Washington telegraph., 1852-12-15
Daniel Webster's Early Life.

The New York Commercial has been
favored with the perusal of letter written
by Mr.. Webster to an inmate friend in New
I York, "dated Franklin, N H., May 3,
1916, from which we make an extract below
and which We are sure will be read with
unusual interest:
Il have made satisfactory arrangements,
respecting my house here, the best of which
is that | can leave it where it is, and vet
be comfortable, Notwithstanding the Rail-
road.
:sThis house faces due north. Its front
windows look toward the river Merrimack
But then the river has so deepened it's chan
mel in this stretch of it, in The last fifty
years, that we cannot see its waters without
approaching it, or going back to the higher
lands behind us. The history of this change
is of considerable importance in the philos-
ophy of streams | have observed it prac-
tically, and know something of the theory
of the phenomenon but | doubt whether
the world will ever be benefited either by
my learning OF observation, in this respect.
Looking out at the east windows, at this
moment, q P. NJ with beautiful sun
just breaking out, my eye sweeps rich lev
ell field Of 100 acres. At the end of it,
third of a mile of, see plain marble grave
stones, designating the places where repose
my father, my mother, my brother Joseph,
and my sisters Mehitable, Abigail and Sa-
rah; good Scripture names, inherited from
their Puritan ancestors
ssNJ,, fa+bor Eboooo,ui L. Il u.
ton, in the lower part of the State, in 1889
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 [ ever laid my eyes on.
l saw him in his coffin-a white forehead
tinged cheek-a complexion as clear as
heavenly light But where am | stray
ing?
'The grave has closed upon him, as it
has upon all my brothers and sisters. We
shall soon be altogether But this is mel
anchofy-and | leave it. Dear, dear kin
dred blood, how | love you all
'This fair field is before me-I could see
lamb on any part of it.
[ have ploughed it. and raked it. and hoed
it, but L have never moved it. Some how,
| could never learn to hang a scvthe |
had not wit enough. Ny brother Joe used
to say that my father sent me to college in
order to make me equal with tue rest OF the
children,
"Of hot day in July-it must have
been one OF the last years of Washingtons
administration, | was making hay with my
father, just where [ now see a remaining
elm tree, about the middle of the afternoon.
The Hon. Abiel Foser, NJ c., who lived in
Canterbury six miles OFF, called at the
house, and came into the field to see nv
father. lie was a worthy man, college
learned, and had been minister, but was
not a person of any considerable natural
powers. My father was his friend and sup
porter. He talked awhile in the field, and
went ON his way When he was gone, nv
father called me to him. and we sat down be-
meath the elm, on hay cock. He said,
My son, that is a worthy mamie is
member Of Congress-he goes to Pniladel-
phia, and gets six dollars day, while [
toll here. 1t is because that he had an ed
ucation, which never had. If I had his
early education, should have been in Phil
adelphia in his place. | came near it as it
was But missed it, and now [ must
work here My dear father, said I, 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, NV
child, said be- it is of no Importance to me
i now live but for my children [ could
not give your elder brother the advantage of
knowledge, but | can do something for you.
Exert yourself-improve your opportunities
learn -learn-and when | am gone, you
will not need to 60 through the hardships
which | have undergone, and which have
made me an old man before my time
"The next May he took me to Exeter, to
the Phillips Exeter Academy-placed me
under the tuition of its excellent preceptor,
DIR. Benjamin Abbott, still living.
My father died in April, 1906 l nei-
ther left him, nor forsook him. My open
ing an office at Buscowan was that | might
be near him. closed his eyes, in this very
house. He died at sixty years of age-af-
ter life of exertion, toll and exposure
a private soldier, an officer, legislator,
judge-every thing that man could be, to
whom learning never had disclosed her am
pie page.
"My first speech at the bar, was made
when he was on the bench he never heard
me a second time.
'sHe had in him what / recollect to have
been the character of some of the old Puri-
tans Hewas deeply religious, but not sour
Ion the contrary, good humored, facetious
showing even in his age, with conta-
gious laugh, teeth, all as white as alabaster
gentle, soft, playful-and yet having a
heart in him that he seemed to have bor-
rowed from a lion. He could frown a