farm at Franklin--the family homestead--even when obliged to be
absent, or even when temporarily residing in Washington and hard pressed
with the cares of his office as Secretary of State.

Those painters who include a parrot in the portrait of some fine
frivolous lady do so to heighten their interpretation of character. We
all betray our natures, by the creatures we instinctively gather about
us. One might know that Jefferson at Monticello would select high-bred
saddle horses as his companions; that Cardinal Richelieu would find no
pet so soothing, so alluring, as a soft-stepping cat; that Charles I
would select the long-haired spaniel. So it is entirely in the picture
that of all the beasts brought under human yoke, that great oxen, slow,
solemn, strong, would appeal to the man whose searching eyes were never
at rest except when they swept a wide horizon; whose mind found its
deepest satisfaction in noble languages, the giant monuments of
literature and art, and whose soul best stretched its wings beside the
limitless sea and under the limitless sky. Webster was fond of all
animal life; he felt himself part of its free movement. Guinea hens,
peacocks, ducks, flocks of tamed wild geese, dogs, horses--these were
all part of the Marshfield place, but there was within the breast of the
owner a special responsiveness to great herds of cattle, and especially
fine oxen, the embodiment of massive power. So fond was he of these
favorite beasts of his, that often on his arrival home he would fling
his bag into the hall without even entering the house, and hasten to the
barn to see that they were properly tied up for the night. As he once
said to his little son, as they both stood by the stalls and he was
feeding the oxen with ears of corn from an unhusked pile lying on the
barn floor: "I would rather be here than in the Senate," adding, with
his famous smile, "I think it is better company." So we may be sure as
we walk in our retrospect about the farm with him--he never speaks of it
as an "estate" but always as a farm--he will linger longest where the
Devon oxen, the Alderneys, Herefordshire, and Ayrshire are grazing, and
that the eyes which Carlyle likened to anthracite furnaces will glow and
soften. Twenty years from now he will gaze out upon his oxen once again
from the window before which he has asked to be carried, as he lies
waiting for death. Weariness, disease, and disappointment have weakened
the elasticity of his spiri