less means than you have, or are likely to have, for nothing really necessary or comfortable, I trust in Providence, shall be wanting to you, have felt it a great privilege to go through a collegiate course, and have afterward, come to be eminent, respectable, and wealthy.

I would never wish my judgment to be warped by my feelings, especially by offended feelings, to do any thing harsh. I would rather even have it blinded by such affection for my dear children, as would make my tenderness overstep perhaps the exact bound of maternal prudence : both extremes would be best avoided. "Give me thine heart, my son," is the language of scripture; and where there is any heart worth giving or worth having, I believe it is seldom refused to the authors of our being, the protectors of our infancy; to the father, whose fond ambition it is to see his son distinguished in life-the mother, who with a throbbing heart and moistened eye, is continually addressing the throne of heaven for the welfare of her dear child-and to the sisters, ever ready to reciprocate the tender charities of domestic endearment, and ever cheerfully sacrificing something of their own convenience for the advancement of their brothers. 1 I pray God to bless you, and to give you grace to make a good use of an understanding, which I am sure you possess, to give a right bias to energies and sensibilities which, wrongly

directed, will make you foolish and miserable. With sincere prayers for your improvement in wisdom and virtue, wishing you an affectionate heart and industrious habits, I remain your faithful friend, your tender mother,

M. L. RAMSAY.

FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME.

August 26, 1810.

DEAR DAVID,

I AM at present undergoing a very severe affliction, and have for a fortnight past been so much occupied and aggitated, that I have let one post after another pass without writing to you. You know, however, all my mind toward you; have my precepts and opinion upon every subject which can materially interest you; and whether I write or am silent, my maternal love, my tender anxiety for my son, for my dear husband's name-sake, can never be for one moment a matter of doubt to you. Your sister, Miss Futerell, expects to embark for Liverpool, on her way to London, the day after to-morrow. Business of importance, and the desire of being with her mother, become aged and infirm, is the cause of her voyage. She has been attempting a return to

England for many months; but the obstructions to an intercourse between that country and ours, made it impossible to get a passage, but by some very round-about way. Your father Your father is more affected on this occasion than it is common for men to manifest. With regard to myself and your sisters, need I describe our situation? Miss Futerell is bowed down with grief at our separation; and I think this is a grief in which you will, to a certain degree, participate; she loves you with a very warm affection, and entertains such an opinion of your heart and understanding, that she is often saying, I expect great things from David; she will hardly ever allow me even to express a fear of your doing ill; and declares, however such fears may intrude upon the heart of a mother, and especially of a Carolinian mother, I have no cause for it. Yesterday, she said to me," I am going to leave you, and it is mournful to me to leave you burdened with care on so many accounts; but keep up your spirits; repose your hope in God; particularly, dont be uneasy about David, he will do well; exhort him to be industrious, not to be contented with low attainments, and all will be well; much good seed has been sown by you, and I think it has fallen on good ground; he knows the truth, he has imbibed sound principles, from time to time in his life he has thought very seriously, he will do you no discredit, and he will become

a valuable member of society." I pray God, my dear son, her predictions may be true; she has always been a kind friend and adviser to you and to your brothers and sisters; and is, I believe, as deeply interested for you all as it is possible for any but a mother to be. I hope you will now recollect all her admonitions of love, and profit by them. If you were a little older, had well profited by your education, and we could meet the expense, I should have no objection to your accompanying this dear friend; and while she was transacting her business, that you should be taking,before you settled down in life, a survey of that world of wonders, London.

1

Your vacation is now at no great distance. I hope you are not trifling away this prime of your days, content with such attainments as will excuse you from censure; but emulous of ranking with the most studious, most prudent, and most virtuous of your companions. I wish I could inspire you with a laudable ambition, and with feelings that would make you avoid any unnecessary intercourse with the bucks, the fops, the idlers, of college; and think, that the true intention of going to a seminary of learning is to attain science, and fit you hereafter to rank among men of literary and public consequence. Our intention is, that you shall spend the vacation with your uncle in Baltimore. You will be at Philadelphia in passing. You will be

kindly treated by your uncle and his family; and you will find enough to amuse you in Baltimore, which is said to be the third city in the United States. At some future opportunity you may visit New York and Boston. But in order to accomplish all, or any of these purposes, you must be frugal, and not attempt to vie in wasting money with the sons of rich planters, who only go to college for fashion's sake, and whose lives are as useless as their expenses. Your father is absent on a visit to Mr. Todd, and from the message brought, I fear his visit will be too late to be of any avail. It will be an additional grief to Miss Futerell to leave Mrs. Todd under affliction, and a heavy affliction to Mrs. Todd, to part with such a friend at such a time. With all a mother's heart, I remain, dear David, your's, M. L. RAMSAY.

FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME.

September 11, 1810.

DEAR DAVID,

I WROTE to you not long ago, telling you of the departure of my dear Miss Futerell. Her absence makes every thing desolate to me, and your sisters more than sympathize with me, for,