LAST HOURS OF WEBSTER.

AMONG the many memorable words which fell from the lips of our friend just before they were closed forever, the most remarkable are those which have been quoted by a previous speaker: "I still live." They attest the serene composure of his mind, the Christian heroism with which he was able to turn his consciousness in upon himself, and explore, step by step, the dark passage (dark to us, but to him, we trust, already lighted from above) which connects this world with the world to come. But I know not what words could have been better chosen to express his relation to the world he was leaving, "I still live." This poor dust is just returning to the dust from which it was taken, but I feel that I live in the affections of the people to whose services I have consecrated my days. "I still live." The icy hand of death is already laid on my heart, but I shall still live in those words of counsel which I have uttered to my fellow-citizens, and which I now leave them as the last bequest of a dying friend.

In the long and honored career of our lamented friend, there are efforts and triumphs which will hereafter fill one of the brightest pages of our history. But I greatly err if the closing scene, - the height of the religious sublime, — does not, in the judgment of other days, far transcend in interest the brightest exploits of public life. Within that darkened chamber at Marshfield was witnessed a scene of which we shall not readily find the parallel. The serenity with which he stood in the presence of the King of terrors, without trepidation or flutter, for hours and days of expectation; the thoughtfulness for the public business when the sands of life were so nearly run out; the hospitable care for the reception of the friends who came to Marshfield; that affectionate and solemn leave separately taken, name by name, of wife, and children, and kindred, and friends, and

family, down to the humblest members of the household; the designation of the coming day, then near at hand, when "all that was mortal of Daniel Webster should cease to exist; " the dimly-recollected strains of the funeral poetry of Gray; the last faint flash of the soaring intellect; the feeblymurmured words of Holy Writ repeated from the lips of the good physician, who, when all the resources of human art had been exhausted, had a drop of spiritual balm for the parting soul; the clasped hands; the dying prayers. Oh! my fellow-citizens, this is a consummation over which tears of pious sympathy will be shed ages after the glories of the forum and the senate are forgotten.

"His sufferings ended with the day,

Yet lived he at its close,

And breathed the long, long night away,

In statue-like repose.

"But ere the sun, in all his state,

Illumed the Eastern skies,

He passed through glory's morning gate,
And walked in Paradise."

EDWARD EVERETT.

THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS.

SOMEWHAT back from the village street
Stands the old-fashioned country-seat;
Across its antique portico

Tall poplar trees their shadows throw;
And, from its station in the hall,
An ancient timepiece says to all,
"Forever never!

Never forever!"

Half-way up the stairs it stands,
And points and beckons with its hands

From its case of massive oak,

Like a monk who, under his cloak,

By day its voice is low and light;
But in the silent dead of night,
Distinct as a passing footstep's fall,
It echoes along the vacant hall,
Along the ceiling, along the floor,
And seems to say at each chamber door,
"Forever never!

Through days of sorrow and of mirth,
Through days of death and days of birth,
Through every swift vicissitude

Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood,
And as if, like God, it all things saw,
It calmly repeats those words of awe,
"Forever never!

Never-forever!"

In that mansion used to be

Free-hearted Hospitality;

His great fires up the chimney roared;
The stranger feasted at his board;
But, like the skeleton at the feast,
That warning timepiece never ceased,-
“Forever — never!
Never-forever!"

There groups of merry children played;
There youths and maidens dreaming strayed;
Oh, precious hours! oh, golden prime
And affluence of love and time!

Even as a miser counts his gold,

Those hours the ancient timepiece told,"Forever - never!

Never- forever!"

From that chamber, clothed in white,
The bride came forth on her wedding night;
There, in that silent room below,

The dead lay, in his shroud of snow;
And, in the hush that followed the prayer,
Was heard the old clock on the stair,-
"Forever never!

All are scattered, now, and fled,-
Some are married, some are dead;
And when I ask, with throbs of pain,
"Oh, when shall they all meet again?"
As in the days long since gone by,
The ancient timepiece makes reply,
"Forever never!

THE Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

Yea, 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.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; thou annointest my head with oil; my cup runneth

over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days. of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for

ever.

BIBLE.

THE WITCH'S DAUGHTER.

It was the pleasant harvest-time
When cellar-bins are closely stowed,
And garrets bend beneath their load,
And the old swallow-haunted barns-
Brown-gabled, long, and full of seams
Through which the moted sunlight streams
Are filled with summer's ripened stores,
Its odorous grass and barley sheaves,
From their low scaffolds to their eaves.

On Esek Harden's oaken floor,

With many an autumn threshing worn,
Lay the heaped ears of unhusked corn,
And thither came young men and maids,
Beneath a moon that large and low,
Lit that sweet eve of long ago.
They took their places; some by chance,
And others by a merry voice

Or sweet smile guided to their choice.

How pleasantly the rising moon,

Between the shadow of the mows,

Looked on them through the great elm-boughs!

On sturdy boyhood, sun-imbrowned,

On girlhood with its solid curves

Of healthful strength and painless nerves!