and I have no doubt this can be done with great accu- given in our physical systems of astronomy, then the racy-if we can by any means arrive at the exact dis-distance and velocity of Mercury cannot be. This dis tance of the Moon from the Earth--there will be but lit-crepancy or inconsistency, would, however, very natutle difficulty in arranging the electro-magnetic machinery rally grow out of the discoveries of Galileo, and Coperof the Sun and planets, so that the whole of the phe-nicus. Copernicus assumed that the Sun was a stanomena presented to us in the solar system may be tionary body, and he whirled the planets round him, in readily accounted for, even that anomaly discovered in paths returning into themselves. This led his followers the motions of the four bodies between the orbits of to suppose, from the times or periods of the planets, that Mars and Jupiter. they must have different velocities. Now it is very evident, that the Sun being a progressive body, that that progession must limit the progression of the planetsnone can advance ahead-none can be left behind; they must all have the same velocity. The Moon will make twelve revolutions round the Earth, while Mercury makes four round the Sun; Mercury describing pre

Moon describes round the Earth; the Earth and Mercury having the same velocity. This opens the field fully to our view, and we see evidently from the nature of the orbit described by the Moon, that she must move faster in her path than either the Earth or Mercury ; and, therefore, the distance of Mercury from the Sun cannot be, if we assume the distance of the Moon to be rightly given, 37,000,000 of miles. No one will deny that the Moon moves round the Sun with the same certainty, the same exactitude, that Mercury does; and the Sun being a progressive body, Mercury must describe round him the same kind of orbit the Moon

Now, our physical systems of astronomy teach us, that the Moon makes one revolution round the Earth in 29 days, at the distance of 240,000 miles from her primary. They also teach us, that Mercury makes one revolution round the Sun in 87 days. Then three revolutions of the Moon round the Earth, will be performed in the same time, (87 days,) that Mercury per-cisely the same kind of orbit round the Sun, that the formed one round the Sun, leaving out fractions in both cases. Suppose then, for convenience, we place the Moon three times her supposed distance from the Earth, which will be 720,000 miles, and give Mercury his supposed distance from the Sun, 37,000,000 of miles, and use their several velocities as given by the mathematicians, the Moon 70,000 miles an hour, and Mercury 110,000 only. Then so far as time is concerned, the Moon, at 720,000 miles distance from the Earth, would make one revolution round the Earth, while Mercury makes one, at the distance of 37,000,000 of miles, as supposed, from the Sun. The Moon moving 70,000 miles an hour, and Mercury 110,000 only. Here then mathe-describes round the Earth. matical astronomers have blundered most extraordina- Respecting the action of the Moon upon this Earth, rily. But this question having been submitted for the and the nature of that action, I feel confident I shall be consideration of a distinguished mathematical professor, able to demonst rate, that the same force which raises he at once dismissed it, by saying it was "an incorrect the tides, gives to the Earth axillary or rotatory moprinciple to compare a body moving round one, with a tion, and if that force was attractive, it would reverse the body moving round another," without giving any reason whole phenomena of the tides, and give to the Earth why it was so. I will admit, that if the two bodies rotation upon its axis from east to west, instead of belonged to different systems, and existed under differ- from west to east. But what would be much worse ent circumstances, that then it might be considered an it would bring the Earth and Moon together at the incorrect principle. If, "to compare a body moving point where the Moon passes the orbit of the Earth, in round one, with a body moving round another," be an her descent towards the Sun. But my principal object incorrect principle, it must be, because the bodies com- now, is to excite a full examination of the correctness or pared, belonged to different systems. But in this case, incorrectness of the principle of comparing the distance the Sun, Mercury, the Earth, and the Moon, belong to and velocity of the Moon, with the distance and velothe same system, they move in the same direction, city of Mercury, as they are presented to us by the never vary in their times, and are indissolubly bound astronomical mathematician. There can be no statogether. Mercury moves round the Sun-the Earth tionary worlds,-no stationary systems-the whole moves round the same body, and so does the Moon, universe is in motion, and that description of ferce Then if the Moon is 240,000 miles from the Earth, which moves a feather, moves a world. The natural and moves 70,000 miles an hour, and three periods of gravitation of all systems must be counteracted, not by the Moon are equal to one of Mercury, it is evident, a projectile force in a direct line, and a drawing off from that, if there is any truth in figures, in mathematics, or that line, but by a force quite of a different nature: in anything else, Mercury cannot be 37,000,000 of miles such a force as we discover in the action of one magnet from the Sun. Then, if the comparison here made, is upon another. The magnetic phenomena will develope made upon correct principles--and I see no defect-what to us the true nature of the planetary gravitation, and, is the probable distance of Mercury from his luminous also, the true nature of the counteracting forces. leader? The question may be thus stated:

