Charles James Fox, a professional lady-killer, he would have won every woman in the land. But I never heard that he went into the business of flirtation at all.
He could be as terrible as he was gentle, and we had a curious instance of his power. Mrs. Webster complained to him of the revolt of a kitchen-maid. "Send her to me," he said.
The housekeeper told us that he simply looked at her, when she cried out, "Don't do that! don't do that! I will scrub the buttery!"
It was like a lash on sensitive flesh to have his black eyes flash their lightning at one.
Before I left Marshfield Mrs. Webster gave me a ring — a ruby circlet — which I wore for many years. Down in the West Indies, on my wedding journey, this ring was stolen from me, to my infinite sorrow; but the memory of it, and of her kindness in giving it to me, I have never lost.
One day Mr. Webster turned suddenly and asked me if I knew any of Watts's hymns; to my regret I did not, when he quoted two or three, and also some lines of Walter Scott. He talked of Burns, Shakespeare, and Milton, and after dinner some lady sang one of Burns's songs.
His daughter, Mrs. Sam Appleton Appleton, was staying in the house, a very interesting woman, whom he much loved; when he approached her he always kissed her hand, which amazed me, it was so stately. He told me much of his visit to England and of the delightful people he had met there, and often took me to drive, telling me about the sea grasses and the fish which he had caught in the morning. I can feel anew, as I write, the fragrant salt sea-breeze, forever refreshing that
