no small inclination to go. I should like exceedingly to be near you and my other relations. I should also like a milder climate than this, and I have little doubt that it would be beneficial to my health. But a removal would be death to my reputation in this part of the country; I mean my Christian reputation; and, what is far worse, it would bring great reproach upon religion. At present, my worst enemies, and the worst enemies of religion, seem disposed to allow that I am sincere, upright, and uninfluenced by those motives which govern worldly-minded men. But had I gone to Boston, and, much more, should I now go to New York, they would at once triumphantly exclaim, "Ah! they are all alike; all governed by worldly motives; they preach against the love of money, and the love of applause, but they will gratify either of those passions, when a fair opportunity offers." Now, I had much rather die, than give them an occasion thus to speak reproachfully. It would be overthrowing all which I have been laboring to build up. Indeed, I can see no reason why God should suffer these repeated invitations to be sent to me, unless it be to give me an opportunity to show the world that all ministers are not actuated by mercenary or ambitious views. I have already some reason to believe, that my refusal to accept the two calls has done more to convince the enemies of religion, that there is a reality in it, than a thousand sermons would have done. However this may be, I have done what I thought to be duty. If I ever felt desirous to know the will of God, and willing to obey it, it has been in reference to these two cases. Could I have had reason to believe, that it was his will, I would very gladly have gone either to Boston or to New York. But, at present, I believe that it was his will that I should remain where I am. Not that I am of any use here; but though I can do no good, I would, if possible, avoid doing harm."

But little more than a month elapsed before the invitation of the Cedar-street church was repeated. Some changes in his circumstances led him to deliberate, for a time, whether this second invitation might not be the call of Providence. He considered the obstacles, which had opposed his removal, as diminished. The church in Hanover-street-supposing that he might possibly be deterred from complying with this invitation, by the fact that he had so recently declined a call from them-passed a resolve, with a view to remove any difficulties which that circumstance might have thrown in his way, and wrote a letter, urging him to act just as he should

if he had never received an invitation from them. This amounted very nearly to the expression of an opinion, that it was his duty to go. He was evidently much perplexed. On the one hand, he feared" doing wrong, and offending God, by running before he was sent." On the other hand, the circumstances attending his reception of the call, induced him to believe that it might, possibly, be the call of God; and he could not again decline it, until he had taken time for prayer and deliberation.' "I have ample reason," he writes to the commissioners who tendered the invitation, "to believe that God placed me in my present situation; and I must, therefore, be convinced that he calls me away, before I can consent to leave it. That he does call me away, I am not yet convinced; though I admit it to be possible."

After having been long agitated by the perplexing question, it was, at length, referred to a council, mutually chosen by himself and his church. To the council it proved almost as tedious and trying as it had to him. They were reluctant to decide against his removal, thinking it possible, that a change of climate and situation, together with the diminished necessity of study, might recruit the wasted energies of his body, and prolong, for the benefit of the church, his most valuable and useful life. On the other hand, they found difficulties in the way of recommending his removal, which they were not able to surmount, the principal of which was his want of a full and decided conviction of personal duty in the case. They could, therefore, only advise, that, if such should be his conviction, and he should make it known to his church, they would consent to part with him.

To this state his mind had nearly approached, when its progress towards conviction was arrested, and its purpose changed by increased illness. Symptoms of pulmonary affection, added to his other maladies, excited apprehensions that his labors on earth were nearly terminated-apprehensions which, alas! proved to be but too well founded. In May following, by the advice of friends and physicians, he tried very thoroughly the experiment of riding on horseback, by making a journey through the interior of Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, and Connecticut, to New York city, and thence to the Springs, where his mind was disturbed by a third application to take the charge of Cedar-street church, accompanied with most pressing letters and messages from clergymen and others. Though this was declined without much hesitation, yet, in the excitable state of his nerves, and his universal weakness of body, it was injurious to his welfare, and, combin

ed with other causes, prevented his deriving any benefit from his journey and an absence of two months.

"The peculiar trials of mind," writes the Rev. Mr. Whelpley, with whom he took lodgings,-" The peculiar trials of mind he had passed through, in consequence of the invitations he received to New York and Boston, well nigh broke him down, as he expressed it, and greatly aggravated his complaints and sufferings; and he had hoped to experience no more trouble from this quarter. But no sooner was it known in New York, that he was at the Springs, than fresh overtures were sent to him.' I wonder,' said he, that this people will thus pursue a dying man. I cannot help them or myself.'-I have no doubt, from various expressions of his, that the great efforts made to effect his translation to a new field of labor proved too much for his weak frame, and hastened his dissolution."