I shall probably offer you for your next number my view of the tides, which will bring before your readers an entirely original theory, founded upon the real facts as they exist, and not as they have been said to exist. The whole of the oceanic phenomena produced by the action of the Moon, have been altogether misrepresented. In thus speaking, I hope I shall not be considered as intending to give offence to any one; my object is revolutionary, so far as our physical systems of astronomy

Now if the distance and velocity of the Moon are rightly are concerned.

really indebted to the physical astronomer for this art; and that gravitation, attraction, and projection, are necessary; and that he could not get on without such supposed forces. But this art was brought into practice thousands of years before Copernicus had an existence, or such forces were even thought of by our modern astronomers. In fact the practical astronomer derives no advantage whatever from what is now called the physical department of the science.

A very distinguished European mathematician seems to be not altogether convinced that the primary object in the creation of the Moon, was to give light to this Earth during the absence of the Sun. Now if he had attended more particularly to dynamical principles, and the nature of the force producing rotatory motion, he would have discovered that there was evidently a force applied to the Earth, which was not applied to the Moon. Then the inquiry would have been, whence this force? He would have seen, and clearly too, that the force which could drive the Earth 68,000 miles an hour in her path, could not be the force that gave her such a slow rotatory motion compared with the motion given her in her orbit. He seems to have had no idea of the true office of the Moon, and which will be shown, in showing the true cause of the tides. I know that the office or agency I give to the satellite, is new-is ori-As color'd and shaped by our hopes and our fears; ginal. But this, so far from constituting an objection, ought rather to excite inquiry, and a thorough investigation of the question. I say that the original design of the Creator, in the creation of the Moon, was the rota-Two beautiful sisters chanced lately to stray; tory motion of this Earth. The light she gives is truly of some importance, but this rotatory motion is still of more importance, and indeed is absolutely necessary to animated nature as it exists here. It may be said that the Moon has still a slower rotatory motion than the Earth, and which is true, and just such a rotation as the Earth would have had, if she had been left without the agency of her Moon. The projectile force of astronomers must strike the planet equally, and therefore could not give rotatory motion; and their gravitation must also affect or act upon the planet equally, and of course neither force could give axillary motion;-to give axillary or rotatory motion, the planet must be acted upon unequally and obliquely. Then, as the projection and gravitation of our physical astronomers, can neither of them act both equally and unequally at the same time, they can have no agency in producing rotatory or axillary motion. It may be replied to this, however, that the Moon has herself this axillary motion, and that she has no agent to give her such a motion independent of the projection and gravitation of our physical astronomers. To show how this is effected, the electro magnetic machinery, which wields the planets in their courses, must be brought into view. This, however, will require diagrams showing how this material is applied, and which cannot here be given.

MEMORY, FANCY, AND LOVE.

'Tis to Mem'ry and Fancy that mortals most owe
The good or the evil they meet with below:
For Memory's mirror reflects back again
The image of every past pleasure or pain;
And in Fancy's strange prism the future appears,
From the first dawn of thought to life's latest hour,
What mortal has felt not their magical power?

