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In 1812 he delivered a Fourth of July oration at Portsmouth, before the Washington Benevolent Society, on the Principal Maxims of Washington's Administration.

In 1813 he was elected to the House of Representatives, and made his maiden speech on the Berlin and Milan decrees. In 1814 he was reelected. In New Hampshire his legal course was sustained by association with Dexter, Story, Smith, and Mason. In Congress, he at once took his place with the solid and eloquent men of the House. In 1816 he removed to Boston, pursuing his profession with the highest distinction. In 1823 he again took his seat in the House of Representatives, and made his speech on the Greek Revolution, 19th Jan., 1824, a speech which added greatly to his reputation. He was reelected-out of five thousand votes only ten being cast against him, and a similar event took place in 1826. The more prominent general addresses date from this period.

In December, 1820, while a member of the Convention to revise the Constitution of Massachusetts, he delivered his Plymouth oration on The First Settlement of New England.

The first Bunker Hill speech was delivered June 17, 1825, when the corner-stone of the monument was laid; the second exactly eighteen years afterwards on its completion. His Discourse in Commemoration of Jefferson and Adams was pronounced at Faneuil Hall, August 2, 1826.

In 1827 he was elected to the Senate, where he continued for twelve years, during the administrations of Jackson and Van Buren. His brother, Ezekiel Webster, fell in court at Concord while pleading a cause, and died instantaneously, of disease of the heart, in 1829. In 1830, his celebrated oratorical passage with Col. Robert Y. Hayne, of South Carolina,* occurred, in reply to an attack upon New England, and an assertion of the nullification doctrines. The scene has been described both by pen and pencil, the artist Healy having made it the subject of a large historical picture. The contest embodied the antagonism for the time between the North and the South. Hayne, rich in elocution and energetic in bearing, was met by the cool argument and clear statement of Webster rising to his grand peroration, which still furnishes a national watchword of Union. It was observed, on this occasion, that Webster wore the colors of the Whig party of the Revolution, a blue coat and butt

fell a Major in the Mexican war. In 1880 Webster married a second time, Caroline, daughter of Herman Le Roy, of New York, by whom he had no children.

Robert Y. Hayne was born in the parish of St. Paul, South Carolina, Nov. 10, 1791. His grandfather was a brother of the Revolutionary martyr, Col. Isaac Hayne. He was a law pupil of Langdon Cheves, and rose rapidly at the bar in Charleston. He began his political career in the state legislature in his twenty-third year, was soon Speaker of the House, and Attorney-General of the State. He took his seat in the United States Senate, in his thirty-first year, as soon as he was eligible for the office. He resigned his seat in 1882, to take the post of Governor of the State in the nullification days, when he issued a counter proclamation in reply to that of President Jackson. When the matter was adjusted he turned his attention to state improvement, in the midst of which he was taken with a mortal illness, and died in his forty-eighth year, Sept., 1889. Besides his speeches in the Senate, characterized by their ability and eloquenc, he was the author of the papers in the old Southern Review on improvement of the navy, and the vindication of the memory of his relative, Col. Hayne.Life, Character, and Speeches, of the late Robert Y. Hayne. Oct., 1845.

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Dome Webster

Many of the speeches of Webster of this period were in opposition to the financial policy of the government. In the spring and summer of 1839 he visited England and France, and was received with the greatest distinction in both countries; where his reputation, personal and political, as a man and an orator was well established. He spoke on several public occasions, but the only instance in which his remarks have been preserved at length was his speech on his favorite topic of agriculture at the Triennial Celebration of the Royal Society of Agriculture at Oxford.* On his return he engaged in the presidential contest which resulted in the election of General Harrison, under whose administration he became Secretary of State in 1841. To complete the adjustment of the boundary question and other outstanding difficulties with England, he retained office under Tyler till 1843. In 1845, in the Presidency of Polk, he returned to his seat in the Senate, where he continued till he was called by Fillmore to the department of State again in 1850. He had previously sustained the Compromise Measures with the full weight of his ability, both in Congress and in numerous "Union" speeches throughout the country. He should have had the Whig nomination to the Presidency, but the availability of Scott interposed. The frequent engagements of Webster at Conventions and gatherings through the States, endeared him much in his latter days to the people. He spoke at the opening of the Erie Railroad in 1851; he delivered a discourse on his favorite books and studies before the New York Historical Society, in February, 1852; and in the same month presided at the Metropolitan Hall assembly, when Bryant read his eulogy on

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the novelist Cooper. In May he made his last great speech in Faneuil Hall to the men of Boston.

