"Be assured you have friends who will never forget you at the throne where remembrance is most to be valued.

“Our spiritual state as a church remains low, yet inquirers about the far-removed children are numerous; I trust some of them inquire of the Lord for you.

"In haste, your affectionate

"FATHER."

CONSTANTINOPLE.-ASPECTS OF

THE MISSION.

BOARDING AT MR. GOODELL'S -MR. HAMLIN ENGINEER TO A BANKER — REFINEMENT OF THE ARMENIANS-STUDY OF FOREIGN LANGUAGES.

era.

Constantinople, the city of the Sultan, and the metropolis of Turkey, was founded by a Greek colony, about six hundred and fifty years before the Christian Its ancient name was Byzantium, from Byzas, the governor of the colony. In 330 A. D., Constantine, the first Christian emperor, made it the capital of his dominions, consecrating it in the name of the blessed Trinity, and calling it after himself. The rival of Rome, it finally grew to be the head of the Eastern empire. Afterwards it became the patriarchal see of the Greek church, as it is now the central point of the Ottoman

power.

It is delightfully situated, on a promontory at the confluence of the Bosphorus with the Marmora, or, as its name signifies, Sea of Marble, so called from one of its islands containing a great quantity of marble. An arm of the Bosphorus, called the Golden Horn, separates the city proper from its large suburbs on the north, winding around and terminating in the charming Valley of Sweet Waters. It forms a harbor deep and capacious enough to receive the fleets of the world, and receives its name from the wealth which floats on its bosom.

The wall from the Golden Horn to the Marmora,

originally built by the Byzantines, and rebuilt by the Emperor Theodosius, is still standing. It is a triple wall, the inner one being from forty to fifty feet high, and from thirty to forty thick, with an immense number of lofty towers. Some of these towers are so completely covered with ivy that not a stone is seen, and the appearance is that of a large tower of glossy green leaves. Trees sometimes grow out of the sides of the wall, and attain a considerable size.

As you approach the city by water, the numerous mosques, with their slender and graceful minarets, and the glittering domes and magnificent palaces and seraglios which crown the summits, or are laved by the waters of the Bosphorus, make it seem the queen of cities. It is, however, "distance" that lends the "enchantment,” for on entering the city the illusion vanishes. A population of nearly a million, made up chiefly of Mohammedans, Greeks, Armenians and Jews, intermingled with some from every tribe of earth, is crowded within its walls.

Passing through its narrow, crooked and filthy streets, with often only a line of blue sky over your head, you are jostled hither and thither by an ever-pressing throng, as diverse in language, costume and color, as, from their extreme filthiness, some of them are disagreeable.

This oriental city was to be Mrs. Hamlin's future home. What a contrast to her beautiful and quiet native valley!

TO HER FRIEND M.

"Constantinople, Feb. 7th, 1839. “DEAR M.: I am in Constantinople. Having crossed the Atlantic, the Mediterranean, the Archipelago, and the Sea of Marmora, we have reached this far-off city of the East. But

I can look back to you, and, after a moment's flight, I am there, and enjoy everything as if it were really passing before me. Sometimes it is pleasure stretched almost to pain.

"I often thought of you when we were sailing upon the great deep, and we read your extract-book and talked of you. That is a precious gathering together of choice things, and I read and remember you in every line. How much you would have enjoyed, had you been with us! There is beauty and sublimity in the deep, but a life at sea is not all poetry, as you will find if you ever enter upon it. Sometimes the waves were like mountains piled about us; and again, a smooth, unbroken surface reflected the light with painful brightness. All sky and ocean soon become a wearying sight. How the tired voyager longs for something that the eye can rest upon, till it becomes a sickness of the heart! I was verily happy when we had gained the Straits of Gibraltar, and I could look from Europe to Africa and from Africa to Europe. I thought how you would enjoy the inspiration of the place. I found enough to delight me among the beautiful islands of the Mediterranean. I often wished you were by to look with us and repeat poetry.

"At Smyrna we passed two weeks very pleasantly, visiting the missionary families, and looking at the wonders of the place. You will see them all when you come here. The old brown castle on the brow of the hill, the ancient amphitheatre, the river Mélas, by which Homer is said to have written his poems, &c. &c. I think your friend would find Mr. Adger a very pleasant associate, and that you would both be happy there. There is a delightful circle of missionaries at Smyrna. This is one side of the picture. If you could look into the dark and dirty streets, crowded with wretched beings, you would see the other side; and, if your missionary zeal should survive one such look, I am sure it would be proved genuine. If we were to form an idea of Smyrna, or of this place even, by what we see in the streets, it would be dismal indeed. The streets are only narrow foot-paths, imperfectly paved with stones of every form and size; and the multitudes who throng them are from every nation under heaven, each speaking his

own language, and wearing the costume of his own country. Most of them are of such wretched appearance that it gives the impression of a street full of beggars.

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"It is only by visiting the more respectable at their houses that you see anything of Eastern splendor and magnificence. The Armenian ladies have a courtly ease and grace of manners, but are entirely without education. Not one in a thousand can read. I wish you were already here, learning their language, and preparing for intercourse with them. No Frank lady has yet learned the Armenian. It is very difficult, and must be learned without the help of grammar or dictionary. Do you think I am discouraged? It is not time yet. I have only learned my letters, and am now reading in short syllables. Such choking sounds you never heard.

"But I have told you nothing about Constantinople, the city of domes and minarets, the most magnificent city in the world. My window looks out upon the Bosphorus. Close by the nearer shore a Turkish fleet is lying at anchor. The little boats are darting about in every direction, making a very animating scene. Beyond is a vast extent of city. Everywhere is city. It is a world of city. Away in the distance is one blue mountain, lovelier far than all the rest. I have not asked its name. I only wish it was nearer, and higher, and not all alone. There is a familiar home-association with it. "How sad I felt not to see you at Boston! The loss can never be made up to me. How many times was it sounding through my ears as I lay in my berth, 'I shall never see M. again. O, could I have seen her but for one hour!'”

"Constantinople, Feb. 10th, 1839.

MY DEAR SISTER S.: There is not an hour passes but I am reminded of some one of your little circle. I open a drawer, and see the work that your hands have wrought with so much patient diligence. In another place I find the provisions which mother has made for my comfort, and on the shelf just before me is father's gift. Dear little Willie, Jane and