OUR earliest school-days have been already described. I can first remember the dignity of traveling as _dames seules_ in an omnibus, in connection with the Stevenson School. In those primitive days Boston was a small city and the foreign population was not large. It was therefore considered quite safe for us to go from South Boston to our school in Hancock Street in the omnibus. This vehicle was a patriarchal affair, going on wheels the greater part of the year. They were changed for runners when snow lay on the ground. In my childhood this was never cleared away from the streets of Boston, the use of sleighs being universal. Unfortunately, the heavy teams soon made the surface of the snow extremely uneven so that you rose on a hillock at one moment and descended at the next into a valley called a “cradle-hole.” This was bad enough in an open vehicle—but in the closed sleighs of the period, booby-hacks or booby-huts as they were called, the motion was so violent as to make people seasick. The snow-storms were terrific. Mountains of snow lined the thoroughfares and hid the sidewalks from our infant view. The omnibus seemed to be progressing to its destiny between lofty Alps. Fortunately, the designers of these vehicles realized that amusement would be necessary, to beguile the way. Above each window was a picture (?) to be studied and admired. The glass in the door bore the legend, “htuos notsob,” the meaning of which was for some time a mystery to us. Then there was the funny little lamp which used camphene, I suspect—a dangerous fluid eschewed by careful people. As the omnibus went at infrequent intervals, we often made the trip in company with the same persons. We maintained, however, a proper maidenly reserve, entering into no conversation with our fellow-travelers. On one point their views differed from ours. Having paid three cents apiece (half-fare) for our seats, we felt it in accordance with our dignity to retain them under all circumstances. When the omnibus was full we would be invited to sit on some gentleman’s knee, thus making room for another lady. My firm refusal to do this led to my being called “Young America” by unappreciative fellow-passengers.