record here given derives an additional value from the fact that it was written but a few hours after Mr. Webster's death, while the facts were fresh and clear in the writer's mind, and with the design of presenting nothing but an impartial and accurate description of the event. It is now presented in full for the first time, though a portion of it was communicated by Dr. Warren to Mr. George T. Curtis, one of Mr. Webster's literary executors, and was subsequently employed by him in preparing his life of the great orator.

"I arrived at Marshfield on Saturday evening the 23d of October [1852] at about half-past seven, Mr. Webster having requested in the morning that I should be sent for. I saw him first at eight o'clock, not having seen him before since the spring, when I was called to visit him at Mr. Paige's on his return from Marshfield after the injury he had received at Kingston. On my name being mentioned he turned his face and fixed his eyes upon me and held out his hand. He answered with clearness the questions I proposed, though these were few from the fear I had of disturbing him and causing a recurrence of the vomiting which had troubled him at intervals throughout the day. I stood for some time watching him, and was much struck with the change that had taken place in his appearance since the time above alluded to. His complexion was quite sallow; the eyes sunk in the sockets and when at rest turned up in the head, indicating a great degree of prostration. His whole body looked smaller, and he was evidently greatly emaciated.

"His motions were very difficult, and he required almost a constant change of position from one side of the bed to the other. In about half an hour from the time I entered the room, and after that interval of rest, he suddenly reached out his hand and begged me to lift him up in bed. This, with assistance, the night. I think you will get me through the day. I shall die to-night.' The faithful physician, much moved, said after a pause, 'You are right, sir.' Mr. Webster then went on: 'I wish you therefore to send an express to Boston for some younger person to be with you. I shall die to-night. You are exhausted and must be relieved. Who shall it be?' Dr. Jeffries suggested a professional brother, Dr. J. Mason Warren, adding that he was the son of an old and faithful friend of Mr. Webster. Mr. Webster replied instantly, 'Let him be sent for."" - A Memorial of Daniel Webster from the City of Boston.

WEBSTER'S DECEASE.

239

was at once done, when without any great effort he vomited, or rather seemed to raise from his stomach a large mass of clotted blood. He immediately exclaimed, 'I feel as if I were going to sink right away. Am I dying?' We assured him that he was only faint, and having placed him back on the pillow, administered a little stimulus, which soon revived him, and restored the circulation. At this time, and from the moment I entered the room, I observed a clammy color to his hands. The pulse at intervals was scarcely perceptible, and in fact, had I not judged from other symptoms, I should have inferred from the state of the pulse that he could not have survived half an hour. This great tenacity of life, and the very gradual giving way of the vital organs, I have never witnessed in any other case.

“He now fell into a kind of doze, occasionally arousing himself, and demanding something to strengthen him, saying, 'Give me life, give me life.' Apparently fearing that he should fall into a condition in which he would be unable to realize the change from one form of existence to another, he proposed various questions, such as, 'Am I alive or dead?' and others similar to this, and seemed satisfied with the answers that were given, after repeating them in different shapes. Later in the evening he said something in which the word 'poetry' was distinctly heard; and the whole room was hushed, and he seemed gratified and attentive while his son read portions of Gray's Elegy. Between twelve and one o'clock he gradually became more quiet, and ceased to ask questions; his breathing became heavier, as of a person in a sound sleep, and his pulse could hardly be felt at the wrist. The only movement he made was to raise his hand and place it on the top of his head, which he did repeatedly. Even at this period he also made a motion with his lips, as if craving liquids, and took what was given him in a spoon, as one would do when still conscious.

66

Respiration now became more difficult, and was accompanied by a slight blowing motion of the lips, which is observed in the last stages of life. His son was now told that his father's end was approaching, and entered the room. Very shortly after this the breathing stopped, then was resumed again after perhaps a quarter of a minute, and this final struggle was prolonged in a way that I have never before noticed. Once or twice we thought he had breathed his last, when respiration again re

turned. At last a slight convulsive action passed over the face, all the muscles appeared strongly contracted, and the whole face turned almost black. This was the concluding effort of life, and was at once followed by a relaxation and entire calm of the features. He died lying on his right side in a rather constrained position, as for an hour before we had avoided doing anything that might disturb him. With the help of those present I now had him placed in the middle of the bed, and closed his eyes.

66

During the evening his room was quite full of friends and relatives, who watched every motion and were ready to administer to every want. One or two of his favorite black domestics were also present, and took the most intense interest in all that was going on. I particularly noticed an old woman — his cook, I believe, called Monica' who was incessantly moving about in great agitation, approaching his bedside, looking at him and holding up her hands, muttering bits of prayer to herself, with occasional exclamations, such as God bless me !' and others, taking but little notice of those around her. Once or twice, however, she addressed herself to me, and inquired, 'Isn't he going to die?' and Why don't he die?' and 'You don't think he'll live till morning?' apparently laboring under the impression that I had an agency in prolonging his sufferings. This woman, I understand, was formerly a slave, and was set free by Mr. Webster. She was warmly attached to him, as in truth were all his servants."

