see the most important and most questionable act of his last years
attributed to his inordinate craving for the elusive prize.
The cause of this steady succession of failures may have been,
partly, that the people found him too unlike themselves, too un-
familiar to the popular heart; and partly that the party managers
shrunk from nominating him because they saw in him not only a
giant, but a very vulnerable giant, who would not ** wear well ** as
a candidate. They had indeed reason to fear the discussions to
which in an excited canvass his private character would be sub-
jected. Of his moral failings, those relating to money Vv^ere the most
notorious and the most offensive to the moral sense of the plain peo-
ple. In the course of his public life he became accustomed not only
to the adulation but also to the material generosity of his followers.
Great as his professional income was, his prodigality went far beyond
his means; and the recklessness with which he borrowed and forgot
to return, betrayed an utter insensibility to pecuniary obligation.
With the coolest nonchalance he spent the money of his friends, and
left to them his debts for payment. This habit increased as he grew
older, and severely tested the endurance of his admirers. So grave a
departure from the principles of common honesty could not fail to
cast a dark shadow upon his character, and it is not strange that the
cloud of distrust should have spread from his private to his public
morals. The charge was made that he stood in the Senate advocat-
ing high tariffs as the paid attorney of the manufacturers of New
England. It was met by the answer that so great a man would
not sell himself. This should have been enough. Nevertheless, his
defenders were grievously embarrassed when the fact was pointed
ic-j^2 DANIEL WEBSTER
out that it was after all in great part the money of the rich manu-
facturers and bankers that stocked his farm, furnished his house,
supplied his table, and paid his bills. A man less great could
hardly have long sustained himself in public life under such a bur-
den of suspicion. That Daniel Webster did sustain himself, strik-
ingly proved the strength of his prestige. But his moral failings
cost him the noblest fruit of great service, — an unbounded public
confidence.
Although disappointed in his own expectations, he vigorously
supported General Harrison for the Presidency in the campaign of
1840, and in 1841 was made Secretary of State. He remained in that
office until he had concluded the famous Ashburton treaty, under
the administration of President Tyler, who turned against the Whig
policies. After his resignation he was again elected to the Senate.
Then a fateful crisis in his career approached.
The annexation of Texas, the Mexican War, and the acquisition of
territory on our southern and western border, brought the slavery
question sharply into the foreground. Webster had always, when
occasion called for a demonstration of sentiment, denounced slavery
as a great moral and political evil ; and although affirming that under
the Constitution it could not be touched by the action of the general
government in the States in which it existed, declared himself against
its extension. He had opposed the annexation of Texas, the war
against Mexico, and the enlargement of the republic by conquest.
But while he did not abandon his position concerning slavery, his
tone in maintaining it grew gradually milder. The impression gained
ground that as a standing candidate for the Presidency, he became
more and more anxious to conciliate Southern opinion.
Then the day came that tried men's souls. The slave power had
favored war and conquest, hoping that the newly acquired territory
would furnish more slave States and more Senators in its interest.
That hope was cruelly dashed when California presented herself for
admission into the Union, with a State constitution excluding slavery
from her soil. To the slave power this was a stunning blow. It had
fought for more slave States and conquered for more free States.
The admission of California would hopelessly destroy the balance of
power between freedom and slavery in the Senate. The country soon
was ablaze with excitement. In the North the antislavery feeling
ran high. The " fire-eaters ^^ of the South, exasperated beyond meas-
ure by their disappointment, vociferously threatened to disrupt the
Union. Henry Clay, true to his record, hoped to avert the danger by
a compromise. He sought to reconcile the South to the inevitable
admission of California by certain concessions to slavery, among them
the ill-famed and ill-fated Fugitive Slave Law; a law offensive not
DANIEL WEBSTER 15733
only to antislavery sentiment, but also to the common impulses of
humanity and to the pride of manhood.
