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 4 O 
 
 
 
ORATION 
 
 ON THE 
 
 LIFE AND PUBLIC SERVICES 
 
 OF 
 
 DAIIEL WEBSTER 
 
 DELIVERED BEFORE THE BAR OP CINCINNATI, 
 
 vemb er 2 2d, 185 2. 
 
 BY 
 
 1^ 
 
 T. WALKER 
 
 ^uHijs^tJj at th aaqutst of ti^c (fTindnnati JSrtr. 
 
 <^CINCINNATI: 
 
 MORGAN & OVEREND, PRINTERS. 
 1852. 
 

PROCEEDINGS OF THE CLNCINNATI BAR, 
 
 On the 25th of October, 1852, 
 ON THE ANNOUNCEMENT OP THE DEATH OP DANIEL WEBSTER. 
 
 The Courts met at the usual hour, when, after a few eloquent remarks trom N. C. Read, 
 Esq., in Judge Piatt's Court; Bellamy Storer, Esq., in Judge Matthews' Court; Charles 
 Fox, Esq., in Judge Fiinn's Court ; and William Johnston, Esq., in Judge Key's Court, on 
 the death of Daniel Webster, they adjourned. 
 
 BAR MEETING. 
 
 The death of Daniel Webster having been announced to the Courts of Hamilton county, 
 they adjourned for the day. and the members of the Bar met in the court-room of the 
 Criminal Court. 
 
 On motion, Bellamy Storer was appointed Chairman, and George H. Pendleton, Secretary. 
 
 On motion of Judge Walker, it was 
 
 Eesolved, That the Chair appoint a committee of six, to report resolutions expressive of the 
 sense of the meeting. 
 
 The Chair appointed Messrs. Walker, Johnson, Fox, Morris, Read and Gallagher. 
 
 The committee withdrew a few moments and returned, when Judge Walker read the 
 following Preamble and Resolutions, which were on motion unanimously adopted 
 
 The members of the Cincinnati Bar have heard with feelings which words have no power 
 to express, that Daniel Webster is dead ! That gigantic intellect, when only in its iiill 
 maturity, has closed its grand series of earthly manifestations, and gone where in the con- 
 gregated intellect of all the past, it will meet, among the mightiest, none but kindred spirits 
 welcoming a companion. But while the Man no longer lives, the Jurist, the Legislator, the 
 Publicist, the Statesman and the Orator, will live forever in his immortal works. Who 
 among Ancients or Moderns has erected for himself a monument more certain to survive 
 all those memorials, which hero-worship rears for its idols, than Daniel Webster ? 
 
 Eesolved, That instead of soiTOwing that such a man has died, our predominant sentiment 
 is one of profound gratitude to fleaven for giving to the Bar, to the Country, and to mankind, 
 an intellect so vast, and preserving it so long. 
 
 Eesolved, That an oration commemorative of the life and services of Daniel Webster be 
 delivered, and that a committee of five persons be appointed by the Chairman to make ar- 
 rangements therefor, and to report to an adjourned meeting to be called by the officers. 
 
 The Chair then appointed Messrs. Gholson, Gwynne, Key, Matthews and Carter. 
 
[iy ] 
 
 Mr. Kox then offered the following resolution, viz: 
 
 Ersolved, That a copy of the proceedings of this meeting be presented to the several 
 Courts of this county, with a request that they be enteredon their records. 
 
 (Jn motion of Mr. Morris, it was then 
 
 licsolvtd. That the Chairman of this meeting be requested to address to the widow of the 
 deceased a letter of condolence, inclosing the proceedings of this meeting. 
 
 When the meeting adjourned. 
 
 BELLAMY STORER, Chairman. 
 Geokge H. 1 endleton, Secretary 
 
 At a subsequent meeting, Mr. Gholson, from the committee above named, made the 
 following report, which was adopted : — 
 
 The Committee appointed to report proper arrangements for the delivery of a public 
 oration before the Bar of Hamilton county, in honor of the late Daniel Webster, respect- 
 fully submit the following : 
 
 That the Hon. Timothy Walker be requested to deliver the oration, at Smith & Nixon's 
 Hall, on the evening of the 22d day of November, 1852, at 7K o'clock, to which time and 
 place this meeting of the Bar shall be adjourned ; and that the present officers shall continne 
 to act. 
 
 That the Clergy of the city be invited to attend ; and that the Chairman be instructed to 
 request one of them to open, and another to close the proceedings with prayer. 
 
 That the members of the Bar of Covington, of Newport, and of the surrounding counties 
 of the State, be invited to attend, and unite with the members of this Bar in rendering honor 
 to the memory of the great and distinguished brother of their profession. 
 
 And that the citizens, generally, be invited to attend. 
 
CORRESPONDENCE 
 
 Cincinnati, November 25th, 1852. 
 Judge WiLKEU .- 
 
 Dear Sir, — 
 
 The undersigned would respectfully ask a copy of your late Oration 
 
 on thi Life and Services of Daniel Webster, for publication. 
 
 While uniting in the universal opinion, of the very able and eloquent manner in which 
 
 you portrayed the character of the departed Jurist, Orator and Statesman, we would express 
 
 our individual desire that you should permit the publication of your Address. It ought 
 
 to be preserved in an enduring Ibrm. 
 
 B. Storer, 
 W. Y. Gholson, 
 a. e. gwynne, 
 Stanly Matthews, 
 A. G. W. Carter, 
 Thomas M. Key, 
 
 Committee of Arrangements. 
 
 Cincinnati, December 3rf, 1852. 
 Gentlemen : 
 
 I have received your very flattering note, requesting a copy of my Oration on 
 the Life and Services of Daniel Webster, for publication. 
 
 Believing that all sincere attempts to make so great an example instructive, are, in 
 themselves, meritorious, I shall place the manuscript in the hands of the Committee, at 
 an early day. 
 
 In the meantime, very grateful for your kind expressions, 
 
 I remain, very respectfully, 
 
 T. Walker. 
 
 To Messrs. B. Storer, W. Y. Gholsox, and others, 
 
 Committee of Arrangements, etc. 
 
ORATION. 
 
 Brethren of the Bar: 
 
 Daniel Webster, so long our acknowledged chief and 
 leader, has been summoned from these earthly courts to the 
 presence of the Final Judge; and we are assembled to do 
 homage to his memory. 
 
 Over the glittering bier of a monarch styled The Great ; 
 amidst the gorgeous pageantry of royal obsequies ; in the pres- 
 ence of the most dazzhng court in Christendom ; the speaker 
 commenced his funeral oration by saying, God alone is Great. 
 
 We too have a monarch for our theme ; a veritable king of 
 men ; immeasurably greater than Louis the Fourteenth, in all 
 that constitutes the sovereign man. 
 
 Over his simple bier, covered with no golden pall, but 
 garlanded with leaves of oak and autumn flowers, and in the 
 presence of a vast throng of weeping friends, the officiating 
 clergyman bore this testimony : — 
 
 " I am bound to say, that in the course of my life, I never 
 met an individual, in any profession or condition, who always 
 spoke and always thought with such awful reverence of the 
 power and presence of God." 
 
[8] 
 
 Let us then begin with the sentiment which he so intensely 
 felt, and re-echo the solemn words — God alone is Great. 
 
 Yet while in the most sublime and heart-humbling concep- 
 tion of greatness, there can be only one Supreme Type, still, in 
 another sense, man, created in His own image, only a little 
 lower than the angels, may, and sometimes does, by the best 
 use of God's highest gifts, so crown himself with glory and 
 honor, and so far transcend the ordinary level of humanity, that 
 he can not be truly described without such epithets as Great, 
 Gigantic, or Titanic. 
 
 "Wlien such a man dies, all the people mourn, because all 
 have lost a friend; those who have never seen his face, nor 
 heard his voice, scarcely less than his most familiar associates. 
 And what a grand spectacle it is ! — a whole nation surrounding 
 the tomb of their benefactor, and " pouring out their hearts like 
 water " over his cold ashes. For here, in the dread presence of 
 Death, all strife is at an end ; all wrongs forgiven ; all enmities 
 forgotten ; all slanders hushed. Mighty Truth at last prevails ; 
 awful Justice asserts its sway; great Nature vindicates her 
 dignity ; and a righteous judgment is finally rendered here on 
 earth. 
 
 Such a man you have appointed me to portray before you ; 
 and I, trusting much to the inspiration of the "great argument," 
 but without a hope of attaining to its height, have ventured to 
 attempt the arduous task ; for it is an arduous and a fearful 
 task for any man. I know, from my own consciousness, that in 
 every mind here present, there is already formed an image of 
 Daniel Webster, vague and indistinct perhaps, and yet, for that 
 very reason, such as no one could find language to describe 
 even to himself There it is, looming up and stretching forth, 
 in its vast though shadowy outlines, until it becomes, as it 
 ought to 1)0, a very Colossus. And such a man — so towering 
 
[9] 
 
 above others, that this true instinct of yours would, in ancient 
 times, have exalted him into a demigod — such a man you 
 expect me so to delineate, as at least to realize your own ideal. 
 Why, Mr. Webster himself, with all his miraculous mastery of 
 words and thoughts, could hardly have so described his equal, 
 if such there were. And as for me, you might as well 
 expect me, with my unpractised hand, to seize the chisel of 
 a Powers, and carve for you in marble his majestic person. 
 No, no. Words are circumscribed, while the imagin;ition is 
 illimitable. 
 
