CHAPTER IV.

"The Play-the Play's the thing."

"A play-house is the Devil's own hot-bed."—

DEPART FOR BOSTON-THE LEFT-HANDED STAGE-DRIVER-FIRST SIGHT OF THE INTERIOR OF A THEATRE THE MUSICIAN-LESSONS IN MUSIC→→→ A SHORT CHAPTER.

I REMAINED in charge of my preceptor, Mr. Goldsbury, while my mother proceeded to Boston, with the intention of making that city her future home. Her arrangements being completed, I was sent for, and the day following the reception of her letter, I was prepared for my journey.

The Boston of that day was not the Boston of this; and, although my birth-place, few had been the years I had passed among its inhabitants; my early associations were not among the most pleasant of my life; yet there was something in after years that endeared me to my native spot. I have always cherished the highest regard for the friends I have met there; and I am happy to repeat what I have heard from the lips of intelligent American and foreign gentlemen-that its standard of morality, intelligence, and enterprise, is second to no other city in the American Union.

When the stage drove up to the door, I began to feel, for the first time, that I was leaving home; still, I was going to my mother, and to the centre of business, and starting point for ambitious youth.

That day will never be forgotten. Uncles, aunts, cousins and companions, were there to bid me goodbye. I laughed and I cried.

The driver of the stage lifted up the little blue painted box which contained my wardrobe and a supply of chestnuts, apples, and other love-offerings from my cousins, and I followed him to the seat. An apprentice lad had painted-upon the top of this box, in red letters, "G. H. H;" and yellow dots upon the edges were to represent the heads of brass nails, then in fashion upon more pretending trunks than mine. I am particular in the description, for the trunk had other associations, and was a travelling companion years afterward, under different auspices.

I was crying when we started, but the rattle of the coach-wheels, and the crack of the whip, from the skilful flinging of the lash by the left-handed driver, with the occasional cheering "Don't cry, little man," from the aforesaid left-handed driver's smiling countenance and lips, changed the current of my emotions, and dry eyes and smiles took the place of tears and sobs.

How soothing falls the expression of good nature. upon the sad? With the recollection of my journey from Taunton to Boston, and the kindness of this coachman present to my mind, I never see a left-handed stage-driver but I long to shake him by the whip hand, and to bestow a blessing upon the memory of my early

acquaintance.

In this connection I may mention another left-handed stage-driver, well known along the route leading to the classic halls of Harvard.

I know not whether these "Jehus" were relations; but I can add, that I have also experienced the courtesy and civility of this veteran of the Cambridge line; and it appears to me to be one of the merits of

these left-handed gentlemen of the stages, to be always civil and kind-hearted.

Past and present students of Harvard College, embracing grandfathers and grandsons, no doubt, can add their testimony in praise of my Cambridge friend.

To them I leave his eulogy; and from them, if he needs it, may he find consolation and support in his retirement in old age.*

After various stoppages and adventures, we arrived safely in Boston, and I was put down at the house occupied by my mother in Washington-street, near Essex, in the neighborhood of the celebrated liberty tree.

I found a sort of relation with my mother who had always professed a great regard for me, and, some how or other, had been called uncle. As I afterward discovered, my future prospects had been the subject of discussion.

I shall not, even at this day, write his name, out of regard to the feelings of others in the family.

You might decide his character by one of his axioms --"It was nonsense to tax people for the edication of children; let them that wanted their children edicated, pay for it." "He had no children, and he didn't want to pay for other people's larnin'," was another of his logical flourishes, when the subject was brought up for discussion by those persons who wished to fulfil their duty, and deal justly by the rising generation, in preparing them for the conflict of life.

*Allusion is made here to the veteran, Morse, who drove a coach from Cambridge to Boston for a period of over forty years. He is now dead, but will be remembered by many who have had occasion io travel on this route. Mr. Hill was an especial favorite of this veteran driver.

After the usual salutation, my uncle inquired of me what I was going to do for a living?

My mother, who still fancied I should be a great minister, a lawyer, or a doctor, answered that she should see as soon as my education was completed.

He can read and

Why," said he, "George don't need no more edication. He is a smart boy, and can get along without it, as I did at his age. When he's rich, and can afford it, he can larn if he's a mind to. He had better go to a trade, and larn in his master's time. write, and cipher, and that 'ill do. I never liked the idea of his going to the 'cademy. You know, Nancy, 'cademys cost money; and, s'pose the teachin' don't cost much, it's bad for poor folks' children to go to 'em ; it gives 'em notions, on other pints, they can't afford to have. George 'ill be a good boy without any more larnin', and do well. Won't you, George?"

I said, "Yes, uncle," for I had an idea that there were but a few really great men in the State of Massachusetts, and, in consideration of all I heard of this uncle's importance and pomposity, I felt sure he was one of the great men, if not the greatest. My mother listened to him as an oracle of wisdom, and was often influenced by his advice.

"You see, George," he continued, "I hear you are a smartish boy, and some folks say you'll do for a minister, like your uncle Hull. Well, so you may; but that's a good ways off, and ministers don't often get rich by preachin'. Some say 'Edicate him for a lawyer.' Well, all these kind of edications is expensive; and if any accident should happen to you before you get wholly larn'd for the business, that is, s'pose you should die-we're all likely to die-then all the money laid out

in 'cademy expenses, and college larnin', would be lost. Best way is to work along-don't you think so? Now, George, s'pose you go into a tavern, tend table first, and go around; perhaps you'll have to work a leetle in the stable, among the horses-see the jockeys-hear 'em talk. Cute fellows--generally have their eye-teeth cut. You can go to evening school. I know a master will take you cheap. I'll take your wages, and pay the master out of the store. That will keep trade going, Don't you see it right,

and be doing good all round. George?"

I said "Yes," but I did not see any such thing. After my uncle's departure I retired, full of projects, and dreaming of my uncle's plans for me, with all sorts of variations.

I was occupied for some time in the store assisting my mother. In dull times, however, I had much leisure, and often traversed the streets of Boston, intent upon one wish that of seeing the inside of a theatre; and, as I strolled through the city, I began a practical education, the lessons of which were of a character that had a fixity about them not to be forgotten in after days.

On one occasion, I was standing near a celebrated milliner's in Washington street, when a lady said to me, "Little boy, what is your name?" I disliked the salutation, "little boy;" however, I replied "Hill." "Well, Hill," said the lady, "do you know the way to the Boston theatre?" I answered, "Yes." I answered, "Yes." "Then," said she, "will you carry that box to the stage door of the theatre for Mrs. Powell ?"

My eyes and mouth opened wide to say "yes." The theatre that I had so often wished to see on the inside, when gazing on the outside, seemed now open to my