Dr. Spooner," said
he, "resided in Boston in the winter and at Brookline in the summer.
When he was at Brookline he had a child to be christened, and he
preferred to have the city minister perform the ceremony. After the
service we were invited to dine at Dr. Spooner's, and that minister ate
so unmercifully of everything upon the table, that I then and there
resolved that I would eat but one kind of meat at a meal, and I think
my good health is due in a measure to that resolution." I made no
resolution, but the circumstance produced an impression upon me, and in
the main I have observed his rule. In seventy-seven years, within my
recollection, I have lain in bed but seven days.
In April, 1820, when I was hardly more than two years of age, my father
moved to Lunenburg, Worcester County, and settled upon a farm, a mile
south-west of the village, which he had bought of Phinehas Carter, then
an old man, who had been opulent as a farmer for the time and place,
but whose estates had been wasted by a moderate sort of intemperance,
by idleness, and family expenses. The house was large, well built for
the times, finished with clear, unpainted white pine, with dado work in
the front rooms below and in the chambers above. It was situated on
the southern brow of a hill, and commanded a view of the Wachusett
mountain, and the hills to the west, south and east over an expanse of
twenty miles in every direction, except the northern half of the
circle.
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