One of our friends arranged an expedition for us, our chaperon agreeing to join us in Readville. This young girl was terribly pestered by aunts, of whom she possessed eleven. She was wont to complain that wherever she went, an aunt was sure to appear on the scene! One of the eleven heard of the proposed expedition, and jumped to the conclusion that a chaperon in the hand was worth several in the bush. Accordingly, when our carriage started for Readville, another, containing the aunt and her fellow-conspirators, followed close behind. This greatly fretted our young companion, who, at the age of twenty, felt she was too old to need supervision. The expected chaperon failed to appear and the troublesome aunt serenely took charge of our expedition. Among the members of the Vigilance Committee mentioned earlier in this chapter was John Albion Andrew. One of the occasions when I remember seeing the man who was afterward the great war Governor of Massachusetts was at the parade of the Ancient and Honorable Artillery. In ante-bellum days this event elicited popular interest and was conducted with some formality. It was held on Boston Common, where the Governor reviewed the troop. The Ancient and Honorable Artillery Company has the unique distinction of consisting wholly of former officers of other militia companies. They wear a motley variety of uniforms, producing a picturesque but singular effect. Nathaniel P. Banks, a fine-looking man with thick, iron-gray hair, was at this time Governor of the state. His imposing and martial air enabled him to appear to advantage at a military festival. His deep voice and good delivery made him effective as a speaker in a day when oratory was still highly considered. As a warrior he was not a success. My mother used to tell us, with a mischievous air, a story of his experience in the army. On receiving a report that the enemy was attacking in force, he replied, laconically: _“Let them be repulsed forthwith.”_ I remember how jolly and merry Mr. Andrew was as we stood, a party of plain citizens, in the throng that pressed as near as they could to the rope which divided us from the glory of uniforms blazing within the charmed circle. In those early days our beloved friend was the most delightful companion, brimful of fun, singing comic songs and telling funny stories, to the great delight of the Howe children. I remember hearing him repeat with gusto a ridiculous mock sermon from the text, “And they shall flee unto the mountains of Hepsidam, where the lion roareth and the whangdoodle mourneth for its first-born.” Although he amused us with the “flatboat” sermon, he was a truly religious man whose sympathies were by no means limited to his own sect.