For some few days (5th and 6th of July) it has been mentioned here and there in Washington that the pres ident (General Taylor) was indisposed. He was perfectly well on the 4th (it was on the 3d when I last saw him), but having eaten something which had disagreed with him oyster-patty, I should imagine-he had an attack of illness; on the 7th he was said again to be better, and would soon be quite restored.

As I sat, however, yesterday (the 9th) in the Senate House, listening patiently, or more correctly, impatiently, to a long and tedious pro-slavery speech by the senator of South Corolina, Judge Butler, an estimable man and a good friend of mine (always excepting as regards this question), I perceived a thrill, as if from a noiseless electric shock, had passed through the assembly; a number of fresh persons entered by the principal doors, and at once Daniel Webster was seen to stand beside the speaking senator, indicating with a deprecatory gesture that he must interrupt him on account of some important business. The orator bowed and was silent; a stillness as of death reigned in the house, and all eyes were fixed upon Webster, who himself stood silent for a few seconds, as if to prepare the assembly for tidings of serious import. He then spoke slowly, and with that deep and impressive voice which is peculiar to him.

"I have a sorrowful message to deliver to the Senate. A great misfortune threatens the nation. The President of the United States, General Taylor, is dying, and probably may not survive the day."

Again was that silent electrical shock perceptible. I saw many persons turn pale, and I felt myself grow pale also from the unexpected announcement, and from seeing the effect which it had produced. One senator bowed his head upon his hands, as if he heard the thunder of judgment. This movement of astonishment was, however, transient. Mind soon regained its usual tension: the Senate

adjourned immediately, and to a man they all poured forth into the city to tell this news or to hear any thing fresh. At the present moment of party strife, and during the contention which is now going forward in Congress, and upon the adjustment of which it is said that the personal character of General Taylor exercised an important influence, the news of his condition has made an immense impression.

At half past ten in the evening the president died, after having taken a beautiful and affecting leave of his family. "Weep not, my dear wife," he is related to have said to her, who loved him with infinite affection, "I have endeavored to do my duty, and I trust in the mercy of God!"

The day following (the 10th of July), the new president, Vice-president Fillmore, entered upon his office, according to the law of the country, which decrees that in case of the decease of the president the vice-president shall hold his office during the time which yet remains of the full term of government, when a new president shall be elected. The term of presidentship is for four years; and Taylor, I believe, had occupied the seat of president about two years; two, therefore, remained for Fillmore.

It is believed that this hasty elevation is not welcome to him. It is said that, when he was told of Taylor's death, he bowed his head and said, "This is my first misfortune!" and it is said, also, that when, conducted by two of the members of Congress, the one from Massachusetts, the other from Louisiana, he entered the House of Representatives, in order to take the oath, his appearance did not belie this impression. He was very pale, and looked unhappy. That fine, manly figure, which hitherto had borne itself so nobly, now supported, or, rather, dragged in by two unequal figures, who held each one an arm, did not look either well or at his ease. After this trial, the members of the Senate, two and two, or one and one, entered the House of Representatives. Nothing can be simpler than the form by which the new president was in

ducted into his office. Placing his hand upon the Bible, he promised to defend the Constitution of the United States, called upon God to witness his promise, kissed the book, and that was all.

The president and senators went out as they had entered. Most of the senators went out in pairs, some arm-inarm; Clay went alone-indifferent, weary, very much alone, seemed to me both his expression and bearing; Corwin, the senator from Ohio, of whom I shall presently have more to say, a stout little man, resolute and goodtempered, he also walked alone.

The sitting of Congress is now prorogued for three days, until after the interment of President Taylor. But the contending parties, who now prepare themselves for a new turn in affairs, have not prorogued their operations. They labor incessantly, and have no other feeling or thought than their own interests.

Yesterday, as I returned from the Capitol, I heard one young man say to another, "If he dies, then our party will triumph, and, by God, I know that he will die."

And now, while these mighty affairs both rest and are agitated, I will tell you a little about my own concerns.

I spent the 4th of July-that great day in the United States at Mount Vernon, the estate of Washington, with Miss Lynch, Mr. Andrews, and Mr. Corwin, the senator from Ohio. Mr. Corwin is one of this country's "self-made men." His father was a poor farmer, and the son enjoyed merely a common school education, but has, through his own means, educated and trained himself till he is one of the most celebrated popular orators; and what is still more, a universally esteemed politician, against whom nobody has any thing to say, excepting that sometimes he is too good.

He was a charming and inestimable companion for us; and his conversation, in particular his vivacious and lifelike descriptions-though sometimes a little caricatured

of his brethren in the Senate, and his imitations of their manner and their tone; his happy humor, which, like a living fountain, forever swelling forth from fresh springs, converted the tedious drive along a wretched road in a shaking carriage, and in the oppressive heat of the day, into a journey of pleasure.

We were received at Mount Vernon by a handsome young couple, the nephew of the great president and his wife. They invited us to cool and rest ourselves, and entertained us with milk and fruit, which were delicious. Henry Clay had given us a letter of introduction to them. The situation of the house, on the banks of the Potomac, is unspeakably beautiful; the park, laid out in the English style, appeared to me extensive, but, like the buildings, to be somewhat out of order. A beautiful mausoleum, containing the bodies of Washington and his wife, stands in the park; and through the grated iron door of the mausoleum the coffins may be seen. I threw in between the iron bars my green branch.

Washington has always appeared to me in life and character to have a resemblance to Gustavus Wasa; although his life was less romantic, and his character more phlegmatic, less impulsive, than the Swedish liberator. Wasa is a more dramatic, Washington a more epic figure; Wasa more of the hero, Washington more of the statesman; Wasa king, Washington president. Large, powerful, kingly souls were they, both worthy to be the governors of free people. Washington, perhaps, stands higher than Wasa, in his pure unselfishness, as the supreme head of the people. In self-government he was almost without an equal; and it is said that only on one single occasion, in a momentary outbreak, did he allow the volcanic workings of his soul to be observed.

The American ideal of a man, "a well-balanced mind," must have its type in the great president. Noble he was, and, when he had done an injustice, would candidly ac

knowledge it. That which I most admire in his character and life, is his perseverance. He was not without pride in his manner and temper toward others. He had a glance which could strike the insolent dumb; and I have heard it said that his very presence, even if he were silent, always could be felt like a dominant power; but this is the case with all strong characters.

The mother of Washington was a quiet, noble lady, whose "well-balanced mind" seemed to exceed that of her son, and who thought too highly of duty and fatherland to be proud of his achievements, however tenderly she loved him.

"I hope that George will fulfill his duty to his country!" said she, modestly, on one occasion, when his merits were exalted in her presence. The understanding between Washington and his mother seems to have been perfect. Of the understanding between him and his wife I have merely heard this anecdote:

A guest at Mount Vernon happened to sleep in a room adjoining that occupied by the president and his lady. Late in the evening, when people had retired to their various chambers, he heard the lady delivering a very animated lecture to her lord and master upon something which he had done, that she thought should have been done differently; to all this he listened in the profoundest silence, and when she too was silent, he opened his lips and spoke, "Now good sleep to you, my dear."

Portraits and descriptions of her show her to have been a pretty, agreeable, kind, little woman, from whom it really could not have been so disagreeable to have a curtainlecture.

Washington was the native of a slave state, Virginia, and was himself a slaveholder until just before his death, when he gave his slaves their freedom. It is really remarkable to see in his will, which I have lately read, how nothing appeared to have weighed so much upon his heart