of his filial love. Some extracts from his letters will now be given, which, while they exhibit the son and the brother in the most amiable light, will serve also to illustrate some of his intellectual qualities. They are addressed to his "Ever Dear and Honored Parents."

Portland, May 20, 1804.

"It is not the least among the distressing circumstances at tending the late afflicting dispensation of Providence, that I am unable in person to share in your grief, and alleviate, by filial sympathy and affection, the keenness of your sorrow. I would fain attempt to afford you some consolation; but the only sources, whence it can be derived, are already your own. I can only say for myself-it shall ever be my endeavor, that, so far as my exertions can avail, you shall not feel his loss; and that we, who remain, will strive to fill, by our increased duty, reverence, and affection, the cruel void thus made in your happiness."

January 14, 1805.

On

"I congratulate you both on the welcome news, which my sister gave me, of your amended health and spirits. Mine, I feel, flow with double rapidity, since I received her letter. I witness, in fancy, the happiness of home, and long to participate and increase it; but for the present must be content with rejoicing alone. I cannot possibly plead guilty to the charge of not thinking of home, so often as home does of me.' the contrary, I believe home has very little due on that score, if we consider the frequency, and not the value, of the thoughts. But, my dear Parents, if a few of those thoughts could be imbodied on paper, and sent me, how much more good they would do, and how much more pleasure they would communicate, than if they were to remain in their native place!

"I am still without an assistant, and, as the number of students has been increased, my task is very laborious. However, I shall soon be supplied.-Just now I was interrupted. It was my assistant. He is young and raw; but so much the better. He will not render me small by comparison. "I had a pleasant vacation. All of my classmates, who are in the district, five in number, met at the house of one of them. The recollection of past scenes was, as Ossian says, pleasant and mournful to the soul.' There is, however, very little satisfaction in recalling past pleasures to mind; that is, what is generally called pleasure."

"September 8, 1805.

"'The distress I felt at parting with you was soon banished by the garrulity of my companion, whose chattering tongue for once afforded me pleasure, and, besides, freed me from the necessity of talking, for which I felt not very well qualified. I once thought it was impossible for my filial affection to be increased; but the kindness which first gave birth to it increases every visit I make, and that must increase with it. Were others blessed with friends like mine, how much greater would be the sum of virtue and happiness on earth, than we have reason to fear it is at present. Why cannot other parents learn your art of mixing the friend with the parent? of joining friendship to filial affection, and of conciliating love, without losing respect?-an art of more importance to society, and more difficult to learn,—at least, if we may judge by the rareness with which it is found,-than any other; and an art, which you, my dear parents, certainly have in perfection. "We had a tolerably pleasant journey, and were received with kindness by Mrs. and with politeness, at least, by the rest of the family. After the others were retired, Col. kept me up till past eleven, explaining, as well as I could, the difference between the various sects of religion, especially between Arminians and Calvinists.

*

"We had a long passage, but met with no accident, except that I carried away my hat-to use a sca-phrase—that is, the wind carried it away, and, there being no one on board that would fit me, I was two days on the water exposed to a burning sun, without shelter; in consequence, my face was scorched pretty severely."

"September 20, 1805.

"I sadly suspect that this plan of numbering my epistles will prove your deficiency, and my attention, in a manner very honorable to myself, and not very much so to my good friends at home. This is my fourth, and not one have I received, nor do I expect one this long time. However, I say not this by way of complaint. Your kindness, when I was at home, proved your affection beyond a doubt; and if I should not receive one letter this year, I should have no right to complain. Yet, though not of right, I may of favor entreat for a few occasional tokens of remembrance. I have as yet scarcely recovered from the inflation and pride your goodness occasioned. The attention I received led me to suppose myself a person of no small consequence; however, a month's dieting on cold civility and formal politeness will, I hope, reduce me to my former size. In the mean time, I am convinced that my

situation here is not so much worse than any other as I imagined."

The following letter describes a scene in a stage-coach. Those who have witnessed the writer's unequalled command of language, and power to accumulate facts and imagery to give it effect, will most readily conceive of the overwhelming torrent of satire, which he must have poured forth on the occasion described. Travellers have often brought themselves into a highly mortifying dilemma by allowing free license to their tongues among strangers. It was happy for the hero in this adventure, that he expended his forces upon a legitimate subject of raillery.

