Mr. Crawford supplied the table when he could by his gun or fishing-rod; otherwise the fare was meagre.  When asked for mustard for the salt meat, they said they had none, at least in the house, but they had some growing.

A young turkey halted about in the dining-room gobbling in a noisy way, and the girl in attendance was requested by Mr. Webster, with imperturbable gravity, either to kindly take it out or to bring its companion in, for it seemed lonely.  She stood in utter confusion for a minute, then seized the squawking fowl and disappeared.

When Mr. Crawford was asked if ladies ever went up Mount Washington, he said two had been up, and he hoped never to see another trying it, for the last one he brought down on his shoulders, or she would have never got down alive.

The first night I asked for a change of bed linen.  No attention was paid to my request, and after waiting a long time I found the landlady and asked her if she would have the sheets changed.  She straightened up and said she didn’t think the bed would hurt anybody, for only two ministers from Boston had slept in it.  We stayed some days and although it was the height of the season, we were the only guests.  Nothing from the outside world reached us but one newspaper, and that brought the startling news of the death of Adams and Jefferson on the fourth of July, just fifty years after their signing the Declaration of Independence.

The large leghorn bonnet which Mrs. Webster wore on that eventful journey hangs in my collection of old relics.  She told me it used to hit the wheel when she looked out.  And near it is her dark-brown “calash,” a big bonnet with rattans stitched in so it would easily move back and forward.  Her winter hood was of dark blue silk, warmly wadded and prettily quilted.

Who would not wish to live to be a hundred if health and mental vigour could be retained?  This rare old lady wrote lively, interesting letters on all current topics, and was as eager to win at whist, backgammon, or logomachy as a child.  Her religion was the most beautiful part of her life, the same every day, self-forgetting, practical Christianity.  She is not forgotten; her life is still a stimulus, an inspiration, a benediction.  The love and veneration of those who gathered about her in family reunions were expressed by her nephew Dr. Fred B. Lund, one of the most distinguished surgeons of Boston: 

To her who down the pathway of the years
Serene and calm her blessed way she trod,
Has given smiles for smiles, and tears for tears,
Held fast the good in life, and shown how God

Has given to us His servants here below,
A shining mark to follow in our strife,
Who proves that He is good, and makes us know
Through ten decades of pure and holy life