of the man and the sound of his voice made all who
saw and heard him feel that he must be the embodiment of wisdom, dignity,
and strength, divinely eloquent, even if he sat in dreamy silence or
uttered nothing but heavy commonplaces.

It is commonly said that no one of the many pictures of Mr. Webster gives a
true idea of what he was. We can readily believe this when we read the
descriptions which have come down to us. That indefinable quality which we
call personal magnetism, the power of impressing by one's personality every
human being who comes near, was at its height in Mr. Webster. He never, for
instance, punished his children, but when they did wrong he would send for
them and look at them silently. The look, whether of anger or sorrow, was
punishment and rebuke enough. It was the same with other children. The
little daughter of Mr. Wirt once came into a room where Mr. Webster was
sitting with his back toward her, and touched him on the arm. He turned
suddenly, and the child started back with an affrighted cry at the sight of
that dark, stern, melancholy face. But the cloud passed as swiftly as the
shadows on a summer sea, and the next moment the look of affection and
humor brought the frightened child into Mr. Webster's arms, and they were
friends and playmates in an instant.

The power of a look and of changing expression, so magical with a child,
was hardly less so with men. There have been very few instances in history
where there is such constant reference to merely physical attributes as in
the case of Mr. Webster. His general appearance and his eyes are the first
and last things alluded to in every contemporary description. Every one is
familiar with the story of the English navvy who pointed at Mr. Webster in
the streets of Liverpool and said, "There goes a king." Sidney Smith
exclaimed when he saw him, "Good heavens, he is a small cathedral by
himself." Carlyle, no lover of America, wrote to Emerson:--

"Not many days ago I saw at breakfast the notablest of all your
notabilities, Daniel Webster. He is a magnificent specimen. You
might say to all the world, 'This is our Yankee Englishman; such
limbs we make in Yankee land!' As a logic fencer, or parliamentary
Hercules, one would incline to back him at first sight against all
the extant world. The tanned complexion; that amorphous crag-like
face; the dull black eyes under the precipice of brows, like dull
anthracit