 I may say to you that when the angel of death struck Daniel 
 Webster with his inexorable dart, he aimed at the highest mark 
 in this our hemisphere ; selecting for his triumph the very first 
 among American lawyers, legislators, statesmen, publicists, and 
 orators ; — or leaving this hemisphere, and taking the whole 
 world for comparison, I may say that his intellect, in massive 
 strength and Doric solidity, was inferior to that of no living 
 man ; — or leaving the present time, and running the memory 
 back, by the lights of history, through all the past, and then 
 contemplating that august congregation of the unlbrgotten dead 
 in their eternal home — to whose immortal companionship his 
 great soul is now admitted — I may, in this one attribute of 
 intellectual power, challenge the name of his superior even 
 there. All this I may declare, without incurring the charge of 
 exaggeration. But all this does not present the man distinctly 
 before you. 
 
 Look, then, first at his person, which I have called majestic. 
 Never have I stood in a more imposing presence. Of the full 
 average height ; above the usual size ; robust and well pro- 
 portioned in all parts of his athletic frame ; of a swarthy com- 
 plexion ; dark, piercing eyes, deep set beneath long shaggy 
 brows ; and a magnificently high, broad, and expansive forehead, 
 
[ 10] 
 
 he more nearly resembled the description of the royal Dane, 
 than any man I ever saw : — 
 
 "See what a grace was seated on this brow ! 
 Hyperion's cnrls ; tlic front of Jove himself; 
 An eye like Mars, to threaten and command ; 
 A station like the herald Mercur}^, 
 New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; 
 A combination and a form, indeed, 
 Where every god did seem to set his seal, 
 To give the world assurance of a man," 
 
 If you add to this a style of dress nearly always the same, and 
 admirably adapted to set off his commanding figure — of which 
 the chief peculiarities were a blue coat, buff vest, and white 
 cravat — you, who have never seen him, can form some faint 
 idea of the outward man. In such habiliments, we are told, he 
 was robed for the grave. 
 
 But why dwell upon that which human eye shall never more 
 behold? This perishable body has returned to its kindred dust. 
 
 " On the 24th of October, all that is mortal of Daniel Webster 
 will be no more. Heavenly Father, forgive my sins, and receive 
 ray soul unto thyself, through Christ Jesus." 
 
 This was his dying prediction and his prayer. The prediction 
 was fulfilled ; and all that of him was mortal, now sleeps its 
 last, dreamless sleep, in the bosom of his own beloved Marshfield, 
 where the pilgrim to his grave may gaze upon the dark blue 
 ocean, which he so loved to contemplate, and listen to its 
 loud resounding roar, which to him was always music. 
 
 The prayer too, we may trust, was answered ; and that eman- 
 cipated soul, now clothed with a more glorious body, is worship- 
 ing with adoring angels before the eternal throne. Can it now 
 look down from those bright realms, and take cognizance of the 
 
[11] 
 
 things of earth ? If so, may not even the bliss of heaven be 
 heightened by the knowledge, that from every true and loyal 
 heart, there has gone up an utterance of fervent gratitude to 
 the Creator for giving us such a man, and sparing him so long ; 
 and that those stupendous labors here performed will yield 
 their abounding harvest of benefits and blessings forevermore ? 
 
 Who, then, was Daniel Webster ? What was his early his- 
 tory ? and what has he done to make his life so great a boon, 
 and his death so great a loss ? 
 
 He was born on the 18th of January, 1782, in the town of 
 Salisbury, New Hampshire ; and the time, the place, and the 
 circumstances of his birth were all auspicious for the formation 
 and development of a strong character. 
 
 The bloody drama of the Revolution was just closing. The 
 giant actors therein, then in their prime, were already laying, 
 broad and deep, the foundations of constitutional liberty. His 
 youthful eyes might even watch the progress of the stately 
 temple, as, with unresting toil, and superhuman skill, they 
 reared it, stone by stone, until they finally crowned it with that 
 lofty and all-perfect dome, the Constitution of these United 
 States. 
 
 The scenery of the State, though rugged, was grand. Those 
 rough, bleak hills, almost rising into mountains ; those huge, 
 jagged rocks ; those deep wintry snows, falling in fierce storms, 
 remaining nearly half the year, and then melting into cataracts ; 
 — among these his infant cradle was rocked, and his childhood's 
 gambols played ; and they were well fitted to form that granite 
 character which so marked the future man. 
 
 His father was of Scotch extraction; had been a soldier, 
 then a farmer, and ultimately, for his strong native sense, 
 though not educated to the law, became a Judge. His mother 
 was of Welsh extraction, of more than ordinary intellect, and a 
 
[ 12] 
 
 fine specimen of a New England matron. Here was certainly 
 good stock. liiit the most forliinate circumstance was, they 
 were so flir from heing rich, that, cheap as schooling then was, 
 it required all they could scrape together to give the two 
 3'ounoest sons, Daniel and Ezekiel, a college education. There 
 was also some salutary hardship to he undergone by the boys 
 themselves. Even in winter they had to walk some three 
 miles to school ; and when there was no school within walking 
 distance, they were boarded out at one dollar per w^eek, in- 
 cluding tuition. From these facts it will be readily inferred 
 that 3'Oung Webster escaped the misfortune of being petted 
 and pampered, as the children of affluence too often are, until 
 they become spoiled for everything great or good. He, on the 
 contrar}^, was taught to find "a natural and prompt alacrity in 
 hardness." To this he was indebted for that sinewy and stal- 
 wart fraine, which, for nearly seventy years, scarcely knew what 
 fatigue was; and but for which, however bright his intellect, 
 the world would not now be ringing with his renoAvn, 
 
 From a letter written in 1846, at the place of his birth, of 
 which he had some time before become the owner, I make the 
 following extracts, descriptive of his home and family, and 
 finely illustrating his strong aftections : — 
 
 (( 
 
 Looking out at the east wdndow, at this moment, with a beauti- 
 ful sun just Ijreaking out, my eye sweeps a rich aud level field of 
 one hundred acres. At the end of it, a third of a mile off, I see 
 plain marble grave-stones, designating the places where repose my 
 father, my mother, my brother Joseph, and my sisters, Mehitable, 
 Abigail, and Sarali ; good scripture names, inherited from their 
 
 Puritan ancestors 
 
 "My lather, Ebeuezer Webster! born at Kingston, in the lower 
 part of the State, in 1736, the handsomest man I ever saw^, except 
 my brother Ezekiel, who appeared to me, and so does he now seem 
 to me, the very finest human form that ever I laid eyes on. I saw 
 him ill his coflSu — a white forehead, a tinged cheek, a complexion 
 
[ 13] 
 
 as clear as heavenly light. But where am I straying ? The grave 
 has dosed upon him, as it lias upon all my brothers and sisters. 
 We shall soon be all together. But this is melanelioly, and I leave 
 it. Dear, dear kindred blood, how I love you all ! . . . . 
 
 "The fair field is before me. I could see a lamb on any part of 
 it. I have plowed it, and raked it, and hoed it, but I never 
 mowed it. Somehow I could never learn to hang a scythe. I had 
 not wit enough. My brother Joe used to say that my father sent 
 me to college in order to make me equal to the rest of the 
 children." 
 
 Not to dwell on his sehool-boy days, which were marked by 
 hard study and fair promise, he entered Dartmouth College in 
 1797, and was graduated in 1801, when not quite twenty. In 
 the long vacations he taught school to eke out his slender 
 means, and assist in the education of his brother. He also 
 edited a small weekly newspaper, and thus exercised himself in 
 composition. It was during his college life that the first clear 
 dawning was perceived of that transcendent intellect, which was 
 soon to blaze forth in such amazing splendor. But it is a 
 remarkable fact, that, up to about this time, this bold and con- 
 summate orator, by his own account, could never muster cour- 
 age to declaim before his school-mates : 
 
 "There was one thing I could not do. I could not make a 
 declamation. I could not speak before the school." 
 
 Perhaps his final triumph over this singular diffidence cost 
 him a hardly less meritorious effort than that by which the 
 great orator of Greece overcame his physical impediment. 
 
 For one year after leaving college he taught a school in 
 Maine, at a salary of three hundred and fifty dollars, at the same 
 time paying his expenses by writing in the office of the Reg- 
 ister of Deeds ; yet still finding leisure to read carefully Black- 
 stone's Commentaries. What a year's work ! He used to say 
 
[ 14] 
 
 that it miule his " fingers ache " to think of those two folios, 
 wiitteu lull by him after the toils of the school-room. 
 
 This brings us down to that critical era in every man's life, 
 the choice of a profession. He seems never to have hesitated 
 about adopting the law. For nearly two years he studied in an 
 office in his native town, reading the Latin classics, in the 
 meantime, by way of recreation. lie then went to Boston, 
 and after some unsuccessful applications, had the good fortune 
 to obtain admission into the office of Christopher Gore, an able 
 lawyer, a distinguished statesman, and most excellent man. 
 Here he completed his novitiate, and in 1805 was admitted to 
 the bar of Boston, on Mr. Gore's recommendation ; who, as the 
 good old custom then was, made a speech to the court, in 
 which he predicted, in strong terms, the future distinction of 
 his pupil. 
 
