compelled to acknowledge that he was completely defeated by the Secretary of State. This was the last important war of words on this subject, and the work was accepted by both countries as being complete.

During many long years of public life Mr. Webster found much of

"An old fashioned two story house," he writes, "with a piazza all around it, stands on a gentle rising, facing due south, and distant fifty rods from the road.

"Beyond the road is a ridge of hilly land, not very high, covered with oak wood, running in the same direction as the road, and leaving a little depression exactly opposite

the house through which the southern breezes fan us of

an afternoon. I feel them now, coming, not over beds of violets, but over Plymouth Bay - fresh if not fragrant. "A carriage-way leads from the road to the house, not bold and impudent, right up straight to the front door, like the march of a column of soldiers, but winding over the lower parts of the ground, sheltering itself among trees and hedges, and getting possession at last, more by grace than by force, as other achievements are best made.

"Two other houses are in sight, one a farm house, cottage built, at the end of an avenue, so covered up with an orchard as to be hardly visible; the other, a little farther off in the same direction, very neat and pretty, with a beautiful field of grass by its side.

"Opposite the east window of the east front room, stands a noble spreading elm, the admiration of all beholders. Beyond that, is the garden sloping to the east, and running down until the tide washes the lower wall.

"Back of the house are such vulgar things as barns; and on the other side, that is, to the north and northwest is a fresh pond of some extent, with green grass growing down to its margin, and a good walk all around it. On one side, the walk passes through a thick belt of trees, planted by the same hand that now indites this description.

"I say nothing of orchards and copses and clumps because such things may be seen in vulgar places. But now comes the climax. From the doors, from the windows, and still better from twenty little elevations, all of which are close by, you see the ocean, reposing in calm, or terrific in storm, as the case may be.

4

"There, now you have Marshfield, and let us recapitulate.

"Ist. The ocean-when that is mentioned, enough is said.

"2nd. A dry pure air,-not a bog nor a ditch, nor an in

Marshfield, the Home of Daniel Webster.

fernal gutter within five miles-not a particle of exhalation but from the ocean, and a running New England stream. "3rd. A walk of a mile, always fit for ladies feet (when not too wet) through the orchard and the belt of timber.

"4th. Five miles of excellent hard beach driving on the sea shore. A region of pine forest, three miles back, dark and piney in appearance and in smell, as you ever witnessed in the remotest interior."

It was here that he enjoyed the fresh air, and spent much of his time in looking after the comfort of the domestic animals. He prided himself, upon possessing the finest horses, sheep, swine and fowls in the vicinity.

Of his oxen he was especially fond, and he knew all of his sturdy healthful animals by name.

On his return from Washington he would go into the house and greet the family, and then without stopping to sit down, would go out to the barn to see the dumb members of his larger family, going from one to the other, patting them, stroking their faces and feeding them from his hand.'

He was especially fond of showing them to his guests

and one day, as he stood beside a friend, feeding the oxen with ears of corn, his son Fletcher amused himself

by playing with

a dog.

"My son," said Mr.Webster, "you do not seem to care much for this. For my part, I like it; I would rather be here than in the Senate-I find better company."

It is said that only about a week before his death, he had his fine oxen driven up before the house, that he might again look upon their sleek forms, and into their beautiful eyes.

It was here, in this beloved Marshfield, that he enjoyed fishing in company with his sturdy sailor, and boatman, Seth Peterson Peterson was a queer old salt whom Mr. Webster had picked up, and who was his constant companion on the water for fifteen years. He was a quick

witted, humerous old fellow, and Mr. Webster used to credit him with many bright speeches.

Although his relations with President Tyler were cordial, some political complications arose which were distasteful to him, and in the spring of 1843 he resigned his position in the Cabinet, and retired to his beloved home in Marshfield.

His work had been eminently successful, having given valuable service to the country during a critical period of her foreign relations, and no one except possibly John Adams had attained greater success in the administration of the State Department than did Daniel Webster.

He was counted one of the best farmers in the country even though his estates were administered with the same general financial carelessness which characterized all his business. He never kept regular accounts, nor had them kept, and no doubt his two beautiful farms were a source of more expense than income. He could earn money easily in his profession, but he had very little judginent about using it, and his unfortunate investments, more than once called for the kindly assistance of his friend, who relieved him from embarrassment.

Perhaps he never enjoyed Marshfield more than at this time when it was frequently cheered by the presence of his daughter, Mrs. Appleton. His library was now placed in a room which she had planned for it, and here he spent many hours of happy work, while from every window he could catch glimpses of the fields, the streams, the hills and the ocean.

In these palmy days on the Marshfield estate, his table