again upon her mother's bosom, there to sleep until the glad morning of the resurrection. Beneath, the proud Bosphorus rolls majestically by, while towards the south gleam the dark waters of Marmora. Peaceful and lovely are the views from this quiet grave, and there, surrounded by Moslem dead, by the side of Mary Van Lennep, her sweet missionary sister, and with her youngest, fairest blossom upon her bosom, rest the mortal remains of Henrietta Hamlin. Upon the tablet marking the spot,* are inscribed those words that dwelt upon her lips during her wasting sickness, and that still lingered there when, in the gathering shades of death, the golden city first glowed upon her view,--" PEACE, PERFECT PEACE!" Sweetly, sister, thou art sleeping where the mournful cypress waves ; Peacefully the proud Bosphorus at thy feet the bright shore laves. Where the orient sunshine falleth, where thy golden crown was won, Folded in thy peaceful bosom, sleeps the darling of thy love, - O'er thy quiet mound of slumber never shall I weeping stand; Thus thy memory shall inspire me, till life's conflict-day is o'er; Past are now earth's flitting shadows, ended this unquiet dream; Thou no more shalt hear the surging of life's hurrying, restless stream. * This monument to the memory of Mrs. Hamlin was erected through the generous kindness of two friends in Bangor, members of Rev. Mr. Maltby's church. Past its feverish cares and vigils, yearnings vain, and wild unrest; Past the dark and solemn river, thou hast gained eternal day; Through those opened gates celestial, weeping eyes would glance But the golden portals, closing, our imploring gaze debar. Yet our pleading heart we silence,-sweet to thee thy blest release; This shall soothe our yearning sorrow, when its billows rise and swell. Loved and loving! sister, mother, friend, companion,-- fare thee well! 9 N060 1 THE BROKEN BUD: or, Reminiscences of a Bereaved. Mother. NOTICES OF THE PRESS. From the National Era. This touching and beautiful tribute of a bereaved mother to the memory of her beloved child owes its origin to the writer's desire to preserve in manuscript for her surviving children a memorial of their departed sister; and it has been published in the hope of affording to other suffering hearts something of the consolation which its preparation gave to her own. Influenced by the earnest desire which, in her grief, she had felt for the sympathy and spiritual communion of those who had tasted with her the bitter cup of bereavement, she has been induced to lift the veil from the sacredness of her sorrows and consolations, and, to use the words of Baxter after the death of his companion, "to become passionate in the view of all." We have no doubt that the benevolent end of the writer will be fully answered by this graceful and tender tribute of affection. It will commend itself to all who mourn; to the sad sisterhood of sorrow, the unnumbered Rachels weeping for those dear ones who are not. "There is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there; There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair." The book is by no means a gloomy one. The shadow of the great bereavement is, indeed, as it must be, deep and dark; but it is preceded by a sweet and sunny history of happy childhood, and softened and limited by the consolations and hopes of the gospel of Him who laid his hand of blessing on the brows of little children, and proclaimed that "of such is the kingdom of heaven." From the Puritan Recorder. J. G. W. A mother, wishing to preserve for her surviving children some memorial of their departed sister, drew up this volume. It is published as a solace to other stricken mothers, who mourn for their broken buds. The book is a beautiful thing in all respects. It is said of the last Earl of Roden that there stood in his stately hall a strong box, on which were painted the words, "To be saved first, in case of fire." After the earl's death, it was opened, in expectation of finding some rich treasure; but nothing was found but the toys of an only and departed child. What a token of the strength of that affection which defies the cruelty of the grave! The book before us, replenished with the hopes and consolations of the gospel, is a happier proof of pure, and hallowed, and undying love. From the Presbyterian of the West. This book is an embodiment of a mother's thoughts regarding a child of no ordinary intelligence and beauty. It contains a collection of poetry, original and selected, the latter being culled with much taste from the works of Bethune, Hemans, Howitt, Longfellow, and others. Those who have never had children of their own-we had almost said, those who have never lost an infant darling- cannot understand the thousand memories that come back, as if from the spirit-land, upon the mind, when the image of the departed one flits vividly before the soul. Not only the sunny smile and