Near those fountains where Pleasure and Fashion bear sway,

But my principal object in offering for the Messenger this paper, is to have the question, whether the distance of the Moon from the Earth, and her velocity in her path, furnishes "correct" data for ascertaining the probable distance of Mercury from the Sun; Mercury making one revolution round the Sun, in the same time that the Moon makes three round the Earth. If I am correct in this, the distances and velocities of the planets, as heretofore given, cannot be true; and I will show that the Earth itself is not more than 5,000,000 of miles from the Sun, instead of 95,000,000; and that Jupiter is not more than 55,000,000 from the same body, and that he moves with the same velocity that Mercury, Venus, the Earth and Mars do. This will bring the field occupied by our solar system within reasonable bounds. I will conclude this paper by remarking that because the practical astronomer predicts transits, eclipses, &c, many suppose that he is

Though the damsels were equal in beauty and grace,
They differed in stature, in form, and in face.
The one who seem'd eldest was larger and taller,
And so sober and staid you a matron would call her:
Her robe was all chequer'd and pale in its hue;
On her arm she exhibits a mirror to view,
The reflection of which she so managed to cast,
One sees imaged there all the scenes she has past.

The one who was younger, with form light and airy,

Displays all the grace of a sylph or a fairy:

Than her vest you could nothing more splendid behold,
Twas crimson and azure, embroider'd with gold.
A prism of crystal her bosom displays,
Through which she would often in ecstacy gaze;
But at times after seeming entranc'd with delight,
From the shapes that she sees she will turn with affright.

A child lying naked and sick on the ground;
Though now he was friendless, neglected, forlorn,
To happier fortunes he seem'd to be born.
His eye, altho' hollow, emitted such rays,
As only can flash from passion's strong blaze;
Where beauty and health in one current had flow'd.

As they rambled along, in a pathway they found

And his cheeks, though so sunken, in color still show'd

All their cares to revive and to cherish the boy :
Awakened to pity, the sisters employ
By turns to their bosoms the infant they press,
When they saw that their efforts were promis'd success.
So prudent their nursery, so ceaseless their pains,
The boy all his beauty completely regains;
His limbs became plump, and his cheeks now disclose

Both joy's laughing dimple and health's blooming rose.
Then so quick was his step, so elastic his bound,
His feet hardly seem'd to alight on the ground;
But the archness and slyness that lurk'd in his eyes,
Show'd a temper for mischief the sisters surmise.

The urchin, ungrateful their cares to requite,
In the mirror first looks-through the prism then gazes,
Soon tasks the two sisters from morning till night:
As his object's the past or the future's bright phases:
Each by-gone delight now with rapture beholds;
Then hope's lovely hues, which the prism unfolds,
If some frightful shape should here meet his sight,
To the mirror he turns for remembered delight;
Or if some clouded spot in the mirror arise,
To the beautiful tints of the prism he flies.
These signs were together sufficient to prove
To the sisters the child they had cherish'd was Love;

Twas to Fancy and Mem'ry his life he had owed.
As the symbols they wore had in like manner show'd
Thus, if they nurse the Passions, the Passions again
Over Fancy and Memory triumphantly reign,

The evening was closing in, and the mysterious twilight was beginning to envelope every object in its misty veil. The hour most dear to the dreaming and poetic mind, is that between sunset and the falling of night: the indistinct and imperfect outlines suggest a thousand visions as flitting and unreal as the shadows before us. The happy love that hour, for then fancy has full sway, and bright and gorgeous is the future which she pictures forth the wretched love it, because the quiet and dream-like repose of nature allows them leisure to brood over the past, and recall the image of the being whose presence was the sunshine of their existence to remember a bright and happy face, or the tones of a glad voice which once was the music of their home.

ness-his pride must yield. Ah! my beloved Sidney," she continued, unclosing a miniature case, and gazing fondly on the picture which it contained, "Heaven has stamped upon that brow its own seal of nobility, and who shall dare to say that thou art not a match for the envied heiress."

As Lucile stood with her earnest gaze fixed on the face which had become to her young heart its beau-ideal, her lovely features borrowed an additional charm from the pensive expression which stole over them. The massy folds of raven hair were parted over a low, broad brow, and knotted at the back of the head, so as to display the whole of a beautiful face and throat. The features were of the purest Grecian mould, but the exquisitely curved lips and large lustrous eyes, gave more expression to the countenance than is usually found in the most perfect copies of the loveliness of the far famed daughters of Greece.

