such headway that there was no hope of stopping it. The night was very bright; the fire burned with almost no smoke, and no help was forthcoming from the distant village. Only seven persons were on hand to do the work of preservation. Every endeavor was therefore turned to saving the furniture and the invaluable memorials which the house contained. According to all accounts, an unusual tenderness was shown to the insurance companies. The men engaged in rescuing the furniture took enormous pains to remove the piano, which was insured; a rare cabinet of the sixteenth century, valued at nearly one thousand dollars, was left to perish. One of the men said it came to pieces as he tried to pick it up, and he thought it was not worth while to waste his time over it. Most of the pictures, the smaller ornaments, and the movable furniture were saved. All the valuable china and a considerable quantity of the silverware were destroyed. From the melted silver afterwards collected from the cellar a handsome service was made. Nearly all the books in the library, and many private papers and letters carefully stored away in the attic, were burned. Some of these letters belonged to Colonel Fletcher Webster, and had an important bearing upon the case of Fitz-John Porter in his favor. The present house has still many interesting memorials. The portraits are particularly valuable. In the larger hall hang portraits of Daniel Webster, painted by Stuart and Frothingham, of Mrs. Grace Fletcher Webster, of Colonel Fletcher Webster and his beautiful wife; above the Stuart portrait are Webster's staff and his great white hat, big enough to fit the head of Olympian Jove. In the dining-room is a silhouette of a stately lady, and in Daniel Webster's handwriting the words, "My excellent mother. D. W."

A feature of the old library is preserved in the dining-room. Over the fireplace the chimney divides to make room for a window. In the old house the window was lower and furnished with blinds; now stained glass with conventionalized lotus flowers makes a pleasant light. A bronze devil, brought home

from China by Colonel Webster, and a waterpitcher beaten by Chinese silversmiths from two hundred Mexican dollars, occupy a prominent place in the alcove. The view from one of the windows covers the wide marshes. In the music-room are several valuable paintings, two original water-colors by Turner, and a large Wouvermans representing a scene at a forge. Not the least interesting thing in the house is a miniature of Daniel Webster's son Charles, with a kitten in his baby arms. It is a sweet face, and a head quite worthy of his father.

The present Webster estate comprises about three hundred and fifty acres, and is under the charge of Mr. Frank Bohun Devereux, a cousin of Mrs. Fletcher Webster. The house is approached through a long avenue of beautiful trees. The lawn is quite ideal, stretching up to the road, rolling with gentle undulations, and dotted with various kinds of trees. The driveway in front of the house encloses an oval grass plot bright with flowers. The old elm at the corner was badly burned at the time of the fire, but its long, low branches are still full of vigor. Before the Revolutionary War it was used as a whipping-post. It has survived all the Websters, and there is something very pathetic as it holds out its blackened limbs as if to take the house to its heart.

Back of the great barn is a pond, which covers several acres ; an ancestral frog haunts its depths, and at nightfall its mighty voice comes booming up like a voice from the past. The sea no longer floods the creek and the marshes. The white sea-wall is only an idle reminder of its former use. This is the story of the dike: Some years ago certain inhabitants of Marshfield went to the Legislature of Massachusetts, and by means of plausible representations forced a bill through, allowing them to build a dike across Green Harbor River, so as to reclaim the marshes. The expense of the dike was to be ten thousand dollars, and the petitioners were to keep the lower river and the harbor clear of sand. The interests of the Upper Marshfielders and of the Lower Marshfielders were herein clearly

opposed. The dike has now cost fifty thousand dollars, and a certain proportion of the expenses was levied on the marsh owners, including those who had protested against it. Naturally feeling aggrieved at such a highhanded proceeding, they refused to sacrifice themselves. Among those who refused to pay the assessment were Mrs. Fletcher Webster and Miss Adelaide Phillipps. The town then went farther, and sold a large number of acres of their land by auction. In the Webster case the sixty-seven acres sold brought eleven hundred dollars more than the assessment; but with unexampled generosity the town made itself a donation of the whole. The man who bought Miss Phillipps's land last year proceeded to cut the hay; but the energetic singer (with the other ladies of the family), determining not to be outdone, went at nightfall and gathered it all into her own barn, and mocked at the threats of the lawyer sent to obtain satisfaction. Meantime, Green Harbor River has almost entirely filled up with sand. The bar at low tide is entirely out of water, and the fishing interests of the natives are brought to naught. Moreover, the experiment of reclaiming the marshes has not by any means proved the success that was anticipated. If the fishermen had their way, a ton of dynamite would be placed under the costly dike and exploded, and again the sea would find its way across the fields.

There is great beauty about these Marshfield lands. As one stands on the low road leading to the beach, there is a bending circle of gentle hills. On one of them the Miles Standish monument cuts the horizon; that clump next the sea is where the French cable from Brest lands, and far beyond is the blue outline of Manomet, beyond Plymouth. From the beach on hazy days you sometimes see the coast of the Cape and the shore of Provincetown lifted by the mirage. As a general thing, the bay looks like the open sea, only there is scarcely a ripple to mark the rising tide. The color of the water rivals that of the Mediterranean. The soil is sandy, but is nevertheless covered with the brightest vegetation. The whole region is getting to

be more and more a place of summer resort. On the beach the land seems to be growing, and there are little headlands forming, on which people have only to "squat,” — that is, build a shanty or a cottage, and there is no one to dispute the title. At Brant Rock there is quite a colony, and several sizable hotels fill themselves with guests, who enjoy the perfect quiet and restfulness of the South Shore. It is especially for these summer waifs that a little church is being erected. Mrs. Fletcher Webster has generously given a cottage for a parsonage, and a lot of land, on which a neat and unpretentious edifice is in process of erection. The few extra hundred dollars needful to insure freedom from debt are being raised by fairs and prospective concerts. The neighborhood of Miss Adelaide Phillipps and her accomplished sister seems to make the assistance of musicians an easy matter.

It is a quiet summer life on this bending sandy shore of Cape Cod Bay; but to those who like the whistle of the quail, the song of myriads of birds, and the sight of a gentle sea and long stretches of marsh-land, sometimes flooded at high-tide, there is no pleasanter retreat for the summer days.

"A FARMER said to me," says Rev. N. W. Miner, D.D., "I once got into difficulty with a neighbor about the line between our farms. I went to Mr. Lincoln to secure him. Mr. Lincoln said: 'Now if you go on with this, it will cost both of your farms, and will entail an enmity that will last for generations, and perhaps lead to murder. The other man has just been here to engage me. Now I want you two to sit down in my office while I am gone to dinner, and talk it over, and try to settle it. And to secure you from any interruption I will lock the door.' He did so, and he did not return all the afternoon. We two men, finding ourselves shut up together, began to laugh. This put us in a good humor, and by the time Mr. Lincoln returned, the matter was settled."