 In the course of his law studies, so far as made known, I find 
 but three things especially worthy of remark. He availed 
 himself of every opportunity to attend the courts, and made a 
 report of all the cases he heard. He translated from the bar- 
 barous jargon of Latin and French, all the pleadings in the 
 two volumes of Saunders' Reports; and he very wisely threw 
 Coke aside, as wholly unfit for a student. It should also be 
 added, that severe as his studies were, he did not neglect bodily 
 exercise, either then or in after life. He had a great fondness 
 for riding, hunting and fishing, which he retained to the last. 
 Some of his most celebrated arguments and orations are said to 
 have been mainly thought out while enjoying these manly and 
 invigorating sports. For example, this story is told in relation 
 to his Bunker Hill Discourse. While apparently intent on 
 fishing for trout, he was heard to exclaim, as he drew in a very 
 large one — 
 
[ 15 J 
 
 "Venerable men ! yon have come down to us from a former gen- 
 eration. Heaven lias bounteously lengthened out your lives, that 
 you might behold this joyous day." 
 
 It was my good fortune to hear the maguificent oration in 
 which this apostrophe occurs. I hope the anecdote is true. 
 
 Shortly after his admission to the bar, a clerkship became vacant 
 in the court of which his father was one of the judges; and from 
 regard to the father it was offered to the son. The salary was 
 fifteen hundred dollars, very large for those days. To accept it 
 would gratify his father, who had set his heart upon it ; and by 
 exchanging an uncertainty for a certainty, would enable him at 
 once to repay the sacrifices made by his parents for his and his 
 brother's education. For these reasons he made up his mind to 
 accept the office. But Mr. Gore most strenuously opposed this 
 determination; and by painting in vivid colors the brilliant 
 career he would thus renounce, finally succeeded in dissuading 
 him. When he announced this to his father, he tersely said — 
 
 " I mean to use my tongue in the courts, not my pen ; to be an 
 actor, not a register of other men's actions." 
 
 His father, much disappointed, replied — 
 
 " Well, my son, your mother has always said that you would 
 come to something or nothing, she was not sure which. I think you 
 are now about settling that doubt for her." 
 
 The subject was never mentioned again. It may be, that 
 without this friendly remonstrance of Mr. Gore, we should never 
 have heard of Daniel Webster. Yet, one can hardly believe 
 that the routine of such an office could long have kept down 
 the aspirations of so soaring a genius. The hidden fire was 
 there. It might have smouldered for a time, but must ulti- 
 mately break forth. 
 
[ 16] 
 
 The question of the clerkship being thus settled, he com- 
 menced the practice in Boscawen, in order to be near his 
 father, who lived only long enough to hear his first argument ; 
 from which, however, he augured a bright destiny. Having 
 closed his father's eyes, he gave up his office to his brother, and 
 in 1807 removed to Portsmouth, for a wider theater. Here he 
 came at once into competition with such men as Jeremiah Mason, 
 Samuel Dexter, Joseph Story, and several others, older, but 
 not abler lawyers, as was soon demonstrated. So rapid, indeed, 
 was his rise, that he scarcely passed through the grade of junior 
 counsel. Retainers crowded upon him in nearly all the impor- 
 tant cases. But in that State fees were comparatively small, 
 and though he had as much business as he could mannge, he 
 did not make much more than a livelihood. Nor was his con- 
 dition in this respect improved by accepting a seat in Congress, 
 which he took for the first time, at the extra session in 1813. 
 He was elected for a second term; during which, in 1816, at 
 the instance of some of the leading men of Boston, who were 
 now familiar with his reputation, he took up his residence in 
 that city ; and at once placed himself at the head of that bar ; 
 as he soon after did at the head of the whole American bar. 
 
 I should here mention that in 1808 he was married to his 
 first wife, Grace Fletcher, by whom he had four children; of 
 whom only one, Fletcher Webster, now survives. By his second 
 wife, Caroline LeRoy, there is no surviving issue. That most 
 accomplished lady still lives ; and long may it be before pro- 
 priety would allow more to be said of her. 
 
 We have thus followed Mr. Webster from the school to col- 
 lege, from college to the bar, and from the bar to Congress. 
 We have seen with what incessant toil he climbed from steep 
 to steep in the long ascent. To the young especially, this part 
 of his life furnishes a most instructive lesson. Too many are 
 
[ 17 ] 
 
 fain to believe that what they call genius, may enable them to 
 forego labor, and }et reap its highest rewards. There is no 
 such thing; and this the life ol Mr. Webster teaches. ]t is 
 doubtless true that some men can not become eminent by the 
 most strenuous exertions; but it is not less true, that no man 
 can become so without them. 
 
 " For sluggard's brow, the laurel never grows ; 
 Kenown is not the child of indolent repose." 
 
 This habit of severe labor, thus formed in youth, continued 
 through life. I never knew a man who made more laborious prep- 
 aration whenever he was to address the bench, the senate, or the 
 people, than he did, if the occasion admitted of it. Ilis sense of 
 duty to himself and to others, as I have heard him say, would not 
 permit him to present crude thoughts in extemporaneous efibrts, 
 when there was a possibility of making thorough preparation. 
 This is another golden lesson, by which most of us might profit. If 
 he took such pains to be worth hearing, what ought not we to do ? 
 
 It is proper here to say, that for most of the facts of this 
 very hasty and imperfect sketch of what may be called the 
 private life of Mr. Webster, I have been mainly indebted to 
 the admirable biographical sketch prefixed to the last edition of 
 his works, in six volumes, from the pen of Edward Everett, the 
 very accomplished editor, and now one of his literary executors. 
 On his worthy shoulders, too, by a most fitting selection, the 
 official mantle of the great Secretary has now fallen. Fortunate 
 author, to find such an editor! And still more fortunate editor 
 to have such an author ! It is as if the works of Demosthenes 
 had been edited by Cicero. Each of these volumes has a sepa- 
 rate dedication ; and I refer to the subject as an illustration of 
 that exquisite beauty and finish, which distinguish every thing 
 Mr. Webster wrote. " He touched nothing which he did not 
 2 
 
[18] 
 
 adoru." Take the dedication of the sixth volume as a 
 specimen : — 
 
 " With the warmest paternal affection, mingled with deeply 
 afflicted feelings, 1 dedicate this, the last volume of my works, to 
 the memory of my deceased children ; Julia Webster Appleton, 
 beloved in all the relations of daughter, wife, mother, sister, and 
 friend ; and Major Edward Webster, who died in Mexico, in the 
 military service of the United States, with unblemished honor and 
 reputation, and who entered that service solely from a desire to be 
 useful to his country, and do honor to the State in which he was 
 
 Go, gentle spirits, to your destined rest : 
 While I, reversed our nature's kindlier doom. 
 Pour forth a father's sorrow on your tomb." 
 
 Here then, I drop the form of connected narrative; for 
 henceforward the history of Mr. Webster is the history of his 
 country, and all know it by heart. There is scarcely one great 
 constitutional question in the courts, and no great public meas- 
 ure in Congress, or important crisis in our foreign relations, with 
 which his name is not intimately connected, in consequence of 
 the paramount influence he exerted as its advocate or opponent. 
 For he earned his laurels scarcely less by what he prevented 
 than by what he accomplished. Imagine his name and deeds 
 erased from the records of the last thirty years, and how many 
 vacant pages would they present ! 
 
 And now, having bid farewell to the comforts of obscurity, 
 and become "the observed of all observers," let us pause and 
 ask, what are his chances of being a happier man? Will not 
 the toils and anxieties of fame attend him ever, day and night, 
 until his wearied spirit shall long lor that repose which death 
 only can bring? Oh, the nameless and numberless cha- 
 grins and vexations of renown! How precious should be its 
 gratifications, to make the balance even! When one has 
 
[19] 
 
 ascended so high that the struggle no longer is to rise, but not 
 to fall — when every step is watched and every word scanned — 
 when privacy has become impossible, and the individual so 
 identified with the public, that he can no longer be his cwn 
 man — can this be the supreme good? Byron would answer 
 from the depths of a lacerated heart — 
 
 " lie who ascends to mountain tops, shall find 
 Their loftiest peaks most wrapped in clouds and snow ; 
 He who surpasses or sul)dues mankind, 
 Must look down on the hate of those below." 
 
