and have produced an overturning in many things; and it is of these events that I must first speak.
For some few days (5th and 6th of July) it has been mentioned here and there in Washington, that the President (General Taylor) was indisposed. He was perfectly well on the 4th (it was on the 3rd 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 sate, 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 Carolina, 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
