THE PARTING.1

It has been well and beautifully said that there is no medicine for a wounded heart like the sweet influences of Nature. The broad, still, beautiful expansion of a summer landscape, the stealing in of the sunlight by glimpses among the trees, the uns expected meeting with a favorite blossom, half hidden among the luxuriant verdure, the sudden starting of a wild bird almost from beneath your feet, the play of light and shade upon the surface of the gliding brook, and the ceaseless, glad, musical ripple of its waters, the gushing melody poured from a thousand throats, or the rapid and solitary warble, breaking out suddenly on the stillness, and withdrawn again almost as soon as heard, the soft, hymn-like murmur of the honey-bees,— and, above all, the majesty of the blue, clear, bending sky!from all these steals forth a spirit of calm enjoyment, that mingles silently with the darker thoughts of the heart, and removes their bitterness.

"If thou art worn and hard beset

With sorrows that thou wouldst forget,-
If thou wouldst read a lesson that will keep
Thy heart from fainting, and thy soul from sleep,—

Go to the woods and hills!-no tears
Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.'

Yet there are moods of the soul that even the ministering tenderness of Nature cannot brighten. There are sorrows which she cannot soothe, and, too often, alas! darker passions, which all her sweet and balmy influences cannot hush into tranquillity. When the human heart is foul with avarice and the unblest impulses of tyranny, the eloquence of her meek beauty is breathed in vain. The most sublime and lovely scenes of nature have been made the theatre of wrong and violence; and the stony heart of the oppressor, though surrounded by the broad evidences of omnipotent love, has persisted, unrelenting, in the selfishness of its own device.

There was all the gloriousness of summer beauty round the little bay, in whose sleeping waters rested a small vessel, almost freighted for her departure. A few human beings, only, were to be added to her cargo, and as her spiry masts caught the first rays of the beaming sunlight, the frequent hoarse and brief command, and the ready response of the seamen, told that they were about

Heart-rending as this "Parting" is, the author assures us in a note that it is but a description of what, to her own knowledge, had actually occurred. "Longfellow.

to weigh anchor and depart. Among those who approached the shore was a household group,-a mother and her babes, the price of whose limbs lay heaped in the coffers of one who called himself a Christian, and who were now about to be torn from the husband and the father forever. It was a Christian land; and, perchance, if the bustle of the departing vessel had not drowned its murmur, the voice of praise and prayer to the merciful and just God might have been dimly heard floating off upon the still waters. But there was no one to save those unhappy beings from the grasp of unrighteous tyranny. The husband had been upon the beach since daybreak, pacing the sands with a troubled step, or lying in moody anguish by the water's edge, covering his face from the breaking in of the glorious sunlight, and pleading at times with the omnipotent God, whom, slave as he was, he had learned to worship, for strength to subdue the passionate grief and indignation of his heart, and for humility patiently to endure his many

wrongs.

A little fond arm was twined about his neck, and the soft lip of a young child was breathing loving, but half-sorrowful kisses all over his burning forehead.

"Father! dear father! we are going! will you not come with ? Look where my mother, and my sisters and brothers, are waiting for you."

us

With a shuddering and convulsive groan, the unhappy man arose, and lifted the frighted child to his bosom.

"Will you not go with us, father?" repeated the boy; but the slave made him no answer, except by straining him to his bosom with a short bitter laugh, and imprinting one of his sobbing kisses upon his cheek. With a convulsive effort for the mastery, he subdued the workings of his features, and, with a seemingly calm voice and countenance, approached his children. One by one he folded them in his arms, and, breathing over them a prayer and a blessing, gave them up forever. Then once more he strove to nerve his heart for its severest trial. There was one more parting, one more sad embrace to be given and returned. There stood the mother of his children, his own fond and gentle wife, who had been for so many years his heart's dearest blessing; and who, ere one short hour had passed, was to be to him as if the sea had swallowed her up in its waves, or the dark gloomy earth had hidden her beneath its bosom ! A thousand recollections and agonizing feelings came rushing at once upon his heart, and he stood gazing on her, seemingly bewildered and stupefied, motionless as a statue, and with features to which the very intensity of his passion gave the immobility of marble; till, suddenly flinging up his arms with a wild cry, he dropped

at once senseless to the earth,' with the blood gushing in torrents from his mouth and nostrils. And the miserable wife, amid the shrieks of her despair, was hurried on board the vessel, and borne away from him, over the calm, sleeping, and beautiful sea, forever.

MARY S. B. DANA.

THIS lady is the daughter of the late Rev. Dr. Palmer, of Charleston, South Carolina. She is the author of a volume of sweet religious and elegiac poetry, entitled The Parted Family, and other Poems; also of the Northern Harp; the Southern Harp; Original Sacred and Moral Songs; and Temperance Lyre. From The Parted Family I select the following beautiful and instructive piece, which was written soon after she had lost her husband and her only child.

PASSING UNDER THE ROD.

I saw the young bride, in her beauty and pride,
Bedeck'd in her snowy array;

And the bright flush of joy mantled high on her cheek,
And the future look'd blooming and gay:

And with woman's devotion she laid her fond heart
At the shrine of idolatrous love,

And she anchor'd her hopes to this perishing earth,

By the chain which her tenderness wove.

But I saw, when those heartstrings were bleeding and torn,
And the chain had been sever'd in two,

She had changed her white robes for the sables of grief,
And her bloom for the paleness of woe!