 That Mr. Webster was the selected mark for many a poisoned 
 arrow, because of his greatness, we all know. That he some- 
 times chafed under such annoyances, like a pestered lion, is only 
 to say, that he was not marble. But, on the whole, it must be 
 admitted that he bore abuse very philosophically, as one who 
 had become well used to it. What he most disliked in the 
 glaring publicity to which he was condemned, was the necessity 
 of being always on his good behaviour, as he sometimes expressed 
 it — always great, and stately, and imposing — always on stilts. 
 For no man ever loved to unbend himself in fun, and jest, and 
 frolic, more than he. To see him only in such rare moments, 
 shaking with laughter and full of glee, one might think there 
 was no gravity in his nature. And he could make others laugh, 
 too. He was the best teller of anecdotes I ever heard, and his 
 fund seemed inexhaustible. He was also extremely fond of 
 the quiet domestic pleasures of his home and fireside. In a 
 word, his nature was all genial, joyous and affectionate. And 
 hence the almost childlike eagerness with which he escaped, as 
 often as possible, from the public gaze and public cares, to such 
 partial retirement as Marshfield could furnish. His rides and 
 rambles there, either alone or with some valued friend, looking 
 
[20] 
 
 at his flocks, and herds, and crops — now quoting poetry, now 
 talking philosophy, now cracking jokes — were among the most 
 cherished eujo}'ments of his later years. Let one of his most 
 intimate friends describe this delightful retreat : — 
 
 " The farm, at Marshfield, is worthy to be the resting place of its 
 illustrious owner. It is shielded by a range of beautiful hills, from 
 the violence of our north-easterly storms. It has a distant view of 
 the ocean, beyond the low^lands, wdiich every high tide overflows. 
 On one side a w^ooded promontory juts into the sea, and on the 
 other rises a sloping highland, on the brow of which, in the deep 
 repose of nature, his kindred rest in their long sleep, w^ith no sounds 
 above or around them, but the murmurs of the wind through the 
 foliage of the drooping trees, or the song of birds, or the solemn 
 voice of the sea, speaking eternally fi-om its vast depths." 
 
 The first appearance of Mr. Webster in the Supreme Court 
 of the United States, was in the celebrated Dartmouth College 
 case, probably the most important in principle, as yet decided 
 by that high tribunal. By a course of argument which has not 
 yet been successfully assailed, this case established the doctrine, 
 that the charter of a private corporation is a contract, within 
 the meaning of that clause in the Constitution, which prohibits 
 the States from passing any laws impairing the obligation of 
 contracts. It is now well understood that the impressions of 
 most, if not all of the judges were against Mr. Webster at the 
 commencement of his argument. But as he brought up his 
 phalanx of principles and authorities, marshalled by his power- 
 ful logic, conviction flashed upon them at every fire. Before 
 he concluded, the great cause was gained ; for the decision is 
 but a repetition of his train of reasoning. I have heard the 
 late Mr. Justice Story, in his delightfully graphic manner, 
 describe the gradual effect upon Chief Justice Marshall, by 
 whose side he sat. Every now and then he whispered his 
 
[21] 
 
 impressionsj in terms growing stronger and stronger, until from 
 being "a very fine argument," then "a very powerful argu- 
 ment," the last whisper was, "the best argument I ever heard." 
 Time will not permit me to follow out the career so triumph- 
 antly commenced in this court, which so emphatically tries 
 men's minds. Suffice it to say, that Pinckney, Wirt, Emmett, 
 and the other giants of that bar, at once discerned their most 
 formidable future competitor, perhaps even then their master. 
 Of this galaxy of mighty men, then and there assembled, judges 
 and lawyers, all are gone. Mr. Webster was the last. 
 
 But before leaving this topic, I ought to refer to his speeches 
 to the jury in other courts. Very few of these, of course, have 
 been preserved. Only two are published in his works. But it 
 has been my privilege to hear several of them. Their most 
 prominent characteristic was directness, earnest, intense direct- 
 ness. He went right at the jury, if I may so express it, and 
 kept hammering away, with that sledge-hammer of his, never 
 allowing the iron to grow cold, until he had wrought it to the 
 shape he wished. He always remembered, what too many of 
 us forget, that men who feel the obligation of their oath, dare 
 not trifle ; and therefore should not be trifled with. Thus being 
 always in earnest with them, they were so with him ; and here 
 lies the secret of his overwhelming influence. Probably the 
 most remarkable effort of this kind, was in the trial of Knai)p 
 for the murder of White, where he was appointed to assist the 
 Attorney-General of Massachusetts. Some have blamed him 
 for accepting this appointment. But this is mere squeamish- 
 ness. For if murder is to be punished, there is as much merit 
 in aiding to procure the conviction of the guilty, as the acquit- 
 tal of the innocent. There are passages in this speech, of 
 almost fearful power. Take, as an example, his description of 
 the murder, and of the murderer's torment. If it be not jiaint- 
 
[ i^2] 
 
 ing tvilh words, I know not what is. Let me relieve your 
 patience by reading some extracts. 
 
 "An aged man, without an enemy in the world, in his own house, 
 and in his own bed, is made the victim of a butcherly murder, for 
 mere pay. Truly, here is a new lesson for painters and poets. 
 Whoever shall hereafter draw the portrait of murder, if he will 
 show it as it has been exhibited in an example, where such example 
 was last to have been looked for, in the very bosom of our New 
 England society, let him not give it the grim visage of Moloch, the 
 brow knitted by revenge, the face black with settled hate, and the 
 blood-sliot eye emitting livid fires of malice. Let him draw, rather, 
 a decorous, smooth-faced, bloodless demon ; a picture in repose, 
 rather than in action; not so much an example of human nature, 
 in its depravity, and in its paroxysms of crime, as an infernal 
 nature, a fiend, in the ordinary display and developement of his 
 character. 
 
 "The deed was executed with a degree of self-possession and 
 steadiness, equal to the wickedness with which it was planned. 
 The circumstances, now clearly in evidence, spread out the whole 
 scene before us. Deep sleep had fallen on the destined victim, and 
 on all beneath his roof. A healthful old man, to whom sleep was 
 sweet, the first sound slumbers of the night held him in their soft 
 but strong embrace. The assassin enters, through the window 
 already prepared, into an unoccupied apartment. With noiseless 
 foot he paces the lonely hall, half lighted by the moon ; he winds 
 up the ascent of the stairs, and reaches the door of the chamber. 
 Of this, he moves the lock, by soft and continued pressure, till it 
 turns on its hinges ; and he enters, and beholds his victim before 
 him. The room was uncommonly open to the admission of light. 
 The face of the innocent sleeper was turned from the murderer, and 
 the Leams of the moon, resting on the gray locks of his aged 
 temple, showed him where to strike. The fatal blow is given ! and 
 the victim passes, without a struggle or a motion, from the repose 
 of sleep to the repose of death ! It is the assassin's purpose to 
 make sure work ; and he yet plies the dagger, though it was 
 obvious that life had been destroyed by the blow of the bludgeon. 
 He even raises the aged arm, that he may not fail in his aim at the 
 heart, and rcj^laces it again over the wounds of the poniard ! To 
 finish the picture, he explores the wrist for the pulse ! he feels it, 
 
[23] 
 
 and ascertains that it beats no longer ! It is accomplished. The 
 deed is done. He retreats, retraces his steps to the window, passes 
 out through it as he came in, and escapes, lie has done the mur- 
 der — no eye has seen him, no car has heard him. The secret is 
 his own, and it is sate! 
 
 "Ah! gentlemen, that was a drcadiul mistake. Sucli a secret 
 can be safe no where. The whole creation of God has neitiier nook 
 nor corner, where the guilty can bestow it, and say it is safe. Not 
 to speak of that Eye which glances through all disguises, and be- 
 holds every thing, as in the splendor of noon — such secrets of guilt 
 are never safe from detection, even by men. True it is, generally 
 speaking, that "murder will out." True it is, that Providence 
 hath so ordained, and doth so govern things, that those who break 
 the great law of heaven, by shedding man's blood, seldom succeed 
 in avoiding discovery. Especially, in a case exciting so much 
 attention as this, discovery must come, and will come, sooner or 
 later. A thousand eyes turn at once to explore every man, every 
 thing, every circumstance, connected with the time and ])lace; a 
 thousand ears catch every whisper; a thousand excited minds 
 intensely dwell on the scene, shedding all their light, and ready to 
 kindle the slightest circumstance into a blaze of discovery. Mean- 
 time, the guilty soul can not keep its own secret. It is false to 
 itself; or rather it feels an irresistible impulse of conscience to be 
 true to itself. It labors under its guilty possession, and knows not 
 what to do with it. The human heart was not made for the resi- 
 dence of such an inhabitant. It finds itself preyed on by a tor- 
 ment, which it does not acknowledge to God nor man. A vulture 
 is devouring it, and it can ask no sympathy or assistance, either 
 from heaven or earth. The secret which the murderer possesses 
 soon comes to possess him; and, like the evil spirits of which we 
 read, it overcomes him, and leads him whithersoever it will. He 
 feels it beating at his heart, rising to his throat, and demanding dis- 
 closure. He thinks the whole world sees it in his face, reads it in 
 his eyes, and almost hears its workings in the very silence of his 
 thoughts. It has become his master. It betrays his discretion, it 
 . breaks down his courage, it conquers his prudence. When suspi- 
 cions, from M'ithout, begin to embarrass him, and the net of cir- 
 cumstance to entangle him, the fatal seci^et struggles M'ith still 
 greater violence to burst forth. It must be confessed, it will 'be 
 confessed ; there is no refuge from confession but suicide, and 
 suicide is confession." 
 
