friend
and sympathizer. To her brothers, too, she endeared herself exceedingly
by her helpful, cheery ways and the strong vein of fun and mirthfulness
which ran through her daily life.

In the spring of 1837 Mrs. Payson sold her house on Franklin street and
rented one in the upper part of the city. Lizzy used to call it "the
pumpkin house," because it was old and ugly; but its situation and the
opportunity to indulge her rural tastes made amends for all its defects.
In a letter to her friend Miss E. T. of Brooklyn, N. Y., dated May 21,
1837, she thus refers to it:

Since your last letter arrived we have left our pleasant home for an
old yellow one above John Neal's. Now don't imagine it to be a delicate
straw-color, neither the smiling hue of the early dandelion. No, it once
shone forth in all the glories of a deep pumpkin; but time's "effacing
fingers" have sadly marred its beauty. Mr. Neal's Aunt Ruth, a quiet old
Quakeress, occupies a part of it and we Paysons bestow ourselves in the
remainder. This comes to you from its great garret. Here I sit every
night till after dark as merry as a grig. "The mind is its own place."
With all the inconveniences of the house I would not exchange it
at present for any other in the city. The situation is perfectly
delightful. Casco Bay and part of Deering's Oaks lie in full view. [8]
The Oaks are within a few minutes' walk. Back-Cove is seen beyond, and
rising far above the _blue_ White Mountains. The Arsenal stares us in
the face, if we look out the end windows and the Westbrook meeting-house
is nearer than Mr. Vail's by a quarter of a mile. I never believed there
was anything half so fine in this region. I think nothing of walking
anywhere now. One day, after various domestic duties, I worked in my
tiny garden four hours, and in the afternoon a party of girls came up
for me to go with them to Bramhall's hill. We walked from three till
half past six, came back and ate a hasty, with some of us a _furious_
supper, and then all paraded down to second parish to singing-school.
I expect to live out in the air most of the summer. I mean to have as
pleasant a one as possible, because we shall never live so near the
Oaks and other pretty places another summer. If you were not so timid I
should wish you were here to run about with me, but who ever heard of
E. T. _running_? Now, Ellen, I never was _meant_ to be dignified and
sometimes--yea, often--I run, skip, hop, and _once_ I did climb ov