The language ascribed to Mr. Payson, in the preceding extract, is descriptive of his own weakness, and expresses his settled conviction of the desperate condition of his health, and not any intended censure of the people who were so perseveringly solicitous to secure his services. He could fully appreciate their motives. But they knew not how delicate and susceptible were his feelings; nor did they know how nearly exhausted in him were the springs of life. Doubtless their wishes had so far affected their judgment, as to create the confident expectation, that a removal to a new field of action would be the means of restoring and establishing his health. But it was already gone past recovery.

That he was held in as high estimation by the great and good, as by Christians in the ordinary walks of life, is obvious from the fact, that he was, in 1821, requested by persons having some control in the appointment, to say whether he would accept a professorship in the Theological Seminary at Andover, if elected to the office. But he refused "at once, and positively, on the score of not possessing the requisite qualifications. Had I been suitably qualified, I am not certain that I should not have thought it my duty to go."

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CHAPTER XVII.

Letters to persons in various circumstances and states of mind.

THOUGH Mr. Payson was eminently felicitous in adapting his public discourses to the wants and characters of a promiscuous assembly, he was, if possible, still more so, in suiting his counsels, instructions, and appeals, to the cases of individuals. But these dictates of his sanctified understanding and ardently affectionate heart, are mostly lost; and their place can be supplied only by a selection from his letters, written to persons variously situated and affected,-which, though both interesting and instructive, are far inferior in imagery, appositeness, and effect, to his viva voce instructions.

To his mother under affliction of spirit :

"MY DEAREST MOTHER,

"Never did I more ardently wish to impart consolation, and never did I feel so utterly powerless to do it. You say yourself, that neither reason nor religion can restrain your tormenting imagination. What encouragement, then, have I to attempt to comfort you under the evils it occasions? I wish I could communicate to you the feelings which have rendered me happy for some weeks past. I will mention the texts which occasioned them; texts on which I have preached lately. Perhaps the great Comforter may apply them to you. If so, you will little need any consolation which I can give. The first is Isaiah xxvi, 20. The time of our continuance on earth is but a moment; nay, it is but a little moment. Suppose, then, the worst. Suppose that all the evils which imagination can paint should come upon you. They will endure only for a little moment; and, while this little moment is passing away, you may run and hide in the chambers of protection, which God has provided for his people, till the mansions preparing for them above are ready for their reception. O, then, my dear mother, glory in these afflictions, which endure but for a moment, a little moment. O, how near, how very near, is eternity. It is even at the door.

"New-year's Sabbath, I preached on this text, "As the Lord liveth, there is but a step between me and death." One

inference was, there is but a step between Christians and heaven. So it has seemed to me almost ever since. Another text, which I have preached on lately, and which has been much blessed to me, is Rev. xxi. 23. "And the city had no need of the sun," &c. O, how unutterably glorious did heaven appear! It is glory: it is a weight of glory; an exceeding weight of glory; a far more exceeding weight of glory; a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. O, how shall we bear such a weight of glory as this! How shall we wait with patience till we arrive at it! O, it seems too much; too boundless, too overwhelming to think of. Come afflictions; come troubles; come trials, temptations, distresses of every kind and degree; make our path through life as painful, as wearisome as you can; still, if heaven is at the end of it, we will smile at all you can do. My dear mother, break away; O that God would enable you to break away from all your cares and sorrows, and fly, rise, soar up to the New Jerusalem. See its diamond walls, its golden streets, its pearly gates, its shining inhabitants, all in a blaze with reflected light and glory, the light of God, the glory of the Lamb! Say with David, Toward this city I will go in the strength of the Lord God; I will make mention of thy righteousness, even of thine only. My mother, what a righteousness is this? The righteousness of God! A righteousness as much better than that of Adam, nay, than that of angels, as God is better than his creatures. Since, then, my dear mother, you have such a heaven before you; such a righteousness to entitle you to heaven; and such blessed chambers to hide in, during the little moment which separates you from heaven,-dry up your tears, banish your anxieties, leave sorrow and sighing to those who have no such blessings in store or reversion, and sing, sing, as Noah sat secure in the ark, and sang' the grace that steered him through.'

"I would urge father to be more careful of himself, if I thought it would do any good; but it will not. The nearer he gets to his sun, his centre, the end of his course, the faster he will fly, and you cannot stop him. Catch hold of him, and fly with him, and I will come panting after as fast as I

can."

To a kinsman, in an important crisis of his religious experience :

"In your present situation, and for some time to come, your greatest difficulty will be, to maintain the daily