It was in office, the active service of the public, with scant intervals for recreation, and but a few months' travel away from his native land, that he had passed his life, and in the harness of office, as Secretary of State, he died. Since the deaths of Washington and Hamilton, no similar event had so deeply moved the country. The national heart throbbed with the pulsations of the telegraph which carried the news of his last moments through the land. Calmly, courageously, in the full exercise of his faculties, he discharged his last duties for his country, and watching the falling sands of life, discoursed with his friends of religion and immortality. The first intimation which the public received of his serious illness, was most touchingly conveyed in a newspaper article which appeared in the Boston Courier of the date of October 20, entitled, "Mr. Webster at Marshfield.” Its author, who is understood to have been Professor C. C. Felton of Harvard College, after reviewing his recent political course, described the noble natural features of his farm, as a framework for a notice of its owner, to whom the writer passed by a masterly transition. "As you look down from these hills, your heart beats with the unspeakable emotion that such objects inspire; but the charm is heightened by the reflection that the capabilities of nature have been unfolded by the skill and taste of one whose fame fills the world; that an illustrious existence has here blended its activity with the processes of the genial earth, and breathed its power into the breath of heaven, and drawn its inspiration from the air, the sea, and the sky, and around and above; and that here, at this moment, the same illustrious existence is, for a time, struggling in doubtful contest with a foe to whom all men must, sooner or later, lay down their arms. Solemn thoughts exclude from his mind the inferior topics of the fleeting hour; and the great and awful themes of the future now seemingly opening before him-themes to which his mind has always and instinctively turned its profoundest meditations, now fill the hours won from the weary lassitude of illness, or from the public duties which sickness and retirement cannot make him forget or neglect. The eloquent speculations of Cicero on the immortality of the soul, and the admirable arguments against the Epicurean philosophy put into the mouth of one of the colloquists in the book of the Nature of the Gods, share his thoughts with the sure testimony of the Word of God." Two days after, the telegraph bore this brief announcement from Boston---" A special messenger from Marshfield arrived here this morning, with the melancholy intelligence that Daniel Webster cannot live through the day." From that moment, almost hourly, news was borne through the country to the end, between two and three o'clock on the morning of Sunday, October 24, 1852.

* *

Among the last words which Webster listened to, and in which he expressed an interest, were some stanzas of Gray's Elegy, which he had endeavored to recall, and the sublime consolation of the Psalmist, repeated by his physician, Dr. Jeffries: -"Though I walk through the valley of the

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Then it was felt how great a heart the mask of life had covered. Death, in the grand language of Bacon, had "opened the gate to good fame, and extinguished envy." Traits of the nobility of the man were called to mind. It was remembered how he had dwelt upon the simple universal ideas of the elements, the sea rolling before him at Marshfield; the starry heavens shining through the foliage of the elm at his door; the purpling of the dawn;t his admiration of the psalms and the prophets, and the primeval book of Job; his dying kindness to his friend Harvey, and the friendly intercourse which he had sustained with the country people around, whose love for their rural occupations he had exalted; and how in his last days, when too feeble to leave his room, he had refreshed his mind with those favorite pursuits, by looking at the cattle, which he had caused to be driven to the window.

Funeral honors were paid to his memory in the chief cities of the Union by processions and orations. His interment took place at Marshfield on Friday the 29th October. His remains, dressed as when living, were conveyed from the library to a bier in front of the house, beneath his favorite elm. The funeral services were performed by the pastor of the neighboring church at South Marshfield, when the numerous procession, including delegates from various public bodies of several States, followed to the tomb, built for its new occupant, for his family and himself, on an elevation commanding a view of the country around, and of the sea. Here he rests. A marble block, since placed in front of the tomb, bears the legend: "Lord, I believe, help thou my unbelief."

