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 writer of this witnessed. He said once to his first cousin, Mrs. Jonathan Brooks, “I wish to make a bargain with you. I will promise to be with you when you are sick, and I wish you to promise to be with me when I am sick.” She did so promise; and, after several sicknesses, she performed the last sad duty of closing his eyes in death. A very dangerous illness of Mrs. Brooks occurred, while he, as Governor, was engaged at Boston by the sitting of the Legislature. In the coldest part of the winter, he rode out each day in his chaise to see her. As she became more ill, his attendance increased, and his solicitude was that of a brother. One evening he arrived at eight o'clock; and, having found her more ill than ever, he jumped into his chaise, drove quickly to his house, and brought back a bottle of particular old wine. He asked to go to the kitchen fire; her son conducted him there; and, having opened the wine, he placed himself before the fire, and there made a porringer full of wine-whey. When it was done, he waited to have it cool. He would not accept of any help. He took out a few spoonfuls, and said, “Give your mother that.” Her son took it to her with a prayer on his lips. In ten minutes after she had taken it, she whispered to him, “I shall recover.” With a heart almost bursting, he rushed to the Governor to announce the tidings. A tear started in his eye: and he said, “Thank God, we shall have her again.” I felt at that moment as if I should fall down, and worship him as the saviour of my mother. When Gen. Lafayette came to Massachusetts in 1824, he took an early opportunity to dine with his friend and fellow-officer, then living in dignified retirement at Medford. Respect for the illustrious stranger, and love for their patriotic townsman, induced the inhabitants to make ample preparations for receiving the guest. On Saturday, Aug. 28, 1824, the General entered Medford, at half-past 2 o'clock, P. M., from West Cambridge, attended by a few select friends. The notice of his coming was short; nevertheless, the ladies, with their characteristic enchantment, made flowers from the gardens, and evergreens from the fields, fly at their bidding, and arrange themselves into wreaths of beauty and crowns of honor, while the young men spanned the streets with arches, and filled the air with flags. When he crossed the Wear Bridge, the bells began to ring, and the cannon to thunder. The houses were filled with eager and happy gazers, waving handkerchiefs in the joy of recognition. The children of the
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