Daniel Webster was often the central figure at banquets in the Pemberton.  General Sam Houston, Senator from Texas, was also entertained, for I remember that my father told me of an incident that occurred many years after, when he passed through San Antonio.  As he strolled through the city he saw the Senator across the street, but, supposing that he would not be remembered, had no thought of speaking, whereupon Houston called out, “Young man, are you not going to speak to me!” My father replied that he had not supposed that he would be remembered.  “Of course I remember meeting you at the Pemberton House in Boston.”

I remember some of the boarders, regular and transient, distinguished and otherwise.  There was a young grocery clerk who used to hold me in his lap and talk to me.  He became one of the best of California’s governors, Frederick F. Low, and was a close friend of Thomas Starr King.  A wit on a San Francisco paper once published at Thanksgiving time “A Thanksgiving proclamation by our stuttering reporter—­’Praise God from whom all blessings f-f-low.’” In my memory he is associated with Haymaker Square.

I well remember the famous circus clown of the period, Joe Pentland, very serious and proper when not professionally funny.  A minstrel who made a great hit with “Jim Crow” once gave me a valuable lesson on table manners.  One Barrett, state treasurer, was a boarder.  He had a standing order:  “Roast beef, rare and fat; gravy from the dish.”  Madame Biscaccianti, of the Italian opera, graced our table.  So did the original Drew family.

The hotel adjoined the Howard Athenaeum, and I profited from peeping privileges to the extent of many pins.  I recall some wonderful trained animals—­Van Amberg’s, I think.  A lion descended from back-stage and crawled with stealth upon a sleeping traveler in the foreground.  It was thrilling but harmless.  There were also some Viennese dancers, who introduced, I believe, the Cracovienne.  I remember a “Sissy Madigan,” who seemed a wonder of beauty and charm.

There was great excitement when the Athenaeum caught on fire.  I can see the trunks being dragged down the stairs to the damage of the banisters, and great confusion and dismay among our boarders.  A small boy was hurried in his nightie across the street and kept till all danger had passed.  A very early memory is the marching through the streets of soldiers bound for the Mexican War.

Off and on, I lived in Boston till 1849, when my father left for California and the family returned to Leominster.

My first school in Boston was in the basement of Park Street Church.  Hermann Clarke, son of our minister, Rev. James Freeman Clarke, was a fellow pupil.  Afterward I went to the Mayhew Grammar School, connected in my mind with a mild chastisement for imitating a trombone when a procession passed by.  The only other punishment I recall was a spanking by my father for playing “hookey” and roaming in the public garden.  I remember Sunday-school parades through certain public streets.  But the great event was the joining of all the day schools in the great parade when Cochituate water was introduced into the city.  It was a proud moment when the fountain in the frogpond on the Common threw on high the water prodigiously brought from far Cochituate.