It may be recalled that the poet Dwight, in his last hours, was consoled by the same text of Scripture; and that a similar expression was among the last which fell from the lips of Priestley.

An authentic account of Webster's illness and death was prepared by Mr. George Ticknor, and is published in the elegantly printed volume "A Memorial of Daniel Webster, from the city of Boston," published in 1853, which contains the obituary proceedings and orations of the courts and various societies, as well as Professor Felton's notice of" the last autumn at Marshfield."

+ He took refuge in these remote starry suggestions, placing the temporizing politics of the hour at an infinite distance from him, when he was called up one night at Washington, by a crowd of citizens, to receive the news of Scott's nomina tion for the Presidency.-" Gentlemen: this is a serene and beautiful night. Ten thousand thousand of the lights of hea ven illuminate the firmament. They rule the night. A few hours hence their glory will be extinguished.

You meaner beauties of the night,
Which poorly satisfy our eyes,

What are you when the sun doth rise?

Gentlemen: There is not one among you who will sleep better to-night than I shall. If I wake I shall learn the hour from the constellations, and I shall rise in the morning, God willing, with the lark; and though the lark is a better songster than I am, yet he will not leave the dew and the daisies, and spring upward to greet the purpling east, with a more blithe and jocund spirit than I shall possess."

The day before he died he called for his friend Peter Har vey, a merchant of Boston, whom he requested not to leave him till he was dead. He had shortly before written an order My son, take some piece of silver, let it be handsome, and put a suitable inscription on it, and give it, with my love, to Peter Harvey. Marshfield, Oct. 23, 1852."

With regard to Webster's religious views, he had probably no strongly defined system of observance. Early in life, it is said, he was a member of the Presbyterian church, latterly he was in communion with the Episcopal church Letter of the Hou. R. Barnwell Rhett, Charleston Mercury. Nov. 152.

In his death, Webster remembered his love of country, and personal associations with the home of Marshfield. He left the property in the hands of trustees for the use of his son Fletcher, during his life, and after to his children, connecting, by provision, his books, pictures, plate, and furniture, with the building; "it being my desire and intention that they remain attached to the house, while it is occupied by any of my name and blood." His respect for his writings, which had been carefully arranged by his friend Edward Everett, was coupled with regard to his family and friends, to some of whom he dedicated separately each of the six volumes.* His literary executors, whom he left in charge of his papers by will, were Edward Everett, George Ticknor, Cornelius C. Felton, George T. Curtis.

The career of Webster remains as a study for his countrymen. Its lessons are not confined to oratory or political life. He was an example of manly American culture, such as is open to and may be shared by thousands through the land. His youth was one of New England self-denial and conscientious perseverance. Nature hardened her thriving son in a rugged soil of endur

ance.

The numerous anecdotes of his early life will pass to posterity as the type of a peculiar culture and form of civilization, which have made many men in America. There was a vein of the stout old Puritanic granite in his composition, which the corruptions of Washington life, the manners of cities and the arts of politics, never entirely overlaid. To this he was true to the end. In whatever associations he might be placed there was always this show of strength and vigor. It was felt that whatever might appear otherwise was accidental and the effect of circumstances, while the substantive man, Daniel Webster, was a man of pith and moment, built up upon strong ever-during realities. And this is to be said of all human greatness, that it is but as the sun shining in glimpses through an obscured day of clouds and darkness. Clear and bright was that life at its rising; great warmth did it impart at its meridian; and a happy omen was the final Sabbath morn of strange purity and peace, with whose dawn its beams were at last blended.

Daniel Webster had completed the solemn allotment of three score and ten. It was his fortune at once to die at home, in the midst of the sanctities of his household, and in the almost in

* Works of Daniel Webster, with "Biographical Memoir of the Public Life," by Everett. Boston: Little and Brown.

1851.

