As our friend turned into Park Street on this summer morning, the giant's lance threw its shadow far into the Common among the cows which were quietly cropping the dewy grass within the enclosure of the old rail fence, while his brazen goblet clanged the hour of seven.
As the substantial citizen of to-day passes up this street, where shops are rapidly displacing the mansions of the last century, he looks with honest pride upon Boston's crowning glory, the gilded dome which, like a great golden egg, is nested upright upon the roof which shelters the annually-assembled wisdom of the Old Commonwealth. Around its glowing swell the orbit of the sun's kiss is marked by an ever-moving flame, and even its shadows are luminous.
As he looks across the Common he catches glimpses of the "New Venice" which has been built upon the lagoons of the Back Bay, and sees among its towers and spires one beautiful campanile which, by its graceful inclination to the south, recalls Pisa's wonder, and lends a special charm to the view.
Upon the little eminence near the Frog Pond, once the site of the fort built during the British occupation to defend the city from the American army encamped on the opposite shore, rises the monument which commemorates the war of the Rebellion and the gallant men of Boston who lost their lives in defence of the Government.
On that pleasant morning in 1817, neither the beautiful new city nor the sad monument greeted the eye of the good Colonel, for the Common formed the western boundary of the town, and the British earthworks were still upon the little hill.
Could he have had a prophetic vision of the one, his honest pride in his native town would have risen almost to ecstasy. Could he have known of the other, his patriotic soul would have sunk within him, and the pleasure of his day's journey would have given place to grief.
Rounding the Common, by the Hancock mansion, with its lilac bushes and curiously wrought iron balcony, Walnut Street was soon reached, and, near its junction with Mount Vernon Street, the house of Mr. Webster.
The future "Defender of the Constitution" was no sluggard. It was his habit to "Rise with the lark and greet the purpling east," to use one of his favorite quotations, and the carriage had hardly stopped when he appeared, and, exchanging kindly greetings with the Colonel, took his place beside him.
Mr. Webster was at this time thirty-five years old, and had taken up his residence in Boston to resume the practice of his profession, after representing his native State of New Hampshire for two terms in Congress.
Col. Perkins was among the first to recognize his abilities, and a strong attachment had grown up between them. A marked element in the Colonel's character was his constant desire to investigate for himself remarkable developments in nature and art; and on this occasion, when he expected an unusual gratification of his curiosity, no company could be more congenial than that of his friend, the young advocate.