Webster had to choose. The antislavery men of New England,
and even many of his conservative friends, hoped and expected that
he would again, as he had done in Nullification times, proudly plant
the Union flag in the face of a disunion threat, with a defiant refusal
of concession to a rebellious spirit, and give voice to the moral
sense of the North. But Webster chose otherwise. On the 7th of
March, 1850, he spoke in the Senate. The whole country listened
with bated breath. While denouncing secession and pleading for
the Union in glowing periods, he spoke of slaver.y in regretful but »
almost apologetic accents, upbraided the abolitionists as mischievous
marplots, earnestly advocated the compromise, and commended that
feature of it which was most odious to Northern sentiment, — the
Fugitive Slave Law.
From this ^< Seventh of March Speech >* — by that name it has
passed into history — Webster never recovered. It stood in too strik-
ing a contrast to the "Reply to Hayne.'^ There was indeed still the
same lucid comprehensiveness of statement. The heavy battalions
of argument marched with the same massive tread. But there was
lacking that which had been the great inspiration of the " Reply to
Hayne,'* — the triumphant consciousness of being right. The effect
of the speech corresponded to its character. Southern men wel-
comed it as a sign of Northern submissiveness, but it did not go
far enough to satisfy them. The impression it made upon the anti-
slavery people of the North was painful in the extreme. They saw
in it "the fall of an archangel.** Many of them denounced it as the
treacherous bid of a Presidential candidate for Southern favor. Their
reproaches varied from the indignant murmur to the shrillest note of
execration. Persons less interested or excited looked up at the colos-
sal figure of the old hero of " Liberty and Union " with a sort of
bewildered dismay, as if something unnatural and portentoiJ^ had
happened to him. Even many of his stanchest adherents among
the conservative Whigs stood at first stunned and perplexed, needing
some time to gather themselves up for his defense.
This was not surprising. Henry Clay could plan and advocate the
compromise of 1850 without loss of character. Although a man of
antislaverj' instincts, he was himself a slaveholder representing a
slaveholding community, a compromiser in his very being; and com-
promise had always been the vital feature of his statesmanship. But
Webster could not apologize for slavery, and in its behalf approve
compromise and concession in the face of disunion threats, without
turning his back upon the most illustrious feat of his public life.
Injustice may have been done to him by the assailants of his mo-
tives, but it can hardly be denied that the evidence of circumstances
15734 DANIEL WEBSTER
Stood glaringly against him. He himself was ill at ease. The viru-
lent epithets and sneers with which he thenceforth aspersed anti-
slavery principles and antislavery men — contrasting strangely with
the stately decorum he had always cultivated in his public utter-
ances — betrayed the bitterness of a troubled soul.
The 7th of March speech, and the series of addresses with which
he sought to set right and fortify the position he had taken, helped
greatly in inducing both political parties to accept the compromise of
1850; and also in checking, at least for the time being, the anti-
slavery movement in the Northern States. But they could not kill
that movement, nor could they prevent the coming of the final crisis.
They did, however, render him acceptable to the slave power, when,
after the death of General Taylor, President Fillmore made him
Secretary of State. Once more he stirred the people's heart by a
note addressed to the Chevalier Hiilsemann, the Austrian charge
d'affaires, in which, defending the mission of a special agent to
inquire into the state of the Hungarian insurrection, he proudly just-
ified the conduct of the government, pointed exultingly to the great-
ness of the republic, and vigorously vindicated the sympathies of the
American people with every advance of free institutions the world
over. The whole people applauded, and this was to him the last
flash of popularity.
In 1852 his hope to attain the Whig nomination for the Presidency
rose to the highest pitch, although his prospects were darker than
ever. But he had reached the age of seventy; this was his last
chance, and he clung to it with desperate eagerness. He firmly
counted upon receiving in the convention a large number of South-
ern votes; he received not one. His defeat could hardly have been
more overwhelming. The nomination fell to General Scott. In the
agony of his disappointment, Webster advised his friends to vote for
the Democratic candidate, Franklin Pierce. In 1848 he had declared
General Taylor's nomination to be one « not fit to be made '^ ; but
after all he had supported it. Then he still saw a possibility for
himself ahead. In 1852, the last hope having vanished, he punished
his party for having refused him what he thought his due, by openly
declaring for the opposition. The reasons he gave for this extreme
step were neither tenable, nor even plausible. It was a wail of utter
despair.
