ciety; and he chose the night
for his lonely excursions on the river, to avoid the presence of man.

Dr. Vaudelier was a benevolent man; and his benevolence was still his
friend. It kept his heart from corroding, or becoming entirely cold. His
professional services he freely gave to the poor "squatter," woodman and
boatman, whenever he could learn that they were needed. The old negro
made frequent visits to the shore to procure provisions and other
necessaries, and informed his master if any of his indigent neighbors
needed his aid. Dr. Vaudelier, as far as he was known, was regarded with
profound respect and affection, and none were disposed to disturb his
privacy when it was understood that entire seclusion was his desire.

Dr. Vaudelier reclined on the cushions in the stern-sheets of his boat.
With an abstracted mind he gazed upon the gloomy outlines of the shore.
Nature in this sombre dress seemed in unison with the gloom of his own
soul. Scarcely conscious of his actions, he managed the boat with the
most consummate skill, avoiding the unseen shoal and the unfavorable
current, but still never allowing the sails to shiver. Far ahead of him
he descried the blazing chimneys of a steamer. It was night, and he was
secure from the prying gaze or the rude hail of the voyagers.

His reflections were gloomy. He reviewed his earlier years. He thought
of his affectionate daughter, who had promised to be the stay of his
declining years, perhaps at that moment a wanderer and an outcast. He
had heard nothing of her since her departure. He had made no effort to
ascertain her fate. He considered his whole course of conduct to her,
the nature of the education he had imparted to her, the example he had
set for her imitation. His reflections were not altogether satisfactory,
and kindled a few compunctious thoughts. The blame had not been all on
the side of the daughter. His misanthropic character was the origin of
some part of it.

Thus he mused, and thus dawned upon his mind the first gleams of
repentance. His melancholy temperament had caused the loss of his
daughter; and, for the time, it grew repugnant. He felt that he was not
living the life his Maker intended he should live.

His meditations were suddenly interrupted by a tremendous explosion, and
he was at once satisfied that it proceeded from the steamer he had
before observed. His supposition was soon verified by the flames he saw
rising from the spot where he had last s