and make clean walks for the early pedestrian. The youth was quickly stationed at a window which gave him a view of the waters of the wide spreading bay. All impatient to see more of the wonders around and before him, it was but the business of a few minutes to find his way out of the house, although somewhat puzzled when encountering bolts and bars in his way, at the street door, things unthought of at Spiffard-town. The key was in the lock, and Zeb unlocked, unbolted and unbared with the dexterity of one used to bending both body and mind to the overcoming of difficulties; and nothing daunted by the strangeness of his situation, or the novelties of the place, he sallied forth, first observing the appearance of his uncle's place of residence, and of its bearings with surrounding houses, as he would the landmarks in the woods, and as he often had done when there was no other means to find his way home again while wandering on the hills of Vermont.

Soon he gained the top of Fort-hill. He had never before seen the salt-sea, or the huge machines which float on it. He looked enraptured and bewildered over the beautiful sheet of water, and its islands. He saw ships under sail intermingled with smaller vessels, all alive and glittering in the morning sun. He looked down upon the roofs and chimnies of houses below him, and the topmasts of merchant ships moored at the wharves.. He had seen such things only in book-engravings. He had been instructed by books, and by his father, in the events of that war which made his country the greatest republic in the world, and he thought of the momentous events which took place in and near the town of which he had now become a resident. His gazing and his reveries were interrupted by a summons to breakfast. His uncle, from his chamber window, commanded a view of Fort-hill, and he had seen the boy as he stood wrapt in wonder, (gazing with delight at the many novel objects before him,) and in due time sent for him.

It is not our intention, or our interest, to weary the reader. We hope to engage his attention not only by the incidents of our history, or memoirs, but by those fascinating fancy-stirring changes of scene which delight the imagination, rouse it from any tendency to slumber when one set of objects have been too long before it, and make it subservient to the author's purposes. We will pass rapidly over the detail of those circumstances, which, more than books or teaching, formed the second part of our hero's education, and of course had their share in moulding his character, for we are as impatient as our readers can be to come to those great events which render him an ob

ject worthy of their curiosity, and our labours. But let us never forget that the foundation of education and character was laid at Spiffard-town.

Mr. Abraham Spiffard soon saw in what points the artificial education of his adopted son were most deficient; and the youth was placed in the best school Boston afforded, and Boston has always had the best schools in the United States; the best teachers, the best systems; and is honoured accordingly.

Zeb improved rapidly, and was judged by his uncle, whose scholarship was not profound, to be fitted for commencing the reading of law in some counsellor's office, in rather less than a year from the time of his arrival at the great city of the east, modestly, (at the period of which we treat) called the "town of Boston." To be sure he had, as said of another great character, "little latin, and less greek;" but as Mr. Abraham Spiffard had never found himself much the worse, as far as he knew, for his lack of the same commodities, he recommended to his nephew, that he should continue his study of the dead languages in his leisure moments, for he had observed that a quotation which neither jurors nor auditors of any description understood, enhanced the character of the orator, and was worth ten times the quantity of English. And you, courteous reader, have thought more reverently of an author when you have met a passage from Homer, Euripides, or Sophocles, in the genuine Greek characters-although "all greek" to you. Thus fitted and advised, the prudent uncle placed the youth with a young lawyer of brilliant talents, but whose principal recommendation to the old gentleman, was, that he had long known him as the son of an old friend. Mr. Spiffard did not exert his usual shrewdness in selecting a teacher for Zeb, as will be seen in the sequel.

Thomas Treadwell, Esq., in whose office our hero now passed a great portion of his time, was the son of a select man, and had been carefully educated by his indulgent parent, who justly admired his quick parts, (as all parents are in duty bound to do,) and devoted him to the profession of the law, as the surest road to the Presidential chair; which he doubted not Tom would attain. He had the reputation of being a belle-lettre scholar; and he wrote verses with some skill, great spirit, and sufficient obscurity; unfortunately he was better versed in the works of verse-makers, than of jurists-unfortunately at least for his clients. No young man ever started in the race of life, under better auspices, than Tom Treadwell, but he never took kindly" to labour, and he had Ranger's authority for law

being "a damned dry study," and Ranger was authority higher with him than Blackstone or Coke. He found the drama much more to his taste, and the Muses and actresses much more fascinating, than reports, records, or deeds. His deeds, and their record, will be found to agree with such taste and such conduct. In fact, just about the time our hero was placed under his tuition, to be instructed in the depth and subtleties of jurisprudence; the tutor had, in defiance of all prudence, privately married a very beautiful girl, without education, property, or decent connections, and was enamoured for the moment with his new situation, so much as to neglect-the theatre ; his office had been deserted before. Of all this Mr. Spiffard knew nothing, he only knew the father of the man to whom he had entrusted his son. The consequence was, as may be supposed, that Zeb was left pretty much to his own choice in the course of reading he pursued at the office.

Blackstone is always at hand in a lawyer's office in case any one comes to seek the man of science for advice in law or equity; and except on such occasions the knight is little attended to, even in appearance, by some students we wot of. The love and practice of truth was never abandoned by our hero. But insensibly this paltry mode of deception was becoming seductive. He once placed a book of reports on his desk, open, while he read a novel. Happily he saw his error before it was too late the first love prevailed-he blushed at the meanness of pretending to one thing and practising another, and ever after, truth marked his character almost undeviatingly.

