CHOATE, RUFUS, an American lawyer and orator, born at Ipswich, Mass., October 1, 1799; died at Halifax, Nova Scotia, July 13, 1859. At fifteen he entered Dartmouth College, and from the first took place at the head of his class. After graduating he studied at the Law School in Cambridge, and afterward entered the office of William Wirt, then United States Attorney-General, in Washington. He began the practice of his profession at Danvers, Mass., but soon removed to Salem, and subsequently to Boston. While a resident at Salem he was elected to Congress. In 1841 he was appointed United States Senator, taking the place of Daniel Webster, who had accepted the position of Secretary of State in the Cabinet of President Harrison. In the Senate he made several important speeches upon the leading questions of the day. On leaving the Senate, in 1845, he returned to Boston, and devoted himself to the practice of his profession, declining all invitations to accept official positions, though he took a deep interest in public affairs, and delivered many addresses before literary societies. His health began to fail in 1858, and he was compelled to withdraw from active life. In the summer of 1859 he set out upon a voyage to Europe, but upon reaching Halifax, Nova Scotia, he found that he could proceed no further. He took

lodgings there, hoping to gain sufficient strength to enable him to return to Boston; but a sudden relapse took place, and he died at Halifax. A sketch of his life appeared in The Golden Age of American Oratory, by E. G. Parker (1857). The Works of Rufus Choate, with a Memoir of his Life, by Samuel Gilman Brown, was published in 1862.

TRUE PATRIOTISM.

To form and uphold a State, it is not enough that our judgments believe it to be useful; the better part of our affections must feel it to be lovely. It is not enough that our arithmetic can compute its value, and find it high; our hearts must hold it priceless, above all things rich or rare, dearer than health or beauty, brighter than all the order of the stars. It does not suffice that its inhabitants should seem to be men good enough to trade . with, altogether even as the rest of mankind; ties of brotherhood, memories of a common ancestry, common traditions of fame and justice, a common and undivided inheritance of rights, liberties, and renown-these things must knit you to them with a distinctive and domestic attraction. It is not enough that a man thinks he can be an unexceptionable citizen, in the main, unless a very unsatisfactory law passes. He must admit into his bosom the specific and mighty emotion of patriotism. He must love his country, his whole country, as the place of his birth or adoption, and the sphere of his largest duties; as the playground of his childhood, the land where his fathers sleep, the sepulchre of the valiant and wise, of his own blood and race departed; he must love it for the long labors that reclaimed and adorned its natural and its moral scenery; for the great traits and virtues of which it has been the theatre; for the institution and amelioration and progress that enrich it; for the part it has played for the succor of the nations. A sympathy indestructible must draw him to it. It must be a power to touch his imagination. All the passions which inspire and animate in the hour of conflict must wake at her awful voice.-Address on Washington.

DANIEL WEBSTER.

Little indeed anywhere can be added now to that wealth of eulogy that has been heaped upon his tomb. Before he died, even, renowned in two hemispheres, in ours he seemed to be known with a universal nearness of knowledge. He walked so long and so conspicuously before the general eye; his actions, his opinions, on all things which had been large enough to agitate the public mind for the last thirty years and more, had had an importance and consequences so remarkable-anxiously waited for, passionately canvassed, not adopted always into the particular measure, or deciding the particular vote of government or the country, yet sinking deep into the reason of the people-a stream of influence whose fruits it is yet too soon for political philosophy to appreciate completely.

An impression of his extraordinary intellectual endowments, and of their peculiar superiority in that most imposing and intelligible of all forms of manifestationthe moving of others' minds by speech-had grown so universal and fixed, and it had kindled curiosity to hear him and read him so wide and so largely indulged; his individuality altogether was so absolute and pronounced; the force of will no less than the power of genius; the exact type and fashion of his mind, not less than its general magnitude were so distinctly shown through his musical and transparent style; the exterior of the man -the grand mystery of brow and eye, the deep tones, the solemnity, the sovereignty, as of those who would build States, where every power and every grace did seem to set its seal-had been made by personal observation, by description, by the exaggeration, even of those who had felt the spell, by Art-the daguerreotype and picture and statue, so familiar to the American eye, graven on the memory like the Washington of Stuart; the narrative of the mere incidents of his life had been so often told-by some so authentically and with such skill-and had been so literally committed to heart, that when he died there seemed to be little left but to say when and how his change came; with what dignity, with