With all his great superiority to average
men in force and breadth of mind, he had a genuine respect for the
intellect, as well as for the manhood, of average men. He disdained the
ignoble office of misleading the voters he aimed to instruct; and the
farmers and mechanics who read his speeches felt ennobled when they
found that the greatest statesman of the country frankly addressed them,
as man to man, without pluming himself on his exceptional talents and
accomplishments. Up to the crisis of 1850, he succeeded in domesticating
himself at most of the pious, moral, and intelligent firesides of New
England. Through his speeches he seemed to be almost bodily present
wherever the family, gathered in the evening around the blazing hearth,
discussed the questions of the day. It was not the great Mr. Webster,
"the godlike Daniel," who had a seat by the fire. It was a person who
talked _to_ them, and argued _with_ them, as though he was "one of the
folks,"--a neighbor dropping in to make an evening call; there was not
the slightest trace of assumption in his manner; but suddenly, after the
discussion had become a little tiresome, certain fiery words would leap
from his lips and make the whole household spring to their feet, ready
to sacrifice life and property for "the Constitution and the Union."
That Webster was thus a kind of invisible presence in thousands of homes
where his face was never seen, shows that his rhetoric had caught an
element of power from his early recollections of the independent,
hard-headed farmers whom he met when a boy in his father's house.
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