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moon, be called into being, and the effects which have already been described will be produced.

FIG. 17.

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Let A B C D represent the earth, M the moon, and S the sun. There will be high water at B and D; and low water at A and C.

The moon's attractive force at B evidently tends to raise the waters towards b, and to draw them from A and C towards b. Also, as the land at D is more attracted by M than the waters which lie above it, the land must recede to a certain extent from these loose waters and cause them to be proportionally elevated. Hence there is high water at B, where the moon is on the meridian, and also at the opposite meridian D.

At new and full moon the attraction of the sun is added to that of the moon, and the tides are in consequence raised higher; but when the moon is in her quarters the attraction of the sun and moon act in different directions, the attraction of the one raising the waters, while that of the other has the effect of depressing them, and lower tides than usual are produced. The former are called Spring, and the latter Neap tides.

In the preceding figure, spring tides are represented at b and d, because there the moon (M) and the sun (S) combine their attractive influence to raise the waters.

In the following diagram, neap tides are represented. M is the moon in one of her quarters. It is evident that her power to raise the waters at A is counteracted and lessened by the attraction of the sun at B, which prevents

the waters from falling so low there, and consequently from rising so high at A.

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In inland seas and lakes, as in the Baltic and Mediterranean, the surface is so small, comparatively speaking, that it is all equally attracted at the same time, and there is scarcely any tide perceptible. But in bays, harbours, and seas open in the direction of the great tidal wave from oceans, as in Baffin's and Hudson's bays and the Red Sea, there are regular and often very high tides. In the British Channel the tide sometimes rises forty or fifty feet; and in the Bay of Fundy it rises sixty, and often so rapidly that cattle feeding on the shore have been drowned before they could escape. At the mouths of large rivers opening in the direction of the tidal wave, as the Indus and the Ganges, tides often rise to the height of thirty, and even forty feet, and sometimes with destructive rapidity.

Among the natural phenomena of the South Sea Islands, the tide is one of the most singular, and presents as great an exception to the ordinary theory as is to be met with in any part of the world. The rising and falling of the waters of the ocean appear, if influenced at all, to be so in a very small degree only, by the moon. The height to which the water rises varies but a few inches during the whole year, and at no time is it elevated more than a foot, or a foot and a half. The sea, however, often rises to an unusual height; but this appears to be the effect of a strong wind blowing for some time from one quarter, or the heavy swells of the

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sea, which flow from different directions, and prevail equally during the time of high and low water. But the most remarkable circumstance is, the uniformity of the time of high and low water. During the year, whatever be the age or situation of the moon, the water is lowest at six in the morning, and the same hour in the evening, and highest at noon and midnight. This is so well established, that the time of night is marked by the ebbing and flowing of the tide; and in all the islands, the term for high water and midnight is the same.-Compiled.

THE DELUGE.

The judgment was at hand. Before the sun
Gathered tempestuous clouds, which, blackening, spread
Until their blended masses overwhelmed

The hemisphere of day: and, adding gloom
To night's dark empire, swift from zone to zone
Swept the vast shadow, swallowing up all light
And covering the encircling firmament
As with a mighty pall! Low in the dust
Bowed the affrighted nations, worshipping.
Anon the o'ercharged garners of the storm
Burst with their growing burden; fierce and fast
Shot down the ponderous rain, a sheeted flood
That slanted not before the baffled winds,
But, with an arrowy and unwavering rush,
Dashed hissing earthward. Soon the rivers rose,
And roaring fled their channels; and calm lakes
Awoke exulting from their lethargy,
And poured destruction on their peaceful shores.

The lightning flickered in the deluged air,
And feebly through the shout of gathering waves
Muttered the stifled thunder. Day nor night
Ceased the descending streams; and if the gloom
A little brightened, when the lurid morn

Rose on the starless midnight, 'twas to show
The lifting up of waters. Bird and beast
Forsook the flooded plains, and wearily
The shivering multitudes of human doomed
Toiled up before the insatiate element.

Oceans were blent, and the leviathan
Was borne aloft on the ascending seas

To where the eagle nestled. Mountains now
Were the sole land-marks, and their sides were clothed
With clustering myriads, from the weltering waste
Whose surges clasped them, to their topmost peaks,
Swathed in the stooping cloud. The hand of death
Smote millions as they climbed; yet denser grew
The crowded nations, as the encroaching waves
Narrowed their little world.

And in that hour,

Did no man aid his fellow. Love of life

Was the sole instinct; and the strong-limbed son,
With imprecations, smote the palsied sire
That clung to him for succour. Woman trod
With wavering steps the precipice's brow,
And found no arm to grasp on the dread verge
O'er which she leaned and trembled. Selfishness
Sat like an incubus on every heart,

Smothering the voice of love. The giant's foot
Was on the stripling's neck; and oft despair
Grappled the ready steel, and kindred blood
Polluted the last remnant of that earth
Which God was deluging to purify.

Huge monsters from the plains, whose skeletons
The mildew of succeeding centuries

Has failed to crumble, with unwieldy strength
Crushed through the solid crowds; and fiercest birds,

Beat downward by the ever rushing rain,

With blinded eyes, drenched plumes, and trailing wings, Staggered unconscious o'er the trampled prey.

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The mountains were submerged; the barrier chains
That mapped out nations sank; until at length
One Titan peak alone o'ertopped the waves,
Beaconing a sunken world. And of the tribes
That blackened every alp, one man survived:
And he stood shuddering, hopeless, shelterless,
Upon that fragment of the universe.
The surges of the universal sea

Broke on his naked feet. On his grey head,
Which fear, not time, had silvered, the black cloud
Poured its unpitying torrents; while around,

In the green twilight dimly visible,

Rolled the grim legions of the ghastly drowned,
And seemed to beckon with their tossing arms
Their brother to his doom.

He smote his brow,

And, maddened, would have leapt to their embrace,
When, lo! before him, riding on the deep,
Loomed a vast fabric, and familiar sounds
Proclaimed that it was peopled. Hope once more
Cheered the wan outcast, and imploringly

He stretched his arms forth toward the floating walls,
And cried aloud for mercy. But his prayer
Man might not answer, whom his God condemned.
The ark swept onward, and the billows rose

And buried their last victim!

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Broke from the face of heaven, and sunlight streanfed
Upon the shoreless sea, and on the roof
That rose for shelter o'er the living germ
Whose increase should repopulate a world.

Anon.

NEGRO SLAVERY.

I TRUST that at length the time is cómel when Párliament' will no longer bear to be told, that slave-owners' are the

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