few miles above the region of the clouds, or at immense distances', beyond the range of human comprehension'? Can their distance be ascertained'? Can their bulk be computed'? By what laws are their motions regulated'? and what purposes are they destined to subserve in the great plan of the universé? These, and similar questions, it is the great object of astronomy to resolve', so far as the human mind has been enabled to prosecute the path of discovery.

LESSON LIX.

BEAUTY IS VAIN.PROVERBS, XXXI. 30.

"UNCLE'," said a sprightly girl of fifteen to a middle aged gentleman who was fastening the padlock on the gate of a grave yard, where the two had been walking for the previous half hour', "uncle', why did the tears run down your cheeks, as we read the epitaph on the tombstone of Ellen Lewis'?"-Mary Green, who put the question', was an uncommonly pretty girl'; and, unfortunately, some one had told her of it, and vanity had begun to throw its corrupting influence over her young heart. Her uncle was therefore ready, (though it revived melancholy feelings',) to relate to her the brief narrative of Ellen Lewis, in the hope that its