and one beauty of their song is, they choose the most quiet and shady places to pour forth their warblings. That little village is full of them; and among the dark cypresses in the large burying ground at Pera, they sing.

Our Sabbaths at Belgrade, were not as pleasant as other days, for that was a day of frolic, and there were many gay people there. But we were very quiet. It was a sweet place for thought, and we improved it.

Our last Saturday at Belgrade, we rose early, and went on horseback to the Black Sea, about an hour and a half distant. I should never think of going over such a road in America. We went down places so steep, that I nearly tipped off, but the others took it so quietly, I found it was nothing uncommon. We rode to a lonely village, where it seems a Frank lady is a rare sight, and then we went on to the sea, where there is a small Turkish hamlet. The village is built of the pieces of wrecked vessels, for the sudden storms and the fogs are fatal to many vessels every year. There is what is called a false entrance to the Bosphorus, by which many are wrecked. The Black Sea looked very finely beneath a glorious sky. We gathered shells on its yellow beach. When we returned, we rode just beyond the village, and dismounted, to eat our bread and cheese. While there, I almost doubted my personal - identity—so recently a school girl, rambling amidst the quiet groves and valleys of dear New England, now gathering shells, and eating bread and cheese on the shores of the Black Sea."

EXTRACTS FROM A LETTER TO HER FATHER.

BELGRADE, near CONSTANTINOPLE, June 17th.

66 My dear, beloved Father-You will have been in our own home some weeks, I presume, before this reaches you. I wish I could have sent a letter to welcome you on your

arrival; but our removal here has made it impossible for me to write sooner, and now I have so much to say, I hardly know where to begin.

Your ardently expected letter from Trieste, reached us on the third of this month, and it did make me very sad. Dear father, will not Christ be your comforter? Will not He be more to you than any thing else? Will He not comfort us all in this separation, and give us the joy of knowing that it is all for His glory? I ask myself, why, my dear father, why should you love me so! If I were better, if I had really been the child that I ought to have been, then I should not wonder as I now do. But it makes me very humble to know that my dear parents do love me so, even with all my faults, and I continually pray God to make me worthy of your love.

And now you are once more to see your home, and before my letter comes, you will have seen our house beneath the cherry trees, and the good old church; and the organ, and the bell will have sounded-oh, how many thoughts come crowding into my mind. I, too, almost feel as if I were seeing them again. My heart leaps to think you will be there. I can see them all.

That sad afternoon when you left, mamma and Adeline came to our house, and we went home with them immediately, and H. and I sat alone in the large parlor, watching the steamer. The tears come so fast while I think about it, it almost stops my writing. But your letter, dear father, tells me you are not sorry I have come to dwell on missionary ground.

The day we left Smyrna, we did feel sad; but we had a fine voyage, and enjoyed the glorious view exceedingly. And now H. and I are separated from both our homes, and from the dear friends and companions of our early years, but God is with us, and he will be our Father, and will be

the Father of all our dear circle. We have appointed separate evenings to pray for our friends-Monday for missions, and our missionary friends-Tuesday, for our Smyrna friends-Wednesday, for our American friends, and Thursday evening for our American relatives-you, and dear mamma, E. and aunt M.'s family; Friday is for our own work. We have Thursday for you, because it is the evening of your lecture. These are our stated times; but besides these, do not our hearts daily and continually ascend to God for you? It is a great comfort to me that I remember with such minute distinctness, every thing about my home. There is a freshness about every thing in the past, a vividness at times overwhelming. I can call up day after day, hour after hour, with all its attending events, conversations, looks and emotions. Almost every time I lie down, some scene in Hartford rises to memory—either the chaise is just ready, and I ride down by the South church with you; or I am sitting with my dear mother in her own room, talking of the future, which is now present. Often, often, when you will think of me as being interested in some scene in my new home, if you could see our spirits, you would find that both H. and I had come to visit you."

JOURNAL.

"On Tuesday, the 18th of June, we returned to the city, and H. commenced looking for a house. In a few days he obtained a very nice stone house, and the keys were given us. While our house was being prepared for us, we went to Bebec, where we had been invited to spend a few days. The usual way to Bebec is by water, and I wish my dear mother could for once enjoy the magnificent Bosphorus. You must imagine it in all its summer robing,— the fairy palaces in the midst of green trees. We sailed

slowly up those smooth summer waters, while the boats of many Pachas were gliding swiftly by us; for it was just the hour that they return to their palaces. I admire these little kaiques; and the dress of the boatmen, which is quite picturesque. They wear only full trowsers, and shirts of white raw silk, with very large straight sleeves. But we must sit quite still to keep them from tipping over. I found it difficult to do this at first. We were about an hour in our sail, and then landed under the shade of some magnificent trees, near the Sultan's kiosque. These kiosques, which are found in every pretty place, and wherever there is a fine view, add much to the scenery of the Bosphorus.

We climbed up the hill till we reached the house, where Mrs. H.'s two sweet little girls met us at the gate, with their nurse. The house is quite romantic-large, airy rooms, and marble basins with curiously carved stoppers; and though a gloomy looking building outside, it is magnificent within. The Greeks build their houses gloomily outside so as not to attract the notice of the Turks.

On Friday evening we were informed that we had lost our house. There had been some fraud practiced. It had been previously rented for three years, but the owner, fearing he should lose the rent, had stealthily obtained the keys and determined to rent it again. These instances of deceit are very common here. H. went early on Saturday to the city, to see about our house. It was indeed gone.

We felt very sorry to lose it, but when the keys were demanded we of course gave them up.

On Saturday a flock of Armenian ladies and gentlemen called on us, many of whom were deeply interested in religion. Mr. H. conversed, and read, and prayed with them. Our Sabbath at Bebec was quite pleasant. We had service in the afternoon. Monday evening was spent

in returning the call of the Armenians, and H., who could understand them, was delighted with their conversation. On Tuesday evening we had a beautiful walk to the hill above Mr. H.'s house. The view was indescribably finethe castles of Europe and Asia, on the Bosphorus, in full sight. Our thoughts were back in other days. This is indeed the land where the past speaks. We found that Mr. C., American Minister at Constantinople, intended. celebrating the Fourth of July, and that we were to unite in it.

On Wednesday, when we returned to the city, we found our friends busily engaged, preparing for the celebration. An American steamer, in the Turkish service, had been engaged to take us up to the Black Sea. The Fourth of July was a glorious day and very warm. We ladies and the children rode to the steamer in a Turkish arabar, or carriage, all the dogs in the street making a terrible din at us, while we were shaken nearly to pieces by the rough pavements. Our party consisted of Mr. C. and his household, the mission families, and a few others under American protection. A fine band had been engaged, and with our American flag we made something of a sensation as we sailed up the Bosphorus. My heart was back in my native country, and many silent prayers went up, by many wanderers that day. Our view of the Bosphorus from the steamer is far better than from a small kaique. How like fairy land seemed those glistening palaces and green trees! We were all animation on board. The company at Bebec waited for us, and came off in boats to the steamer.

As we began to go into the Black Sea, some of the ladies felt a little sick; so they immediately put back and anchored in the Bosphorus, just under the ruins of an old Genoese castle, covered with creeping vines, where we dined. The Declaration of Independence was read by Mr.