+ It is not to be denied that the associations and habits of Washington life detracted something from the position gained by the early manhood of Webster. His fortune broken by his separation from a lucrative practice, which he abandoned for public life, was afterwards too much dependent on the subscriptions of his mercantile friends. In his personal habits he became careless of expense, and in his financial affairs embarrassed. The intemperance of Webster became a popular notion, which was doubtless much exaggerated, as his friend Dr. Francis has demonstrated from physiological reasons, and Charles A. Stetton has shown in his vindication of him in this particular, in his remarks made at the celebration of his birth-day at the Astor House in 1854, and which he has since published. The use of stimulants appears, too, from the statement of his physicians (in the account of his illness and the autopsy in the American Medical Journal of Science for January, 1853), to have been resorted to as a sedative for physical pain and weak

ness,

stant discharge of his duties to the State. His public life to its close was identified with important questions of national concern and mo

ment.

Of his capacities as an orator and writer-of his forensic triumphs and repute of his literary skill and success much may be said. His speech had strength, force, and dignity; his composition was clear, rational, strengthened by a powerful imagination-in his great orations "the lightning of passion running along the iron links of argument."* The one lesson which they teach to the youth of America is self-respect, a manly consciousness of power, expressed simply and directly to look for the substantial qualities of the thing, and utter them distinctly as they are felt intensely. This was the sum of the art which Webster used in his orations. There was no circumlocution or trick of rhetoric beyond the old Horatian recommendation, adopted by a generous

nature:

Verbaque provisam rem non invita sequentur.

This habit of mind led Webster to the great masters of thought. He found his fertile nourishment in the books of the Bible, the simple energy of Homer, and the vivid grandeur of Milton. He has left traces of these studies on many a page.

There was about Webster a constant air of nobility of soul. Whatever subject he touched lost nothing of its dignity with him. The occasion rose in his hands, as he connected it with interests beyond those of the present moment or the passing object. Two grand ideas, capable of filling the soul to its utmost capacity, seem to have been ever present with him: the sense of nationality, of patriotism, with its manifold relations; and of the grand mutations of time. He lived for half a century in the public life of his country, with whose growth he grew, from the first generation of patriots, and in whose mould, as it was shaped over a continent, he was moulded. He seemed to be conscious himself of a certain historic element in his thoughts and actions. This will be remembered as a prevalent trait of his speeches and addresses, whether in the capitol or before a group of villagers. He recalled the generations which had gone before, the founders of states in colonial times on our western shores; the men of the days of Washington; our sires of the Revolution. Ile enumerated the yeomanry and peasantry; the names memorable in his youth, as they are recorded in the pages of the Iliad or the Eneid :

Fortemque Gyan, fortemque Cloanthum, or as imperishable history chronicles them in the sacred annals of Judea.

MORAL FORCE of pUBLIC OPINION-FROM THE SPEECH ON THE REVOLUTION IN GREECE.

It may be asked, perhaps, Supposing all this to be true, what can we do? Are we to go to war? Are we to interfere in the Greek cause, or any other European cause? Are we to endanger our pacific relations? No, certainly not. What, then, the question recurs, remains for us? If we will not en

Address by George S. Hillard, at a meeting of citizens in Faneuil Hall, in honor of the memory of Webster. October 27, 1852.

danger our own peace, if we will neither furnish armies nor navies to the cause which we think the just one, what is there within our power?

Sir, this reasoning mistakes the age. The time has been, indeed, when fleets, and armies, and subsidies, were the principal reliances even in the best cause. But, happily for mankind, a great change has taken place in this respect. Moral causes come into consideration, in proportion as the progress of knowledge is advanced; and the public opinion of the civilized world is rapidly gaining an ascendency over mere brutal force. It is already able to oppose the most formidable obstruction to the progress of injustice and oppression; and as it grows more intelligent and more intense, it will be more and more formidable. It may be silenced by military power, but it cannot be conquered. It is elastic, irrepressible, and invulnerable to the weapons of ordinary warfare. It is that impassible, unextinguishable enemy of mere violence and arbitrary rule, which, like Milton's angels,

Vital in every part, .

Cannot, but by annihilating, die.

