Shaxspeahe. through life without it in some shape, Campbell, in his overland journey to India, refers to these beautiful lines: " This world, what art thou? Thy school O misery; our only lesson in it is, To learn to suffer; and he who knows not that Was born for nothing." New York, in those days, was a different looking city from what it is now. Then it was scarcely half as large, and, what were then fields and orchards, are now splendid squares and parks. Around and in the vicinity of the Battery, was the court end of the city. John Jacob Astor was then a thrifty and enterprising merchant, living in very modest style; and the few aged millionaires who now survive, and many who have long since gone to their final resting place, and whose vast property, if it had been kept together, would have amounted to an incredible sum; many of these were then sellers of nuts and apples, waiters in kitchens, small retailing grocers, and some of the descendants of these thrifty men, are now grappling with abject poverty; and often may be seen with bloated faces and tattered garments.
Yellow fever and small pox prevailed nearly every summer, although at some seasons very much mitigated. These sickly summers were generally succeeded by intensely cold winters, which was the cause of much suffering among the poor. The city depended on Connecticut sloops and other small vessels for fuel, and when the East and North Rivers were frozen, which they were sometimes for four or five weeks, wood then became both dear and scarce. Coal as fuel was scarcely known; anthracite, or any other than imported coal, had not yet been discovered, so that the poor were for many days, and in the most inclement part of winter, without a particle of fire. It was on one of these occasions that the corporation ordered a long row of wooden buildings, which stood on the Battery, to be torn down and distributed among the most destitute.
These buildings had been formerly used as barracks in the Revolutionary War, and it may be said that for once they kept up a brisk fire. Another incident occurred when I was about five years of age, which has also made a lasting impression on my mind, and from which, I have in subsequent life drawn many useful illustrations. I was put to school to an old man, who taught us in an old dilapidated garret. The old fellow wore a large white wig, an old-fashioned coat with "buttons down before," greasy breeches, and large shoe buckles; he kept a good sized stick which might have answered well for an illustration of perpetual motion. One day he undertook to flog me, but by various convolutions and twistings, I got off almost " unscathed." But, oh, for human weakness; I was simple enough to tell him he didn't hurt me after all.
"Aha!" said he, " didn't hurt, eh? then I'll try again," so suiting the action to the word, gave me a regular thrashing, which I guess hurt a little. However, the credit of making a man of me was not to devolve on him. In the summer of 1798, we removed to Worcester, Mass., it being the birthplace of my father and of my paternal grandfather, it was then but a sparse village. Could some of my old relatives get out of their graves, and be placed in a populous street, they would be sadly puzzled to find their way back again. In the autumn of the same year we came to Eoxbury. The same remarks apply to this city, as to New York and Worcester, it having also undergone a metamorphosis, and is now one of the prettiest little cities in Massachusetts.
Here my father commenced his business, as a worker in ivory and tortoise shell. We remained one year in Eoxbury, and then removed to Boston. Shortly after our location in Boston, I came very near drowning again. 1 had gone in to bathe near the house, and before I was aware, got beyond my depth, and would have drowned had not a man accidentally come near the water-side and pulled me out. And but a few days after this, an Irish boy with whom I had a short time previous disagreed with in play, came behind me with a large, sharp stone, and struck me with such force as to deprive me of my senses. His name was McNiel, and whenever I come across this name I always feel the wound in my head.