ont of her father's house was set on fire by some light placed upon it.
Hero worship began early with me. For no reason that I can give, before I was nine years old Daniel Webster had caught my imagination, and stories about him, and his pictures, have had a fascination for me from that time.
In later years I stood beside his burial-place in Marshfield with a feeling of reverence.
He was the orator at the laying of the corner-stone of Bunker Hill Monument, and again at its completion in 1847.
My father, as a young man, was present at the latter occasion, and from his lips I had the story of his seeing this great man, and of the immense throng gathered there.
A later hero that strongly appealed to me was Edward Everett, who died fifty years ago, January 15, 1865.
In my first scrap-book, begun in childhood, I put a piece by T. W. Persons on the death of Everett.
When in riper years I discarded this book, I took from it this one piece and placed it in another that I have today