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depth of feeling and impressiveness of manner. the last few months of his life, his thoughts and speech were often turned upon such themes. He felt that he was

an old man, and that it became him to set his house in order. On the eighteenth day of January last, he had completed the threescore and ten years which are man's allotted portion, and yet his eye was not dim, nor his natural force much abated. But he grew weaker with the approach of summer, and his looks and voice, when he last addressed us from this place, a few months ago, forced upon us the mournful reflection that this great light must soon sink below the horizon. But yet, when the news came that the hand of death was upon him, it startled us like a sudden blow, for he was become so important to us, that we could not look steadily at the thought of losing him. You remember what a sorrow it was that settled down upon our city. The common business of life dragged heavily with us in those days. There was but one expression on the faces of men, and but one question on their lips. We listened to the tidings which came up, hour after hour, from his distant chamber, as men upon the shore, in a night of storm, listen to the minute-guns of a sinking ship freighted with the treasures of their hearts. The grief of the people was eager for the minutest details of his closing hours, and he died with his country around his bed. Of the beauty and grandeur of that death I need not speak to you, for it is fixed in your memories, and deep in your hearts. It fell upon the whole land like a voice from heaven. He died calmly, simply and bravely. He was neither weary of life, nor afraid of death. He died like a husband, a father, a friend, a Christian and a man; with thoughtful tenderness for all around him, and a trembling faith in the mercy of God. He was not tried by long and hopeless suffering; nor were his friends saddened by seeing the lights put out before the curtain fell. His mind, like a setting sun, seemed larger at the closing hour. Such a death narrows the dark valley to a span. Such is a midsummer's day at the poles, where sunset melts into sunrise, and the last ray of evening is caught up, and appears once more as the first beams of the new morning.

I should not feel that my duty had been wholly dis

distinguished countrymen live only in tradition; but Daniel Webster has made up the record for himself; a record which discloses, clear as light, his political, moral and religious principles-a record containing no word which, dying, he might wish to blot' or any friend of his desire to efface. More than any living man, he has instructed the whole generation of American citizens in their political duties, and taught the young men of the country how to think clearly, reason fairly, and clothe thought in the most simple and beautiful English. He has reared his own monument. There it stands, and there it will stand forever! The rock which was first pressed by the feet of the Pilgrims first landing on the shores of this Western Continent is destined long to be remembered; but not longer than the oration commemorating that event, delivered two hundred years after it occurred, by Daniel Webster.

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"The monument which indicates the spot where the first great battle of the American Revolution was fought will stand as long as monumental granite can stand; but long after it is obliterated and scattered, the oration delivered on laying its corner-stone, and the other oration, pronounced nineteen years after, on its completion, will live to tell that such a monument was. The names of John Adams and Thomas Jefferson will be known to a distant futurity; but I believe that among the last records which will tell of their name will be the eulogy, of which they were the theme, pronounced by Daniel Webster. We all hope, and some of us believe, that the Constitution and Union of our country will be perpetual; but we know that the speeches and orations in defence and commendation of that Constitution and Union delivered by Daniel Webster will live as long as the English language is spoken among men. I might refer to the Capitol of the country, to every important institution, and every great name in our land among the living and the dead, for there is not one of them that has not been embalmed in his eloquence.

"In the few remaining remarks which I have to make,' continued Mr. Ketchum, "allow me, sir, to speak of some of the personal characteristics of Mr. Webster, as they have fallen under my own observation. I have long been acquainted with him. From all I know, have seen and

