e Works of Daniel Webster: with a Biographical Memoir of the Public Life of Daniel Webster ward Everett. Boston: C. C. Little & James Brown. 1851. 6 vols. 8vo. → XVI.—NO. VI. 81 ILE the following article was in the | The history of the former owners of the soil, of preparation, the great man whose the circumstances under which he became its are our subject has ceased to live. purchaser, the improvements he had made ve weeks before this event which has upon it, the trees he bad planted, the cattle da nation in mourning, the writer, for and sheep he had imported and introduced st time, visited Marshfield, and enjoyed there, were dwelt upon with a clearness and ew days the hospitality of that refined interest which sank deep into the listener's gant abode. On the most beautiful heart. Some of the reminiscences these the most beautiful month in the year, scenes and objects recalled moved the illusay, Sept. 18, Mr. Webster drove his trious narrator to tears; for they brought attended by one of his men on horse- before him the forms of beloved ones, assoover the estate. The air was soft and ciated with his earliest residence here, and and seemed to bear healing on its now sleeping the long sleep of death, on the The great statesman was physically spot which his name has consecrated to the having suffered long from his annual deathless memory of his countrymen and the , and from another more obstinate world. His voice became tremulous and int, which was slowly but surely un- low, his hands quivered as he held the reins, ing a constitution once gigantic in and for a moment it seemed as if that mighty ngth. But the genial breath of heaven, heart would break. But the sad vision he sight of dear and familiar objects passed away, and present objects and cheered by him before since his return from ful thoughts resumed their place. His flocks ngton, soothed and revived him. His and herds were driven up to the carriage, ndered over his extensive domain with and he spoke of them and commented on htness undimmed by age or disease. their several qualities, not only with the point suggested some memory, pleas- knowledge of a farmer, but with the feeling mournful, which he recalled with un- of one to whom every creature of God is g precision, and related with that rare dear. After having pointed out, at some of phrase which marked the most length, the characteristics of the different r conversation of Daniel Webster. breeds, he checked himself with a smile, and Works of Daniel Webster: with a Biographical Memoir of the Public Life of Daniel Webster ward Everett. Boston: C. C. Little & James Brown. 1851. 6 vols. 8vo. XVI.-NO. VI. 81 From time to time, on meeting his rural neighbors, he would stop to talk over with them the subjects of agriculture in which they had a common interest; and it was pleasant to witness the kindly and affectionate intercourse between him whose fame filled the world, and the homely neighbors and friends who, " Along the cool, sequestered vale of life, said, "How can he get wisdom that holdeth | lies of Marshfield, he gazed thoughtfully the plough and that glorieth in the goad that on the spot where his own tomb and the driveth oxen, and is occupied in their labors, monuments of his deceased kindred stand, and whose talk is of bullocks?" After a few and remarked that "he disliked to have the moments' pause, he added, “I do not be- grave surrounded by circumstances of melanlieve that passage is in any of the canonical choly: he wished a quiet spot, not likely to books; it does not sound canonical; it cer- be disturbed by the noise and tumult of the tainly is not canonical." Mr. Webster world, with a few deciduous trees. Such was right. The words occur in the thirty- a spot is this: the clatter of railroads and -eighth chapter of Ecclesiasticus, as the writer the bustle of business are not likely to break was amused to find on his return. the silence here; and here I shall lie, when my time shall come, perhaps at no distant day." Descending from this sacred height, he drove across his fields, and entered the upper road that runs along the hills overlooking the estate and bounding it on the west. From this road the prospect is one of the softest and most varied beauty, and lies outspread, with all its points clearly in view, and as sharply outlined as a welldrawn picture. It has a bright and sunny aspect, being shielded from the keen and freezing northern winds by ranges of hills on the north and west, and tempered by the breezes of the sea into an oceanic climate. The surface of the soil is moulded into gentle undulations, whose sloping sides are covered with trees and orchards, or smooth and sweeping lawns. Nearly in the centre, on a knoll or upland of moderate height, and rounded on every side by gracefully curving surfaces and lines of beauty, stands the house-the ancient mansion of the Thomases, the first owners, with such additions as the tastes or wants of Mr. Webster have suggested, but all in keeping with the home-like and substantial character of the original structure. The chief of these additions is the elegant library room, designed by the skilful hand of his loved and lamented daughter Julia. The ground descends from the house, on the north to the shore of a miniature lake, on the opposite side of which runs a thick, semi-circular belt of trees planted wholly by Mr. Webster. Further up swells the highland, bare and bleak, where the Pilgrim sleepers lie, in the deep repose of Nature, unbroken save by the song of birds, the murmur of the winds, and the solemn voice of the neighboring ocean, speaking eternally from its mysterious depths. Looking towards the south, the eye dwells on other hills of various slopes, partly covered with trees, and a wooded headland, jutting into the sea. The low grounds, or marshes, come