Reduced to the depths of despair, suicide presented itself as the only effectual remedy for his misfortunes.  But the church, to whose rites and promises he yielded the most devoted reverence, doomed the suicide to eternal woe!

Society, into which for a brief period he had allowed himself to be enticed, was ten-fold more distasteful to him than before.  He could not endure even that which the practice of his profession demanded.  The great city seemed a pandemonium, and he resolved to escape from its hated scenes.

He travelled up the river in search of seclusion, and accidentally had noticed the island upon which he afterwards fixed his residence.

His abode upon the island was not entirely unknown to the inhabitants of his vicinity; yet they seldom troubled him with their presence.  Steamers and flat-boats continually passed his little domain; yet the traveller knew not that it was occupied by human beings.

Dr. Vaudelier’s pursuits were of the most simple nature.  He read and wrote nearly the whole day, and in the evening,—­often at the dead of night,—­he would unmoor his yacht, and stem the tide of the mighty river.  His chief happiness was in communion with nature.  His solitary habits had completely estranged him from society; 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.