His health had for some time been failing, and the shock which
his defeat gave him aggravated his ailment. On the morning of
October 24th, 1852, he died. Henry Clay's death had preceded his by
four months. The month following saw the final discomfiture of the
Whig party. The very effort of its chiefs to hold it together, and
to preserve the Union by concessions to slavery, disrupted it so
thoroughly that it could never again rally. Its very name soon
DANIEL WEBSTER 15735
disappeared. Less than two years after Webster's death the whole
policy of compromise broke down in total collapse. Massachusetts
herself had risen against it, and in Webster's seat in the Senate sat
Charles Sumner, the very embodiment of the uncompromising anti-
slavery conscience. The ^irrepressible conflict ^^ between freedom and
slavery rudely swept aside all other politics and filled the stage.
The thunder-clouds of the coming Civil War loomed darkly above
the horizon.
In the turmoils that followed, all of Webster's work sank into
temporary oblivion, except his greatest and best. The echoes of the
<* Reply to Hayne '^ awoke again. <^ Liberty and Union, now and for-
ever, one and inseparable ! '* became not merely the watchword of
a party, but the battle-cry of armed hosts. ^* I still live,'^ had been
his last words on his death-bed. Indeed, he still lived in his noblest
achievement, and thus he will long continue to live.
Over Webster's grave there was much heated dispute as to the
place he would occupy in the history of his country. Many of those
who had idolized him during his life extolled him still more after his
death, as the demigod whose greatness put all his motives and acts
above criticism, and whose genius excused all human frailties. Others^
still feeling the smart of the disappointment which that fatal yth of
March had given them, would see in him nothing but rare gifts and
great opportunities prostituted by vulgar appetites and a selfish ambi-
tion. The present generation, remote from the struggles and pas-
sions of those days, will be more impartial in its judgment. Looking
back upon the time in which he lived, it beholds his statuesque form
towering with strange grandeur among his contemporaries, — huge in
his strength, and huge also in his weaknesses and faults; not indeed
an originator of policies or measures, but a marvelous expounder of
principles, laws, and facts, who illumined every topic of public con-
cern he touched, with the light of a sovereign intelligence and vast
knowledge ; who, by overpowering argument, riveted around the
Union unbreakable bonds of constitutional doctrine ; who awakened to
new life and animated with invincible vigor the national spirit; who
left to his countrymen and to the world invaluable lessons of states-
manship, right, and patriotism, in language of grand simplicity and
prodigiously forceful clearness; and who might stand as its greatest
man in the political history of America, had he been a master char-
acter as he was a master mind.
c.
(yL\sjs^^^
15736 DANIEL WEBSTER
THE AMERICAN IDEA
From the < Oration on Laying the Corner-Stone of the Bunker Hill Monument, >
June 17th, 1825
THIS uncounted multitude before me and around me proves the
feeling which the occasion has excited. These thousands of
human faces, glowing with sympathy and joy, and from the
impulses of a common gratitude turned reverently to heaven in
this spacious temple of the firmament, proclaim that the day, the
place, and the purpose, of our assembling, have made a deep im-
pression on our hearts.
If, indeed, there be anything in local association fit to affect
the mind of man, we need not strive to repress the emotions
which agitate us here. We are among the sepulchres of our
fathers. We are on ground distinguished by their valor, their
constancy, and the shedding of their blood. We are here, not to
fix an uncertain date in our annals, nor to draw into notice an
obscure and imknown spot. If our humble purpose had never
been conceived, if we ourselves had never been born, the 17th of
June, 1775, would have been a day on which all subsequent
history would have poured its light, and the eminence where we
stand a point of attraction to the eyes of successive generations.
