Arizona republican., 1898-06-13
WHERE WEBSTER F1sHED.
The Owner Has Inherited the States
 mans Angling Inspiration.

WHERE w HESTER FlO1ElJ.
 The Owner Has Inherited the States
 mans Angling Inspiration.
 Many and many time," pensively remarked the proprietor of the Chii- tOnvllle trout streams as we stood be- side miniature lake in the woods, T have seen Daniel Webster standing on the bank over there in front of us and casting fly in this pool by the hour together" Chiltonville is part IOf Plymouth, and so is, or was, Marsh field, where Mir. Webster had his fla vorite dwelling place. It was still pleasant, showery kind of day, and as we gazed at the placid waters of the historic pool it seemed to be no longer inhabited, as if the fnny race had de parted in disgust when the great statesman pasesd away But the pro- prietor carried on his arm an iron pot full of highly colored scarlet matter, which was said to be raw liver finely minced. Scooping with huge wooden spoon a generous portion of this deli cacy, he cast 1t into the pool, and thereupon at least dozen trout, two pounders, to judge from the s1ze of their tails, which momentaTily flashed above the surface, made a dash for the meat The surroundings have chang ed somewhat, but not violently, since MT. Webster's time. EGg.s Tas Fh From all diseases the Chiltonville trout are singularly free, owing partly to the skill and care of the proprietor He is a notable and yet perfectly har- moniouss figure in the lChilfonMlle landscape, a tall, we'll proportioned man. somewhat bent and stiffened by |age and gray of hair and beard. He was once sea captain, and in his steel-blue eyes, little f1shy now from age, and perhaps from ssYpapathy with the trout, there is still discernible a spark of fire. He has the quiet court eous manner which is natural to an American farmer or fisherman, spiced in his case with subdued flavor of honhommie. After oa an adventurous life he has settled down in this peace full spot as cultivator of trout, and nature is gradually getting hold of him..
 The rain and the sun and the wind have taken the shape out of his hat and the color from his clothes. He E. As he moves about the premises he invariably carries stout pole, .at the extremity of which is a net convenient for scooping up such trout as he may wish to inspect or remove. This instru-
 ment vaguely recalls the trident of | Neptune; and when the proprietor
 pole in hand, suddenly rises from the
 brook side or comes silently into view from the surrounding woods, he might easily be taken for the genius loci MT l Webster seems to have inspired him with that same love and veneration
 which almost everybody felt who came ] in contact with the great man. eff saw a bullet coming to his heart" ex. claimed John Taylor, his New Hamp. shire farmer, "I would jump in the way of it and receive it myself" John
 Taylor. by the way, as the proprie-
 tor informed me, stood six feet foul 1 inches in his stockings. MT. Webster
 liked things on large scale. His fondness for big men is well known He disliked small faids and scrimpet
 patches" relates one of his friends
 When he was minded to raise turnips 1 he raised them in plenty. He wrote once from Washington to John Taylor:
 Three acres for turnips are nol
 enough; you should have six acres"
 Everybody knows that MT. Webster
 was an ardent fisherman. When he was a member of the Massachusetts legis- lature the only law which he drew uE
 and caused to be passed was one fol the protection of trout and other game i fish. His historical career began al
 the age of 4 years, when he was pro Ivided by his father with rod cut from
 hazel bush, a line, and a hook baitet
 with worm. The child, in obedience
 to his fathers instructions, dropped the hook in deep pool, and presently
 caught pound trout; but, in his eag
 erness, the boy fell headlong into the pool himself, and would have beer
 drowned had not his father fished hin
 cut, still clinging to his rod, with the fish trailing after. What did MT. Web.
 ster look like?" we inquired of the pro
 prietor. "Well,' said he, after a short
 pause, "in his prime he was black
 raven haired man, with an eye as black
 as death and as heavy as a ion's-ani
 no lion in Africa ever had voice like 1 his; and his look was like lions
 that same heavy look, not sleepy, but
 as if he didn't care about anything that
 was going on about him or anything
 else. He didn't look as if he was
 thinking about anything, but as if he
 would think like hurricane if he once got walked up to it. It wasn't by any means an empty look, this MT. Webs ter's, but one that didn't seem to see | anything going on worth his while. Boston Transcript.
 Beauty Is BIood Deep.
 Clean blood means clean skin. N