EARLIEST MEMORIES: 1850-1860
I WAS born in Boston, as I have been credibly informed, on May 12, one pleasant Sunday morning in the year 1850. The house in which this event occurred belonged to my grandfather, Henry Cabot, for whom I was named. It was a square stone house of smooth granite, large, comfortable, facing south, and open on all sides. Two short streets called, respectively, Otis Place and Winthrop Place, ran out of Summer Street, and, curving to the left and right, met, and thus formed a horseshoe. At the bottom of the horseshoe stood our house, having on one side a small private lane, which was closed by an iron gate. This lane led to our stable and thence turned to the east and meandered in the form of an alley into Franklin Street. It was not much used except by the owners and as an access to our stable, but it offered a short cut to the business quarter of the town, which was not overlooked by those who were familiar with the neighborhood and anxious to save time. One morning somebody encountered Rufus Choate, who lived in Winthrop Place, hurrying down this alley, and expressed surprise at meeting him there. "Yes," said Mr. Choate, "ignominious, but convenient," and passed on.
Back of the house was a garden, an ample garden, which ran out also beside the house to the street. Here stood a weather-worn marble statue of a garden nymph, which, with the assistance of a young friend, Sturgis Bigelow, I pushed over one happy day, and was thereby involved in an