But we are Americans. We live in what may be called the
early age of this great continent ; and we know that our poster- '
ity, through all time, are here to suffer and enjoy the allotments
of humanity. We see before us a probable train of great events;
we know that our own fortunes have been happily cast; and it is
natural, therefore, that we should be moved by the contemplation
of occurrences which have guided our destiny before many of us
were born, and settled the condition in which we should pass
that portion of our existence which God allows to men on
earth. . . .
But the great event in the history of the continent, which we
are now met here to commemorate, — that prodigy of modern
times, at once the wonder and blessing of the world, — is the
American Revolution. In a day of extraordinary prosperity and
happiness, of high national honor, distinction, and power, we are
brought together in this place by our love of country, by our
admiration of exalted character, by our gratitude for signal serv-
ices and patriotic devotion.
DANIEL WEBSTER 15737
The society whose organ I am, was formed for the purpose
of rearing some honorable and durable monument to the memory
of the early friends of American independence. They have
thought that for this object no time could be more propitious
than the present prosperous and peaceful period; that no place
could claim preference over this memorable spot; and that no
day could be more auspicious to the undertaking than the anni-
versary of the battle which was here fought. The foundation of
that monument we have now laid. With solemnities suited to the
occasion, with prayers to Almighty God for his blessing, and in
the midst of this cloud of witnesses, we have begun the work.
We trust it will be prosecuted; and that, springing from a broad
foundation, rising high in massive solidity and unadorned grand-
eur, it may remain as long as Heaven permits the works of man
to last, a fit emblem both of the events in memory of which it
is raised, and of the gratitude of those who have reared it.
We know, indeed, that the record of illustrious actions is
most safely deposited in the universal remembrance of mankind.
We know that if we could cause this structure to ascend, not
only till it reached the skies, but till it pierced them, its broad
surfaces could still contain but part of that which, in an age of
knowledge, hath already been spread over the earth, and which
history charges itself with making known to all future times.
We know that no inscription on entablatures less broad than the
earth itself can carry information of the events we commemorate
where it has not already gone; and that no structure which shall
not outlive the duration of letters and knowledge among men,
can prolong the memorial. But our object is, by this edifice to
show our own deep sense of the value and importance of the
achievements of our ancestors; and by presenting this work of
gratitude to the eye, to keep alive similar sentiments, and to fos-
ter a constant regard for the principles of the Revolution. Human
beings are composed, not of reason only, but of imagination also,
and sentiment; and that is neither wasted nor misapplied
which is appropriated to the purpose of giving right direc-
tion to sentiments, and opening proper springs of feeling in the
heart. Let it not be supposed that our object is to perpetuate
national hostility, or even to cherish a mere military spirit. It is
higher, purer, nobler. We consecrate our work to the spirit of
national independence, and we wish that the light of peace may
15738
DANIEL WEBSTER
rest upon it forever. We rear a memorial of our conviction of
that unmeasured benefit which has been conferred on our own
land, and of the happy influences which have been produced by
the same events, on the general interests of mankind. We come,
as Americans, to mark a spot which must forever be dear to us
and our posterity. We wish that whosoever, in all coming time,
shall turn his eye hither, may behold that the place is not un-
distinguished where the first great battle of the Revolution was
fought. We wish that this structure may proclaim the magni-
tude and importance of that event to every class and every age.
We wish that infancy may learn the purpose of its erection from
maternal lips, and that weary and withered age may behold it,
and be solaced by the recollections which it suggests. We wish
that labor may look up here, and be proud in the midst of its
toil. We wish that in those days of disaster which, as they
come upon all nations, must be expected to come upon us also,
desponding patriotism may turn its eyes hitherward, and be
assured that the foundations of our national power still stand
strong. We wish that this column, rising toward heaven among
the pointed spires of so many temples dedicated to God, may con-
tribute also to produce, in all minds, a pious feeling of depend-
ence and gratitude. We wish, finally, that the last object on the
sight of him who leaves his native shore, and the first to glad-
den his who revisits it, may be something which shall remind
him of the liberty and glory of his country. Let it rise till it
meet the sun in his coming; let the earliest light of the morn-
ing gild it, and parting day linger and play on its summit.
