Mr. Rantoul's death was a national loss. He was not only one of the ablest, if not the very ablest man in the democratic party, but for honesty as well as intellect his name deserves to be written near that of William Leggett. At the moment of his death he was the key of New England politics, the only man of whom it could be hoped that he was willing and able to change the democratic ranks here from a party of spoils to a party of progress. For the sake of his own fame, his early death is especially to be lamented, as his character and services had just begun to be appreciated. I was bred a whig, and well remember my early and strong prejudices against him. Some of his friends have never appeared to me to do him full justice. He was one of those politicians, rare in any land, hardly to be spoken of in the plural number, in America, who sacrifice their ambition to their ideas. Conscious, as he must have been of great powers and evidently ambitious of high position, he became a democrat in Massachusetts, where his party was in a hopeless minority, and when to favor free trade and oppose banks was looked upon as little short of insanity. Having thus cut himself off from all but strict party support, he alienated his political friends by a frank advocacy of the temperance cause, which, it is not unjust to say, has never been a favorite with the democratic party here. Plainly told, by its leaders in 1838, that if he supported the "fifteen gallon" law, he did it at his peril; he neither relented nor kept silent, but by his zeal, provoked an opposition so malignant and undying that in every emergency afterward, to the very last year of his life, it made a point of thwarting him, and was often able, by the command of a few hundred votes, to defeat his election. There was one element of Massachusetts favor left which a prudent politician would have been careful to secure, the good opinion of the orthodox sects. These, again, Mr. Rantoul alienated by his untiring advocacy of the abolition of capital punishment. They had looked coldly and with some suspicion on his liberal views while a member of the Board of Education; and any common politician, however desirous to ameliorate penal legislation, would have contented himself with one frank expression of his feelings and then have dropped the unwelcome subject. But Mr. Rantoul incurred the hostility of the strongest and most unforgiving of sects, by his unwavering, enthusiastic, outspoken opposition to the gallows; whether in the legislature or out of it; before legislative committees; through the press and in conventions,— often making opportunities where he did not find them. Surely, judged as a politician, this man gave fair evidence of preferring his convictions to his interests. One might be a democrat in a whig State, solely from far-sighted policy, and at best that is only to wear the badge of one party in defiance of others. But to be a temperance, gallows-hating democrat in an orthodox State, and a rum-democratic party, ought to gain a politician the credit of following principle regardless of loss. On the question of slavery I always wished he had been more radical; had shown a more profound sympathy with humanity and deeper principle. But thus much must be allowed; living in a district strongly anti-slavery, he never made hollow pledges to gain votes, and when he had once uttered a sentiment or made a pledge, no one thought it necessary to watch him: certain that he would more than fulfil his promise, and that in the position he had taken, or in advance of it, you would be sure to find him, no matter how long your absence. In our political arena these are rare merits. The following paragraphs are extracts from an account of his funeral, and the sentiments of the press : OBSEQUIES AT BEVERLY IN COMMEMORATION OF HON. ROBERT RANTOUL, JR. [From the Commonwealth.] Yesterday (Tuesday) was a sad day for the old and honored town of Beverly. The mournful and unexpected decease of her favorite son, Robert Rantoul, Jr., under circumstances of such painful character, was well calculated to call out the warmest tribute of respect to his memory, as well as poignant sorrow for his loss, even were there not associated with his person all that should make his name revered as a neighbor, citizen, townsman, and representative. Indeed, never before have we witnessed so unmistakable a feeling of heartfelt regret at the death of a public man as was afforded at the funeral ceremonies of the able and distinguished representative of the Second Congressional District. Other men may have stood higher on the roll of fame,other funeral pageants may have been more august and imposing, but never was there the man or the occasion that called out truer or more deep-seated emotions of regret and sorrow than those which attended this testimonial of respect from his old companions, towns-people, and friends. At an early hour in the day, all the stores, offices, banks, and other places of business were closed. The stroke of the artisan became hushed. Dwellings and shops vied in the display of the sombre habiliments of mourning. The shipping at the wharves hung their colors at half-mast in commemoration of him whose eloquent words oft had been uttered in their behalf. All over the village, little knots of men might be seen in impressive conversation upon the sad event which had not only befallen the town, but the State and nation. Within doors, nought was scarce spoken but what pertained to the deep affliction which moved the whole community. Old and young, male and female, the school-attendant and the retired business-man, the mechanic and the member of the profession, all seemed equally to feel the common loss. One deep, universal, all-pervading sentiment of sorrow influenced the thoughts and controlled the action of the entire population. Not the least shade of a partisan cast was observable during the whole obsequies. At intervals during the day, the bells of the several churches gave out their funeral peal. The town-hall was robed in double festoons of black. The post-office was closed, and tastefully symbolized. The Citizens' Reading Room also gave its indication of the loss to the republic of literature and letters by suitable drapery. The merchants and traders added to the general testimonials of the worth of the man who had departed. At the First Unitarian Church, where the services were held, the arrangements were equally appropriate and becoming. In the vestibule, in full sight of all who entered or departed, was placed