of his own, and our, whole America,-she this day feels and announces. Wheresoever a drop of her blood flows in the veins of man, this trait is felt and appreciated. The hunter beyond Superior-the fisherman on the deck of the nigh night-foundered skiff-the sailor on the uttermost sea -will feel, as he hears these tidings, that the protection of a sleepless, all-embracing, parental care is withdrawn from him for a space; and that his pathway henceforward is more solitary and less safe than before.

But I cannot pursue these thoughts. Among the eulogists who have just uttered the eloquent sorrow of England at the death of the great Duke-one has employed an image and an idea, which I venture to modify and appropriate:

"The Northman's image of death is finer than that of other climes; no skeleton, but a gigantic figure, that envelops men within the massive folds of its dark garment. Webster seems so enshrouded from us as the last of the mighty three, themselves following a mighty series; the greatest closing the procession. The robe draws round him, and the era is past."

Yet how much there is which that all-ample fold shall not hide!—the recorded wisdom; the great example; the assured immortality.

They speak of moments!

"Nothing need cover his high fame but heaven,

No pyramids set off his memories,

But the eternal substance of his greatness,

TO WHICH I LEAVE HIM."

XVI.

EULOGY PRONOUNCED ON MR. WEBSTER IN FANEUIL HALL, BOSTON, BY GEORGE S. HILLARD, ESQ.

IT is now twenty-six years since the heart of the nation was so deeply moved by the death of two great founders of the Republic, on the fiftieth anniversary of the day when its independence was declared. Then, for the first

time, these consecrated walls wore the weeds of mourning. Then the multitude that filled this hall were addressed by a man whose thoughts rose without effort to the height of his great theme. He seemed inspired by the occasion, and he looked and spoke like one on whom the mantle of some ascended prophet had at that moment fallen. He lifted up and bore aloft his audience on the wings of his mighty eloquence. His words fell upon his hearers with irresistible, subduing power, and their hearts poured themselves forth in one deep and strong tide of patriotic and reverential feeling.

And now he, that was then so full of life and power, has gone to join the patriots whom he commemorated. Webster is no more than Adams and Jefferson. The people, that then came to listen to him, are now here to mourn for him. His voice of wisdom and eloquence is silent. The arm on which a nation leaned is stark and cold. The heroic form is given back to the dust. We that delighted to honor him in life are now here to honor him in death. One circle of duties is ended and another is begun. We can no longer give him our confidence, our support, our suffrages; but memory and gratitude are still left to us. As he has not

lived for himself alone, so he has not died for himself alone. The services of his life are crowned and sealed with the benediction of his death. So long as a man remains upon earth, his life is a fragment. It is exposed to chance and change, to the shocks of fate and the assaults of trial. But the end crowns the work. A career that is closed becomes a firm possession and a completed power. The arch is imperfect till the hand of death has fixed the keystone.

The custom of honoring great public benefactors by these solemn observances is natural, just and wise. But the tributes and testimonials which we offer to departed worth are for the living, and not for the dead. Eulogies, monuments and statues can add nothing to the peace and joy of that serene sphere into which the great and good, who have finished their earthly career, have passed. But these expressions and memorials do good to those from whom they flow. They lift us above the region of low cares and selfish struggles. They link the present to the past, and the world of sense to the world of thought. They break

:

the common course of life with feelings brought from a higher region. Who can measure the effect of a scene like this these mourning walls-these saddened faces-these solemn strains of music? The seed of a deep emotion here planted may ripen into the fruit of noble action.

A great man is a gift, in some measure, a revelation of God. A great man, living for high ends, is the divinest thing that can be seen on earth. The value and interest of history are derived chiefly from the lives and services of the eminent men whom it commemorates. Indeed, without these, there would be no such thing as history, and the progress of a nation would be as little worth recording, as the march of a trading caravan across a desert. The death of Mr. Webster is too recent, and he was taken away too suddenly from a sphere of wide and great influence, for the calm verdict of history to be passed upon him, and an accurate gauge to be taken of his works and claims. But all men, whatever may have been the countenance they turned toward him in life, now feel that he was a man of the highest order of greatness, and that whatever of power, faculty and knowledge there was in him was given freely, heartily, and during a long course of years, to the service of his country. He who, in the judgment of all, was a great man and a great patriot, not only deserves these honors at our hands, but it would be disgraceful in us to withhold them. We among whom he lived, who felt the power of his magnificent presence,-his brow, his eyes, his voice, his bearing, can never put him anywhere but in the front rank of the great men of all time. In running along the line of statesmen and orators, we light upon the name of no one to whom we are willing to admit his inferiority.