We live in a most extraordinary age. Events so various
and so important that they might crowd and distinguish centuries,
are in our times compressed within the compass of a single life.
When has it happened that history has had so much to record,
in the same term of years, as since the 17th of June, 1775 ? Our
own Revolution, which under other circumstances might itself
have been expected to occasion a war of half a century, has been
achieved; twenty-four sovereign and independent States erected;
and a general government established over them, so safe, so wise,
so free, so practical, that we might well wonder its establishment
should have been accomplished so soon, were it not far the
greater wonder that it should have been established at all. Two
or three millions of people have been augmented to twelve, the
DANIEL WEBSTER 15739
great forests of the West prostrated beneath the arm of success-
ful industry, and the dwellers on the banks of the Ohio and the
Mississippi become the fellow-citizens and neighbors of those who
cultivate the hills of New England. We have a commerce that
leaves no sea unexplored; navies which take no law from supe-
rior force; revenues adequate to all the exigencies of government,
almost without taxation; and peace with all nations, founded on
equal rights and mutual respect.
Europe, within the same period, has been agitated by a
mighty revolution; which, while it has been felt in the individual
condition and happiness of almost every man, has shaken to the
centre of her political fabric, and dashed against one another
thrones which had stood tranquil for ages. On this our conti-
nent, our own example has been followed, and colonies have
sprung to be nations. Unaccustomed sounds of liberty and free
government have reached us from beyond the track of the sun;
and at this moment the dominion of European power in this
continent, from the place where we stand to the South Pole, is
annihilated forever.
In the mean time, both in Europe and America, such has
been the general progress of knowledge, such the improvements
in legislation, in commerce, in the arts, in letters, and above all,
in liberal ideas and the general spirit of the age, that the whole
world seems changed.
Yet notwithstanding that this is but a faint abstract of the
things which have happened since the day of the battle of Bun-
ker Hill, we are but fifty years removed from it; and we now
stand here to enjoy all the blessings of our own condition, and
to look abroad to the brightened prospects of the world, while we
still hold among us some of those who were active agents in
the scenes of 1775, and who are now here, from every quarter
of New England, to visit once more, and under circumstances so
affecting, — I had almost said overwhelming, — this renowned the-
atre of their courage and patriotism.
Venerable men! you have come down to us from a former
generation. Heaven has bounteously lengthened out your lives,
that you might behold this joyous day. You are now where you
stood fifty years ago this very hour, with your brothers and your
neighbors, shoulder to shoulder, in the strife of your country.
Behold, how altered! The same heavens are indeed over your
heads; the same ocean rolls at your feet: but all else, how
15740 DANIEL WEBSTER
changed! You hear now no roar of hostile cannon, you see no
mixed volumes of smoke and flame rising from burning Charles-
town. The ground strewed with the dead and the dying; the im-
petuous charge ; the steady and successful repulse ; the loud call to
repeated assault; the summoning of all that is manly to repeated
resistance; a thousand bosoms freely and fearlessly bared in an
instant to whatever of terror there may be in war and death, —
all these you have witnessed, but you witness them no more.
All is peace. The heights of yonder metropolis, its towers and
roofs, which you then saw filled with wives and children and
countrymen in distress and terror, and looking with unutterable
emotions for the issue of the combat, have presented you to-day
with the sight of its whole happy population, come out to wel-
come and greet you with a universal jubilee. Yonder proud
ships, by a felicity of position appropriately lying at the foot of
this mount, and seeming fondly to cling to it, are not means of
annoyance to you, but your country's own means of distinction
and defense. All is peace; and God has granted you this sight
of your country's happiness, ere you slumber forever in the
grave. He has allowed you to behold and to partake the reward
of your patriotic toils; and he has allowed us, your sons and
countrymen, to meet you here, and in the name of the present
generation, in the name of your country, in the name of liberty,
to thank you! .
A chief distinction of the present day is a community of opin-
ions and knowledge amongst men in different nations, existing
in a degree heretofore unknown. Knowledge has in our time
triumphed, and is triumphing, over distance, over difference of