[24] 
 
 We have seen that Mr. Webster vaulted, as it were, by a 
 single leap, to the first rank at the American bar. And the 
 same may be said of his congressional career. The thirteenth 
 Congress, in which he first made his appearance, contained an 
 extraordinary n.;mbcr of very able men; among whom. Clay, 
 Calhoun, Lowndes, Pickering, Gaston, and Forsyth, would have 
 done honor to any deliberative body in the world. Whatever 
 be the reason, the fact is undeniable, that nothing like such 
 a constellation of talent has been seen there since. It was in 
 the midst of the war, which had the most enthusiastic friends, 
 and the most determined opponents. Every debate had refer- 
 ence, more or less, to this great question, and became a pitched 
 battle before it closed. Mr. Webster, though in the minority, 
 was a member of the Committee of Foreign Relations, then, of 
 course, the most important committee of all. In this capacity 
 he introduced a set of resolutions respecting the repeal of the 
 Berlin and Milan decrees, which naturally brought up the 
 obnoxious Orders in Council. His maiden speech was upon 
 these resolutions, and covered the wide field of international 
 law. No full report has been preserved. But by the testi- 
 mony of friends and adversaries, it was a masterly effort. It 
 took the house entirely by surprise. There was a copiousness 
 of historical and political knowledge, a grace and felicity of 
 diction, and a force and dignity of delivery, for which no one 
 was prepared. His whole bearing is described as that of an old 
 and disci[»liued debater, entirely at home on that arena. From 
 that moment his reputation was established ; and he took his 
 place, in public estimation, on a level with Clay and Calhoun, 
 already the acknowledged champions of the House. 
 
 Here, therefore, in 1S13, commenced that emulous and life- 
 long rivalry, which has associated these three illustrious names 
 in a com[)anionship as immortal as that of Pitt, Fox, and 
 
[25] 
 
 Burke — that glorious triumvirate, of whom every Briton is so 
 justly proud — but not more glorious than ours. 
 
 "With more than mortal powers endowed, 
 How high they soared above the crowd ! 
 Theirs was no common party race, 
 Jostling by dark intrigue for place; 
 Like fabled gods, their mighty war 
 Shook realms and nations in its jar," 
 
 But the grave has closed upon them all. One by one, in the 
 course of a little more than two revolving suns, these stars of 
 the first magnitude have left our firmament, to be seen there no 
 more forever. Which of them shone brightest there, I have 
 now no heart to inquire. Enough here to say, that each was 
 great — compared with any other compatriot, transcendently 
 great. Centuries may pass before three such men shall meet 
 again in the halls of Congress, or in the councils of state. 
 When they stood shoulder to shoulder in debate, nothing could 
 resist them. When they opposed each other, who could pro- 
 nounce where victory perched ? 
 
 Yet notwithstanding all these high qualities and priceless 
 services, neither of these Three could reach the Presidency. Mr. 
 Webster was never even comphmented with a convention nom- 
 ination. In the first place, he was utterly destitute of nega- 
 tive qualifications, such as make a candidate unassailable ; upon 
 the self-evident proposition, that he who has done nothing, has 
 done no harm. And in the next place, he had never drawn a 
 sword upon the battle-field, and so was without that positive 
 qualification, which is thought to make a candidate available. 
 True, he had done as much as any man, living or dead, to prove 
 
 that — 
 
 " Beneath the rule of men entirely great, 
 The PEN is mightier than the sword." 
 
[26] 
 
 But this availed him nothing in a competition with military 
 glory. I do not intend to disparage military services, or the 
 renown which follows them. For if we must have war, we must 
 have commanders ; and if they so control this direst of all evils, 
 as to bring good out of it, with the least possible harm, they 
 deserve our gratitude; and may glorious laurels crown them! — 
 not for the havoc they commit, but for the miseries they 
 prevent. Yet why a great general should make a better Presi- 
 dent than a great civihan, or more deserves the office, is what 
 I have never been able fully to comprehend. Should it be said 
 that I have at any time voted for a military candidate, my 
 answer is, that it was a choice of evils. I could not help 
 myself, under the present system. I had no vote in the nomi- 
 nations, and could not make out my own electoral ticket. 1 
 must take the nominations got up for me by others, or not vote 
 at all. But if, as I trust at no distant day will happen, each 
 citizen shall be allowed to vote directly for the candidate he 
 prefers, then I, and such as I, will be without excuse if we do 
 not perfectly express our preferences by our votes. 
 
 It has been argued by many as strange, that a man who so 
 habituall}' estimated things at their true value, should have 
 cherished so strong a desire for this office ; and those w-ho 
 admired him most, and loved him best, may perhaps regret that 
 he evinced this "last infirmity of noble minds." For while 
 he would unquestionably have conferred honor upon the office, 
 it is dillicult to conceive how he could have derived any 
 addition from it. But he looked to it as a substantial token 
 of his country's approbation of his services, which is always 
 most grateful to a public servant. Besides, his idea of the 
 office was formed upon the example of Washington, whose 
 memory he revered more than any earthly thing ; and with 
 this sublime picture exclusively before him, no wonder he 
 
[27] 
 
 burned to fill the same chair. Had he scanned the whule line 
 of succession, with that profound })hilosophy which he was wont 
 to bring to all subjects concerning his country, rather than him- 
 self, it might perhaps have occurred lu hiui, that the absence of 
 one statue from a certain Roman procession was more notable 
 than its presence would have been. I may not say, of the Chief 
 Magistracy of this great Republic, that he must have stooped 
 to take it ; but I have no hesitation in asserting that it could 
 not have extended the boundaries of his fame, either in space 
 or time. For who now asks what office Demosthenes or Cicero, 
 Bacon or Newton, Milton or Shakspeare may have chanced to 
 fill? And when centuries shall have rolled away, and the 
 works of Webster still be read and reverenced as consummate 
 models — of such rare excellence, indeed, as utterances not for 
 this age only, but for all time, that the loss of any one of them 
 would be felt as the loss of a pleiad from the starry lights of 
 mind — who, of a grateful and admiring posterity, will ever ask 
 or care whether he had been President or not? No; for Mr. 
 Webster himself, I can hardly regret that his aspirations were 
 disappointed. But for his country's sake, it is sad to think of 
 this constantly accumulating evidence that republics may be 
 ungrateful. As far back as the second term of Mr. Monroe, 
 John Randolph predicted that no great man would again be 
 President ; and Mr. Calhoun is reported to have expressed the 
 same idea, when speaking of Mr. Webster's speech, in 1850, on 
 the Fugitive Slave Bill — 
 
 " I see no reason why he should not be the next President." 
 
 Then, as if soliloquizing, he added — 
 
 " But he is too great a man ever to be made President." 
 
 A short time previous, and before the course of Mr. Webster 
 
[28] 
 
 on this exciting subject was known, upon being asked what 
 course he would probably take, he is said to have answered — 
 
 " He will do all that a statesman and patriot can do. My hopes 
 rest upon Mr. Webster. He alone can save this Union. I have 
 known him for more than thirty years, and he has always acted 
 from a conscientious regard to the welfare of the whole Union." 
 
 Laudatus a viro laudato ! This is praise indeed — praise 
 from a man himself praised — one who had met him in many a 
 stern encounter, and knew him thoroughly. 
 
 To Mr. Calhoun, when his death was announced in the Sen- 
 ate, Mr. Webster gave a most affecting tribute, in the course of 
 which he said — 
 
 "He had the basis, the indispensable basis of all high character ; 
 and that was unspotted integrity, and unimpeached honor. If he 
 had aspirations, they were high, and honorable, and noble. There 
 was nothing grovelling, or low, or meanly selfish, that came near 
 the head or the heart of Mr. Calhoun. ... He has lived long 
 enough, he has done enough, and he has done it so well, so suc- 
 cessfully, so honorably, as to connect himself for all time with the 
 records of his country. He is now an historical character." 
 
 Yes, both have now passed to the jurisdiction of History, to 
 whose impartial verdict we surrender them. 
 
 " Here let their discord with them die ! 
 Nor seek for those a separate doom, 
 Whom fate made brothers in the tomb ; 
 But search the land of livino- men. 
 Where wilt thou find their like asen ? " 
 
 to^ 
 
 The scholarship of Mr. Webster, properly viewed, should 
 have great prominence in any fair estimate of him. It was, of 
 course, very far from being as universal as that of men who can 
 devote their whole time to literary pursuits. But among our 
 
[29] 
 
 eminent statesmen, if there has been one superior in scholar- 
 ship, it was John Quincy Adams ; and his spare time from the 
 toils of state, was not, like Mr. Webster's, under a previous 
 mortgage to the most exacting of all professions. This, how- 
 ever, may be saiely said, that he was a thorough scholar, as far 
 as his studies extended ; and that he displayed rare vs^isdom in 
 not undertaking too much, and in selecting so well. For so far 
 as scholarship lights up his speeches, it seems to come spon- 
 taneously, and is of the most refined and polished kind. 
 Nothing can be found more apposite than his quotations from 
 the best of the English and Latin classics. One might almost 
 think they were written for the occasion. 
 