"My own Lucile," murmured a low voice at her elbow; and her pale face flushed even to the temples, as she met the eyes of the original of that picture, on which she had been so abstractedly gazing. And never did woman yield her love to one whose outward form was better calculated to win it. A tall, stately figure, with a face whose every feature was strictly beautiful; yet no one would have thought of calling it effeminate: the large clear eyes were filled with light from the spirit within, and the intellectual brow redeemed it from the possibility of having such an epithet applied to it. It was a face which breathed of

The day had been intensely hot; a slight breeze was just beginning to crisp the surface of the ocean, and the murmur of the waves as they genius-passion—truth. broke in ripples on the beach, came with a lulling sound to the ear of Lucile Montressor, as she leaned from the balcony in front of her window. A servant entered the chamber, and lit the crystal-lamp, which stood on a table in the centre of the room. Lucile turned and exclaimed

Quickly recovering from her confusion, Lucile exclaimed

"Ah! Agnes, why did you bring that odious light? It has destroyed the brightest dream that ever moon-struck fancy mirrored forth."

"'Deed, Miss Lucile," said the girl; "if de dream made you so pale and ghost-like, it could'nt be such a one as is very pleasin' for a young lady like you. Look at yourself in de glass, and see if you isn't more like a corpse than a livin' lady."

Lucile threw herself on a sofa, and motioned her attendant to leave her. "Let me know," said she, “when my father returns-I wish to see him immediately."

"Yes, ma'am," responded Agnes, and in another instant Miss Montressor was alone. Starting up, and pressing her hands on her temples, she exclaimed

"Have you seen my father? Tell me in a word what he says. Methinks your face speaks not of failure."

"I have seen him, dearest, but will you-can you forgive me, for again leaving his presence without speaking of my hopes-my wishes? When I approach the subject, my tongue falters, and my heart faints within me; for how can I, the object of his bounty, ask him to give me his gifted, lovely child. I, who would gladly give my life for her, yet dare not hope to win from her proud father the consent to call her mine. I have lingered around you, dear Lucile, until I fear that if I breathe my presumptuous hopes, I shall be banished from my paradise, without the Eve whose companionship could lighten every toil-make dear every priva tion endured for her sake.”

Lucile waved her hand impatiently.

No, Sidney-no! I would not be the means of bringing sorrow on you; for if my father were to “Ah, if he should not consent! This suspense is refuse his consent to our marriage, and I should horrible: I can hear the pulsations of my own elope with you, what would become of your hopes heart in this still and silent hour: yet he must-of future greatness! In struggling with the wearhe will sanction our engagement: he is my father, ing cares of life, the fire would be extinguished— and I his only child—he will not refuse me happi- | the enthusiasm of genius fade from

your soul; and

I-even I-fondly as you say you love me, would | can make nothing out of it; and you both look as be dearly purchased at such a price."

melancholy as if you had just lost the best friend you have in the world. Been reading Tasso's Lament, perhaps, and are sympathizing with his woes. Well, there's no harm in that, for there's genius in that poem; that fellow Byron had' a soul of fire, and a heart of ice,' as somebody said of him, but I am proud that he is my countryman

"Lucile-no price, save that, can be too dear to me for the possession of your love-the right to claim you as my own forever; for if the glory depart from my mind, I should be unworthy of you, and could not hope to retain your affection. But the history of genius has no such record: it is in sorrow and poverty that the brightest spirits | nevertheless." have been nursed; and many-many, gifted be- As this was uttered, the speaker advanced in the yond myself, have been lost to the world and pos-room. He was a middle-aged man, with a fine terity, by the inglorious love of ease which the noble countenance, and an expression of firmness possession of wealth allowed them. Thus you in his thin compressed lips, which might well see, dearest, that even if Gen. Montressor should deter one from confiding to his decision the happirefuse to sanction our love, it may be to my advan-ness of a life.

tage in the end. 'Tis true, I lose the opportunity "I am happy, dear father," said Lucile, "that of visiting Italy, and studying the master-pieces of you have a soul to appreciate and admire talent. my art, but with thy form before me as a model, But for that—” and the beauties of nature in such a clime as ours spread around me, I shall be inspired with such visions as never before visited the brain of dreaming painter or poet. Oh! Lucile, promise me that you will hold sacred the pledge which you have given, that no other influence shall destroy your love for me."

