Memoirs of Anne C.L. Botta,: written by her friends. With selections from her correspondence and from her writings in prose and poetry.

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BY MRS. A. H. LEONOWENS, CASSEL, GERMANY.
We have given what we ought to grief;
Now let us do our duty.
H HEN across the wide Atlantic there flashed the
sad news that Anne C. Lynch Botta had
passed away from among the living, there
was felt a pang which, like a spell, benumbed the
faculties, froze the heart, and hushed the voice. It
was as if the chill and gloom of the grave, upborne
from the subterranean depths that had engulfed so
many and such deeply loved and venerated friends,
had enveloped the clear blue sky, and had driven
from it all the light and sunshine forever; as if day
would never again dawn; as if no counteracting
spell would ever mitigate the anguish and desolation
of those almost interminable hours. When one
strove to take up the thus severed thread of one's
daily life, to speak, to act, to rally one's self to the
immediate, the inevitable, it seemed almost a sacrilege, a profanation of one's holy grief, a forgetfulness
of one's irreparable loss.
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