unfaithful laborer. But I not only deserved, but indispensably needed, all that has befallen me; and I desire to bless him for these afflictions, by which, when my roots began to shoot into and cleave to the earth, he plucked them up before they were too deeply and firmly fixed, and thus experimentally taught me not to look for or expect any happiness beyond that of serving him here, but to wait for my reward in another world; a lesson of infinite importance, and which I greatly needed. But it is a lesson so hard for us, or at least for me, to learn, that I well foresee, if I am continued here any length of time, it will be necessary for God to impress it upon my mind again and again by repeated and multiplied disappointments. My disposition is naturally so ardent, that I can enjoy nothing with moderation, so that I must either be totally indifferent to worldly objects, or else love them to such a degree, as to render them idols; and then, of course, God must and will either imbitter or remove them. It is evident, therefore, that I must not expect worldly happiness; for perfect indifference to any object, or too much love for it, are equally incompatible with happiness; and these are the only two states of which I am capable. For this reason I fear ever to enter the marriage state, for I should most certainly love a wife too much or too little. I know not, however, whether I ought to regret this trait in my character, since, by cutting me off from other sources, it does, as it were, necessarily drive me to One whom I cannot love or serve too much, and compel me to place all my hopes in a future state.

Since you complain that I did not tell you what my sickness has been, I will now inform you, lest you should suppose it worse than it was. It was an inflammation of the lungs and adjoining parts, attended for several weeks with extreme debility, sharp pain, restlessness, loss of appetite, difficulty of breathing, and an inability to converse for any time together. I should, I believe, have easily got over it, but I continued my labors much too long, hoping I should be able to drag along till warm weather, which, I trusted, would restore me. But after sacrament, when, by reason of the length of the services, I was so exhausted that I could scarcely sit in my chair, I was obliged to go out in a cold, raw evening, to converse and pray with a dying sailor, who had just found out that he had a soul to save. The next day was a violent storm, in which I imprudently went out to visit some sick persons, and, the day following, was seized with a sharp pleuritic pain in my side. However, as it was lecture night, I was obliged to preach, which I got through with much pain and some difficulty, but was then constrained

to give up. Still I believe my confinement would have been much shorter, had not persons continued to come and converse with me, who were under concern. I could not find it in my

heart to send them away, and the temporary exhilaration of spirits, which seeing them gave me, prevented me from finding out at first how much talking injured me, so that, for a long time, I lost much faster than I gained. But the sun seems to be a physician superior to all the doctors, and his warm beams, under God, have in a good measure restored me.

'Thus have I spent my health-an odious trick

In making known how oft I have been sick.'

But if your patience is wearied, you must ascribe it to your own request, without which I should not have said a syllable on the subject."

The "inflammation," he observes in another letter, "was brought on, by speaking in hot rooms, and then going out into the cold evening air." His illness proved, on the whole, a serious one; and he was obliged not only to suspend preaching, but to leave the scene of his labors, before he could obtain relief. On the 27th of April, he set out for his father's house, to try the effect of a journey and a country residence on his health. 'In crossing a stream, whose bridge had been carried away, he was thrown from his horse, and thoroughly wet, so that he could proceed no farther.' The next day,' after riding about ten miles, he was seized with the symptoms of a violent fever, and obliged to stop, and take his bed.' The third day, he pursued his journey moderately, but in much pain and weakness, fearing that his lungs had been much injured by his late accident.' Before night of the fourth day, he was extremely exhausted.' "Find that a fever comes on at night, and goes off with sweats in the morning." The next day was the Sabbath, which he spent in Milford,' weak in body and mind. After meeting, which he attended both parts of the day, had some conversation with a Universalist, but to little purpose.' "May 2. 'May 2. Reached home, and was most kindly received. After the flow of spirits, occasioned by seeing friends, was over, found myself much exhausted with my journey."

For several days after his arrival, he grew worse, till he 'lost all strength and appetite,' and was taken with a 'hectic fever,' as was then supposed, " attended with night sweats and some cough. He gave up all hope of recovering, and felt willing to die; had no murmuring thought."

11 *

CHAPTER IX.

Resumes his pastoral labors—Letters-Review of the year.

MR. PAYSON's absence from his people was prolonged to a period of more than two months. During this time, he underwent much bodily suffering; but his resignation, and his demeanor generally, were such as became a man professing godliness. He obtained no relief, till near the close of this period, when he repaired to Boston for medical advice, by which he was encouraged to hope that he might again engage in preaching the gospel. His church observed a day of fasting and prayer on his account during his absence. He set out on his return to them, July 4th, not without "gloomy, melancholy fears. The work appeared great, the obstacles insurmountable, and his strength nothing." Most of the information, which could be collected respecting his circumstances for several succeeding months, is contained in letters, that were written to his parents and sister.

"MY DEAREST PARENTS,

"Portland, Wednesday Evening, July 6, 1808.

