water and catch a fare of fishes, and sell them, to make himself, as he called it, square with the world, and prepare the way for a new stock of credit. He was a short, thick, hard, weather-beaten man, never known to be intoxicated, though he poured down his throat a constant stream of strong water, at the rate of nearly two gallons per week. In short, he was wretchedly poor, hardened to drinking, though never drunk, because the spirit had no more efficacy on his carcass, than on a well-seasoned cask. He lies buried in Bundleborough grave-yard, under a flat grave-stone, with this singular epitaph; which, what it had to do with his character, no man could ever imagine.

The sweet remembrance of the just,

Shall flourish when he sleeps in dust.

His son Solomon was a very different character. Old Packwell always had a notion that children should be educated well; and of education he had no other conception than sending them constantly to school. Solomon was not a very apt scholar, so far as books were concerned; he never read for amusement or information, but he was always in his place. He learned to read, write, and cypher, with decency; he was sensible, shrewd, and observing; and, above all, he had a peculiar tact at getting money. Long before the close of his schoolboy days, he had discovered the art of catching birds in a trap cage,

and carrying them into Boston and selling them; of collecting dandelions in the spring, and carrying them to the market with other vegetables, so that it was as natural for money to collect around his fingers, as it was to fly from those of his father. When he became eighteen years old, he went to Boston and began a series of exertions, which ended in the accumulation of a splendid fortune. His first business was to drive round a single-horse cart, loaded with sand, which he dealt out to families at three or four coppers the half-peck. But whatever was his оссираtion, he was sure to gather money, under those powerful brokers, enterprise and economy.

It

One anecdote has often been told of him, from which a plain, old woman, predicted his future affluence. He had brought her some sand and received his pay, when she, noticing his diligence and exertion, asked him if he would not take something to drink; which phrase, by the way, always, in New England, implies something more than water. was before the temperance reformation commenced. "And, Madam," said he, "how much will this something cost you?" "Perhaps," the lady replied, "three coppers." Well, Madam," said he, "give me the three coppers, and I will take my draught at your pump." From that time, it was foreseen that his prudence would end in wealth.

Packwell soon after accumulated capital enough to set up a wood-wharf; and here the same enterprise

and shrewdness followed him. Whether measuring sand, or cording wood, he never lost sight of the main chance. He was just a hard dealer enough to escape the character of a cheat. Some complained of him, to be sure, of buying at a wholesale price in the summer season, and selling off by the foot, or half foot, his piles, for whatever they would fetch. But this is the very policy of trade; and Packwell had very little to do with generosity or pity. It was about the time that the British army was in Boston, that his business was in its most flourishing state. puzzled his head very little about the idle notions of liberty; whether the stamp act was right or wrong, he never knew; and if his wood brought him British gold, he never troubled himself about the political principles of the man to whom he sold it. Hancock

He

deserted his house, and found, on his return to Boston, that it was torn to pieces; but Solomon Packwell staid by, and made hay while the sun shone on him. Hancock got fame, and Packwell got

money.

In all the subsequent commotions, Mr. Packwell never burnt his fingers by sticking them too far into the political furnace. If he met with a warm tory, he would hear him talk; would nod and wink; would turn off his questions by some sideway remark, which meant any thing and every thing; would always profess himself a warm believer in all the truisms which no party disputed; and if he met a whig, he would

deal exactly so with him. In like manner, in Shays' rebellion; at the formation of the federal constitution; and during the hot contests which followed afterwards, though the country was in a blaze, and every man, from the lawyer to the scavinger, thought it necessary to dispute, Mr. Packwell minded his own business, and kept his eye on the main chance. He went to no caucuses, made no speeches, scarcely went to a town-meeting. The only office to which he was ever elevated, was that of fireward. Here, everybody saw he was trustworthy, because he owned a great many wooden buildings in a particular street, and so they gave him the long pole.

In the mean time, riches flowed in upon him in an increasing ratio. First, he could reckon his ten thousands, then his hundred thousands, and finally, his property rose to half a million. He now began to shine out in his dress and equipage; for, strictly speaking, he was no miser. He added to his singlehorse chaise a carriage; enlarged his house; increased his furniture; and wore ruffles around his wrists. He bought him a country-seat in Bundleborough, his native town, and spent his summer months there, cracking his jokes among the farmers and mechanics. He was popular, though no man thought him a Solomon, except in his given name. He would never injure you, unless you made a bargain with him, and then he was sure, by hook or by crook, to get the best end of the stick.

Packwell had a large family of children, and a wife, whose history was similar to his own. Having struggled with the evils of poverty, and being somewhat deficient in the accomplishments of the circles with which they were now called to mingle, they resolved that their children should be effectually delivered from all these evils. They accordingly sent them to the best schools, i. e. the most expensive; hired private tutors for them; bought pianoes for the daughters, and whole libraries for the sons; in short, supposed themselves to be educating them, because they concluded they never could be educated enough. In the mean time, they made no small display of their wealth in the sight of these children; they were rolled in carriages, and galloped in riding-schools, and taught to expect mines of gold which never could be exhausted. Thus all the stamina of character was destroyed, and like hop-vines or pea-stems, they could only creep up with something to lean on. Strictly speaking, in all the substantials of an active character, they were not half so well educated as their parents, in their original poverty. They had no self-exertion; no self-dependence; and all they knew, was to spend the inheritance their father had acquired. Their eldest son, Harry Packwell, I remember-a boy who boasted that he could eat four biscuit, toasted, for his breakfast; and afterwards he became corpulent, and died of his own fat. The second son was prematurely put into the command of a vessel,