Mr. Webster’s public life was drawing to a close. After the death of Gen. Taylor he accepted for a second time the post of Secretary of State, but there is nothing in his official work that calls for our special attention. Important questions came up and were satisfactorily disposed of. There was a strong hand at the helm.

June, 1852, brought him a great disappointment. The Whig Convention assembled in Baltimore to nominate a candidate for the Presidency. Mr. Webster was by all means the leader of that party, and was one of the three candidates balloted for. But in the end the successful man was Gen. Winfield Scott. It was a nomination like that of Harrison and Taylor, dictated solely by what was thought to be availability. In this case a mistake was made. Gen. Scott was disastrously defeated by Gen. Franklin Pierce, the nominee of the Democracy.

Gen. Pierce, though parted by politics, was a devoted friend of Mr. Webster, and the reader may be interested to know that on hearing of his nomination, he spoke thus: “Well, all I can say is, and I say it in sincerity, if the people of the United States were to repudiate caucuses, conventions, politicians and tricksters, and rise in the glory of their strength and might, without waiting for any convention to designate a candidate, but bent on placing in the Presidential chair the first citizen and statesman, the first patriot and man, Daniel Webster, it would do for republican government more than any event which has taken place in the history of the world. These are my sentiments, democracy or no democracy.”

This is certainly a remarkable tribute from the nominee of one party to an unsuccessful candidate of another, but Gen. Pierce had shown on many occasions his warm friendship and admiration for Mr. Webster.

At Mr. Webster’s age it was not likely that he would ever again be a candidate for the Presidency. His last chance had slipped away, and the disappointment was keen. He was already in declining health, induced partly by a severe accident which befell him in May, 1852, when he was thrown headlong to the earth while riding behind a span of horses to Plymouth. Probably the injury was greater than appeared. Towards the end of September, while at Marshfield, alarming symptoms were developed, and his grand physical system was evidently giving way. That month was to be his last. His earthly work was done, and he was never again to resume his work at Washington. The closing scenes are thus described by Mr. Curtis:

“It was past midnight, when, awaking from one of the slumbers that he had at intervals, he seemed not to know whether he had not already passed from his earthly existence. He made a strong effort to ascertai............