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

2lnne C. Z.:otta
gave not a discordant note. We part-years intervene-we
meet again, but oh! with what sinking of heart, to find that
we are strangers! Different scenes and thoughts have turned the
currents that ran so smoothly together, and they mingle no longer.
That is a bitter and melancholy hour, more bitter and melancholy than death itself; for if death takes those we love, their
memory remains fresh and beautiful, and on that we can repose.
But the estranged, the cold, the changed! -it were well if we
could blot out their memory. As I was saying, then, our friends
die and change, wve ourselves grow old, and as the vigor of our
youth decays, and the flowers of our spring wither, some objects
must supply their place; and where shall we find them if not in
our own minds? and what shall these objects be if not the cultivation of taste and the acquisition of knowledge? These make
us independent of time and place. Like the camel in the parched
desert, we bear within us the fountain to supply the wants of our
solitary pilgrimage. Thus refreshed and invigorated, we patiently
travel on, while those around us languish beneath the storm, or die
of the feverish thirst. One might ask, " Will not this course make
you selfish, by putting you above the necessity of sympathy?" No;
not more than is necessary. Why, when we find nothing to lean
upon, should we not support ourselves? I have been too dependent.
Like the harp that responds to every breeze, so has my inmost soul
vibrated to every adverse breath of unkindness, injustice, and
change. Is it not time,then, thatthe instrument were new strung,
and the chords made of sterner stuff? Since the midsummer of
my life is departing, let it bear with it like the summer of earth
its perishing flowers. Bright, beautiful aspirations of my youth!
yearnings for that love a God only can satisfy,- for that sympathy
that earth will never give I-" radiant and white-robed dreams,"
ye leave me now forever! Go with the youth that cherished
you and the tears that flowed at your coming.
12tb. I find myself even now, with all my improvements,
often debating whether this mortal coil is in truth a desirable
appendage. A sudden weariness of life comes over me, and
I could lie down like a tired child,
And weep away a life of care.
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