Hiram had often discussed the theatre question, both at the lyceum and on other occasions. It was to be condemned--no doubt about it. But the Rev. Mr. Goddard had once remarked in his hearing that he thought if a good opportunity was presented for a young man to visit the theatre, he had perhaps better do so, than feel an irritating curiosity all his life about it. Seeing Hiram hesitate, Hill proceeded to urge him. 'You had better go,' he said. 'Lots to be seen. You don't know what you are losing, I tell you.' Hiram was not influenced by his companion's importunity, but he decided to go, nevertheless. The elder Kean was then in New York, and the old Park Theatre in all its glory. That evening Kean was to play Shylock in the 'Merchant of Venice.' Hill, greatly pleased that at last he had made some headway, took another glass of brandy and water, and the young men proceeded to the theatre. The house was crowded from galleries to pit. The orchestra was playing when they entered. Hiram was blinded by the brilliancy of the gaslights. His heart beat fast in spite of his effort to be composed. The play began with some second-rate actors, who went through the first scene with the usual affected stage strut and tone. Hiram thought he never witnessed anything more unnatural and ridiculous. Even in the second, where Portia and Nerissa hold a dialogue, he was rather disgusted than otherwise. The machinery had scarcely been adjusted for the third scene, when a storm of applause burst from all parts of the house; clapping of hands, stamping of feet, bravos, and various noises of welcome commingled, and Hiram beheld an old man enter, somewhat bent, dressed in a Hebrew cap and tunic, having a short cane, which would serve either for support or as a means of defence. As he advanced, he cast sidelong, suspicious, and sinister glances from beneath bushy, beetling eyebrows. At first Hiram was inclined to believe it was a real personage, so natural was his entrance--so destitute of all trick, or of anything got up. 'That's Kean,' whispered Hill. Hiram held his breath as the words of the Jew broke distinctly on the house: '_Three thousand ducats--well._' He entered at once with the deepest interest into the play. With head leaning forward, eyes open wide and fixed on the speaker, he drank in every word. From the first he sympathized with the main character. When Shylock went on to say: 'Yet his means are in supposition: he hath an argosy bound to Tipolis, another to the Indies. I understand, moreover, upon the Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England; and other ventures he hath, squandered abroad. But ships are but boards, sailors but men. There be land rats and water rats, land thieves and water thieves--I mean pirates; and there is the peril of waters, winds, and rocks. The man is notwithstanding sufficient:'--Hiram unconsciously shook his head, as if he doubted it.