Until this be propitiated or satisfied, it is vain for power to talk either of triumphs or of repose. No matter what fields are desolated, what fortresses surrendered, what armies subdued, or what provinces overrun. In the history of the year that has passed by us, and in the instance of unhappy Spain, we have seen the vanity of all triumphs in a cause which violates the general sense of justice of the civilized world. It is nothing, that the troops of France have passed from the Pyrenees to Cadiz; it is nothing that an unhappy and prostrate nation has fallen before them; it is nothing that arrests, and confiscation, and execution, sweep away the little remnant of national resistance. There is an enemy that still exists to check the glory of these triumphs. It follows the conqueror back to the very scene of his ovations; it calls upon him to take notice that Europe, though silent, is yet indignant; it shows him that the sceptre of his victory is a barren sceptre; that it shall confer neither joy nor honor, but shall moulder to dry ashes in his grasp. In the midst of his exaltation, it pierces his ear with the cry of injured justice; it denounces against him the indignation of an enlightened and civilized age; it turns to bitterness the cup of his rejoicing, and wounds him with the sting which belongs to the consciousness of having outraged the opinion of mankind.

THE UNION-PERORATION OF SECOND SPEECH ON FOOT'S RESOLUTION IN REPLY TO HAYNE

Mr. President, I have thus stated the reasons of my dissent to the doctrines which have been advanced and maintained. I am conscious of having detained you and the Senate much too long. I was drawn into the debate with no previous deliberation, such as is suited to the discussion of so grave and important a subject. But it is a subject of which my heart is full, and I have not been willing to suppress the utterance of its spontaneous sentiments. I cannot, even now, persuade myself to relinquish it, without expressing once more my deep conviction, that, since it respects nothing less than the Union of the States, it is of most vital and essential importance to the public happiness. I profess, Sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in view the prosperity and honor of the whole country, and the preservation of our Federal Union. It is to that Union we owe our safety at home, and our consideration and dignity abroad. It is to that Union that we are chiefly indebted for whatever makes us most proud of our country. That Union we reached only by the VOL. II.-3

discipline of our virtues in the severe school of adversity. It had its origin in the necessities of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its benign influences, these great interests immediately awoke, as from the dead, and sprang forth with newness of life. Every year of its duration has teemed with fresh proofs of its utility and its blessings; and although our territory has stretched out wider and wider, and our population spread farther and farther, they have not outrun its protection or its benefits. It has been to us all a copious fountain of national, social, and personal happiness.

I have not allowed myself, Sir, to look beyond the Union, to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I have not coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty when the bonds that unite us together shall be broken asunder. I have not accustomed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion, to see whether, with my short sight, I can fathom the depth of the abyss below; nor could I regard him as a safe counsellor in the affairs of this government, whose thoughts should be mainly bent on considering, not how the Union may be best preserved, but how tolerable might be the condition of the people when it should be broken up and destroyed. While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying prospects 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 may be, in fraternal blood! Let their last feeble and lingering glance rather behold the gorgeous ensign 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 as "What is all this worth?" nor those other words of delusion and folly, "Liberty first and Union afterwards;" but everywhere, spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea 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 for ever, one and inseparable!

THE SECRET OF MURDER-THE TRIAL OF KNAPP FOR THE MURDER OF WHITE.

He has done the murder. No eye has seen him, no ear has heard him. The secret is his own, and it is safe!

Ah! Gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake. Such a secret can be safe nowhere. The whole creation of God has neither nook nor corner where the guilty can bestow it, and say it is safe. Not to speak of that eye which pierces through all disguises, and beholds 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 place; a thousand ears catch every whis

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per; 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. Meantime the guilty soul cannot 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 residence of such an inhabitant. It finds itself preyed on by a torment, which it dares not acknowledge to God or 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 disclosure. 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 suspicions from without begin to embarrass him, and the net of circumstance to entangle him, the fatal secret struggles with still greater violence to burst forth. It must be confessed, it will be confessed; there is no refuge from confession but suieide, and suicide is confession.

FROM THE ADDRESS BEFORE THE NEW YORK HISTORICAL SOCIETY, 1852.

Unborn ages and visions of glory crowd upon my soul, the realization of all which, however, is in the hands and good pleasure of Almighty God, but, under his divine blessing, it will be dependent on the character and the virtues of ourselves, and of our posterity.

