The move from Chestnut Street had been a hurried one, as my father hoped almost to the last to find a situation better to his liking than Boylston Place. I was now at the age, twenty years, when young people feel the responsibility of the world resting heavily on their shoulders. During the preparations for removal I flew up and down stairs and attempted to do a hundred things, without any regard for my own strength, which I supposed to be unlimited. The result was a strain that affected my health unfavorably for some years. The fault was my own, as no one had asked or expected me to do so much. In these years I began to be interested in charitable work, conducting a sewing-school for poor children at our own house. Occasionally our sittings were interrupted by the merry raids of the young Howes, who launched sponges and other missiles at my scholars. The latter took refuge under the dining-room table, but appreciated the sport of the affair. When my father looked in upon the children at work his face lit up with a beautiful smile that was more than reward enough for my small efforts. In our frequent drives between South Boston and Boston we passed through a somewhat squalid tenement-house district. Concern for the people dwelling there now began to oppress me, and I made efforts, though not always wise ones, to help them. Among my protégées was a Mrs. Wallace, a stalwart Irish woman with several children, whose husband had pains in his legs whenever he held the baby. We started her in a fruit-stand and made various efforts in her behalf. She was later arrested for some misdemeanor and it required several policemen to take her, struggling all the way, to the station-house. A very unpleasant though amusing incident of our life at Boylston Place was the arrival of a box containing six semi-wild cats, sent to my father by our friend, Mr. Thomas R. Hazard, as a species of joke When the box was opened the cats flew out of it, scattering in every direction. Fortunately for the Howe family, some of them escaped from the house. The most troublesome one persisted in rushing up the chimney-place in my room whenever we approached her. About this time the family narrowly escaped a serious danger. One evening my mother, being up late, noticed on the ceiling a slight discoloration; she also thought she heard a low tick-tick as of flames. Being very sleepy, she reasoned thus with herself: “Even if there should be a fire and we should be burned up, why, then David and Flossy could be married.” Arousing herself from this strange altruistic vein, she called my father. In time of danger he was in his element. He speedily chopped open the floor of the parlor and the flames appeared! Meantime, brother Harry, hastily attired, rushed out for a policeman. The latter showed very languid interest. “Fire—where?” “At No. 19 Boylston Place.” “O Lord!” ejaculated the officer of the law, and rushed for the spot. His own home was next door!