 I come now to speak of the eloquence of Mr. Webster, that 
 potent lever, by which he so moved the world; and yet I 
 hardly know how to begin. His power as an orator must 
 have been felt, in order to be appreciated. I have heard 
 him at the bar, in the senate, and on various popular and 
 festival occasions ; and such was his astonishing versatility, 
 that he seemed to me equally great in each, and without 
 a superior in either. 1 have also read with care some of the 
 master-pieces of the most renowned orators of ancient and mod- 
 ern times ; and notwithstanding my profound admiration of 
 those immortal productions, I can not place those of Mr. Web- 
 ster below them. Ho had a treasure-house of knowledge, accu- 
 mulated by laborious study, always at command. The finest 
 passages in the ancient and modern classics, as we have seen, 
 came at his call, as well for ornament as illustration. His dic- 
 tion was as pure and chaste as it was flowing and sonorous. I 
 know no greater master of the English language. His taste 
 was fastidiously, even severely correct. You can not find an 
 awkward or inelegant expression in any of his works. His 
 imagination might have made him one of the first of poets. 
 
[30] 
 
 He was not profuse in metaphors or other figures of speech, but 
 
 when he did use them, they were exquisitely conceived. His 
 
 clearness of thought and expression was transparency itself I 
 
 do not remember to have met with an obscure passage in any of 
 
 my reading. He looked straight through the subject in hand, 
 
 and made his hearers do the same. His logic was so close and 
 
 cogent, that it approached the conclusiveness of mathematical 
 
 demonstration. If you would assail him any where, it must be 
 
 in his premises ; grant these and you gave up the argument. He 
 
 very seldom resorted to sarcasm or invective, but when he did, 
 
 it was withering. To low personal abuse he could not stoop. 
 
 He always respected himself, whatever he might think of his 
 
 opponent; and there was too much vigor in his bow to require 
 
 any venom in the shaft. For this reason, and because of the 
 
 entire absence of every thing like slang or vulgar wit, he was 
 
 not a very popular stump orator. His aim was to raise his 
 
 hearers up to his level, not to get down to theirs. Hence you 
 
 are struck with the sustained dignity and lofty courtesy which 
 
 pervade all his speeches. I do not beheve he ever said an 
 
 ungentlemauly thing. The most intense passion never got the 
 
 better of his decorum. His heart was as large as his mind; 
 
 and his regard for the feelings of those who never spared his, 
 
 evinced the noblest forbearance, or rather say magnanimity. 
 
 This trait is strikingly manifested in the single, and I may add, 
 
 superfluous injunction laid upon Mr. Everett as his editor — 
 
 " My friend, I wash to perpetuate no feuds. I have lived a life 
 of strenuous political warfare. I have sometimes, though rarely, 
 and that in self-defence, been led to speak of others with severity. 
 I beg of you, when you can do it without wholly changing the char- 
 acter of the B})eech, and thus doing essential injustice to me, to 
 obliterate every trace of personality of this kind. I should prefer 
 not to leave a word that would give unnecessary pain to any honest 
 man, however opposed to me." 
 
[31] 
 
 His delivery was admirably adapted to his matter. He was 
 always animated, but never vociferous. The clear, deep tones 
 of his voice resembled those of an organ, swelling forth until 
 the whole space was tilled. In his most impassioned moments 
 he did not scream, or rant, or gesticulate violently. I remem- 
 ber no distinguished orator, whose habit was more subdued in 
 this respect. As he became heated by his subject, you saw it 
 rather in the lightning flashing from his eyes, in the perfect 
 illumination beaming over his face, and in the increased rapidity 
 of his utterance, than in any loudness of tone, or vehemence of 
 action. Were I to select a single word to describe his whole 
 manner, it would be impressiveness. Never have I seen an 
 audience so enchained, wrapt, entranced, as when listenino- to 
 him. They felt that a great, earnest man was pouring out his 
 large crystal thoughts in such full and copious streams, that 
 they could not tire of drinking them in. To lose a sentence 
 would be to lose a pearl from a cluster. We are told, that 
 Burke, with all his intensity of thought, and gorgeousness of 
 language — in the latter never surpassed — could not keep an 
 audience patient. His rising to speak was a signal for clearing 
 the benches. But who ever heard of empty benches when 
 Webster was speaking ? If any left the house, it was because 
 the crowd was unendurable. He could not make a dry law 
 argument, if announced, without a thronged assembly. But I 
 labor in vain to give you an adequate description. The best I 
 can imagine, is that which he has himself given of the eloquence 
 of John Adams, where he unconsciously describes his own: — 
 
 " The eloquence of Mr. Adams resembled his general character, 
 and formed, indeed, a part of it. It was bold, manly, and ener- 
 getic ; and such the crisis required. When public bodies are to be 
 addressed on momentous occasions ; when great interests are at 
 stake, and strong passions excited ; nothing is valuable in speech 
 
[32] 
 
 further tlian it is connected with high intellectual and moral endow- 
 ments. Clearness, force and earnestness are the qualities which 
 produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in 
 speech. It can not be brought from far. Labor and learning may 
 toil for it, but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be 
 marshalled in every way, but they can not compass it. It must 
 exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion. Affected pas- 
 sion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may aspire 
 to it ; they can not reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like the 
 outbreaking of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of 
 volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. The graces 
 taught in the schools, the costly ornaments and studied contrivances 
 of speech, shock, and disgust men, when their own lives, and the 
 fate of their wives, their children, and their country, hang on the 
 decision of the hour. Then words have lost their power, rhetoric 
 is vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even genius itself 
 then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the presence of higher qual- 
 ities. Then patriotism is eloquent ; then self-devotion is eloquent. 
 The clear conception, outrunning the deductions of logic, the high 
 purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the 
 tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and urging 
 the whole man onward, right onward to his object — this, this is elo- 
 quence ; or rather it is something greater and higher than all elo- 
 quence; it is action, noble, sublime, godlike action." 
 
 No doubt you all remember how magnificently he exempli- 
 fied this description by inventing a speech for John Adams, in 
 support of the Declaration of Independence, beginning, "sink 
 or swim, live or die," which is unsurpassed by any thing in our 
 language. Many well-informed readers, at home and abroad, 
 have supposed it to be the identical speech made on that august 
 occasion. Probably no orator ever attempted a more adventur- 
 ous flight, or achieved it more successfully. 
 
 Considering the diversity of tastes, and the vast field for 
 choice, it might seem presumptuous to select any single passage 
 and pronounce it to be his best. But for one I know of nothing 
 more grand or beautiful, in the whole range of eloquence, than 
 the last paragraph of his Plymouth Discourse — 
 
[ 33 j 
 
 " Advance, then, ye future generations ! We would liail you, as 
 you rise in your long succession, to fill the places which we now 
 fill, and to taste the blessings of existence, where we are passing, 
 and soon shall have passed, our own human duration. "We hid you 
 welcome to this pleasant land of the fathers. Wo Lid you welcome 
 to the healthful skies and verdant holds of Kow England. We 
 greet your accession to the great inheritance which we have enjoyed. 
 We welcome you to the blessings of good government and religious 
 liberty. We welcome you to the treasures of science and the de- 
 lights of learning. We welcome you to the transcendent sweets of 
 domestic life, to the happiness of kindred, and parents, and chil- 
 dren. We welcome you to the immeasurable blessings of rational 
 existence, the immortal hopes of Christianity, and the light of ever- 
 lasting truth." 
 
 But while Mr. Webster thus gloried in New England, his 
 sympathies were not confined within those narrow limits. His 
 patriotism knew no boundaries but those of the whole United 
 States. Since Washington, there has been no American more 
 broadly and entirely national, in all his views and feelings. 
 This sentiment of nationality pervades all his speeches, and 
 shines out through all his acts. Search his whole public life, 
 and you can not find that he ever advocated or opposed a single 
 measure on sectional grounds. From first to last, he regarded 
 the preservation of the Union, in its original integrity, as the 
 paramount object of his life; and he omitted no occasion to 
 impress this sentiment upon his contemporaries. It was this 
 great idea that inspired many of his loftiest bursts of eloquence. 
 And if our glorious Union, as he so fondly hoped, and so earn- 
 estly prayed, shall be perpetual, to his efforts, next after those 
 of Washington, shall we, and after ages be indebted for the un- 
 speakable boon. When by those wonderful speeches in reply to 
 Mr. Hayne, and that other, scarcely less wonderful speech in reply 
 to Mr. Calhoun, in which he vindicated the Proclamation of 
 General Jackson — when by these mighty eHbrts, which must 
 
[ 34 ] 
 
 ever be regarded, both in their power and their results, as the 
 most memorable of his whole life — he had put down that stu- 
 pendous heresy of Nullification — when he had thus, by his 
 single arm, destroyed that hydra, which could defy all but a 
 Hercules — a grateful people, thus rescued from so frightful a 
 peril, with one voice hailed him as Defender of the Constitu- 
 tion. I think it would scarcely have been exaggeration if they 
 had greeted him as the second Saviour of his Country. For 
 assuredly never since that Chaos which immediately preceded 
 the formation of the Constitution, has the union of these states 
 been so formidably threatened. The old Confederation has been 
 well characterized as " a rope of sand." Nullification would 
 have made the new one equally so. But Mr. Webster was the 
 man for the hour ; and in his second speech in reply to Mr. 
 Hayne, has given to the Constitution a construction at once so 
 luminous and so incontrovertible, that no sophistry can ever 
 prevail against it. If disunion come upon us, or upon our chil- 
 dren, it will not be through the door of nullification. At any 
 rate the past is secure ; and his prayer, in that most thrilling 
 of all perorations, has been answered. 
 