within a few rods of the house, and are frequently Had kept the noiseless'tenor of their way." To one who anxiously inquired after his health, he said, "I am not good for much. My strength is nearly gone. I am no match for you, now. I am scarcely a match for your grandson yonder." To the question, whether the love of Nature grew stronger in him with the progress of time, he answered, "Yes, undoubtedly. The man who has not abandoned himself to sensuality feels, as years advance and old age comes on, a greater love of mother Earth, a greater willingness, and even desire to return to her bosom, and mingle again with this universal frame of things from which he sprang." As he spoke these words, with slow and solemn tone, he seemed to look upon the face of nature, as upon the face of a living being, to whom he was bound by the ties of a conscious friendship and immortal love; and the soft wind, breathing with a warmth like summer through the unchanged leaves of the neighboring trees, whispered an audible answer to the voice and look of love of the dying statesman. He had drawn his health from these scenes and these pursuits; a constitution naturally feeble had grown into heroic proportions and gigantic strength, as he had walked and worked in the intervals of public business, beneath the open sky, and had "taken this heavenly bath, the air, without measure and without stint." Stopping at the brow of the hill, where lies the old burying ground, occupied by the graves of the early Pilgrim fami wed by the tides; and over them sa distant view of the sea. Through scenes of ever-changing beautythat by themselves would fill the with unspeakable emotion-and how feeling deepened by the thought that Id charms of Nature have been unand completed by the skill and taste e whose genius and eloquence have sed all Greek and Roman fame, and the spot on which he delighted to reFrom the toils of the forum, the senate, e cabinet, as classical as the Tusculan f Cicero―through these scenes passed eat statesman and his guest, and then ed to the house, after a drive of three conversation was deeply interesting ghout-mostly serious, earnest, somepathetic, sometimes lightened with touches of humor, always full of ess and gentleness. His serious hts naturally clothed themselves in ne expressions, in language radiant poetical but unaffected beauty, sugby the surrounding objects, or by the es that spontaneously sprang up in a rsation of three memorable hours. , literary, religious topics were touched but politics not at all. To the queshat had been the studies by which his vas formed, he said, "When I was a man, a student in college, I delivered rth of July oration. My friends ht so well of it that they requested a for the press. It was printed, and I copy of it now-the only copy in exe. (In this he was mistaken.) Joseph e, a writer of great reputation at that wrote a review in a literary paper he then edited. He praised parts of ration as vigorous and eloquent; but parts he criticised severely, and said were mere emptinesses. I thought iticism was just; and I resolved that ver else should be said of my style, that time forth there should be no ness in it. I read such English authors in my way—particularly Addisongreat care. Besides, I remembered had my bread to earn by addressing derstanding of common men-by cong juries-and that I must use language tly intelligible to them. You will ore find, in my speeches to juries, no vords, no Latin phrases, no fieri facias; and that is the secret of my style, if I have any." He spoke of Kossuth's eloquence, with admiration of its beauty and ingenuity. He thought "his genius wonderful, and his resources extraordinary, but that he was rather an enthusiast, possessed of the idea that he was born with a mission to fulfil, than a statesman; that his political ideas were not well defined, nor fixed, nor consistent; that he was doubtless a sincere lover of his country, but was a poet, rather than a sound reasoner on affairs of state and the condition of the world." He stopped at a farm-house near his estate, and calling the farmer to the door, said, "Well, Mr. A., you are engaged to work for Fletcher to-day, I hear." "Yes, sir." "That's right; now, do you come over to my house, take my gun, and go out and shoot some of the plovers I just saw alight in the pasture yonder, and Fletcher will pay you for the day's work, and I will pay you for the birds." Such pleasantries seasoned his salutations to all the rural neighbors whom he chanced to meet. In this case the man smiled, complied at once with the request, and the plovers appeared on the breakfast table the next morning. At the close of the drive, Mr. Webster sat some time in the library. He had recently been studying the work of Cicero, De Natura Deorum; and taking the volume from the shelf, he read aloud two or three pages, in which one of the persons in the dialogue discourses most eloquently on the Divine Being, and in refutation of the Epicurean philosophy. The deep feeling and the earnest tone with which he read the harmonious Latin sentences of the great Roman, gave the fullest meaning to those immortal speculations; and recommending the passage to. the careful study of his guest, he closed the volume and retired. In a subsequent conversation, Mr. Webster spoke of his love of science, and the attention he had bestowed upon it in the fragments of time snatched from his other and absorbing pursuits. Ho had watched the progress of physical science, and mastered the great results which have distinguished the investigation of the present age. His knowledge of Geology was extensive and exact. He had studied the principal works upon this science on journeys made for recreation through interesting geological regions; and many years before, he said, he had employed a learned geologist |