But the Healer was there, pouring balm on her heart,

And wiping the tears from her eyes,

And he strengthen'd the chain he had broken in twain,
And fasten'd it firm to the skies!

There had whisper'd a voice-'twas the voice of her God:

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I love thee-I love thee-pass under the rod !"

I saw the young mother in tenderness bend

O'er the couch of her slumbering boy,

And she kiss'd the soft lips as they murmur'd her name,
While the dreamer lay smiling in joy.

Oh, sweet as the rosebud encircled with dew,

When its fragrance is flung on the air,

So fresh and so bright to that mother he seem'd,

As he lay in his innocence there.

This reminds us of Bryant's touching poem-"The African Chief."

But I saw when she gazed on the same lovely form,
Pale as marble, and silent, and cold,

But paler and colder her beautiful boy,

And the tale of her sorrow was told!

But the Healer was there who had stricken her heart,
And taken her treasure away;

To allure her to heaven, He has placed it on high,

And the mourner will sweetly obey.

There had whisper'd a voice-'twas the voice of her God: "I love thee-I love thee-pass under the rod!"

I saw the fond brother, with glances of love,
Gazing down on a gentle young girl,

And she hung on his arm, and breathed soft in his ear,
As he played with each graceful curl.

Oh, he loved the sweet tones of her silvery voice,
Let her use it in sadness or glee;

And he twinéd his arms round her delicate form,

As she sat in the eve on his knee.

But I saw when he gazed on her death-stricken face,
And she breathed not a word in his ear,

And he clasped his arms round an icy-cold form,
And he moisten'd her cheek with a tear.

But the Healer was there, and he said to him thus,
"Grieve not for thy sister's short life,"

And he gave to his arms still another fair girl,

And he made her his own cherish'd wife!

There had whisper'd a voice-'twas the voice of his God:

I love thee-I love thee-pass under the rod !"

I saw, too, a father and mother who lean'd

On the arms of a dear gifted son,

And the star in the future grew bright to their gaze,
As they saw the proud place he had won;

And the fast coming evening of life promised fair,
And its pathway grew smooth to their feet,

And the starlight of love glimmer'd bright at the end,
And the whispers of fancy were sweet.

And I saw them again, bending low o'er the grave,
Where their hearts' dearest hope had been laid,
And the star had gone down in the darkness of night,
And the joy from their bosoms had fled.

But the Healer was there, and his arms were around,
And he led them with tenderest care;

And he show'd them a star in the bright upper world,
'Twas their star shining brilliantly there!

They had each heard a voice-'twas the voice of their God: "I love thee-I love thee-pass under the red!"

HENRY REED, 1808-1854.

PROFESSOR HENRY REED was born in Philadelphia, on the 11th of July, 1808. After the usual preparatory studies, under that accomplished school-master, Mr. James Ross, he entered the sophomore class in the University of Pennsylvania, in September, 1822, and graduated in 1825. He began to study law with Hon. John Sergeant, and was admitted to practice in the courts of the city and county of Philadelphia in 1829. In September, 1831, he relinquished his profession, on being elected Assistant Professor of English Literature in the University of Pennsylvania. In November of the same year, he was chosen Assistant Professor of Moral Philosophy, and in 1835 he was elected Professor of Rhetoric and English Literature. He continued in the service of the college for twenty-three years, discharging his duties with untiring industry, and with such ability and zeal, united to great urbanity of manners, as to secure the warm attachment and profound respect of all who came under his instruction.

It had long been Professor Reed's earnest wish to visit Europe; but his professional duties and other claims had prevented him. Early in 1854, however, leave of absence was granted by the trustees; and in May he sailed for England. His reputation as a scholar had preceded him, and he was received with the kindest welcome by many of England's most distinguished poets and scholars. He also visited the continent, and returned to England in the latter part of the

summer.

On the 20th of September, he embarked at Liverpool for New York in the steamship Arctic. Seven days afterwards, at noon, a fatal collision occurred, and before sundown every human being left upon the ship-about three hundred in all-had sunk under the waves. When the news of his loss reached Philadelphia, feelings of intense grief pervaded all hearts which had had even a slight knowledge of him. It was felt that Philadelphia had lost one of her most gifted spirits,-one who was an ornament to the elevated position which he held in the University, and who, had his life been spared, would have resumed his responsible duties with increased zeal, efficiency, and usefulness.

Professor Reed was married, in 1834, to Elizabeth White Bronson, a granddaughter of Bishop White.

Shortly after Professor Reed's death, his brother, William B. Reed, Esq., prepared for publication, with his well-known taste and judgment, his manuscript notes and lectures on English Literature and Poetry, which are among the choicest contributions to American Literature. These are Lectures on English Literature from Chaucer to Tennyson, 1 vol. 12mo; Lectures on the British Poets, 2 vols. 12mo; Lectures on English History and Tragic Poetry, as illustrated by Shakspeare, 1 vol. 12mo; and Two Lectures on the History of the American Union; of all of which fine editions have been published by Parry & McMillan, Phila.'

I Before he went to England, Professor Reed had prepared editions of the following works:-Alexander Reid's "Dictionary of the English Language:" Graham's "English Synonyms, enriched by Poetical Citations from Shakspeare, Milton, and Wordsworth;" Wordsworth's Poems, with an appreciative Introduetion; Gray's Poems, with a new Memoir; Arnold's "Lectures on Modern History;" and Lord Mahon's “ History of England."