shut himself up in his study with his sad thoughts. I remember him as
usually seated with his book by the side of the fire, surrounded by his
family, as if he would enjoy their society as long as possible, and the
children's play was never hushed on his account. Nor did he forget the
young visitor. When the elder daughter, to whom my visit was made, was
at school, he would care for my entertainment by telling a story, or
propounding a riddle, or providing an entertaining book to beguile the
time till Louisa's return.

Among the group in that cheerful room, I remember Lizzy well, a
beautiful child, slender, dark-eyed, light-footed, very quiet, evidently
observant, but saying little, affectionate, yet not demonstrative.

One evening during my visit, Mrs. Payson not being quite well, the
elders had retired early, leaving Louisa and myself by the side of the
fire, she preparing her school lesson and I occupied in reading. The
lesson finished, Louisa proposed retiring, but I was too much interested
in my book to leave it and promised to follow soon. She left me rather
reluctantly, and I read on, too much absorbed in my book to notice the
time, till near midnight, when I was startled by hearing Dr. Payson's
step upon the stairs. I expected the reproof which I certainly deserved,
but though evidently surprised at seeing me, he merely said, "You here?
you must be cold. Why did you let the fire go out?" Bringing in some
wood he soon rekindled it, and began to talk to me of the book I was
reading, which was one of Walter Scott's poems. He then spoke of a poem
which he had been reading that day, Southey's "Curse of Kehama." He
related to me with perfect clearness the long and rather involved story,
with that wonderful memory of his, never once forgetting or confusing
the strange Oriental names, and repeating word for word the curse: