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In describing the consequences of secession it must be admitted that Mr. Webster spoke like a true prophet. All the evils that he predictedthe war such as the world had never seen-came to pass, but out of it the Union emerged stronger than ever, with its chief burden and reproach thrown overboard. Much as the war cost, we feel to-day that we are the better off that it was fought. Let us not blame Mr. Webster that he could not penetrate the future, and strove so hard to avert it. Probably his speech postponed it, but nothing could avert it. Can we doubt that if the great statesman were living to-day he would thank God that He had solved the great problem that had baffled the wisdom of the wisest, and brought substantial good from fratricidal strife?

Among those who listened with rapt attention to Mr. Webster was John C. Calhoun, his great compeer, who had risen with difficulty from the bed where he lay fatally sick, to hear the senator from Massachusetts. "A tall, gaunt figure, wrapped in a long black cloak, with deep, cavernous black eyes, and a thick mass of snow-white hair brushed back from the large brow," he seemed like a visitant from the next world. It was his last

appearance in the Senate. Before March was

over he had gone to his rest!

CHAPTER XXXVII.

CLOSING SCENES.

MR. WEBSTER'S public life was drawing to a close. After the death of Gen. Taylor he accepted for a second time the post of Secretary of State, but there is nothing in his official work that calls for our special attention. Important questions came up and were satisfactorily disposed of. There was a strong hand at the helm.

June, 1852, brought him a great disappointment. The Whig Convention assembled in Baltimore to nominate a candidate for the Presidency. Mr. Webster was by all means the leader of that party, and was one of the three candidates balloted for. But in the end the successful man was Gen. Winfield Scott. It was a nomination like that of Harrison and Taylor, dictated solely by what was thought to be availability. In this case a mistake was made. Gen. Scott was disastrously defeated by Gen. Franklin Pierce, the nominee of the Democracy.

Gen. Pierce, though parted by politics, was a devoted friend of Mr. Webster, and the reader may

be interested to know that on hearing of his nomination, he spoke thus: "Well, all I can say is, and I say it in sincerity, if the people of the United States were to repudiate caucuses, conventions, politicians and tricksters, and rise in the glory of their strength and might, without waiting for any convention to designate a candidate, but bent on placing in the Presidential chair the first citizen and statesman, the first patriot and man, Daniel Webster, it would do for republican government more than any event which has taken place in the history of the world. These are my sentiments, democracy or no democracy."

This is certainly a remarkable tribute from the nominee of one party to an unsuccessful candidate of another, but Gen. Pierce had shown on many occasions his warm friendship and admiration for Mr. Webster.

At Mr. Webster's age it was not likely that he would ever again be a candidate for the Presidency. His last chance had slipped away, and the disappointment was keen. He was already in declining health, induced partly by a severe accident which befell him in May, 1852, when he was thrown headlong to the earth while riding behind a span of horses to Plymouth. Probably the injury was greater than appeared. Towards the end of September, while at Marshfield, alarming

symptoms were developed, and his grand physical system was evidently giving way. That month was to be his last. His earthly work was done, and he was never again to resume his work at Washington. The closing scenes are thus described by Mr. Curtis :

"It was past midnight, when, awaking from one of the slumbers that he had at intervals, he seemed not to know whether he had not already passed from his earthly existence. He made a strong effort to ascertain what the consciousness that he could still perceive actually was, and then. uttered those well-known words, I still live!' as if he had satisfied himself of the fact that he was striving to know. They were his last coherent utterance. A good deal later he said something in which the word 'poetry' was distinctly heard. His son immediately repeated to him one of the stanzas of Gray's Elegy.' He heard it and smiled. After this respiration became more difficult, and at length it went on with perceptible intervals. All was now hushed within the chamber; and to us who stood waiting there were but three sounds in nature: the sighing of the autumn wind in the trees, the slow ticking of the clock in the hall below, and the deep breathing of our dying friend. Moments that seemed hours flowed on. Still the measured

beat of time fell painfully distinct upon our ears; still the gentle moaning of the wind mingled with the only sound that arose within the room; for there were no sobs of women, no movements of men. So grand, and yet so calm and simple, had been his approach to the moment when he must know that he was with us no more, that he had lifted us into a composure which, but for his great example, we could not have felt. At twenty-three minutes before three o'clock his breathing ceased; the features settled into a superb repose; and Dr. Jeffries, who still held the pulse, after waiting a few seconds, gently laid down the arm, and amid a breathless silence, pronounced the single word, 'Dead.' The eyes were then closed, the remains were removed from the position in which death came, and all but those who had been appointed to wait and watch slowly and mournfully walked away."

Thus died a man whom all generations will agree in pronouncing great; a man not without faults, for he was human, but one to whom his country may point with pride as a sincere patriot, a devoted son, who, in eloquence at the bar and in the Senate, is worthy of a place beside the greatest orators of any nation, or any epoch. He has invested the name of an American citizen with added glory, for he was a typical American,