"Sidney, Sidney," said Lucile, reproachfully, "have I ever given you cause to doubt the stability of my affection? Have I not turned coldly away from the proffers of love? Have I not even offended my father by the indifference with which I received the attentions of others, and yet you can suffer a doubt to dim your trust in me? Alas! this should not be."

"But for that! well, what next, girl? Is it anything new to you to learn that I have soul enough to admire the beautiful? Is it a discovery to my daughter that I am not as dull as the fat weed that rots on Lethe's brink?' Pooh-nonsensewhat are you thinking of? I sought you, Lucile, to have a little private conversation with you. We can dispense with ceremony with Sidney, for he is one of ourselves. Come with me, love, to my library."

CHAPTER II.

Love! summer flower, how soon thou art decayed,
Opening amid a paradise of sweets,
Dying with withered leaves and cankered stem;
The very memory of thy happiness,
Departed with thy beauty; breath and bloom
Gone, and the trusting heart which thou hast made
So green, so lovely, for thy dwelling-place,
Left but a desolation.

L. E. L.

"Forgive me, Lucile I have no doubts of your truth; but when I view the vast disparity in our situations, I cannot prevent a chill from creeping over my heart. You are bright, beautiful and happy, while I am poor, lonely, and nearly friendless; the gift-perhaps the fatal gift of genius-my "Lucile," said Gen. Montressor, after a pause, only claim to the consideration of others. What I heard that boy making love to you, though I then can I offer to your haughty father that he pretended not to understand the scene; and what will consider worthy the acceptance of his che-surprised me more, heard you, my daughter, the rished heiress? Ah! Lucile, would that your lot last descendant of my ancient house, reply some had been cast among those to whom I durst aspire, nonsense about love and faith and all such foolishand how proudly would I have shown that love ness.' was all to me; but I cannot ask you to leave your own proud halls to become a wanderer on the face of the earth with me. Blindly presumptuous, I "Lucile Montressor!" said her father sternly, have, like the godlike Tasso, raised my eyes to "what is this I hear? Do you hope to win my one so far above me that I dare not hope for a consent to see you the bride of one so far beneath happy termination to our love: though more for-you? If I thought that you had so far descended tunate than him, I am not scorned by the object of from your high estate, as to look with the eyes of my idolatry.” favor on this boy, I would cast you from me forever-disown you, and sink to my grave a lonely, blighted man, without an interest in life. What, he-the orphan son of my overseer—my hired servant-he wed my daughter?"

"Scorned! Ah no, dear Sidney-deeply, truly loved; and believe me when I say that I am prouder far of being the chosen of thy noble heart

than-"

"Foolishness! nonsense! Oh, father, are all my hopes of happiness in life to be thus termed?"

"Pooh! pshaw ! what is all this waste of senti- "He has wooed and won the love of your ment about?" said a voice from the door. "Here daughter," said Lucile, with a pale cheek, but I've been listening for the last two minutes, and unfaltering voice, "and she acknowledges in him

the scorned-the contemned-her equal; nay, | would you leave the father who has loved you, as more-her superior; for if heaven has denied him only an old, doating heart can love the being it fortune, it has gifted him with the mind to soar has watched over from infancy?” far, far above those whose only greatness is their pride of birth, or, more ignoble still-of gold. I love him, father, with that love which wanes not, dims not with time, absence, or even neglect.”

"I need not leave you, dearest father," said Lucile, in a low voice. “ In giving me to Sidney, you would but gain a son instead of losing your daughter. He is not one to slight or wound the being that loves him."

