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kindred, and still closer bonds of love and tender friendship, usually warrant. I feel a lively interest in all which concerns you; and should be more than commonly happy, if a brother's prayer and a brother's admonition should prove in any way conducive to the welfare and advancement of a much-loved sister. I am desirous of seeing and knowing that you will shine in the united characters of wife, mother, mistress, friend, and Christian. I feel truly and unequivocally anxious that
you should not, even in appearance, sink into the mere accomplished and elegant woman. I wish you to set a right estimate upon that far more accomplished, and infinitely more useful character, which exists chiefly within the walls of your own house. Every thing depends on your first outset. By the model which
frame for your conduct, this very year, will probably be regulated all your subsequent character and conduct in every future situation of life. You well know the affection, and I trust will not despise the judgment and sentiments, of him who speaks thus candidly and frankly to you. I am well persuaded that a young woman, to be truly respectable, must dare to be laudably singular. There always will be a certain description of persons in every place, who will wonder that you can exist without passing your time as they do; but among those whose esteem and opinion alone ought to regulate your own feelings and conduct, the more retired and seldom-to-be-seen wife,
whose theatre of real action and real pleasure is within her own house, in the fulfilment of sober, useful, and exemplary duties, will ever be most beloved, most respected, and most befriended. By way of immediate occupation of your time and thoughts, allow me to direct them to the relief and benefit of the poor ; not by idle gratuities, but by diligently seeking them out, informing yourself of their wants and distresses, and economizing in superfluities, in order that thereby the poor may abound in needfuls, and you may abound in their blessings. Be systematically charitable, both to their souls and bodies. Promote plans for instruction; assist in superintending them; employ yourselves in making clothes for them; and rest not till you have made it a settled and uniform part of your character, to be actively, constantly, and watchfully charitable. Let me recommend, with the united earnestness of a brother and a clergyman, that you will read religious books, and sometimes allow me to be
adviser. Be scrupulously attentive to the observance of the Sabbath both in public and private, both at church and at home; and in all your pleasures, all your pains, all your employments, prospects, plans, and engagements, remember that the use of this life is to prepare for a better; and that • strait is the gate, and narrow is the way that leads to eternal life, and few there be that find it.”—Read your Bible, with prayer, daily, under the impression of this awful truth: and may God remember you, my dearest sister, among those whom he especially loveth; and His grace render you, what I wish you may always prove to be, a valued wife, a tender mother, an estimable friend, and a devoted Christian.
TO A SISTER.
Yes, dear one, to the envied train
Of those around thy homage pay; But wilt thou never kindly deign
To think of him that's far away?
For many years I may not see;
My sister dear, remember me?
Surrounded by the gay and fair, And thou the fairest of them all,
0, think not, think not of me there. But when the thoughtless crowd is gone,
And hushed the voice of senseless glee, And all is silent, still, and lone,
And thou art sad, remember me. Remember me—but, loveliest, ne'er,
When, in his orbit fair and high,
The morning's glowing charioteer
Rides proudly up the blushing sky; But when the waning moonbeam sleeps
At moonlight on that lonely lea, And Nature's pensive spirit weeps
in all her dews, remember me. Remember me, I pray-but not In Flora's gay and blooming hour,
brake hath found its note, And sunshine smiles in
flower; But when the falling leaf is sear,
And withers sadly from the tree; And o'er the ruins of the
year Cold Autumn weeps, remember me. Remember me
but choose not, dear, The hour, when on the gentle lake, The sportive wavelets, blue and clear,
Soft rippling, to the margin break; But when the deafening billows foam
In madness o'er the pathless sea, Then let thy pilgrim fancy roam
Across them, and remember me. Remember me—but not to join
If haply some, thy friends, should praise; 'Tis far too dear, that voice of thine,
To echo what the stranger says. They know us not—but should'st thou meet
Some faithful friend of me and thee, Softly, sometimes, to him repeat
My name, and then remember me.
Remember me-not, I entreat,
In scenes of festal week-day joy, For then it were not kind to meet,
That thought thy pleasure should alloy;
And, dearest, on thy bended knee,
Sweet spirit, then remember me.
On thee for ever, ever dwell,
And doubts 'twould grieve thee should I tell; But in thy calm, unclouded heart,
When dark and gloomy visions flee, Othere, my sister, be my part,
And kindly there remember me.
O thou, by Heaven ordained to be
Be angel-minded, and despise