heard, I am here, to-day, to bear testimony that Daniel Webster, as a public man, possessed the highest integrity. He always seemed to me to act under the present conviction that whatever he did would be known not only to his contemporaries, but to posterity. He was 'clear in office.' He regarded political power as power in trust; and though always willing and desirous to oblige his friends, yet he would never, directly or indirectly, violate that trust. I have known him in private and domestic life. During the last twenty-five years I have received many letters from him; some of which I yet retain, and some have been destroyed at his request. I have had the pleasure of meeting him often in private circles and at the festive board, where some of our sessions were not short; but neither in his letters nor his conversation have I ever known him to express an impure thought, an immoral sentiment, or use profane language. Neither in writing nor in conversation have I ever known him to assail any man. No man, in my hearing, was ever slandered or spoken ill of by Daniel Webster. Never in my life have I known a man whose conversation was uniformly so unexceptionable in tone and edifying in character. No man ever had more tenderness of feeling than Daniel Webster. He had his enemies as malignant as any man; but there was not one of them who, if he came to him in distress, would not obtain all the relief in his power to bestow. To say that he had no weaknesses and failings would be to say that he was not human. Those failings have been published to the world, and his friends would have no reason to complain of that if they had not been exaggerated. It is due to truth and sound morality to say, in this place, that no public services, no eminent talent, can or should sanctify errors. It was one of Mr. Webster's characteristics that he abhorred all affectation. That affectation, often seen in young men, of speaking in public upon the impulse of the moment, without previous thought and preparation, of all others he most despised. He never spoke without previous thought and laborious preparation. As was truly said by my venerable friend who just sat down, (Mr. Staples,) he was industrious to the end. When, on leaving college, he assumed the place of teacher in an academy, in an interior town of New

England, the most intelligent predicted his future eminence. After his first speech in court, in his native State, a learned judge remarked, 'I have just heard a speech from a young man who will hereafter become the first man in the country.' The predictions that were made of Daniel Webster's career were not merely that he would be a great man, but the first man.

"I have often thought that if other men could have been. as diligent and assiduous as Mr. Webster, they might have equalled him in achievement. When he addressed the court, the bar, the Senate, or the people, he ever thought he had no right to speak without previous preparation. He came before the body to which he was to speak with his thoughts arrayed in their best dress. He thought this was due to men who would stand and hear him; and the result was that every thing he said was always worthy of being read; and no public man in our country has ever been so much read.

"It may be conceded (whether it was a virtue or a weakness) that Daniel Webster was ambitious. He was. He desired to attain high position, and to surpass every man who had occupied the same before him. He spared no labor or assiduity to accomplish this end. Whether he has succeeded or not, posterity must say. I will add, that it is true that he desired the highest political position in the country; that he thought he had fairly earned a claim to that position. And I solemnly believe that because that claim was denied, his days were shortened. I came here, sir, to speak of facts as they are; neither to censure nor to applaud any man or set of men whether what has been done has been well done, or what has been omitted has been well omitted, the public must decide. May I be permitted to add that, though I am no man's worshipper, I have deeply sympathized in thought, in word and in act with that desire of Mr. Webster? I have continued this sympathy with that desire to the last moment of his life. If there be honor in this, let it attach to me and mine; if disgrace, let it be visited upon me and my children."

THE OBSEQUIES OF DANIEL WEBSTER.

THE funeral of Mr. Webster, at Marshfield, on Friday, was a most imposing spectacle. The "Post" describes it as follows:

The sun had not risen before the people began to gather in vehicles of every description. The neighboring towns were besieged the night previous with strangers on their way to the funeral. Every hotel, private dwelling, barn, shed and stable for ten miles around Marshfield were occupied on Thursday night. The gathering was large beyond calculation. Every avenue leading to Marshfield was thronged with inward-bound vehicles from the time. named above until the tomb closed over the remains of the great departed. The number of carriages was so great that the avenues to the grounds in the rear of the mansion were thrown open to receive them. Two steamboats, the Mayflower and the Atlantic, entered Green Bay freighted with about fifteen hundred people. The last named did not land her passengers until near half-past two o'clock. The remains of Mr. Webster were removed from the library about nine o'clock in the morning to a position immediately in front of the mansion, beneath the spreading branches of a large and magnificent silverleafed poplar-tree. The cover of the coffin was then removed, presenting a view of the entire body. It was attired in a suit familiar to all who have ever seen Mr. Webster. The Faneuil Hall suit-the blue coat with bright buttons, white pants, white vest, white neckerchief, with wide collar turned over. The features of Mr. Webster were natural, and exhibited a marked serenity, seeming rather to be those of a pleasant sleeper than one in the arms of death. The coffin, or "metallic burial-case," is very beautiful. It is so constructed as to combine every valuable quality for deposit in the earth, and the preserva

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