First of all, let me say that Daniel Webster was not born in this house; that his father did not build it; nor am I, to my great regret, in any way related to our most distinguished American statesman. I frankly tell you all this to spare you, perhaps, a certain grief; for there are pilgrims who come to my little cottage, pause at its threshold, and, when they have learned all these disheartening truths, say, "Thank you, but I think we won't come in." Others there are, also, who view my old furniture and remark, "So Daniel Webster had all these interesting old things when he was here in college." And they are disappointed when I tell them that he was poor, so poor in those early days that the farm at Salisbury had to be mortgaged to send him to Dartmouth; that he eked out his scanty resources by contributing to a little local journal, earning thereby fifty or sixty dollars, enough to pay his board for a whole year. If your interest is as theirs, you must not read further.

No, I don't believe that Webster then could have owned even my modest treasures, and the rent of the little "south chamber," which I am going to show you, where tradition says he spent his sophomore year, was probably not more than a dollar a month. Can I make you see him as really as I do this young lad in his middle' teens, full of ambition, "long, slender, pale and all eyes"; this wonderful youth who in later life made Carlyle think of a cathedral? Truly, I wish he had been here in his senior year; for, in reading an old history, I have found such a delightful fragment of a letter written then to a classmate; so delightful that I want him to have composed it in this little room before this little fireplace. May I quote it? It seems to be about a charming visitor from Massachusetts, whose fascinations were then enthralling Hanover. "Salem! enchanting name! who would have thought that from the ashes of witches, hung a century ago, should have sprung such an arch coquette as should delight in sporting with the simplicity of - Daniel Webster."

Doesn't it make him "come alive"? You see, with us here at Dartmouth, his memory is very present in many ways besides buildings and portraits; I wish I could show you, behind my house, the lovely Vale, which bears his name because, they say, he used to pace up and down there, studying his lessons.

The little "south chamber" that you are looking at is very small, so small that I don't think Daniel Webster could have had a roommate while he lived here; smaller even than "the prettiest room," which is just across the hall; and I had to plan and contrive to get in all the necessary pieces of furniture. Most of it is Empire, a few years later than the type Webster must have used; but how could I put a selfrespecting, twentieth-century, growing-up boy in a canopy bed? The paper, however, is a reproduction of an English pattern, which might have been on the walls in this eventful year of 1799: a light paper, with interfacings of grays and lavender-ish blues, because the room is directly south and always sunny. The ceiling is low and rounded; there are three doors, one opening suddenly upon a steep, unexpected stairway, - you know, I can't for the life of me see why my little house should have five whole pairs of stairs! - and the room would be an oblong if, at one end, the walls did not abruptly angle in a little fireplace. That is the first thing you see as you enter. The andirons came from a Vermont hamlet, - village is too big a name for so small a place, - one of those tiny, tiny places tucked away in the shouldering hills; and I paid a dollar and a half for the pair. They are just hand-wrought iron, made, maybe, at some homestead forge; but they suit the narrow, shallow, black hearth as no elaborate pair of brass andirons ever could.

Above the simple mantel-shelf hangs an engraving of Daniel Webster in middle life - not one of the rare ones, of course, but a good, characteristic picture, which I was able to garner at an auction, frame and all, for a dollar and twenty cents. The small mahogany mantel-clock came from a Pennsylvania-Dutch settlement, and was a present to me, so I can't count that. The little pewter candlesticks at each corner are really whale-oil lamps with the wick-tops unscrewed; and for one I paid a dollar, for the other, a dollar and a half, and they were bought at the shop of the old man who had "corresponded considerable" with Mr. Wanamaker. How I miss that dusty, beguiling abode of bargains!

And look, just at the left! Can you see that dangling glass ball, and do you know what it is? It's an old "Witch Ball," and it was bestowed upon me by a kind admirer, anxious, I suppose, to protect me from all malign powers. In ancient days their use was this: they were filled with water, and then hung from the rafters of the house, more potent even than a horseshoe; for as long as there was a drop of water in the ball, no sorceress could enter, to do you ill. I'm dreadfully proud of mine, for they are rarity itself. And, naturally, I hung it up at once, even though we have the H and L hinges in this room, too. I was n't going to take any chances; so it dangles from an antiquated brown riband, attached to a still older hand-wrought nail.

The little table standing at one side of the hearth - for my son thinks that it is such a pleasant thing to read and study beside a friendly fire - is plain Empire, with well-turned legs and a pretty brass pull on the drawer. It is made of cherry, and, I think, cost me three dollars. Above it hangs the early-nineteenth-century picture of a ministerial greatgrandfather, and its note of gold is repeated in the modern reading-lamp and in the little gilt photograph frame. The stenciled chair just beyond came from that old vine-hung house in the hills, and I paid fifty cents for it. It doesn't sound true, I know, but the dear old lady insisted it was n't worth more than a quarter, and I had hard work to make her take half a dollar! I had to have it re-rushed, - you seldom find these chairs with the old seats in good enough condition to use, - and that added two dollars more to my bill of expense.