least doubt it, a second and a third series may appear. Of such, however, it is premature to speak at present, and we therefore rest content with introducing this volume to the American reader.

Boston, Mass., June, 1854.

J. R. D.

OFF-HAND TAKINGS;

OR,

CRAYON SKETCHES.

DANIEL WEBSTER.

AMERICA is the greatest continent, and embraces within its limits the grandest mountains, the broadest lakes, the longest rivers, the largest prairies, and, with all these, the mightiest intellect. Its mountains stand up like pillars supporting the azure arch in the temple of nature; its lakes are inland seas; its rivers could swallow the waters of Europe without overflowing their banks; and its mind is correlative with the magnificence of its scenery. There is but one Niagara, and that is in America; there is but one Webster, and he is in America. The cataract flows now, as it did when God first smote the rock in this Western wilderness, and He has woven a rainbow about its silver forehead, and crowned it with a fountain of diamonds. It shouts the same song of liberty it did when the world was in its infancy. It is free and mighty, and cannot be hushed into silence, nor flattered into subserviency. So with Webster, when he lifts up his voice

for freedom, it is like "deep calling unto deep;" and the light of Heaven illuminates his magnetic eyes and beams on his mighty forehead.

Geologists have discovered the colossal bones of the Mastodon, and hence we infer that there were larger animals in ages gone by, than we have living at present; so, future historians will find, in their mutilated and mouldy libraries, the remains of Webster's greatness. In the glory of his manhood he represented Massachusetts; defended liberty; sympathized with humanity, and won the approbation of all good men. In the arena of debate he usually came off more than conqueror. He was regarded as the senator of the United States. When he rose in his place, in the council chamber of the nation, with a voice of thunder and eyes on fire, every face was turned towards him, every tongue was silent, for he was clad to the teeth in armor, had a spear like a weaver's beam, and had been trained to battle. He has great self-possession, coolness, adroitness, and tact; never was remarkable for sunshiny gaiety of imagination; rarely strayed to select bright flowers in the garden of literature; his attempts at wit were like the antics of the elephant that tried to mimic the lap-dog; but he was emphatically great. He was the Defender of the Constitution, and could present arguments in its defence with irresistible force and eloquence. His words were full of marrow, his logic unctuous with fatness. He defeated his opponents, not by the "delicacy of his tact, but by the prodigious power of his reason." There" was no honeyed paste of poetic diction" encrusting his speeches, "like

the candied coat of the auricula," but there was tremendous weight in his arguments.

Webster, in earlier days, was sublime as Chatham, classical as Burke, terse as Macintosh, forcible as Tully. Endowed, by nature, with a noble and commanding person, he never failed to attract attention. When excited in debate, his granite face glowed with intellect; "the terrors of his beak, the lightnings of his eye, were insufferable." He was the king of the Senate, for nature had stamped him with the unmistakable mark of sovereignty, regardless of the republicanism of his country. There was grace in his gesture, dignity in his deportment, and humanity as well as patriotism in his speeches. His voice was rich, full, and clear; now thrilling like the blast of a trumpet, now intimidating by the awful solemnity of its tone, now animating by its soul-stirring notes. Abroad, he was the lion of London, his noble exterior making him “a man of mark." He has coal-black hair, (now thickly sprinkled with grey,) a lofty brow, "the forge of thought;" magnificent eyes; an ample chest; a patrician hand; a face broad and dark as some of the fugitives he would return to bondage. See him in the zenith of his manhood, standing on the battle-ground at Bunker Hill, with kingly dignity, uttering sentiments that will be fresh in the memories of millions, when the shaft of granite now standing there shall have crumbled to dust! Apparently as impregnable as the granite hills of his own New Hampshire, who supposed that he, so great and gifted, towering above ordinary men, was as the mountain which wraps the cloud-cloak about

its shoulders, while a vest of eternal snow keeps the sunshine for ever from its heart! The mountain is great, sublime, and lofty, but cold, barren, and unapproachable; it points towards Heaven, but remains fixed to earth.

Daniel Webster has accomplished noble feats, for which he merits the gratitude of good men. Since the days of Washington, there has been no man so well qualified, in many points, for the presidency, as he. His impatience and irritability, in consequence of his disappointment, have been frequently exhibited. As a last resort, he tried to conciliate the South at the expense of the North. As a public speaker, he seldom enlivens his arguments with the flashes of wit, but he has said some keen things, which have become as common as "household words." At a public meeting, a young aspirant for poetical and political honors attempted to drink a toast to the honor of the immortal John Q. Adams, who was present. "Mr. Adams," said the toaster, "may he perplex his enemies as here the speaker hesitated, and Webster thundered out, "as he has his friends." Foote made a fulsome speech in praise of Mr. Webster, at one time, in the senate, but the "god-like" cut him short by shouting, "Git eöut." The yankee twang he gave the sentence convulsed the senate with irrepressible laughter.

For superior specimens of pure style, lofty reasoning, and eloquent declamation, read Mr. Webster's arguments before the Supreme Court, his speeches delivered in Faneuil Hall, his best efforts in the senate chamber, his unstudied responses at public dinners and conventions, his lectures before the