CHAPTER V. Specimens Daniel Webster's College Composition - The Dartmouth Gaze-Man-Essay on Peace-Eulogy on a Classmate -Washington-Later Poetry-"The Memory of the Heart"Mr. Webster an Improvisator-Mr. Webster and the Child Commencement Exercises-Mr. Webster's Disappointment Professor Woodward's Opinion of Mr. Webster - The Pupil's kind Recollections-Lessons of Daniel Webster's Childhood. POETRY was a favorite exercise with Daniel Webster while in college. Indeed, it is said that, attracted by the brilliant and fervid style of President Wheelock, he gave stronger indications of rising to eminence in poetry, than in law or politics. He often wrote in verse for public declamation; and, in his early compositions, exhibited great fertility of imagination. Close study and laborious mental discipline tempered down this habit of mind, and made his style more terse and vigorous; although to the last, at proper opportunities, he exhibited his power in pathos and wordpainting. Some early specimens of his poetry, contributed to the "Dartmouth Gazette," we sub join. The contents of this sheet were furnished by the Faculty and students of the College, and there was no more frequent contributor than Daniel Webster. The following extracts are from a poem published in the "Gazette." "When that grand period in the Eternal Mind, Long pre-determined, had arrived, behold The universe, this most stupendous mass Of things, to instant being rose. This globe, Th' ungoverned rage of boisterous passions knew not Is it now asked why man for slaughter pants, Go ask of Etna why her thunders roar, In perfect accordance with the sentiment of this poetry, is a prize essay on peace, written by Daniel Webster while in college. "For what was man created," he asks, "but to cultivate the arts of peace and friendship, to beam charity and benevolence on all around him, to improve his own mind by study and reflection, to serve his God with all the powers of his soul, and finally, when the days of his years are numbered, to bid adieu to earthly objects with a smile, to close his eyes on the pillow of religious hope, and sink to repose in the bosom of his Maker? Why, then, is the object of our existence unattained? Why are the fairest countries on the earth desolated and depopulated with the ravages of war? Why are the annals of the world crowded with the details of murder, treason, sacrilege, and crimes that strike the soul with horror but to name them? O, corrupted nature! O, depraved man! Those who are delighted with tales of bloodshed and destruction find a rich repast in the daily accounts from Europe, where "Gigantic slaughter stalks with awful strides, And vengeful fury pours her copious tides.' "But, to the child of humanity, to the man of true benevolence, it is a sad and painful reflection, that iniquity should usurp the reign of justice, that the liberties and lives of millions should be sacrificed, to satiate the ambition of individuals, and that tyrants should wade through seas of blood to empire and dominion. War, under certain circumstances, is proper, is just. When men take arms to burst those chains that have bound them in slavery, to assert and maintain those privileges which they justly claim as natural rights, their object is noble, and we wish them success." As a specimen of the poetic style of Mr. Webster's early prose writings, we give the following extract from a eulogy pronounced by him on a classmate, who died in 1801. His name was Ephraim Simonds. He was universally beloved, and a dear friend of Mr. Webster. "All of him that was mortal now lies in the charnels of yonder cemetery. By the grass that now nods over the mounds of Sumner, Merrill, and Cook, now rests a fourth son of Dartmouth, constituting another monument of man's mortality. The sun, as it sinks to the ocean, plays its departing beams on his tomb, but they reanimate him not. The cold sod presses on his bosom; his hands hang down in weakness. The bird of the evening shouts a melancholy air on the poplar, but her voice is stillness to his ears. While his pencil was drawing scenes of future felicity,while his soul fluttered on the gay breezes of hope, -an unseen hand drew the curtain, and shut him from our view." After a glowing exordium, the orator proceeded to paint the virtues of the deceased; and dwelt · with an especial earnestness upon his religious excellence. "To his surviving friends, gladdening is the re |