all that remained of the eminent legislator and statesman, enclosed in one of Fiske's metallic coffins, tastefully decorated with fragrant flowers. This testimonial was in keeping with the pure taste of the deceased, who was extremely fond of flowers and shrubs. Upon the plate was the simple inscription: ROBERT RANTOUL, JR., BORN, AUGUST 13, 1805; In the meantime, the various societies, associations, and companies, together with the school children and citizens generally of the town, and the members of the bars of Essex and Suffolk counties, met in different apartments of the town-hall, and were formed in procession for attendance on the services of the church. Arrived at the church, the doors were thrown open, when the procession and the public generally entered, filling in a few moments every seat and standing-place, including the aisles and pulpit-area. The solemn services were commenced by a mournfully appropriate voluntary on the organ, executed with much accuracy and feeling. The pastor of the church, (being the one at which the deceased regularly attended when at home,) Rev. C. T. Thayer, then read with emotion the hymn, commencing, "Friend after friend departs," which was sung with marked solemnity by a well-trained choir. Rev. Dr. James W. Thompson, of Salem, followed in the following beautifully-appropriate remarks, to which a breathless attention was given : "The Lord is in his holy temple; let all the earth keep silence before him." "A voice comes to us from heaven, Be still and know that I am God." "How unsearchable are his judgments and his ways past finding out." "For of him, and through him, and to him, are all things: to whom be glory forever!" "God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform; He plants his footsteps in the sea, - FRIENDS AND BRETHREN, -It is on no ordinary occasion that we are here convened. The general suspension of common pursuits-the stillness that reigns around this multitudinous assembly-the mournful strains of the choir to which we have just listened—the sadness expressed in every countenance-the sighs that escape from heavy-laden hearts the strangers who have taken their seats amongst us, as if drawn hither by powerful sympathies-the neighboring city present by her chief magistrate and his official associates—and the congress of the nation by its delegated representatives, all indicate that it is for an unusual purpose that these doors are opened to-day; that some extraordinary event has occurred, deeply and widely felt; that some mysterious dispensation from the great Lord of life has turned our harp to mourning and our organ into the voice of them that weep, and instead of the garments of praise, has filled us with the spirit of heaviness. And so indeed is it. We are assembled amid deeper solemnities than those which pervade even the house of God in the sacred season of worship. A bereaved family mourning that its stay and staff is taken away,-an afflicted community sorrowing that a brilliant jewel and ornament of beauty hath been plucked from its crown,- a saddened nation lamenting that one of its polished and stately pillars hath crumbled into dust, -are gathered together here, as the fittest place for such a purpose, to give expression to their grief, and implore the solaces of religion! We are here but for a few moments. Like our life, our stay must be short; for we are pilgrims moving onward to another resting-place. We only pause in this house of God to renew our strength from its provisions, and to slake our thirst at that river which flows fast by the heavenly oracles, and then pass on to that other house, which is equally with this, the gate of heaven, -where time and eternity meet and mingle, and mortality is swallowed up of life. We stop here at the cross on our way to the sepulchre, to kindle our faith by looking on Him who died that we might live, and who left the world to prepare a place for all who do the will of his Father. It is no part of the duty assigned to me in these sad solemnities to relate the history or delineate the character of the distinguished friend whose obsequies we celebrate. It is not for me to speak of his genius -of his varied and extraordinary attainments of his unsurpassed industry of his comprehensive and philanthropic statesmanship-of the steady inclinations and aims of his heart towards whatever might improve the condition, promote the welfare, and elevate the character of his fellow men- of the simplicity and modesty with which he bore the honors of eminent station of the purity of his private life—of the affectionateness of his nature, which made him almost the idol of his domestic circle, treasured fruit of that almond-tree which blossomed while he was yet young, the joy of sisters, the pride of sons, dear to her who shared his bosom confidences, and who participated to the full in the satisfactions of his renown, so dear that it "cannot be valued with the gold of Ophir, with the precious onyx, or the sapphire. The gold and the crystal cannot equal it, and the exchange of it shall not be for jewels of fine gold." We come but to bury him! Yet, not this, till by meditation and prayer we have consecrated his death to the uses of our spiritual life, till from this page of the book of Providence we have read and applied the touching and all-concerning lesson of life's uncertainty, and the fragility of our mortal hopes, till we have sought instruction in divine things from the book of Revelation, till we have bowed our heads together in meek devotion and humble prayer before the Mighty Father, who, for our profit doth chasten us that we might be partakers of his holiness. Then, we bury him! Yet not him, but only that garment of flesh in which his immortal being was clothed, and which, formed of the earth, returns of right to the dust, from which it came, not him, for the soul which is the inspiration of the Almighty cannot see death; it bears the image of God's eternity; it lives forever! "Eternal process moving on, From state to state the spirit walks; Or ruined chrysalis of one." And how fit is it, my friends, that we should engage in this service here! For with the congregation worshipping at this altar our departed brother was joined in the highest of human relations. And here, at this hallowed shrine, where his infancy was consecrated in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, and whither his youthful feet were led by the hand of parental affection, we may trust his manly heart was accustomed to offer acceptable sacrifices to that |