g peculiarities of her physical and mental constitution, but her
piety itself, if not inherited, was largely inspired and shaped by his.
In the whole tone and expression of her earlier religious life, at
least, one sees him clearly reflected. His devotional habits, in
particular, left upon her an indelible impression. Once, when four
or five years old, rushing by mistake into his room, she found him
prostrate upon his face--completely lost in prayer. A short time before
her death, speaking of this scene to a friend, she remarked that the
remembrance of it had influenced her ever since. What somebody said
of Sara Coleridge might indeed have been said with no less truth of
Elizabeth Payson: "Her father had looked down into her eyes and left in
them the light of his own."

The only records of her childhood from her own pen consist of the
following letters, written to her sister, while the latter was passing a
year in Boston. She was then nine years old.

PORTLAND, _May 18, 1828._

My dear sister:--I thank you for writing to such a little girl as I am,
when you have so little time. I was going to study a little catechism
which Miss Martin has got, but she said I could not learn it. I want
to learn it. I do not like to stay so long at school. We have to 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 Sunday-school
[lesson] there. Mr. Mitchell has had a great many new books. I have been
sick. Doctor Cummings has been here and says E. is better and he thinks
he will not have a fever.... G. goes to school to Miss Libby, and H.
goes to Master Jackson. H. sends his love. Good-bye.

Your affectionate sister, E. PAYSON,

_September 29, 1828._

My dear sister:--I think you were very kind to write to me, when you
have so little time. I began to go to Mrs. Petrie's school a week ago
yesterday. I stay at home Mondays in the morning to assist in taking
care of Charles or such little things as I can do. G. goes with me. When
mother put Charles and him to bed, as soon as she had done praying with
them, G. said, Mother, will this world be all burnt up when we are dead?
She said, Yes, my dear, 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
i