bewitching glance of health and happiness are remembered fondly, but the languid look and pallid cheek of decaying life are treasured in the imagery of the brain. The power of sympathy in alleviating grief is wonderful. We feel our woes to be more than half removed when we share them with others. The mind that broods in silence over its lost joys is like a neglected sword, rusted and corroded in its own scabbard. This book is an unobtrusive, quiet friend, who comes to visit the mourning mother in her solitude, and express, in the language of condolence, the comforting communion of the heart. The cold critic may say that less than three hundred and twenty-five pages might have sufficed as a memorial of one who died in her fourth year; but such will not be the decision of the bereaved mother who has suffered a calamity similar to the one that gave origin to the book. From the Christian Register. Whoever reads this volume will be certain that it is no fancy sketch; that, on the contrary, it is a most true and life-like account of a mother's brightest and saddest experiences. Though no names are given, it needed not the statement of the preface to reveal the fact that the book is a record of real events. In its tender memories, in its touching descriptions of infant development and childlike affections, in the narrative of the darkening hours of sickness, and in the changes wrought in the aspect of the whole world by the death of a Books by the Author of this Memoir. child, every bereaved mother will seem to be reading a chapter out of her own life. It is not that the child to whose memory the book is consecrated was a remarkable one, or that there was anything peculiar in the experiences of its home. The charm of the volume lies in the fact that it presents a most truthful, vivid and pathetic picture of the common lot of trials which so many have borne, but so few know how so well to describe, and in the spirit of religious gratitude, trust and submission, with which it is throughout imbued. Without apparently any such intention, it brings before the mind of the reader a beautiful and well-ordered Christian home, planted amidst Christian kindred and friends, while the author, in preserving the memory of her own joys and trials, and in describing the sources whence she derived strength and solace, becomes a more impressive religious teacher than she could have been through any formal lessons. A first great affliction never leaves one as it found him. It ploughs open the heart, and in the deep furrow of grief are cast seeds which bear an after harvest of good or evil. This volume will be read because of its descriptions of that which is most beautiful and touching in domestic life; and it will benefit those who read, by showing how religion first hallows the affections, and then, beyond all things else, helps one to bear and profit from affliction. BLOSSOMS OF CHILDHOOD. NOTICES OF THE PRESS. From the Christian Parlor Magazine, August, 1852. We have just risen from the perusal of a precious little volume of poems, entitled "Blossoms of Childhood," by one of our valued lady contributors. Here are clustered together many choice gems, particularly calculated to mellow the feelings of mothers, and lead them to cherish towards the lovely "olive plants around their table" something of that love that Christ himself felt when he yearned over their perilled condition. We can commend this as one of Carter's most useful issues of the kind, and wish for it a wide circulation, that thus the kind intentions of the benevolent and literary author may be furthered. The scope and design of the book will be better understood if we quote from the preface, &c. From the Christian Register. This well-printed volume contains a selection of poems relating to childhood-poems written to commemorate the birth of children, to describe the varying aspects and experiences of the earliest years, or to give utterance to the emotions and affections of parents. The selection was made by a mother; and every young mother who holds a living child in her arms will find in these pages thoughts and sentiments and pictures on which she will love to dwell, and be benefited by dwelling. We hold such poems in high value. Most of them were probably written when the heart was deeply moved, and they are the source of comfort and strength to all other hearts in which similar feelings have been awakened. English literature is rich in religious and domestic poetry, and the compiler of this volume has shown great familiarity with the best authors, and excellent taste in her selections. It is an admirable volume for a present, especially to any mother who rejoices in the presence of her child. From the Christian Mirror. We were but very partially aware how large is the number of sweet poets who have sung of childhood, of its state, its loveliness, beauty, frailty, the affections it awakens, the hopes