 "While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying pros- 
 pects spread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond that I 
 seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant that in my day, at least, 
 that curtain may not rise ! God grant that on my vision never may 
 be opened what lies behind ! When my eyes shall be turned to 
 behold for the last time the sun in heaven, may I not see him 
 shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious 
 Union; on States dissevered, discordant, belligerent; on a land 
 rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it maybe, in fi-aternal blood! 
 Let their last feeble and lingering glance rather behold the gorgeous 
 ensio-n of the Republic, now known and honored throughout the 
 earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in 
 their original lustre, not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a single star 
 obscured, bearing for its motto no such miserable interrogatory 
 
[35] 
 
 as, 'What is all this worth?' nor those other words of delusion 
 and folly, 'Liberty first, and Union afterwards;' hut every where, 
 spread all over in characters of living light, hlazing on ail its 
 ample folds, as they float over the se.., and over the land, and in 
 
 every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to 
 
 every true American heart—' Liberty and Union, now and forever, 
 
 one and inseparable.' " 
 
 I have already alluded incidentally to the abuse heaped 
 upon Mr. Webster. I think it was his great compeer, Mr. 
 Clay, who once claimed to be " the best abused man " in the 
 United States. But Mr. Webster might well dispute the palm 
 with him; for I do not remember that Mr. Clay ever suflered 
 the fate of Actseon; while Mr. Webster, on more than one 
 occasion, had this rare fortune. The truth is, that in this free 
 country of ours party organization has been brought to such 
 a state, that the individual is nearly, if not entirely, absorbed 
 into the mass. He must believe with his party, speak for his 
 party, act with his party, or he is nobody. Else why hold con- 
 ventions, make platforms, and issue edicts? What right has 
 any one man, however wise — seeing that his vote only counts 
 one — to undertake to lead pubHc opinion? His duty, as a 
 partisan, is to follow it implicity, as manufactured for him ; and 
 if he will not do this, he must be read out of the party. To 
 this perfection of discipline we had arrived, when the memorable 
 explosion took place in Mr. Tyler's Cabinet, in which Mr. Web- 
 ster was Premier. When all the other members indignantly 
 resigned, he was contumacious, and would not instantly resign. 
 He had some great international concerns in his especial charge; 
 some diplomatic negotiations, of infinite moment to the country, 
 half completed ; and he thought that a higher allegiance than 
 he owed to party, made it imperative that he should remain and 
 finish the great work in hand — as he did most triumphantly, 
 most gloriously. But his conduct was regarded as treason against 
 
[36] 
 
 the party, and he must be read out. At the word, the hounds 
 were in full bark upon his track, while he quietly completed 
 his official work, and then resigned. When the turmoil was some- 
 what over, and he asked, " Where am I to go ?" the party said, 
 " Come back to our bosom. We forgive you this once for doing 
 your duty in spite of us. But take care not to do so again." 
 So he was read back into the part}'. But when General Taylor 
 was nominated, he came very near being read out again ; not 
 for opposing the nomination when made, but for hazarding the 
 opinion " that it was not fit to be made." This he had no 
 right to say, and he was soundly scolded for saying it. But he 
 was a man of some importance, and the party was merciful, and 
 he was again forgiven. He was even taken into especial favor, 
 and made Premier in Mr. Fillmore's Cabinet. Here again he so 
 conducted our foreign relations, in most critical emergencies, as 
 to be pronounced, by general consent, the most able diplomatist 
 of his day — his state papers, like his speeches, being consum- 
 mate models. Every American becomes more proud of him 
 than ever. All tongues praise him, except, perhaps, the Chev- 
 alier Hulseman. But again he offends the party. The Conven- 
 tion prefer General Scott to either Mr. Fillmore or himself He 
 very naturally, to say the least, is of a different opinion. This 
 time, however, he does not say the nomination was not fit to be 
 made; but he says nothing. He is obstinately silent. He 
 will not come out for Scott. He will not even forbid his ardent 
 friends to make a ticket for himself In defiance of the news- 
 papers, he persists in his silence. Now, therefore, he must be 
 read out forever. And again the hounds are on his track. The 
 very harshest epithets begin to be used. But it is too late, too 
 late ! For at the very moment when the canvass is waxing 
 hottest, and political asperities are becoming fiercest, the mourn- 
 i'ul tidings flash in lightning over the land, that Mr. Webster is 
 
[ ^n 
 
 flying — that he is dead ! And now from his tomb there comes 
 a voice, which says to these raging billows, " Peace, he still !" 
 That voice is heard, and as to him there is "a great calm." 
 Then burst forth eulogies from all lips. The only strife i<, who 
 shall praise him most. The very pens which had been dipped 
 in gall indite eloquent panegyrics. Now, for the first time, the 
 full nobleness of the man is seen and acknowledged. What 
 was before obstinate self-will, or unhallowed ambition, becomes 
 moral heroism. Why should such a man be kept in leading 
 strings ? Who should presume to tell Daniel Webster what he 
 ought to do ? Did he not know his duty, and dare to do it, on 
 more trying occasions ? Besides, what obligations did he owe 
 to the party, which had not been jiaid a thousand times over ? 
 But his party was his country, which he had served faithfully to 
 the end — even to the verge of political niart}'rdom. Never 
 was a man more truly, more intensely, more bravely American. 
 Such will be, such is already the verdict of history. And never 
 was this more gloriously manifested than when he threw off the 
 shackles of party, and breasted its worst indignation. 
 
 Thanks for this timely lesson. May such instances be mul- 
 tiplied until they cease to astonish us. Let not the foundations 
 of all true manhood be sapped by a slavish submission to party 
 dictation. Let us be freemen, our own men. We boast of our 
 national independence, let us declare and maintain our personal 
 independence. Thanks again. Immortal Shade ! for thy great 
 example. May it strengthen many a heart to stem the torrent 
 of a downward age ! 
 
 But it has been said that Mr. Webster was not a consistent 
 politician. For one, I never thought him a politician at all, as 
 that word is commonly used. I believe it is not an axiom in 
 politics, that a straight line is the shortest distance between two 
 points. But with him this was as much an axiom in conduct, 
 
[ 38] 
 
 as it is in geometry. As to the charge of inconsistency, it 
 refers mainly to two subjects, Slavery and the Tariff. 
 
 With respect to Slavery, it is said that the sentiments ex- 
 pressed in his great Plymouth oration, in 1820, and on several 
 other occasions, are in direct opposition to those of his speech 
 on the Fugitive Slave Bill, in 1850. If we grant this to be true, 
 it is not necessarily a blemish in his character. I would rather 
 applaud the courage of a public man for daring to change his 
 mind on good reasons, than censure him as inconsistent. The 
 true question is, whether he is sincere? Whether time and 
 reflection have wrought a real change in his convictions ? If so, 
 he can only be consistent with himself, by declaring that change. 
 And it would be strange, indeed, if, in the course of a long life, 
 the opinions of the soundest thinkers did not sometimes change. 
 When this happens, it is glaring hypocrisy, it is downright dis- 
 honesty, it is arrant cowardice, to conceal such change. But in 
 the case referred to, there is no proof that Mr. Webster did 
 change his opinions. At Plymouth, in that passage of terrible 
 grandeur, which you must all remember, he was denouncing the 
 African slave-trade, and not the surrender of fugitive slaves. 
 These are some of his denunciations : — 
 
 " Id the eye of our law, the African slave-trader is a pirate and a 
 felon ; and in the sight of heaven, an offender far beyond the ordi- 
 nary depths of human guilt. I hear the sound of the hammer, I 
 see the smoke of the furnaces, where manacles and fetters are still 
 forged for human limbs. I see the visages of those, w^ho, by stealth 
 and at midniglit, labor in this work of hell, foul and dark, as may 
 become the artificers of such instruments of miseiy and torture. 
 Let that spot be purified, or let it cease to be of New England." 
 
 Now there never was an hour in his life, in which he 
 regarded this traffic as less odious and abominable than he has 
 here painted it. I may go farther, and say that there never 
 
[ 39 ] 
 
 was an hour when he did not regard slavery itself as an evil and 
 a curse, and pray for its ultimate extinction from the face of the 
 earth. But this he has done. He has maintained, that while 
 the Constitution stands, as it is, the question of slavery is a 
 local one for each State, with which the national 2;overnment 
 can not interfere ; except so far as to redeem the pledge therein 
 written, that fugitive slaves, when duly claimed, must be de- 
 livered up. This Constitution he had taken an oath to sup- 
 port, and therefore he spoke and voted for the Fugitive Slave 
 Bill. In this he may have been right, or he may have been 
 wrong. I shall not here discuss the question, whether there be 
 not a higher law, which absolved him from this oath. The point 
 is, did he conscientiously believe otherwise ? If so, it was his 
 duty to act otherwise, even at the expense of losing the best 
 friends that statesman ever had — a sacrifice which stared him 
 in the face, when he made the speech. 
 
