I was concerned to think, that our family differences have been one source of disquiet to her. I am sensible that _this last_ we are apt to exaggerate after a person's death--and surely, in the main, there was considerable harmony among the members of our little family--still I was concerned to think, that we ever gave her gentle spirit disquiet. I thought on years back--on all my parents' friends--the H----s, the F----s, on D---- S----, and on many a merry evening, in the fire-side circle, in that comfortable back parlour--it is never used now.-- O ye _Matravises_[1] of the age, ye know not what ye lose, in despising these petty topics of endeared remembrance, associated circumstances of past times;--ye know not the throbbings of the heart, tender yet affectionately familiar, which accompany the dear and honored names of _father_ or of _mother_. Maria! I thought on all these things; my heart ached at the review of them--it yet aches, while I write this--but I am never so satisfied with my train of thoughts, as when they run upon these subjects--the tears, they draw from us, meliorate and soften the heart, and keep fresh within us that memory of dear friends dead, which alone can fit us for a re-admission to their society hereafter." * * * * * (_From another Letter_) ----"I had a bad dream this morning--that Allan was dead--and who, of all persons in the world, do you think, put on mourning for him? Why, _Matravis_.--This alone might cure me of superstitious thoughts, if I were inclined to them; for why should Matravis _mourn_ for us, or our family?--_Still_ it was pleasant to awake, and find it but a dream.--Methinks something like an awaking from an ill dream shall the Resurrection from the Dead be.--Materially different from our accustomed scenes, and ways of life, the _World to come_ may possibly not be--still it is represented to us under the notion of a _Rest_, a _Sabbath_, a state of bliss." * * * * * [1] This name will be explained presently. (_From another Letter_) ----"Methinks, you and I should have been born under the same roof, sucked the same milk, conned the same hornbook, thumbed the same Testament, together:--for we have been more than sisters, Maria! Something will still be whispering to me, that I shall one day be inmate of the same dwelling with my cousin, partaker with her in all the delights, which spring from mutual good offices, kind words, attentions in sickness and in health,--conversation, sometimes innocently trivial, and at others profitably serious;--books read and commented on, together; meals ate, and walks taken, together,--and conferences, how we may best do good to this poor person or that, and wean our spirits from the world's _cares_, without divesting ourselves of its _charities_. What a picture I have drawn, Maria!--and none of all these things may ever come to pass." * * * * *