Dr. Warren remained at Marshfield long enough to assist at the autopsy, which was made by Dr. J. B. S. Jackson. The cranial capacity proved to be the largest that had then been recorded; and the weight of the brain, which was 63 ounces, was most extraordinary, being greater than any yet known except that of Cuvier, which exceeded it by only half an ounce. Dr. Warren also embalmed the body by the injection of arsenic, and in 1866 was much pleased to learn that the remains had shown no signs of decay.

CHAPTER XIV.

THIRD TOUR IN EUROPE.-DR. RICHARD WARREN.

HEALTH.

AGAIN CROSSES THE OCEAN.

DEATH OF DR.

JOHN C. WARREN AND HIS LAST MESSAGE. RETURN TO PRACTICE.

AFTER nearly ten years of arduous labor, steadily pursued in spite of failing health and a strength that would slowly decrease notwithstanding the pressure of a masterful will, Dr. Warren decided to seek a few months' rest in Europe. Never was rest more imperatively demanded. On the 24th of May, in the year 1854, he sailed from Boston in the "Europa" for Liverpool with his wife and son. After a passage of only ten days he reached his destination with little discomfort to himself or those about him. Soon after this he was in London, and occupied with a busy round of engagements, visiting hospitals, museums, and other institutions of especial interest. From many professional men of the highest repute he received abundant civilities, none the less that they retained lively recollections both of himself and of his father. Sir William Lawrence, Mr. Owen, Mr. Waterhouse, of the British Museum, and numerous others tendered to him and his family the most courteous hospitalities. His ancestral sympathies were never out of his mind even in the midst. of all these engrossing occupations. "Yesterday," he records in his journal, "we went through Westminster Abbey. I noticed a monument there to Sir Peter Warren; also to John Warren, Bishop of Bangor." The clubs

1 The Bishop of Bangor was the younger brother of a physician who gained peculiar fame in both medical and political annals during the latter half of the last

were freely opened to him. He dined with Dr. Shaw, at the Reform Club. Early in July he went to Paris, where

century. This was Dr. Richard Warren, -a name familiar to New Englanders as borne by the only Warren among the passengers by the "Mayflower" on her first voyage. He was born in 1731 and died in 1797, leaving a widow (whose maiden name was Elizabeth Shaw, the daughter of Dr. Peter Shaw, an eminent London physician), and ten children, to whom he bequeathed £150,000, all the fruits of his own talents and industry and an enormous sum for that day. During the last years of his life his income amounted to £8,000 per annum. Wraxall calls him "in every sense the leader of the medical profession" of his time, and he had the honor of being termed by Burke, during a fiery and famous debate with Pitt, in the House of Commons, "the first physician in England." It was his fortune as "physician in ordinary to his Majesty" to have the principal care of George III., at the time of his insanity in 1788. His professional opinion as to his Majesty's actual condition was one of the causes which led the Whigs to contest the Regency question so strenuously, and produced a political tempest that shook the country to its centre. He was offered a baronetcy, which he declined, though he was so far honored in this respect as to be saluted on one of his visits to the insane monarch with the peculiar title of "Ricardensus Warrenensus, baronetensus." His portrait by Gainsborough is the chef-d'œuvre of the collection now belonging to the Royal College of Physicians, of which he was a Fellow and an Elect. He was succeeded in his professional name and fame by his ninth son, Dr. Pelham Warren, who was one of the most distinguished practitioners in London at the time of Dr. Mason Warren's first visit to that city. The name of Warren, it will thus be seen, had then been conspicuous in the profession in England for the better part of a century.

Few physicians have enjoyed a more prosperous or a more brilliant career, or have been held in greater respect by their professional contemporaries, than Dr. Richard Warren. In Munk's "Roll of the Royal College of Physicians," we read: "To a sound judgment and deep observation of men and things, Dr. Warren added various literary and scientific attainments, which were most advantageously displayed by a natural talent for conversation that was at once elegant, easy, and natural. Of all men in the world he had the greatest flexibility of temper, instantaneously accommodating himself to the tone of feeling of the young, the old, the gay, the sorrowful. But he was himself of a very cheerful disposition, and his manner being peculiarly pleasing to others, he possessed over the minds of his patients the most absolute control; and it was said with truth that no one ever had recourse to his advice as a physician who did not remain desirous of gaining his friendship and enjoying his society as a companion. In interrogating the patient he was apt and adroit; in the resources of his art, quick and inexhaustible; and when the malady was beyond the reach of his skill, the minds of the sick were consoled by his conversation, and their cares, anxieties, and fears soothed by his presence."

In the year 1800, when delivering the Harveian oration, Sir Henry Halford, the illustrious confrère of Dr. Richard Warren, paid a long and well-deserved tribute to his many talents and virtues, and in eloquent Latin acknowledged the indebtedness of the profession to his bright example.

This somewhat lengthy reference to Dr. Richard Warren is given, partly from the numerous points of resemblance between him and the subject of this memoir and partly to show that the elements of success in the medical profession are everywhere and invariably the same.