The theory that a great man is merely the product of his age, is rejected by the common sense and common observation of mankind. The power that guides large masses of men, and shapes the channels in which the energies of a great people flow, is something more than a mere aggregate of derivative forces. It is a compound product, in which the genius of the man is one element, and the sphere opened to him by the character of his age and the institutions of his country is another. In the case of Mr. Webster, we

have a full co-operation of these two elements. Not only did he find opportunities for his great powers, but the events of his life, and the discipline through which he passed, were well fitted to train him up to that commanding intellectual stature, and perfect intellectual symmetry, which have made him so admirable, so eminent, and so useful a person.

He was fortunate in the accident, or rather the providence, of his birth. His father was a man of uncommon strength of mind and worth of character, who had served his country faithfully in trying times, and earned in a high degree the respect and confidence of his neighbors-a man of large and loving heart, whose efforts and sacrifices for his children were repaid by them with most affectionate veneration. The energy and good sense of his mother exerted a strong influence upon the minds and characters of her children. He was born to the discipline of poverty; but a poverty such as braces and stimulates, not such as crushes and paralyzes. The region in which his boyhood. was passed was new and wild, books were not easy to be had, schools were only an occasional privilege, and intercourse with the more settled parts of the country was difficult and rare. But this scarcity of mental food and mental excitement had its advantages, and his training was good, however imperfect his teaching might have been. His labors upon the farm helped to form that vigorous constitution which enabled him to sustain the immense pressure of cares and duties laid upon him in after-years. Such books as he could procure were read with the whole heart and the whole mind. The conversation of a household, presided over by a strong-minded father, and a sensible, loving mother, helped to train the faculties of the younger members of the family. Nor were their winter evenings wanting in topics which had a fresher interest than any which books could furnish. There were stirring tales of the Revolutionary struggle and the Old French War, in both of which his father had taken a part, with moving traditions of the hardships and perils of border-life, and harrowing narratives of Indian captivity, all of which sunk deep into the heart of the impressible boy. The ample page of nature was ever before his eyes, not beautiful or picturesque,

but stern, wild and solitary, covered with a primeval forest: in winter, swept over by tremendous storms, but in summer putting on a short-lived grace, and in autumn glowing with an imperial pomp of coloring. In the deep, lonely woods, by the rushing streams, under the frosty stars of winter, the musing boy gathered food for his growing mind. There to him the mighty mother unveiled her awful face, and there we may be sure that the dauntless child stretched forth his hands and smiled. We feel a pensive pleasure in calling up the image of this slender, dark-browed, brighteyed youth, going forth in the morning of life to sow the sced of future years. A loving brother, and a loving and dutiful son, he is cheerful under privation, and patient under restraint. Whatever work he finds to do, whether with the brain or the hand, he does it with all his might. He opens his mind to every ray of knowledge that breaks in upon him. Every step is a progress, and every blow removes an obstacle. Onward, ever onward, he moves; borne "against the wind, against the tide," by an impulse self-derived and self-sustained. He makes friends, awakens interest, inspires hopes. Thus, with these good angels about him, he passes from boyhood to youth, and from youth to early manhood. The school and the college have given him what they had to give; an excellent professional training has been secured; and now, with a vigorous frame and a spirit patient of labor, with manly self-reliance, and a heart glowing with generous ambition and warm affections, the man, Daniel Webster, steps forth into the arena of life.

From this point his progress follows the natural law of growth, and every advance is justified and explained by what had gone before. For every thing that he gains he has a perfect title to show. He is borne on by no fortunate accident. The increase of his influence keeps no more than pace with the growth of his mind and the development of his character. He is diligent in his calling, and faithful to the interests intrusted to his charge. His professional bearing is manly and elevated. He has the confidence of the court, and the ear of the jury, and has fairly earned them both. His business increases, his reputation is extended, and he becomes a marked man. He is