The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1886-04-01


did he catch fish unless by its own careless
ness it became entangled on his hook and
couldn't escape. Mr.. Wright had seen fish
nibble all the bait from the hook without his
ever pulling his line from the water When a
little way ahead or behind he was always NUT
tering to himself, and many of his grandest
speeches We're composed while on these excllr-
sions. On his return he would always throw
himself under the old elm tree in the doorvard
and enjoy short nap while resting from his
fatigue. On my rising to leave the house of
Mr.. Wright, the old gentleman placed his
hands upon my shoulders and said: "Young
man, would you like
A STORY OF MIR. WEBSTER
for your paper that never before appeared in
print" | modestly assured him that nothing
would please me better. swell, have told
you that Webster would never speak on politics
while here, but he would talk to the assembled
neighbors and guests on matters pertaining to
farming. On one occasion some Boston friends
sent him as a present an enormous sized plow
to use ON his place. Webster gave out word
that on certain day it would be christened.
for miles came in to witness the event. A
dozen teams with aristocratic occupants came
down from Boston. 1t was expected by every
one that Webster would make a great speech
on the occasion, reviewing the history of farm
ing back to the time when Cincnnatus abdicated
the most mighty throne in the world to culti
vate turnips and cabbages in his Roman garden.
rI,n ,lIn
splendid oxen hitched in front. More than
two hundred people stood around on the tip
toe of expectation. Soon Webster made his
appearance. He had been calling spirits from
the vastly deep, and his gait was somewhat I'M
certain Seizing the pow handles and spread
ing his feet he yelled out to the driver in his deep
bass voice care you all ready, Mr.. Wright"
"Al ready, Mr.. Webster,' was the reply,
meaning of course for the speech Webster
Strengthened himself up by mighty effort and
shouted "7Hen let her rip"
The whole crowd dropped to the ground and
roared with laughter, while Webster with his
big plow proceeded to rip up the soil. With
this story took my leave of the old gentleman
after receiving from his hands, as a present, an
the Senate chamber in 1S50.* In the first house
to Webster's on the NORTH lives Il Mrs. Baker
who was his family nurse and houSckeeper for
many years. She received me kindly and said:
II always like to be visited by admirers of Mr..
Webster. He was a very Kind man, and the
like of him will never be seen again" From
''Aunt Sally" as she is familarly called, |
learned that
WEBSTER WAS A REMARKABLY KIND MAN
in his home. TO those who served him well
his gratitude knew no bounds. For him home
was a sacred place, and while there no harsh
words ever fell from his lips. With the great
amount of aristorratic company which thronged
to his house it was impossible for him to main
tain that simplicity Of living that 50 we'll ac-
corded with his tastes. Often when they would
leave he would come to Mrs. Baker and say:
''Now Sally, those confounded politicians are
gone let us have a good old fashioned dish
of stewed beans.' He was always in debt,
and was much troubled by the fact. 1t has
been charged that he never cared to pay his
bills. hut Mrs. Baker told me that his inability to
do so gave him greater anxiety than all his other
in my possession proves the truth of this asser-
ton. ltwas this lady that stood over his dying
bed, and it was she that closed his sghtlcss
eyes. | inquired particularly if the common
belief was true that his last words were: Il
still live NO was the emphatic reply.
Mr. Webster knew for several hours before he
died that death was near at hand. He was eX-
to tbn #
which divides time from eternity. As the time
approached he looked up and said:
81 STILL LIVE; TELL ME TIE POINT"
meaning the point of death. one of the phy-
sicianS began quoting Scripture to him. when
he replied in strong and impatient voice: NO,
no. tell me the point tell me the point" These
We're the last words he uttered. On that beau
tifu Indian summer day he died, and on anoth-
as beautiful his body. dressed in his favorite
blue and buff lay in its coffin under the noble
elm which had often sheltered him in life,
and loving neighbors and distant friends ten
derly bore him to his final rest. For moment,
before closing let us visit his last resting place.
1t is quaint Old burying ground just back of
the house and upon his own farm. Tread soft
ly, now, for You walk upon sacred soil. On
the left as you enter is the grave of Edward
Win>low, the first Governor of Massachusetts,
and one of her noble>t statesmen. 1t is in Old
fashioned tomb about four feet high and eN-
tending the whole length of the grave. On the
tablet above dozens of names are carved, by
persons who have visited the yard. 1t is
enough to make the blood of a decent man boil
with rage to see such sacrilege. | have seen
the name of John Smith inscribed upon the
Parthenon at Athens, but this is the first time
| ever saw another mans tombstone used to
mmortaize the names of such insignificant
puppies. One idiot signs himself, j. G. Mer-
riam. Another donkey writes his full address,
thus: Webster n. Moulton, NJ lton, Mass. A
third puppy writes himself, III. $. Brown,
Marlboro, Mass. | can only blush for those
towns that their fair fame should be diSgraccd
by the presence of monsters and parodics on
the name of humanity. How | should like to
be the Judge, possessed of unlimited and des-
potic power, to pass sentence upon those grave
yard harpies for their vandalism. | could send
the whole brood to the penitentiary for life
without the slightest twinge of conscience, or
compassion of heart Close by is the grave of
ADELAIDE PHILLIPS,
the greatest of American opera singers. Her
Old home is on the Webster farm, and here she
was brought after her death in France two
years ago. Only bunch of withered flowers
marked the spot where sleeps the great singer
whose sweet voice delighted millions of peo-
pie. The tomb of Webster occupies the centre
Of a large lot surrounded by high iron fence
The vault is entirely covered with soil, and is
only opened on the death of one of the family
The last man who looked upon the features of
Webster was Mr.. ii. S. Delano of this village
The tomb was last opened in 1862, to receive
the body of Fletcher Webster, who was shot in
the last battle of Bull Run. Mr.. Deano un-
screwed the outside cover, and through the
glass plate looked down into the leaden
coffin beneath. There lay the great states
man shrouded in the mantle of death.
The right arm was folded across his breast,
while the features still wore the peaceful eX-
preston of his death-bed day. Silently and
sorrowfully the casket was again sealed and
the immortal Webster was once more alone in
his glory. In the same vault lie the bodies of
his children and grand children. Not drop
of Webster's blood now remains in existence.
The last living member of his family is the wild
ow of his son Fletcher, who now resides in