 As to the Tariff, it is undeniable that in 1824 Mr. Webster 
 was a zealous champion of free trade, and that he made, upon 
 that side of the question, one of his ablest speeches. It is also 
 true, that he afterwards, when the condition of the countrv 
 had greatly changed, became an advocate for the protection of 
 home industry, by discriminating duties. But even here, his 
 want of consistency is more apparent than real. If I under- 
 stand him, he has never ceased to be an advocate for free trade, 
 as an abstract theory. Let all the world establish free trade, 
 and he believed it would be a blessed era, heralding the reign 
 of universal brotherhood and peace. But so long as other na- 
 tions impose restrictions, injurious to us, we are compelled, in 
 self-defense, to impose them also. Besides we must look, for 
 our national revenue, to duties on imports, or else resort to the 
 odious alternative of direct taxes. Then why not so arrange 
 those duties, as to enable American labor, at living prices, to 
 
[40] 
 
 encounter the competition of foreign labor, at starving prices ; 
 at least with reference to those branches of industry and pi-o- 
 duction, which are essential to our complete national independ- 
 ence ? If, on the whole, the greatest happiness of the greatest 
 number of our own citizens will be promoted by such a tariff, 
 then, as wise legislators, acting for our country only, and not for 
 the whole human race, we are bound to establish it — the ab- 
 stract theory of free trade to the contrary notwithstanding. So 
 Mr. \\ ebster argued, and so he voted ; and if there be inconsis- 
 tency in this, it was his duty, so believing, to be inconsistent. 
 
 But I hate this bugbear of a word, which is only fit to frighten 
 timid and time-serving politicians. I say, all honor to the 
 statesman, who, that he may be true and loyal to his own con- 
 victions, looks down with scorn upon the accusation of inconsis- 
 tency. All praise to the indomitable Luthers, who dare to come 
 out from what they believe to be error, and say as the great 
 Reformer said belbre the Diet ■ — " God help me, I can no 
 other." 
 
 But I must bring this feeble portraiture to a close; and I 
 have reserved the highest trait for the last. The closing words 
 of the address at his grave were these — 
 
 "Mr. Webster's religious sentiments and feelings were the crown- 
 ing glories of his character." 
 
 And this is true. Whatever may be said of early aberra- 
 tions, of which I know not the truth, he was a deeply religious 
 man. There was no austerity, no cant, about him; but he was 
 full of reverence. No man, out of the clergy, was more familiar 
 with the Scriptures, or more frequently made them the subject 
 of ([notation and conversation. Still his rehgion was more of 
 the heart than of the head. He saw^ and felt God in all his 
 beautiful and glorious works. And not only did no one ever 
 
[41 ] 
 
 hear an irreverent expression from his lips, but very frequently 
 his feelings of adoration would gush foith in words. Thus, 
 when walking over his lawn, on a summer evening, and gazing 
 at the starry heavens, until his heart became too full for silence, 
 he has been heard to utter, with the most impressive intonation, 
 some such passage as this : — 
 
 " "When I consider thy heavens, the workof tliy lingers, the moon 
 and the stars which thou hast ordained; what is man, that thou art 
 mindful of him ? and the son of man, that thou visitest^him ? For 
 thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned 
 him with glory and honor ! " 
 
 I have read also this profound criticism, said to have been 
 made by him, upon a preacher, to whom he had just been listen- 
 ing, upon the evidences of Christianity : — 
 
 "He came so near the truth, that I was astonished that he missed 
 it. In summing up his arguments, he said the only alternative was 
 this : either Christianity is true, or it is a delusion produced by an 
 excited imagination. Such is not the alternative, but it is this: the 
 Gospel is either true history, or it is a consummate fraud ; it is 
 either a reality, or an imposition. Christ was what he professed to 
 be, or he was an impostor. There is no other alternative. His 
 spotless life, his earnest enforcement of the truth, his sufieriug in 
 its defense, forbid us to suppose that he was suffering an illusion of 
 a heated brain." 
 
 Again, speaking of the proper style of preaching, he is re- 
 ported to have said — 
 
 " Many of the preachers of the present day take their text from 
 St. Paul and preach from the newspapers. When they do so I pre- 
 fer to enjoy my own thoughts, rather than to listen. I want my 
 pastor to come to me in the spirit of the Gospel, saying, You are 
 mortal! your probation is brief; your work must be done speedily: 
 you are immortal too ; you are hastening to the bar of God ; the 
 
[42 ] 
 
 Judj^e standeth before the door. When I am thus admonished, I 
 have no disposition to muse or sleep. These topics have often oc- 
 cupied my thoughts ; and if I had time, I would write upon them 
 myself." 
 
 But the best evidence is to be found in the closing scene. 
 Here, at the very gates of eternity, man appears as he is. And 
 what could poet have dreamed more befitting such a man, than 
 such a death ? Oh, the beauty of holiness ! This expression 
 has to me a more intense meaning, since I read the account of 
 Mr. Webster's last hours. Let us imagine ourselves at the 
 bedside of the dying statesman. His last official dispatch, after 
 two efforts, has been signed with an untrembling hand. His 
 testamentary dispositions have all been thoughtfully made. His 
 burial place has been recently prepared, under his own watchful 
 eye, and can be seen from the bed where he now lies. A plain 
 marble monument, near those of his kindred, is waiting for his 
 name. He has taken a last look at his farm and his cattle, 
 and a last leave of his domestics, and his neighbors. He has 
 seen the sun set for the last time. One by one, he has called 
 his family and friends to his bedside, spoken to each some 
 blessed words of faith and hope, and taken of all a cheerful, 
 though inexpressibly tender and affectionate farewell. And 
 now, his work on earth being finished, he resigns himself to die. 
 We have heard his prediction and his prayer. The 23d of 
 October is waning towards its close, and the Pale Messenger 
 must be near. Calmly he numbers the minutes which remain ; 
 for he has a mysterious presentiment that he shall survive the 
 midnight hour. The physician has informed him that medicine 
 can do no more. 
 
 " My part then is to wait patiently for the end, and may it come 
 
 soon." 
 
[43] 
 
 Doubt not, brave heart ! thy last wish shall be gratified. 
 
 The Pale Messenger is in sight. Strength fails rajtidly. A 
 
 restorative is asked for, and the sufferer revives a little. An 
 
 early love returns ; and he falters out the words — repeating 
 
 each — 
 
 "Poetry, poetiy — Gray, Gray." 
 
 He is thinking of that beautiful Elegy written in a Countr}' 
 Churchyard. His son, now sole heritor of his name, divines his 
 wish, and repeats the first line — 
 
 —"That 'sit — that 'sit." 
 
 The book is brought and a few stanzas read, which please 
 and soothe him. No wonder; for how solemn, and yet how 
 tranquilizing they are : — 
 
 " The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
 The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea. 
 The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, 
 And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 
 
 " Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight. 
 And all the air a solemn stillness holds. 
 Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
 Or drowsy tinkllngs lull the distant folds." 
 
 And then where the poet speaks of the end of all human 
 glory ! how appropriate to the time, and the man : — 
 
 " The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power. 
 
 And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 
 Await alike the inevitable hour; 
 
 The paths of gloiy lead but to the grave. 
 
 " Can storied urn, or animated bust, 
 
 Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 
 Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust. 
 
 Or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death ?" 
 
[44] 
 
 But the pangs of mortal agony recall the sufferer from images 
 like these, to the stern reality of the death-grapple, of which he 
 tries to speak. The good physician calms him with these pre- 
 cious words — 
 
 " Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I 
 will fear no evil, for Thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they 
 comfort me." 
 
 And they did comfort him, just entering that valley. 
 
 — "The fact, the fact. That's what I wanted. Thy rod, thy 
 rod — thy staff, thy staff! " 
 
 The midnight hour arrives; the presentiment is realized. 
 Still conscious, he feebly articulates the words — 
 
 a 
 
 I — STILL — LIVE." 
 
 They are the last words of Daniel Webster. One — two — 
 strike on his languid ear. Forty minutes more, and all is over. 
 Without a struggle to mark the separation, that divine soul, 
 believing and trusting, passes from its cold tenement. Serene 
 and beautiful close of a stormy, yet glorious life ! 
 
 What a contrast, for example, to the death of Mirabeau ! 
 The one, all meekness and resignation ; the other, all arrogance 
 and scorn ! 
 
 " I carry in my heart the death-dirge of the French monarchy." 
 " What, [as he hears cannon,] have we the funeral of Achilles 
 already ? " 
 
 " Ay, [as a friend raised his head,] support that head. Would I 
 could bequeath it to thee." 
 
 When speech has failed the expiring Titan, he beckons for 
 opium. Not understood, he passionately seizes a pen and writes 
 
[45] 
 
 the words — " to sleep." They are his last words ; and thus the 
 haughty Atheist — his feet stumbhug on the dark mountains to 
 the last — passes away to that sleep, which he has tried to 
 believe eternal. Tremendous problem ! How soon for him to 
 be resolved ! 
 
 Not so the humble, yet exulting Behever. I still live ; my 
 soul in heaven, my memory on earth. The Pale Messenger is 
 welcome. The dark valley is passed. The future has become 
 an eternal present. So lived and so died Daniel Webster. 
 
 " He set, as sets the morning star, which goes 
 Not down behind the darkened w^est, nor hides 
 Obscured, among the tempests of the sky, 
 But melts away into the light of heaven." 
 
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