omach in this generation
that can hold a tenth part of what used to go into mine, not
only on Thanksgiving day, but on the days before and after.
The raisins were to be picked over, the nuts and citron got
ready, when Thanksgiving was coming on, of all which we took
abundant tolls. The cold and warmed-over dishes lasted through
the rest of the week. I do not know what the Jewish festival
or the old Roman banquets might have been, but they could
not have equalled a New England Thanksgiving week in a house
in the country.

The doctor in those days was a terror to the small boy. The
horrible and nasty castor oil, ipecac and calomel, and the
salts and senna, sulphur and molasses taken three mornings
in succession and then missed three mornings, were worse than
any sickness. Of the last I speak only from hearsay, not
from personal knowledge. Then the cupping and bleeding were
fearful things to go through or look upon. We had none of
the sweet patent medicines that the children now cry for,
and none of the smooth capsules or the pleasant comfits that
turn medicine into confectionery nowadays.

The boys were not allowed in most families to read novels,
even on week-days. My father had a great dislike of fiction
of all sorts, and for a good while would not tolerate any
novels in the house; but one winter day he went to Pepperell,
in the northern part of the county, to try a case before a
sheriff's jury. About the time the case got through there
came up a sudden and violent snowstorm, which blocked up the
road with deep drifts so that he could not get home for two
or three days. He had to stay at a small country tavern,
and the time hung very heavily on his hands.

He asked the landlord if he had any books. The only one
he could find was a first volume of Scott's "Redgauntlet,"
which was just then being published in Boston by a bookseller
named Parker, in what was called Parker's revised edition.
Father read it with infinite delight. His eyes were opened
to the excellence of Scott. He got home the next day at
about noon, and immediately sent one of the children down
to the circulating library to get the second volume. He
subscribed to Parker's edition, and was a great lover of Scott
ever after.

We were permitted, however, to read the "Tales of a Grandfather."
I hope if any boy reads this book he will read the "Tales
of a Grandfather," especially the parts which give the history
of Scotland. It is a most