nations, for example, what is called the Ashburton treaty with Great
Britain; and it would have seemed too much for one mortal, successful as
Webster had already been, to be lifted to an official level with
princes. That was denied him; his empire was not countries--it was
minds. He was to be trained for a nobler exaltation than a throne.

Little has yet been said regarding Webster as an orator. It was mainly
in that respect, however, that he surpassed his fellows, and mainly by
that means was he enabled to ascend to the high position which he held
so long. The versatility of his powers was very great, and the mode in
which he sometimes employed them was not a little remarkable. He had, on
one occasion, spent several hours with his colleagues in adjusting some
important questions involving the interests of kingdoms; and on
returning home he sportively sallied forth and purchased some eggs, on
the principle of seeing how extremes meet, in regard to occupation as
well as in other respects. But there were serious things mixed with his
jests; and as an orator, Webster stands in the first rank, if not
foremost, in the New World. When it was known that he was to speak, the
excitement sometimes amounted to a furor, and a hundred dollars have
been paid for a ticket of admission to hear him. Meanwhile the avenues
that led to his arena were blocked up by the crowds pressing for
admittance; and when he did appear, it was to rouse, to agitate, and
convulse. He felt what he said in his inmost soul, and his words were
winged with fire, even while they were massively powerful, and connected
with a logic which tolerated no breaks in the chain.

Webster reached the allotted term of mortal existence, and in his
seventy-first year passed away alike from the frowns and the applause
of mortals. On the morning of Sabbath, October 24, 1852, he was summoned
away. Though much enfeebled, his mind was calm, and he died with the
confidence of a little child, reposing on the mercy of his God as
revealed in the Saviour. Among his last utterances was this, "Heavenly
Father, forgive my sins, and welcome me to thyself through Christ
Jesus." His very last words were, "I still live," and his loving,
weeping friends took them up as a prediction of that immortality on
which he was about to enter. Through life he had hallowed the Sabbath,
and he died upon it. The autumn was his favorite season, and he passed
away amid its mellow glories, after affectionat