This poem is one of the most beautiful and pathetic ever written by an American bard. Its simplicity is striking, yet it is one of its beauties. The last verse is not often surpassed-especially this line:

'Whispered, and wept, and smiled."

In this little poem the poet preaches a more eloquent anti-slavery sermon, than. was ever delivered from the pulpit a more touching oration against human chattelism, than was ever pronounced from the platform.

There are so many exquisite passages in the poems of Bryant, that in quoting them one knows not when or where to stop. His great poems-Thanatopsis, The Prairies, etc., etc., are so well known, that we will not extract from them here, but will close the sketch with one of his most finished, perfect pieces. It is well known, but will bear reading again and again.

TO A WATERFOWL.

Whither midst falling dew,

While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue

Thy solitary way?

Vainly the fowler's eye

Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,

Thy figure floats along.

Seek'st thou the plashy brink

Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink
On the chafed ocean side?

There is a Power whose care

Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,-
The desert and illimitable air,—

Lone wandering, but not lost.

All day thy wings have fanned,

At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere,
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
Though the dark night is near.

And soon that toil shall end;

Soon shall thou find a summer home, and rest, And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend, Soon o'er thy sheltered nest.

Thou'rt gone; the abyss of heaven

Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,
And shall not soon depart.

He who, from zone to zone,

Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone,

Will lead my steps aright.

LYMAN BEECHER, D. D.

We believe it was Theodore Parker who said that Dr. Beecher was 66 the father of more brains than any other man in America." The saying is a just one; and not only is Lyman Beecher the father of brains, but he is the possessor. If he were simply the father of such an illustrious set of children, it would not be out of place for us to sketch him here; but inasmuch as he is one of the pioneers of reform in this country, it would be improper not to say a few words about him.

Dr. Beecher is a thoroughly original character. He is unlike any one else,-unless it be his own children, upon whom he has impressed his own character. He is one of the most popular public men in the country, though he is one of the boldest thinkers and most earnest actors. His energy of character is greater than that of any other living American. He was born just as the fires of the revolution were kindling, and it would seem as if the energy, patriotism, and ardor of those days were stamped at an early age upon his character. The date of his birth is October 12, 1775; the place, a house still standing

on the corner of George and College streets, New Haven. His ancestors were godly men, men of strong constitutions and iron frames. His father was a blacksmith; his mother was a woman of fine, joyous spirits, always full of hope. He was named after his mother's family-Lyman-and was brought up by his uncle, Lot Benton, of North Guilford, Connecticut. He was a feeble, seven months' child, his mother dying four days after his birth. His uncle Lot was an erratic, yet kind-hearted old man. He one day asked Lyman if he wanted to go to College, and upon his answering in the affirmative, without another word he sent him to a preparatory school, and, when he was fitted, to college. He entered Yale college in September, 1793, at the age of eighteen. Many stories are told of him while in college, illustrating his energy and eccentricity of character.

He was first settled, we believe, in East Hampton, L. I., where several of his children were born. He next removed to Litchfield, Connecticut, where Mrs. Stowe and Henry Ward Beecher were born. While in Litchfield he wrote and preached his famous "Six Sermons" on temperance. It required a vast deal of genuine courage at that day to preach total abstinence from the pulpit, but having become thoroughly convinced of his duty, the brave man did it, and left the consequences with his Maker.