CHAP. XIX. The scene of her sickness; description of the valley of the Green River; the closing scenes of her life delightful; her last letter to her sister; she parts with her little boy; her calmness and delight in prospect of death; letter to the CHAP. XX. No decline in her intellectual powers; all her sympathies fresh and verdant in her declining days. Conversations with her pastor; contrast with most Christians; the way to CHAP. XXI. Conversations with her pastor; the dark valley; her strictly personal history; desiring to die; disapprobation of a cur- rent religious sentiment; triumph in suffering; her pastor shut out from all ordinary topics of prayer with sick per- CHAP. XXII. The closing scenes; last conversations; departure; funeral; buried in a green spot which she selected for her last resting Two years after this the author visits her grave; the rose she MEMOIR. CHAPTER I. "When breezes are soft and skies are fair, BRYANT'S GREEN RIVER. NEAR the eastern border of Columbia County, New-York, lies the sequestered valley of Green River. It is watered by the stream which has given to the valley its name, and afforded the muse of Bryant a theme at once classic and beautiful. In his "greener years," when he came to this quiet spot to angle in its waters, he caught the inspiration which lingered around them, and the melody of his song is like the sweetness of their own music. It is formed by the junction of tributary rivulets which flow down the vast amphitheatre of hills that begird the valley. A late distinguished clergyman remarked to the pastor of the place, that he always made his journeys between Albany and Hartford through this valley, to enjoy the magnificence of its scenery. "For," said he, "it is without exception the most enchanting landscape I ever beheld. The Vale of Tempe, which so intoxicated the Greeks with delight, I fancy was not equal to it." This sheltered spot gave birth to Mary Ann Reed. She was born on the 5th April, 1811, and was the youngest of nine children. Her parentage was obscure, but highly respectable. She inherited a very delicate constitution, and her friends cherished no hope of her escaping an early grave. In listening to the story of her sufferings under the rude hand of disease, I have often been reminded of the touching picture of the frailty of human life in the Night Thoughts :— "While man is growing, life is in decrease; Disease fastened itself upon her tender frame, and for a number of years she trembled on the verge of death. She seemed destined by an over-ruling Providence to depart soon from the scene of her suffering. But He who tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, sustained her steps, and the tenderness of a sister's affection watched the cradle of her infancy. Years passed by, and brought her new strength as they came; and it was hoped that she might yet possess a healthy constitution. Her faculties began to burst forth with uncommon brilliancy, and her form assume its fair and finished proportions. One ray of light for a few years illumined the obscurity of her path. She had a kind and generous father, and his counsel and affection poured joy into her bosom, which was in aftertime bared to the bleak winds of adversity. He owned a small farm on one of the slopes which command a view of the valley and cultivated hills around. Industry and simple habits insured their large family a comfortable subsistence; and joy diffused itself through their humble dwelling. As the wild blasts of winter swept through the valley and howled over the mountains, a bright fire blazed upon their old-fashioned hearth, around which were clustered happy hearts, beating to the lively joy of domestic life. I love to dwell upon this feature of Mary's history; for it is a green spot, the only oasis of social happiness she ever found, till, after years of loneliness and sorrow, she could bless God for a sweet little cottage of her own. I have heard the traveller of the eastern desert describe his joy when he reached the shades and fountains of a verdant spot, and heard him tell his grief as he left those shades and fountains, and plodded on his toilsome and sultry way amidst surrounding sterility. Kindred to his own are my feelings on leaving this tranquil scene, consecrated by Mary's early joys, to follow her through a wild, cheerless region, "fanned by no breeze and enlivened by no murmur." It is painful to record it, but the frost of death entered, and marred the scene. At this tender season, when Mary had just begun to twine her affections around her fond father's heart, and forget her little sorrows on his bosom, "He journeyed to the land of souls." His death left a void in their little circle, which time never could fill. |