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imputation by such remarks? To which Mr. Webster replied with perfect
good humor, "Assuredly not, just the reverse!" The variety of incident
during the speech, and the rapid fluctuation of passions, kept the audience
in continual expectation and ceaseless agitation. The speech was a complete
drama of serious comic and pathetic scenes, and though a large portion of it
was argumentative—an exposition of constitutional law—yet grave as such
portion necessarily must be, severely logical and abounding in no fancy or
episode, it engrossed throughout undivided attention. The swell of his voice
and its solemn roll struck upon the ears of the enraptured hearers in deep
and thrilling cadence as waves upon the shore of the far-resounding sea.
The Miltonic grandeur of his words was the fit expression of his great
thoughts and raised his hearers up to his theme, and his voice exerted to its
utmost power penetrated every recess or corner of the Senate—penetrated
even the ante-rooms and stairways, as in closing he pronounced in deepest
tones of pathos these words of solemn significance: "When my eyes shall
be turned to behold for the last time the sun in heaven, may I not see him
shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union;
on States dissevered, discordant, belligerent, on a land rent with civil feuds,
or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood.
"Let their last feeble and lingering glance rather behold the gorgeous
ensign of the Republic now known and honored throughout the earth; still
full, high, advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their original lustre,
not a stripe erased nor polluted, not a single star obscured, bearing for its
motto no such miserable interrogatory as 'What is all this worth?' nor those
other words of folly and delusion: 'Liberty first and Union afterwards,' but
everywhere spread all over it characters of living light blazing on all of its
ample folds as they float over the sea and over the land, and in every wind
under the whole heavens that other sentiment dear to every American heart:
'L
,
!'"
The speech was over but the tones of the orator still lingered on the ear,
and the audience, unconscious of the close, retained their positions.
Everywhere around seemed forgetfulness of all but the orator's presence
and words. There never was a deeper silence; the feeling was too
overpowering to allow expression by voice or hand. But the descending
hammer of the chair awoke them with a start, and with one universal, long
drawn, deep breath, with which the over-charged heart seeks relief, the
crowded assembly broke up and departed.
In the evening President Jackson held a levee at the White House. It was
known in advance that Mr. Webster would attend it, and hardly had the
hospitable doors of the mansion been thrown open, when the crowd that had
filled the Senate-Chamber in the morning rushed in and occupied the room,
leaving a vast and increasing crowd at the entrance. On all previous
occasions the general himself had been the observed of all observers. His
receptions were always gladly attended by large numbers, and to these he
himself was always the chief object of attraction on account of his great
military and personal reputation, official position, gallant bearing, and
courteous manners. But on this occasion the room in which he received his
company was deserted as soon as courtesy to the president permitted.
Mr. Webster was in the East room and thither the whole mass hurried. He
stood almost in the center of the room pressed upon by surging crowds
eager to pay him deference. Hayne, too, was there, and with others went up
and complimented Mr. Webster on his brilliant effort. In a subsequent
meeting between the two rival debators Webster challenged Hayne to drink
a glass of wine with him, saying as he did so, "General Hayne I drink to
your health, and I hope that you may live a thousand years." "I shall not live
more than one hundred if you make another such a speech," Hayne replied.
To this day Webster's speech is regarded as the master-piece of modern
eloquence—unsurpassed by even the mightiest efforts of either Pitt, Fox or
Burke—a matchless intellectual achievement and complete forensic
triumph. It was to this great, triumphant effort that Mr. Webster's
subsequent fame as a statesman was due.
Upon the election of General Harrison to the presidency Mr. Webster was
offered his choice of the places in the cabinet, a recognition of ability
probably never accorded to any other man before or since. He finally
accepted the office of Secretary of State. Our relation with England
demanded prompt attention. The differences existing between the two
nations relative to the Northern boundary could not be disregarded, and Mr.
Webster and Lord Ashburton brought about a treaty which was equally
honorable and advantageous to the countries. He was also able later to
contribute much toward the settlement of the Oregon boundary question
through private channels of influence, though holding no official position at
the time.
In 1847 he started on a tour of the Southern States, being well received
throughout; especially in Charleston, Columbia, Augusta and Savannah was
as well received, but his health failing him in the latter city, he was obliged
to abandon his project of making a tour of the whole South. He became
Secretary of State under Mr. Fillmore. This position he held at his death
which occurred at Marshfield, on the 24th day of October, 1852. Funeral
orations were delivered throughout the country in great numbers.
He was a man of commanding figure, large but well proportioned. His
head was of unusual size, his eyes deep-seated and lustrious, and had a
voice powerful yet pleasing; his action, while not remarkably graceful, was
easy and impressive. His social tastes were very strong and he possessed
marked conversational power. He lived in an age of great legislators and it
is needless to add that he was excelled in statesmanship by none.
Professor Ticknor, speaking in one of his letters of the intense excitement
with which he listened to Webster's Plymouth address, says: "Three or four
times I thought my temples would burst with the gush of blood, for after all
you must know I am aware it is no connected and compact whole, but a
collection of broken fragments, of burning eloquence to which his manner
gave ten fold force. When I came out I was almost afraid to come near him.
It seemed to me that he was like the mount that might not be touched, and
that burned with fire."
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