IT happened, one summer’s day, that Dan’l Webster and some of his friends were out fishing. That was in the high days of his power and his fame, when the question wasn’t if he was going to be President but when he was going to be President, and everybody at Kingston depot stood up when Dan’l Webster arrived to take the cars. But in spite of being Secretary of State and the biggest man in New England, he was just the same Dan’l Webster. He bought his Jamaica personal and in the jug at Colonel Sever’s store in Kingston, right under a sign saying ENGLISH AND WEST INDIA GOODS, and he never was too busy to do a hand’s turn for a friend. And, as for his big farm at Marshfield, that was just the apple of his eye. He buried his favorite horses with their shoes on, standing up, in a private graveya
