The older boy, whose name was Ezekiel, opened the case. He urged the mischievous nature of the animal, cited the great harm already done, said that much time and strength had been spent in securing him, and now, if he were set free, he would only renew his depredations. He also urged that it would be more difficult to catch him again, for he would profit by this experience and be more cunning in the future. It was a long and practical argument, and the proud father was apparently quite affected by it. Then came the younger boy's turn. He pleaded the right, of anything which God had made, to life. He said that God furnished man with food, and all they needed; could they not spare this little creature who was not destructive, and who had as much right to his share of God's bounty as they had; could they not spare to him the little food necessary to existence? Should they in selfishness and cold-heartedness take the life which they could not restore again, and which God had given? During this appeal tears started to the father's eyes, and while the boy was in the midst of his argument, not thinking that he had won the case, the judge started from his chair, and, dashing the tears away, exclaimed: "Zeke! Zeke! you let that woodchuck go!" [Illustration: DANIEL WEBSTER AT MARSHFIELD.] This incident I have briefly written out for you is told of the early life of the man who forty years later made his celebrated speech in the Senate Chamber in defence of the Constitution, which ended with these memorable words, "Liberty and union, now and forever, one and inseparable!" Daniel Webster, the orator and statesman, was born at Salisbury, N.H. The house in which he first saw the light is, I think, still standing, though not as it was originally; some years ago it became the wing, or kitchen part of a new house. The farm was rugged and not very fertile; it is said that granite rocks visible in every direction, gave an air of barrenness to the scene. Among "wild bleak hills and rough pastures," his boyhood was spent. His advantages of education were limited. The family library consisted of "a copy of Watts' Hymns, a cheap pamphlet copy of Pope's Essay on Man, and the Bible, from which he learned to read, together with an occasional almanac." He struggled with poverty through his college days, and after graduating at Dartmouth, went to Boston to study law. He is described as "raw, awkward, shabby in dress, his rough trousers ceasing a long distance above his feet." After much discouragement he was entered in a law office as a student. He was admitted to the bar in 1805, and in 1808 he married Miss Grace Fletcher. A pretty story is told of his engagement. One day he was assisting the young lady in disentangling a skein of silk; suddenly he said: "Grace, cannot you help me tie a knot that will never untie?" "I don't know, but I can try," she said.