and apprehensions with which it is viewed by parental love,- till this new work came into our hands, which contains more than a hundred and fifty pieces from, perhaps, half as many different pens. It is a charming collection, and deserves a place among household books. The old and gray-headed will find their former choicest feelings returning with an exhilarating freshness, as they peruse it; and those who have just become parents will here find their existing emotions beautifully expressed. Children are objects of tender and commanding interest. They were so with our great Exemplar. He loved little children; they were the earliest martyrs for his sake. He invited children to him; he referred his adult disciples to them for some of the most important lessons as to temper and conduct. It helps the affections to mingle with little children. No man can be so high in rank, or old in years, while reason remains, who can be indifferent to little children and be innocent. And he must be hard to please who can look on this wreath of childhood's blossoms without pleasure. From the Salem Register. The many testimonials of appreciation, both public and private, which followed the publication of "The Broken Bud," promise much for this second work, compiled by the same talented author. It consists of a choice and tasteful selection of poems, all contributing to one lovely theme-happy and innocent childhood. It seems as though the author had rifled every haunt of poesy in her search for blossoms with which to enrich this beautiful garland, this vase of sweetness. It is only to be regretted that she has graced it with so few flowers from her own blossoming heart. To all, and especially to the many who found in "The Broken Bud" a leaf of healing for their stricken hearts and homes, we cordially commend this sister volume. It is a beautiful testimony to the love and hope and joy and graceful helplessness of childhood, appealing to the hearts of all to whom the sweet sympathies and endearments of home can appeal. There is scarce a fireside in our land that is not gladdened by little children; and wherever they are should this volume be. It has a word for each and all, a word of sympathy and love for the stricken, motherless one, a word of encouragement and pitying endearment for blighted, pining infancy; words in abundance of happy cheer for laughing, buoyant, innocent childhood. Its whole spirit is one peculiarly calculated to touch and ennoble the heart; and the author has well chosen the guise of poetry in which to dress the lovely sentiments of piety and affection which it contains. It is a volume which we would commend as a wellchosen family gift-book for the coming holidays. Its style of cover is handsome, and its whole getting up tasteful and engaging. From the Puritan Recorder. The writer, or, rather, the compiler of this work, has ranged through the whole garden of modern English and American poetry, and has made a selection of flowers that will long bloom with undiminished beauty and fragrance. It is full of maternal tenderness and devotion on the one hand, and of the simplicity and loveliness of childhood on the other. "The Broken Bud" appealed exclusively to our sympathies and sensibilities; this is a beautiful commingling of the pathetic and the playful; and there are parts of it which the gravest might be challenged to read without a smile, and other parts which might defy the merest child of vanity to read without a tear. From Graham's Magazine. By Mr. Whipple. THE BROKEN BUD; or, Reminiscences of a Bereaved Mother. New York: Robert Carter & Brothers. 1 vol. 16mo. BLOSSOMS OF CHILDHOOD. Edited by the author of "The Broken Bud." New York: Robert Carter & Brothers. 1 vol. 16mo. The first of these little volumes is the record of a child who died just as her mind was expanding into affection and intelligence; and it is the most notable book of the kind we have ever seen. As giving the psychology of a mother's feelings, it is well worthy of attention. It is written close to the heart of the matter, and is full of examples of that searching pathos which calls up instinctive tears. Rarely have we read a work of more affectionate intensity, or one in which a mournful experience, tempered by religious faith, is expressed with such genuine simplicity and truth to inward emotion. There are passages whose eloquence is so identical with the things it celebrates, that the reader sees and feels with hardly the consciousness of the agency of words. The other volume is a collection of poetry relating to children, in which the mother's heart, so constantly present in the previous volume, ranges over the whole field of poetry, hoarding the precious lyrics which bring consolation by inspiring religious trust. Both works are of a peculiar character, indicating the presiding influence of one overmastering feeling, and striking at the very sources of emotion. 9 N060 |