Spiffard read history with delight. The translations of all the great poets, ancient and modern, became familiar to him. Milton's great poems and Shakspeare's plays he devoured. The novels of Smollet and Fielding added to his pleasures, and he was too ignorant of vice to be injured by them, much. His evenings were devoted to teachers of French, Italian, Spanish, and German: nor did he neglect the studies commenced at school; he likewise took lessons in dancing and fencing.

He had been permitted, accompanied by his uncle, to see some plays, immediately upon his arrival at Boston. The impression made upon him by the first exhibition of the kind that he witnessed, though by no means singular in its general effects must not be passed over in silence. All appeared as the work of enchantment. Seated in the pit, he could see before the play commenced the gayly decorated fronts of the boxes glittering with what was in his eyes gold and jewels. Beautiful women, with all the advantages of dress entered those boxes.

The gay company by degrees took their seats-tier above tier they sat, all happy, doubtless, for all smiled. Even the third tier, or upper boxes, appeared to him the abode of happiness and purity. To the pure, all is pure. To the ingenuous boy

the smiles he saw were innocuous.

The music of the orchestra struck up, and although others did not appear to hear it, our hero's delight was increased almost to intoxication.

But however much his sense of hearing was captivated by the orchestra, or his eyes attracted to the brilliant company in the boxes, above all he looked at the green curtain with interest, for the hidden and unknown is far more attractive than the visible, however beautiful. After gazing with a wandering and restless pleasure on the many-coloured objects around and above, his eyes were fixed on the plain dull surface of the cloth before him, which told nothing, but was pregnant with mysterious meaning; for he knew that behind that lay the something that was to crown all-when that should be removed his feli

city would be complete. How he knew not-but he was sure of it. A bell tinkled, and the front lamps rose as if by magic. Another bell rung louder. The curtain vanished. All was dazzling light and many-coloured brilliancy; the silence of breathless expectation succeeded. Then appeared beautiful men and women, with fine dresses, and sparkling eyes, and red cheeks! surely actors and actresses must be not only the most admired, but the best, most lovely, and happiest of mortals! In the course of Zeb's novel reading he had not yet read Gil Blas: and Wilhelm Meister was unknown to English readers.

The play was the Jealous Wife. The boy's delight was extreme, except during that scene in which Charles is exhibited in a state of ebriety. While others laughed, he was absorbed in a melancholy reverie. He felt sick. He wished himself at home, and sighed for the seclusion of his chamber. The remembrance of his mother's infirmity took such possession of him from that moment, that only the novelty of the enchanting spectacle, and his interest in the story, especially in the fate of Charles, would have made the general impression of the evening's entertainment, when recollected, pleasurable. The afterpiece (for he staid to the last, and wanted more,) the after-piece was Rosina, which gave him pure delight.

Now, that he

Such was his first impression of the theatre. was with Treadwell, he had a full gratification of the desire` created by the few plays he had seen before he became a stu

dent of law; for his master gained him free admission to the pit and boxes, and thus led him to the study of the dramatic works of the French and English poets: of these he found that Mr. Treadwell's office contained an abundance. Among them was a complete old edition of Bell's British Theatre; all of which he greedily devoured; a dose sufficient to poison a regiment of Green-mountain boys! If such reading did not destroy all his moral and religious propensities, it was because his natural tendency to good-his love of truth-his ignorance of practical evil-his habits—and his abhorrence of ebriety, shielded him from the death-doing influence:

Before proceeding with the story, (notwithstanding the reader's impatience,) we will, with permission, go back to the second play our hero saw performed before his introduction to the mysteries behind the curtain and the scenes; this was Othello. He had read Shakspeare; yet did not know what to expect. from a representation of characters so remote from any thing he had seen in real life. What ideas could a Green-mountain boy form of a Moor-a thick-lips-a negro-commanding an army of white men-of Italians? It is the player, the skilful artist, that gives reality to the pictures of the dramatic poet. The young or uninstructed mind forms confused images while reading, in proportion to its ignorance.

On Zeb's second visit to a play-house, the delight experienced from the proscenium and preliminaries, was not so vivid as at the first; but his impatience for the raising of the green curtain was full as intense. The music gave him little pleasure, and the beauties in the boxes had lost half their charms.

The effect of this representation of one of Shakspeare's most glorious productions upon our hero was such, that his reasoning powers seemingly gained an advance of years. His intellect grew almost perceptibly during the sitting; or while, as the French say, he assisted at the representation. His whole soul was alive to the story: the apothegms sunk upon his young and yielding mind with a thrilling sensation of approbation, that made them part of his moral being.

Again he was shocked by the representation of ebriety; and his detestation of Iago was more increased by his playing the part of a tempter, and subverting the reason of Cassio by wine, than even by his atrocious villany in deceiving the noble Moor, and destroying the wretched Desdemona. Cassio, deprived of reason, was, to Spiffard, a spectacle of horror. While others laughed, he experienced a sickness of the heart-a sinking of