the 8th of September, when he returned to Marshfield.  On the 20th he went to Boston, for the last time, to consult his physician.  He appeared at a friend’s house, one evening, for a few moments, and all who then saw him were shocked at the look of illness and suffering in his face.  It was his last visit.  He went back to Marshfield the next day, never to return.  He now failed rapidly.  His nights were sleepless, and there were scarcely any intervals of ease or improvement.  The decline was steady and sure, and as October wore away the end drew near.  Mr. Webster faced it with courage, cheerfulness, and dignity, in a religious and trusting spirit, with a touch of the personal pride which was part of his nature.  He remained perfectly conscious and clear in his mind almost to the very last moment, bearing his sufferings with perfect fortitude, and exhibiting the tenderest affection toward the wife and son and friends who watched over him.  On the evening of October 23 it became apparent that he was sinking, but his one wish seemed to be that he might be conscious when he was actually dying.  After midnight he roused from an uneasy sleep, struggled for consciousness, and ejaculated, “I still live.”  These were his last words.  Shortly after three o’clock the labored breathing ceased, and all was over.

A hush fell upon the country as the news of his death sped over the land.  A great gap seemed to have been made in the existence of every one.  Men remembered the grandeur of his form and the splendor of his intellect, and felt as if one of the pillars of the state had fallen.  The profound grief and deep sense of loss produced by his death were the highest tributes and the most convincing proofs of his greatness.

In accordance with his wishes, all public forms and ceremonies were dispensed with.  The funeral took place at his home on Friday, October 29.  Thousands flocked to Marshfield to do honor to his memory, and to look for the last time at that noble form.  It was one of those beautiful days of the New England autumn, when the sun is slightly veiled, and a delicate haze hangs over the sea, shining with a tender silvery light.  There is a sense of infinite rest and peace on such a day which seems to shut out the noise of the busy world and breathe the spirit of unbroken calm.  As the crowds poured in through the gates of the farm, they saw before them on the lawn, resting upon a low mound of flowers, the majestic form, as impressive in the repose of death as it had been in the fullness of life and strength.  There was a wonderful fitness in it all.  The vault of heaven and the spacious earth seemed in their large simplicity the true place for such a man to lie in state.  There was a brief and simple service at the house, and then the body was borne on the shoulders of Marshfield farmers, and laid in the little graveyard which already held the wife and children who had gone before, and where could be heard the eternal murmur of the sea.