"MY DEAREST FATHER,

"Portland, Oct. 8, 1805.

representa****, whose pride, being

In hopes of rescuing you one moment from the crowd of cares and occupations which surround you, I will give you an anecdote of my journey; and if you condescend to smile over it, why so much the better. When seated in a company of strange phizzes, I immediately set myself to decipher them, and assign a character and occupation to the owner of each. But in the stage which conveyed us to B*****, there was one which completely puzzled me. I could think of no employment that would fit it, except that of a tive, unless it was that of a confined in B. by the pressure of wealth and talents, had now room to expand itself. A certain kind of consequential gravity and pompous solemnity, together with his dress, might perhaps have impressed us with respect, had not a pair of rough, callous hands, with crooked, dirty nails, lessened their effect. During a pause in the conversation, he presented me with a paper, which, on examination, I found to be one of those quack advertisements, which Mr. **** has honored with his signature. Not suspecting, in the least, that the good gentleman had any concern in the business, and feeling a fine flow of words at hand, I began to entertain my fellow travellers with its numerous beauties of expression, spelling, and grammar. Finding them very attentive, and encouraged by their applause, I next proceeded to utter a most violent philippic against quacks of all denominations, especially those who go about poisoning the ignorant with patent medicines. I could not help observing, however, that my eloquence, while it had a powerful effect on the muscles of the rest of my companions, seemed to be thrown away on this gentleman aforesaid. But, concluding that his gravity proceeded from a wish to keep up

his dignity, I resolved to conquer it; and commenced a fresh attack, in which, addressing myself entirely to him, I poured forth all the ridicule and abuse which my own imagination could suggest, or memory could supply. But all in vain. The more animated and witty I was, the more doleful he looked, till, having talked myself out of breath, and finding the longitude of his face increase every moment, I desisted, very much mortified that my efforts were so unsuccessful. But, in the midst of my chagrin, the coach stopped, the gentleman alighted, and was welcomed by a little squab wife into a shop decorated with the letters, "MEDICAL CORDIAL STORE." I afterwards learnt he is the greatest quack-medicine seller in B. Excuse me, my dear father, for this long, dull story. I thought it would be shorter. I feel rather out of tune for embellishing to-day.

"We have lately been in a hubbub here about a theatre. After a great deal of dispute, the town voted, to the astonishment of all, that they would not, if they could help it, suffer the establishment of a theatre. One man said, and said publicly, that he considered it as much a duty to carry his children to a play-house, as he did to carry them to meeting, and that they got more good by it. Among the arguments in favor, it was asserted, that, though bad plays were sometimes acted, bad sermons were likewise preached, and that the pulpit ought to be pulled down as much as the theatre.-Adieu, my dear father, and believe me your most affectionate son,

EDWARD PAYSON."

"October 29, 1805.

"I must, my dear mother, give you some account of my comforts. In the first place, I have a very handsome chamber, which commands a delightful view of the harbor, and the town, with the adjacent country. This chamber is sacred; for even the master of the house does not enter it without express invitation. At sunrise, a servant comes and lights up a fire, which soon induces me to rise, and I have nothing to do, but sit down to study. When I come from school at night, I find a fire built, jack and slippers ready, a lamp as soon as it is dark, and fuel sufficient for the evening. An agreement with a neighboring bookseller furnishes me with books in plenty and variety. The objection to our meals is, they are too good, and consist of too great a variety. And what gives a zest to all, without which it would be insipid, is, that I can look round me, and view all these comforts as the effects of infinite, unmerited goodness; of goodness, the operations of which I can trace through all my past life; of goodness, which

I humbly hope and trust will continue to bless me, through all my future existence.”

"MY DEAR MOther,

"November 18, 1805.

"I last night witnessed a scene, to which I had before been a stranger; it was a death-bed scene. A young gentleman of my acquaintance, and nearly of my own age, had been confined thirty-two days, and I was requested to watch with him; and a more exquisitely distressing task I hope never to undertake. When I went, there was little, if any, hope of his life. His mother-whose favorite he deservedly was though she is, I believe, a sincere Christian, seemed unable to support the idea of a separation. Fatigue and loss of sleep made her lightheaded; and, at times, she raved almost as badly as the patient. His sister, a gay, thoughtless girl, was in a paroxysm of loud and turbulent grief; while a young lady, whom he was expecting to marry, heightened the distress by marks of anguish too strong to be concealed, and which seemed to flow from tenderness equal to any thing I have met with in romance. As I had seen nothing of the kind before, its effects on my feelings were irresistible. The perpetual groans and ravings of the dying-whose head I was for hours obliged to support with one hand, while I wiped off the sweat of death with the other; the inarticulate expressions of anguish, mingled with prayers, of the mother; the loud and bitter lamentations of the sister; the stifled agonies of the young lady, and the cries of the younger branches of the family, (the father was asleep!) formed a combination of sounds which I could scarcely support. Add to this the frightful contortions and apparent agonies of the poor sufferer, with all the symptoms of approaching death. About two o'clock, he died. I then had the no less difficult and painful task of endeavoring to quiet the family. The mother, when convinced he was certainly dead, became composed, and, with much persuasion and some force, was prevailed upon to take her bed, as were the rest of the family, except the young lady.

"I had then to go half a mile for a person to assist in laying out the corpse, in as bitter a storm as ever blew; and, after this was done, watched with it the remainder of the night. You will not wonder if I feel, to-day, exhausted in body and mind. Surely there is no torture like seeing distress without the ability of removing it. All day have I heard the dying groans sounding in my ears. I could not have believed it possible, that any thing could take such astonishing hold of the mind; and, unless you can remember the first death you ever witness