Grand River times. [volume] (Grand Haven, Mich.) 1851-18??, 1852-12-15
DANIEL WEBSTER'S EARLY LIFE. =


Franklin, N. H., May 3, 1916, from which we
make the extract below, and which we are sure
will be read at this time with unusual interest:
81 have made satisfactory arrangements re-
specting my house here, the best of which is,
that can leave it where it is, and yet be COM
Portable, Notwithstanding the railroad
"This house faces due North. Its front win
dows look toward the river Merrimack. But
then, the river soon turns to the South, so that
the Eastern windows look toward the river, also.
But the river has so Jeepened its channel in this
stretch of it, in the last fifty years, that we cam
not see its waters without approaching it, or 60
ing back to the higher lands behind us. The
history Of this change is of considerable impor-
tance in the philosophy of streams. have OBJ
served it practically, and know something of the
theory of the phenomena; but doubt whether
the world will ever be benefited, either by my
learning or my observation, in this respect.
Looking out at the east windows, at this
moment, g p. M.,) with beautiful sun just
breaking out, my eye sweeps a rich and level
field of 100 acres. At the end of it, a third of
mile off, | see plain marble grave stones, de-
signaling the places where repose my father
my mother, my brother Joseph, and my sisters
Mehiabe, Abigail and Sarah all good Scrip
ture names, inherited from their Puritan ances-
tors.
"My father Ebenezer Webster born at
Kingston in the lower part of the State, in 1899
the handsomest man ever saw, except my
brother Ezekiel, who appeared to me, and so
does he now seem to me, the very finest human
form that ever laid eyes on. saw him in his
coffin-a white forehead-a tinged cheek-a
complexion clear rs heavenly light! But where
am | straying?
"The grave has closed on him, as it has on all
my brothers and sisters. We shall soon be al
together. But this is acknowledgement leave
it. Dear, dear kindred blood, how love you
all!
"This fair field is before me- could see
lamb on any part ofit have ploughed it, and
raked it, and hoed it, but ] never moved it,
Some how, | could never learn to hang a
scythe! had not wit enough. My brother Joe
used to say that my father sent me to college
in order to make me equal to the rest of the chill
dren
"Of hot day in July-it must have been one
ofthe last years of ofWashington's administration
was making hay, with my father, just where
now see remaining elm tree, about the middle
ofthe afternoon. The Hon. Abiel Foster, NJ. c.,
who lived in Canterbury, six miles off, called at
the house, and came into the field to see my ia
ther. He was worthy man, college learned,
and had been n minister, but was not n person
of any considerable natural powers. My father
was his friend and supporter. He talked awhile
in the fled, and went on his way. When he
was gone, my father called me to him, and we
sat down beneath the elm on hay-cock He
said, My son, that is worthy mamie is a
member of Congress-he goes to Philadelphia,
and gets six dollars day, while toll here. 1t
is because he had an education, which | never
had. If had had an early education, | should
have been in Philadelphia in his place came
near it as it was. But missed it, and now |
must work here MY dear father, said |, you
shall not work. Brother and | will work for
you, and wear our hands out, and YOU shall
rest'-and remember to have cried-and cry
now, at the recollection. My child said he,
{ it is of no Importance to mel now live but
for my children; could not give your elder
brother the advantage of knowledge, but can
do something for you. Exert yourself-im-
prove your s-lear7a--learn--an
when am gone, you will not need to 90 thro'
the hardships which have undergone, and
which have made me an old man before nv
time
"The next May he took me to Exeter to the
Philips Exeter Academy-placed me under the
tuition of its excellent preceptor, DR.. Benjamin
Abbott, still living.
"My father died in April, 1906 Ineither left
him, nor forsook him. My opening an Office at
Buscowan was that might be near him.
closed his eyes, in this very house. He died at
sxty-seven years of age; after life of exertion,
toll and exposure private soldier, an officer,
a Legislator a judge--every thing that man
could be, to whom learning. never had disclosed
her ample page
any first speech at the bar, was made when
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