No one ever looked the orator, as he did-"os humerosque deo similis," in form and feature how like a god. His countenance spake no less audibly than his words. His manner gave new force to his language. As he stood swaying his right arm, like a huge tilt-hammer, up and down, his swarthy countenance lighted up with excitement, he appeared amid the smoke, the fire, the thunder of his eloquence, like Vulcan in his armory forging thoughts for the Gods! The human face never wore an expression of more withering, relentless scorn, than when the orator replied to Hayne's allusion to the "murdered coalition." "It is," said Mr. W., "the very cast-off slough of a polluted and shameless press. Incapable of further mischief, it lies in the sewer, lifeless and despised. It is not now, sir, in the power of the honorable member to give it dignity or decency, by attempting to elevate it, and introduce it into the Senate. He cannot change it from what it is—an object of general disgust and scorn. On the contrary, the contact, if he choose to touch it, is more likely to drag him down, down to the place where it lies itself." He looked, as he spoke these words, as if the thing he alluded to was too mean for scorn itself—and the sharp, stinging enunciation made the words still more withering. The audience seemed relieved,—so crushing was the expression of his face which they held on to, as 'twere, spell-bound,-when he turned to other topics. The good-natured yet provoking irony with which he described. the imaginary though life-like scene of direct collision between the marshalled array of South Carolina under Gen. Hayne on the one side, and the officers of the United States on the other, nettled his opponent even more than his severer satire; it seemed so ridiculously true. Col. Hayne enquired, with some degree of emotion, if the gentleman from Massachusetts intended any personal imputation by such remarks? To which Mr. Webster replied, with perfect good humor: "Assuredly not-just the reverse." The variety of incident during the speech, and the rapid fluctu-, ation of passions, kept the audience in continual expectation, and ceaseless agitation. There was no chord of the heart the orator did not strike, as with a master-hand. The speech was a complete drama of comic and pathetic scenes; one varied excitement; laughter and tears gaining alternate victory. A great portion of the speech is strictly argumentative; an exposition of constitutional law. But grave as such portion necessarily is, severely logical, abounding in no fancy or episode, it engrossed throughout the undivided attention of every intelligent hearer. Abstractions, under the glowing genius of the orator, acquired a beauty, a vitality, a power to thrill the blood and enkindle the affections, awakening into earnest activity many a dormant faculty. His ponderous syllables had an energy, a vehemence of meaning in them that fascinated, while they startled. His thoughts in their statuesque beauty merely would have gained all critical judgment; but he realized the antique fable, and warmed the marble into life. There was a sense of power in his language,— of power withheld and suggestive of still greater power,—that subdued, as by a spell of mystery, the hearts of all. For power, whether intellectual or physical, produces in its earnest development a feeling closely allied to awe. It was never more felt than on this occasion. It had entire mastery. The sex, which is said to love it best and abuse it most, seemed as much or more carried away that the sterner one. Many who had entered the hall with light, gay thoughts, anticipating at most a pleasurable excitement, soon became deeply interested in the speaker and his subject-surrendered him their entire heart; and, when the speech was over, and they left the hall, it was with sadder, perhaps, but, surely, with far more elevated and ennobling emotions. The exulting rush of feeling with which he went through the peroration threw a glow over his countenance, like inspiration. Eye, brow, each feature, every line of the face seemed touched, as with a celestial fire. All gazed as at something more than human. So Moses might have appeared to the awe-struck Israelites as he emerged from the dark clouds and thick smoke of Sinai, his face all radiant with the breath of divinity! The swell and roll of his voice struck upon the ears of the spellbound audience, in deep and melodious cadence, as waves upon the shore of the "far resounding" sea. The Miltonic grandeur of his words was the fit expression of his thought and raised his hearers up to his theme. His voice, exerted to its utmost power, penetrated every recess or corner of the Senate-penetrated even the ante-rooms and stairways as he pronounced in deepest tones of pathos these words of solemn significance: "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 nor polluted, not 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, bla *Mr. Webster may have had in his mind, when speaking of the gorgeous ensign of the Republic, Milton's description of the imperial banner in the lower regions floating across the immensity of space : "Who forthwith from the glittering staff unfurl'd And this in its turn is borrowed from, or suggested by, Tasso's description of the banner of the Crusades, when first unfolded in Palestine-which the inquisitive reader may find, if he choose, in "Jerusalem Delivered. zing 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 American heart, "LIBERTY AND UNION, NOW AND FOREVER, ONE AND INSEPARABLE!" The speech was over, but the tones of the orator still lingered upon the ear, and the audience, unconscious of the close, retained their positions. The agitated countenance, the heaving breast, the suffused eye attested the continued influence of the spell upon them. Hands that in the excitement of the moment had sought each other, still remained closed in an unconscious grasp. Eye still turned to eye, to receive and repay mutual sympathy;—and everywhere around seemed forgetfulness of all but the orator's presence and words. When the Vice-President, hastening to dissolve the spell, angrily called to order! order! There never was a deeper stillness—not a movement, not a gesture had been made,-not a whisper utteredorder! Silence could almost have heard itself, it was so supernaturally still. The feeling was too overpowering, to allow expression by voice or hand. It was as if one was in a trance, all motion paralyzed. But the descending hammer of the Chair awoke them, with a start-and with one universal, long-drawn, deep breath, with which the overcharged heart seeks relief,-the crowded assembly broke up and departed. The New England men walked down Pennsylvania avenue that day, after the speech, with a firmer step and bolder air-" pride in their port, defiance in their eye." You would have sworn they had grown some inches taller in a few hours' time. They devoured the way, in their stride. They looked every one in the face they met, fearing no contradiction. They swarmed in the streets, naving become miraculously multitudinous. They clustered in parties and fought the scene over one hundred times that night. Their elation was the greater, by reaction, It knew no limits, or choice of expression. Not one of them but felt he had gained a personal victory. Not one, who was not ready to exclaim, with gushing eyes, in the fulness of gratitude, "Thank God, I too am a Yankee!" In the evening General Jackson held a levee at the White House. It was known, in advance, that Mr. Webster would attend it, and hardly had the hospitable doors of the house been thrown open, when the crowd that had filled the Senate chamber in the morning rushed in and occupied the rooms. Persons a little more tardy in arriving found it almost impossible to get in, such a crowd oppressed the entrance. Before this evening, the General had been the observed of all observers. His military and personal reputation, official position, gallant bearing, and courteous manners, had secured him great and merited popularity. His receptions were always gladly attended by large numbers-to whom he was himself the object of attraction. But on this occasion, the room in which he received his company was deserted, as soon as courtesy to the President permitted. Mr. Webster, it was whispered, was in the East Room, and thither the whole mass hurried. He stood almost in the centre of the room, hemmed in by eager crowds, from whom there was no escape, all pressing to get nearer to him. He seemed but little exhausted by the intellectual exertion of the day, severe as it had been. The flush of excitement still lingered and played upon his countenance, gilding and beautifying it, like the setting sun its accompanying clouds. All were eager to get a sight at him. Some stood on tip-toe, and some even mounted the chairs of the room. Many were presented to him. The dense crowd, entering and retiring, moved round him, renewing the order of their ingression and egression, continually. One would ask his neighbor: "Where, which is Webster ?"—"There, don't you see him—that dark, swarthy man, |