The miners' express. (Dubuque, Iowa) 1849-1854, 1853-08-24
MR.. CHOATE s EULOGY

Hon. Rufus Choates Eulogy on Mr., Webs
ter was delivered on Wednesday afternoon, at
Dartmouth College, Hanover The following
are the opening and closing sentences:
1t would be strange neglect of beautiful
| and approved custom ofthe schools of learning
| and one OF the most pious and appropriate Of
the Offices of literature, if the college in which
the intellectual of life Daniel Webster began.
aud TO which his name imparts charm and illus
traton, should give no formal expression to her
grief IN the common sorrow-if she should not
draw near, of the saddcst in the procession of
lhe bereaved, to the tomb at the sea--nor find
in all her classic shades one atfectionate and
grateful leaf to set in the garland with which
they have bound the brow of her child. the
| mIghtIest departed. Others mourn and prais g
nm ny ms more dis'aat and more general titles
to fame and remembrance, his supremacy of
intellect, his craftsmanship Of so many years.
his eloquence of reason and of The heart, his
love OF country, incorruptbc, conscientious
and ruling every hour and act, that greatness
combined OF genius, Of character, of manner
Of place, Of achievements, which was lust now
among US and is not, and yet lives still and
evermore;-you come, his cherisLins mother.
10 own closer tie, to oinduIge an emotion more
personal and more fond-grief and exulta,ion
contending Tor mastery, as in the bosom of the
desolated parent whose tears could not hinder
him from exclaiming 81 would not exchange
my dead son for the living of any man in
Christendom.'
But 1t is time this eulogy were brought to its
conclusion. My heart goes back into the coffin
there with him, and would pause went
1t Is day or two since-alone to see again the
house which he so passionately loved, the cham
he u here ha dip1
him down--al habted as when
'IIis look drew audience still as night
Or summers noonde air.
till the heavens be no more In all that sna
cious and calm scene, all things to the eve look
ed at first unchanged. The books in the library.
the portraits, the table at which he wrote, the
scientific culture of the land the course of agri-
cultural occupation, the coming in Of harvests,
fruit OF the seed his own hand had scattered, the
animals and implements of husbandry, the trees
planted by him in lines, in copses, in orchards
by thousands, the seat under the noble elm on
which he used to sit TO feel the southwest wind
at evening, or hear the breathings of the sea,
or the not less audible music ofthe starry heay
ems, all seemed at first unchanged. The son of
bright day, from which, however, sometime
of all the tervors Of midsummer were wanting,
fell temperately on them all, filled the air on
sides with the utterance Of life, and cleaned on
the long line of ocean. Some of those whom
on earth he loved best, still were there. The
great mind still seemed to preside, the great
presence 10 be with you. You might expect
10 hear again the rich and playful tones of The
old hospitality. Yeta moment more and all
the scene took on the aspect of one great mon
ument ascribed with his name, and sacred to his
memory. And such it shall be in all the future
of Amerca The sensation of desolatepess,
and loneliness, and darkness with which you see
it now, will pass away The sharp grief
of love and friendship viii become soothcd.
Men will reparc thither, they commemor-
ate the great days of history. The same glance
shall take, and the same emotions shall erect
and bless the Harbor of the Pilg rims, and the
Tomb Of Webster.