baptism of suffering. O, let us not despise our birthright! “Through cross to crown; and though thy spirit's life Good cheer! good cheer! soon ends the bitter strife, And thou shalt reign in peace with Christ at length." EMBARKATION, PASSAGE AND ARRIVAL. STRAITS OF GIBRALTAR HARBOR OF MILO NARROW ESCAPE BAY OF FOKEA-SMYRNA ARMENIAN WEDDING. "Go, in thy glory, o'er the ancient sea, Take with thee gentle winds, thy sails to swell; Fare thee well, bark, farewell! A long farewell! Thou wilt not bring us back MRS. HEMANS. THE departure of Mr. and Mrs. Hamlin had been so often deferred, that, notwithstanding Henrietta's letter, mentioning the day on which they expected to sail, her friend had not the remotest idea that they would leave at the time appointed. What sorrow was hers when the following note, written with a pencil and in a tremulous hand, told her that she had delayed her farewell visit till it was too late! "Bark Euromas, Monday, Dec. 3. "DEAR M.: Farewell! Can it be that I shall see your face no more? May we meet in heaven! "Adieu from "HENRIETTA." A letter from her friend was soon following her over the wide waters. "I have wept with the same bitterness of grief that I should have felt beside your grave. "Monday passed away; I no more thought of it as being your sailing than your dying day. Tuesday father handed me `your note. You can conceive how I felt. Father wished to see it, and then we wept together. When he could command his voice, he said, 'I always loved Henrietta.' It sounded as if you were dead!" * * From Henrietta's reply we give an extract: "Your letter was like yourself. It was indeed pleasant to be reading a letter from M. in this far-off country, where there are so few things that seem familiar. And yet it made me weep so much that my husband sent me to my own room. It is good to shed such tears as are drawn from our eyes by the remembrance of friends. * * * * I could not believe that I should go without seeing you till the last moment came. It did seem very hard. But perhaps it was better that we should not meet again." Mr. Hamlin adds: “One day, just at dinner-time, Mr. Goodell handed me sixteen American letters, and of course I went home with a palpitating heart. As Henrietta was looking them over, her eye caught your well-known hand, and, exclaiming 'O, here is one from M.!' she almost sprang from her chair. In a moment I saw the tears flowing, and soon she wept so uncontrollably that my Armenian teacher and the servant thought her mother or sisters were dead. I replied, 'No.' What is it, then, that makes kokona weep so?' 'Memory,' said I. Ach! kidem, kidem.' (Ah! I know, I know.) And after she had gone to her chamber to weep there, I told them what a home and friends she had left." But we must go back to that memorable day, when, for the last time, Henrietta left the shores of her native land. Crowds are gathered upon the wharf, to watch the vessel as she bears slowly away. Upon the deck have been uncovered heads and tearful eyes, for the interceding prayer and the song of praise have arisen upon the air, and been echoed over the blue waters. Severe is the struggle in that affectionate heart, but her purpose is unwavering. The last words are spoken, the last kiss is given, the tremulous pressure of the hand is exchanged, betraying the sorrow which no words can utter. And now the gallant ship leaves the wharf, and, like a mighty bird, glides over the white waves, separating forever loving and faithful hearts. "Bark Euromas, Dec. 22, 1838. I am often looking 66 MY DEAR FRIENDS: I love to have so much time to think of you as I do while lying in my berth. back to the places and scenes I have left. ings, afternoons and evenings, in which to remember them. But it is at the coming on of twilight that I am more especially present with you. Then I commence a circuit of visitings, looking in upon each of the dear circles, until I arrive at that place dearer than all others, the home of my childhood. Here my spirit would linger. The eye cannot be satisfied with seeing, nor the ear with hearing. I sit down where I used to sit, and look about upon familiar things. I go into every room. Nothing is changed. I look out of every window, and enjoy the view peculiar to each. O, I have visions of my home that make me very happy! But when the thought comes, 'You will return to it no more,' there is a faintness of heart I cannot describe. There are struggles which seem too much for the spirit to bear, and yet it endures them. I am not unhappy. I would be where I am, tossing upon the ocean which is bearing me far from home and friends, to a land of strangers. I would go and do what I can for those who are sitting in darkness. May the prayers of my friends follow me, and at last, when we shall meet again, may it appear that our prayers and our sacrifices have not been in vain! 66 Wednesday, Dec. 26. A little more than three weeks of our voyage are passed. I can hardly believe that it is so long since we left Boston that Monday noon, and yet I am almost tired of my berth, and these close walls often seem like prison walls. Still I can look forward to the four or five weeks that remain with less impatience than I should have expected. I have really enjoyed having so much time to think. I have been looking over the past, and gathering up its treasures for future years. We have also some talking and reading, so that I have no great cause to complain of weariness. "For the first few days I was severely sick; but since then I have avoided much suffering by lying quietly in my berth. If I leave it long, a dizzy, fainting head soon brings me back. Mr. Hamlin drove off his sickness almost immediately, I believe by a strong determination of will not to be sick, that he might the better administer to my necessities. "We receive every needful kindness from the ship's company, which we find a very pleasant one. The captain is an agreeable, sensible and gentlemanly man, in whom we have entire confidence. He is very young for his place, being only twenty-three, and has not put on the roughness and recklessness of some sea-captains. Our table-fare is uncommonly good, embracing a great variety of eatables. That, however, has not been of much consequence to us as yet. We find our provisions as to drinks and medicines ample, and of the right kind. "I had not looked out upon the ocean until a few days since, when I enjoyed a glimpse of it from our little window. 'O, what mountain waves! what mountain waves!' I exclaimed, as they burst upon my view. I thought I had seen the ocean before, but I never had. It has been tempest-wrought almost ever since we came upon it, and cannot calm itself at once. "The captain says we might cross the Atlantic twenty times, without seeing such waves as have broken over our vessel since we left Boston. It has been storm and calm, storm and calm, in rapid succession. The winds have blown furiously, and then have suddenly left us at the mercy of the big waves, to be |