If classical history has been found to be, is now, and shall continue to be, the concomitant of free institutions, and of popular eloquence, what a field is opening to us for another Herodotus, another Thucydides, and another Livy! And let me say, Gentlemen, that if we, and our posterity, shall be true to the Christian religion, if we and they shall live always in the fear of God, and shall respect his commandments, if we, and they, shall maintain just, moral sentiments, and such conscientious convictions of duty as shall control the heart and life, we may have the highest hopes of the future fortunes of our country; and if we maintain those institutions of government and that political union, exceeding all praise as much as it exceeds all former examples of political associations, we may be sure of one thing, that, while our country furnishes materials for a thousand masters of the Historic Art, it will afford no topic for a Gibbon. It will have no Decline and Fall. It will go on prospering and to prosper. But, if we and our posterity reject religious instruction and authority, violate the rules of eternal justice, trifle with the injunctions of morality, and recklessly destroy the political constitution which holds us together, no man can tell, how sudden a catastrophe may overwhelm us, that shall bury all our glory in profound obscurity. Should that catastrophe happen, let it have no history! Let the horrible narrative never be written! Let its fate be like that of the lost books of Livy, which no human eye shall ever read, or the missing Pleiad, of which no man can ever know more, than that it is lost, and lost for ever!

LETTER ON THE MORNING. TO MRS. J. W. PAIGE.
RICHMOND, VA.,
Five o'clock, A. M., April 29, 1852.

}

MY DEAR FRIEND:-Whether it be a favor or an annoyance, you owe this letter to my early habits of

rising. From the hour marked at the top of the page, you will naturally conclude that my compa. nions are not now engaging my attention, as we have not calculated on being early travellers to-day.

This city has a " pleasant seat." It is high; the James river runs below it, and when I went out, an hour ago, nothing was heard but the roar of the Falls. The air is tranquil and its temperature mild. It is morning, and a morning sweet and fresh, and delightful. Everybody knows the morning in its metaphorical sense, applied to so many occasions. The health, strength, and beauty of early years, lead us to call that period the "morning of life." Of a lovely young woman we say she is "bright as the morning," and no one doubts why Lucifer is called "son of the morning."

But the morning itself, few people, inhabitants of cities, know anything about. Among all our good people, no one in a thousand sees the sun rise once in a year. They know nothing of the morning; their idea of it is, that it is that part of the day which comes along after a cup of coffee and a beefsteak, or a piece of toast. With them morning is not a new issuing of light, a new bursting forth of the sun, a new waking up of all that has life from a sort of temporary death, to behold again the works of God, the heavens and the earth; it is only a part of the domestic day, belonging to reading the newspapers, answering notes, sending the children to school, and giving orders for dinner. The first streak of light, the earliest purpling of the east, which the lark springs up to greet, and the deeper and deeper coloring into orange and red, till at length the "glorious sun is seen, regent of the day”—this they never enjoy, for they never see it.

Beautiful descriptions of the morning abound in all languages, but they are the strongest perhaps in the East, where the sun is often an object of worship.

King David speaks of taking to himself the "wings of the morning." This is highly poetical and beautiful. The wings of the morning are the beams of the rising sun. Rays of light are wings. It is thus said that the sun of righteousness shall arise "with healing in his wings"-a rising sun that shall scatter life, health, and joy through the Universe.

Milton has fine descriptions of morning, but not so many as Shakespeare, from whose writings pages of the most beautiful imagery, all founded on the glory of morning, might be filled.

I never thought that Adam had much the advantage of us from having seen the world while it was

new.

The manifestations of the power of God, like His mercies, are "new every morning," and fresh every moment.

We see as fine risings of the sun as ever Adam saw; and its risings are as much a miracle now as they were in his day, and I think a good deal more, because it is now a part of the miracle, that for thousands and thousands of years he has come to his appointed time, without the variation of a millionth part of a second. Adam could not tell how this might be. I know the morning-I am acquainted with it, and I love it. I love it fresh and sweet as it is a daily new creation, breaking forth and calling all that have life and breath and being to new adoration, new enjoyments, and new gratitude. DANIEL WEBSTER.

JOHN C. CALHOUN.

JOHN CALDWELL CALHOUN was born in Abbeville District, South Carolina, March 18, 1782. His father, Patrick Calhoun, was an Irishman by birth, who emigrated to Pennsylvania at an early

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