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Updated: May 1, 2025
From the solemn death chamber in Marshfield, his home by the stormy Atlantic, came tidings of the great statesman's last moments, in which he repeated, again and again, the Lord's Prayer and the Twenty-third Psalm.
The man was staggering and lurching in the guard's grasp. 'His wife, but she is to Marshfield, nursing her sister, answered one. 'But give him his guinea, Sir George. 'Twill save time maybe. Soane flung it to him. 'There! he said. 'Now speak! 'That'sh better, the man muttered. 'That's talking! Now I'll tell you. You go back to Devizes Corner corner of the road to De-vizes you understand?
Daniel Webster, one day at Marshfield, when his cattle came around him to take an ear of corn each from his hand, said to Peter Harvey, who was by, as he stood looking at them, "Peter, this is better company than Senators." So I am tempted to turn from all the religious wranglings and extravagances of the time, to nature and to the solid and unquestioned truths of religion.
Some of his sarcastic attacks upon Mr. Day were very bitter, and when he showed his great, white teeth he looked like an enraged lion. A few months after that Trenton speech in October, 1852, he went to his Marshfield home to die. His spirits were broken and he was sore from political disappointments. His last few days were spent in a fight by his powerful constitution against the inevitable.
But, oddly enough, when I later attempted to put this observation on paper I could find no word to express it." A few of our company evinced signs of sleepiness, but most of us who knew Marshfield, and that he could, unless he had something novel to say, be as silent and retiring as he now evinced signs of being copious, awaited further developments with patience.
Could that savage in the sheepskin be my courteous entertainer? "Just as I came in, did I hear my wife say there was nothing for you to do in this place?" he said presently to me. Then, turning to her: "You do not seem to know Mr. Marshfield. Wherever he can open his eyes there is for him something to see which might not interest other men.
He always rose with the sun, visiting his farm-yards at Marshfield, and going to market at Washington, before breakfast, with a visit at either place to the kitchen, where he would gravely discuss the culinary programme of the day with Monica, a cook of African descent, whose freedom he had purchased.
"Marshfield, Mass., Aug. 2, 1848. "Dear Sir, The undersigned, Whigs and fellow-citizens of yours, are desirous of seeing and conferring with you on the subject of our national policy, and of hearing your opinions freely expressed thereon. We look anxiously on the present aspect of public affairs, and on the position in which the Whig party, and especially Northern Whigs, are now placed.
If you can concur with our wishes, please signify to us in what manner it would be most agreeable to you that they should be carried into effect. "With very great regard, your obedient servants, "DANIEL PHILLIPS, GEORGE LEONARD, GEO. H. WETHERBEE, and many others." To this invitation Mr. Webster returned the following reply: "Marshfield, Aug. 3, 1848. "GENTLEMEN, I have received your letter.
These nervous women have often an unexpected fund of strength. "'Come, that is well, said the baron with a flickering smile; 'Mr. Marshfield will think you but badly acclimatized to Poland if a little wolf scare can upset you. My dear wife is so soft-hearted, he went on to me, 'that she is capable of making herself quite ill over the sad fate that might have, but has not, overcome you.
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