"This-this, to me! How dare you thus boldy avow your disgraceful passion for one whom it is "Ah! child, you know not what he may beimpossible you shall ever wed? Nay, speak not- come. I once trusted, as you do now, and was I will not hear you; on this point I am inflexible. | deceived. Lucile, I was young, thoughtless and Oh, Lucile—Lucile! is it by you in whom I have gay. Reckless of the future-forgetful of the garnered my heart,-in whom is bound up the past, I alone lived for the present moment. I was scattered fragments of hopes that were early wrecked? is it by you that new wretchedness must be inflicted on me? Ungrateful girl! Is this the reward of all my fondness, my blind indulgence?"

Lucile threw herself on his bosom, and spite of his anger, Gen. Montressor clasped her to his heart, and covered her brow with kisses.

،،

My sweet child, you will not persevere in this silly choice. You will act as becomes my daughter. Love does not last, believe me; not even such love as yours. I know it does not. Listen, my child, to my history, and profit by my experience. Come, sit beside me, love, and I will commit my heart's treasured secret to your keeping."

She placed herself on an ottoman at his feet, and as the brilliant glare of the lamp fell on her person, her father gazed admiringly on her.

"I wonder not at this presumptuous boy," thought he. "I should have foreseen this; for she has the dangerous gift of loveliness, and he possesses that genius which worships beauty in every form. Where could he find a being that would more nearly realize his ideal?”

There was a pause of some moments. At length Gen. Montressor spoke in a low, hoarse tone.

rich, and much sought after in the gay circles in which I moved. One evening I received an invitation to dine the following week with an elderly lady who professed to have been an intimate friend of my mother. I accepted the invitation without hesitation, as any one who had been a friend to my dear and sainted mother, was sure to find an interested listener in her son. On the day appointed I went-I found a small, quiet looking woman, who spoke in a soft, lady-like manner, but not even her anecdotes of the youth of my mother could long confine my attention to her discourse. In the recess of a window, half hid by the falling drapery, was a young girl plucking the withered leaves from some geraniums. Her beauty was of a high and noble order; there was no radiance about it; she looked as if the clouds of life had thrown their shadows over her spirit at an age when hope is our most familiar companion. I inquired in a low tone who she was? 'An orphan dependent of mine,' was the reply of Mrs. Wilson. An orphan, and dependent? I no longer wondered at her sad countenance.

"Mrs. Wilson called her to her side, and we were introduced. I loved Marion-wooed, and won her. We were married, and never was lover more devoted than I; her slightest wish was to me a law. I have sat for hours beside her, drinking in the music of her tones, and I have kissed the flowers that her hand had touched, or the page which her eye had dwelt on, when she was not observing me; for so utter was my devotion, that I was ashamed to betray it to my idoland she-she seemed to love me! All this while that I was lavishing on her my heart's wealth, she was ever gentle, kind, and I thought that she regarded me with the affection of a grateful heart, which was incapable of any deeper feeling. Deep— deep dissembler, that she was! I believed not the power was in human nature to act with such consummate duplicity!

"It is many years since my lips have breathed the name of Marion Walters. Among men I dared not syllable it, fearing they might see the inward struggle which the sound of her name, who has long since mouldered into dust, caused me. In solitude I dared not breathe it, fearing that I might, when alone, be tempted to curse the being whom I had once loved with that utter devotion of feeling, mind and heart, which some natures are formed to experience. Oh, Lucile! better be one who is content to 'dwell in decencies forever,' than give your highest, holiest feelings to another, to have them crushed as mine have been. You possess that gift most dangerous to your sex, a "She lived but two years: she faded slowly from proud, sensitive, yet affectionate heart. You are my side, and I watched over her with that hope one to shrink from a breath of unkindness-to which is born of despair, until I could hope no return not the bitter word—to turn with a wrung more. I refused to believe that she could die, until spirit from a cold glance, and yet speak not of the I felt the head pillowed on my bosom grow cold, agony that is wasting your heart. Then why and saw those still features stiffen into their mar