"When you see where and when this letter is dated, you will, I fear, be ready to exclaim, "Imprudent boy! why will he not learn wisdom by experience?" But when you hear that no ill consequences have resulted from my haste, you will, I hope, pardon me. The truth is, when I got beyond the reach of the attraction of Rindge, which was not very soon, Portland began to draw with such irresistible force, that I found there would be no peace for me till I reached it. So, maugre my lame horse, who grew lamer and lamer every hour, I pressed on, and arrived here about six this afternoon. How it will be to-morrow, I cannot tell; but, at present, I am perfectly well, and never was less fatigued by a journey in my life. Mr. K. is out of town, attending an association, and my host, with his wife, is absent on a visit; so as yet I have seen nobody.

"Thursday Morn. "The crowd of anxious and interesting thoughts which engaged my mind on my return would not suffer me to rest

much last night, and of course I feel rather languid this morning. Still, however, I never felt less inconvenience from such a journey. Mr. K. has just left me. He gives a discouraging account of the situation of religion. Several, whose convictions appeared to be of the right kind, have apparently lost them, and a general coldness seems to be prevailing.

66

"Thursday Night.

Perhaps you saw lately an account of a man who was tried here for murder. He was found guilty, and is now in the condemned hole. I went this afternoon to visit him, and was greatly shocked and afflicted by a view of the bolts, chains, and other guards against escape. The entrance to his dungeon was by a small square hole, through which I could but just crawl by stooping double, and it was secured by a very thick door of solid iron. It was, however, sufficiently light, sweet, and free from dampness. The criminal is a young, stout, well-looking man, as far removed as possible from the idea one is ready to form of a murderer. He said he felt guilty and self-condemned before God, and felt the need of a Saviour, and of a new heart, but knew not how to procure either of them. But he said this in a cold, unfeeling way. I shall see him again soon, for my own sake, as well as his. It is well calculated to make one admire and adore distinguishing grace, which has kept us from the same crimes, to see a man, in the flower of life, shut up in a small dungeon, never to go out till he goes to a violent and ignominious death.--In the evening, I went to our meeting for those under concern. This is still kept up, though very few attend, and they seem little engaged.

"Friday.

"I have been trying the effect of sea-bathing. It was not a very favorable time, but I feel better for it, and shall repeat it daily. I have spent some time in going round among the people. They appear glad to see me; but, alas! I fear there are no hopes of any further reformation at present. Many, whom I left under deep concern, have lost all their impressions; others are cold; Christians seem to be discouraged. Though I expected this, it is almost too much for me to bear. I am dispirited and dejected; my very soul sickens and shrinks back from what is before me. Weakened by sickness, my mind seems to have lost, at once, all faith and fortitude. I have no assistance in writing. My ideas are all confused. I seem to have no power to get hold of people's con

sciences, but, as somebody expresses it, "my intellects have got mittens on."

"Sunday Evening.

"I preached to-day, and felt pretty much as I expected. No life-people stupid. I shall get hardened to these things soon; but at present they are distressing indeed. But though I am perplexed, I am not utterly in despair; though cast down, I am not destroyed. Somehow or other, I shall be carried through. As to my health, I have little leisure to think of it amidst the more interesting things which oppress me. I believe, however, I shall suffer but little inconvenience from speaking to-day."

"MY DEAR SISTER,

"Portland, July 16, 1808.

"I know not why it was, but I never felt more pain at leaving home, since I first began to venture abroad, than when I left Rindge for Portland. I rode in a very melancholy mood all day, and seldom have I felt more unpleasantly. This, you will say, was but an ungrateful return to my heavenly Father, for his goodness; but, though I felt sensible that it was, I could not alter the course of my feelings. My mind had become so tender by being accustomed to kindness and attention, that it seemed to shrink from every thing like coldness; and it was in vain to expect that kindness from others, which I experienced from parental and sisterly affection at home. The difficulties, too, of the ministry, were all before me. Like Peter, I looked only at the waves and billows, forgetting the almighty arm that was extended for my support; and, consequently, like him, I sunk in the depths of despondency. Nor is the prospect, now I am here, calculated to cheer me. Iniquities abound; the love of many is waxen cold; the enemy seems coming in as a flood; the Spirit of the Lord no longer lifts up a standard against him; and I, what can I do? What is worst of all, is, that many are ready to think, that, because I am returned, religion will revive. This sickens and discourages my very soul; for I know, assuredly, that, while this is the case, my labors will be utterly unsuccessful. This shows, too, that they have not learnt, by my sickness, what God meant they should learn, and will bring a blast upon me and my exertions. Still, however, blessed be God, he does not suffer me utterly to despair. That text, "Fear thou not, for I am with thee; be not dismayed, for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness"- -never fails to bring relief, even in the darkest hours. In addition to this, I find