Elizabeth Payson. Early

pon her. Letters to her

cences of the

f them was the gratification of the mother's "wish for a daughter rather than a son." Another was God's goodness to him in sparing both the mother and the child in spite of his fear that he should lose them. This fear, strangely enough, was occasioned by the unusual religious peace and comfort which he had been enjoying. He had a presentiment that in this way God was for

could I now drop the body, I would stand and cry to all eternity without being weary: God is holy, God is just, God is good; God is wise and faithful and true. Either of His perfections alone is sufficient to furnish matter for an eternal, unwearied song. Could I sing upon paper I should

ruled by such a spirit was a

catch its varying aspects of light and beauty, whether on land or sea. The ships and wharves not far from her father's house, the observatory and fort on the hill overlooking Casco Bay, the White Mountains far away in the distance, Deering's oaks, the rope-walk, and the ancient burying-ground-these and other familiar objects of "the dear old town," commemorated by Longfellow in his poem entitled "My Lost Youth," were indelibly fixed in her memory and followed her wherever she went, to the end of her days. In her movements she was light-footed, venturesome to rashness, and at times wild with fun and frolic. Her whole being was so impressionabl

the bristles in a clothes-brush, and then as she came in from school, holding it up and bidding her guess their number-his coolness and efficiency in the wild excitements of a conflagration, the calm deliberation with which he walked past the horror-stricken lookers on and cut the rope by which a suicide was suspended; these and other incidents she would recall a third of a century after his death, as if she had just heard of or just witnessed them. To her child's imagination his memory seemed to be invested with the triple halo of father, hero, and saint. A little picture of him was always near her. She never mentioned his name without tender affection and reverence. Nor is this at all strange. She was almost nine years old when he died; and his influence, during these years, penetrated to her inmost being. She once said that of her father's virtues one only-punctuality

the following letters, written to her sister, while the latt

D, May

write composition by dictation, as Miss Martin calls it. She reads to us out of a book a sentence at a time. We write it and then we write it again on our slates, because we do not always get the whole; then we write it on a piece of paper. Miss Martin says I may say my Sund

onate sister

ber 29

, it will. What, and all the dishes too? will they melt like lead? and will the ground be burnt up too? O what a nasty fire it will make. I saw the Northern lights last night. I sleep in a very large pleasant room in the bed with mother.... I have a very pleasant room for my baby-house over the porch which has two windows and a fireplace in it, and a little cupboard too. E. Wood and I are as intimate as ever. I suppose you know that Mr. Wood i

ectionate sis

she may one day devote herself to her Saviour and do something for the "honor of religion." In the latter part of 1830 Mrs. Payson removed to New York, where her eldest daughter opened a school for girls. It was during this residence in New York that Elizabeth, at the age of twelve years, made a pu

the glimpses they give of her father and mother and sister. The Willis and Payson families were very intimate and warmly attached to each other. Mr. Nathaniel Willis, the father of N. P. Willis the poet, was well known in connection with "The Boston Recorder," of

t, that the only public speaker who ever reminded me of him, was Edwin Booth in Hamlet. I surprised, and, I am afraid, a little shocked her, but it was quite true. The slender figure, the dark, brilliant eyes,

ed considerable ingenuity to avoid being alone with them. In Dr. Payson's case, I soon learned, on the contrary, to seek such occasions. I was sure that before long he would look up from his book, or his manuscript, and have something pleasant or playful to say to me. His general conversation, however, was oftener on religious than on any other subjects, but it was so e

ill he did not shut himself up in his study with his sad thoughts. I remember him as usually seated with his book by the side of the fire, surrounded by his family, as if he would enjoy their society as long as possible, and the children's play was never hushed on his

utiful child, slender, dark-eyed, light-footed, very quiet, evident

on, too much absorbed in my book to notice the time, till near midnight, when I was startled by hearing Dr. Payson's step upon the stairs. I expected the reproof which I certainly deserved, but though evidently surprised at seeing me, he merely said, "You here? you must be cold. Why did you let the fire go out?" Bringing in some wood he soon rekindled it, and began to ta

e, from the wea

om wood, from fir

's tooth, and th

thee, and time shall n

of a school in which her young sister was the brightest pupil, and to the profits of which she laid no personal claim, all going untouched into the family purse. Several young girls, Louisa's pupils, had been received as boarders in the family, and occasionally a clergyman was added to the number. It was during this visit that I first learned to appreciate Mrs. Payson. Now that she stood alone at the head of the household, either her fine qualities were in bolder relief, or I being older, was better able to estimate them. The singular vivacity of her intellect made her a delightful companion. Then her youth had been passed in the literary circles of New Haven and Andover, and she had much to tell of distinguished people known to me only by reputation. I admire

was a passion, and she would resent an unfair criticism of a favorite author as warmly as if it were an attack on a personal friend. To Lizzy, on the contrary, a friend was a book which she loved to read. Human nature was her favorite study. There seemed to be no one in whom she could not find something to interest her, none with whom there was not some point of sympathy. Combined with this wide and genial sympathy was another quality which helped to endear her to her companions, viz., an entire absence of all attempt to show her best side, or put the best face on anything that concerned her. An ingenuo

ages, I should certainly have selected Louisa, and I think most persons who knew them would have done the same. The elder sister's passion for books, her great powers of acquisition, the range of her attainments-embracing not only modern lang

And as the greater literary resources of Boston drew her thither, she was often for months a welcome guest at our house, where she first met Professor Hopkins of Williamstown, and whom she afterward married. The letters which Lizzy wrote to her at those times were never allowed to be the monopoly of one person; we all claimed a right to read them. The ease with which in these she seemed to talk with her pen, the mingled pathos and humor with whic

mother's bedside and amused her with her talk about her pupils, their various characters and the progress they had made in their studies, or related little incidents of the school-room-with her usual frankness not omitting those which revealed some fault, or what she considered such, on her part, especially her impulsiveness that led her often to say things she afterward regretted. As an example, one of her pupils was reading French to her and coming to the expression Mon Dieu! so common in French narratives, had pronounced it so badly that Lizzy exclaimed, "Mon Doo? He would not know himself what you meant!" The laugh which it was impossible to repress, did not dimi

eagre. If we were not thousands of miles apart, and I could talk with you, instead of writing to you, perhaps they would not appear quite

tzerland, F

*