he last drop of water had dripped off, and the last series of
circles caused thereby had disappeared, and then, with the care and
delicacy of one who moves about a chamber where some loved one is
asleep who must not be disturbed, he placed his oars gently in the
boat, and sat motionless.

Already Mars had almost reached the tops of the trees along the
western banks, and, attracted by it, Leon gazed upon the planet until
it disappeared. He had been still for ten minutes, and having
recognized that all was quiet about him, and having abandoned his
rowing, he was now mildly surprised to observe that his boat was in a
totally different position; that in fact he had drifted a long
distance. This awakened him slightly from his reverie, for here was a
new bit of knowledge about a body of water with which he had been
acquainted since his earliest recollection. He had never known, nor
even suspected, that in a calm there could be a current. He endeavored
to calculate by observation how fast he was moving; but the task was
difficult. He could readily discern that since abandoning his oars he
had moved a hundred yards, but, however intently he gazed upon the
shores, he could not detect that he was moving. He pondered over this
for a time, and being of a philosophical turn of mind, and fond of
speculating, he likened his position at the moment, to life in
general. However little we suspect it, there is an unseen but potent
energy which urges us forward towards----the grave, and----whatever
follows death.

This idea pleased him for a moment, for the analogy was a new one and
original with himself, in so far, that he had never head it from
another. Quickly, however, returning to the more practical problem, he
determined to find a way to ascertain the rapidity with which his boat
was moving. Placing a fishing-rod upright before him, and then closing
one eye, gazing with the other at a conspicuous object along the
horizon, immediately he could see, not only that he was moving, but
that the motion was more rapid than he had suspected. Having thus
satisfied the immediate and momentary questioning of an inquiring
mind, his previous mental state, his loneliness and desolation,
returned upon him with redoubled force. A moment later, Nature offered
him another abstraction. Looking into the water he saw mirrored there
the reflection of the moon. Not the stream of undulating silver over
which poets have raved these many years, and which pain