From Farm Boy to Senator

“Albany is no despicable place. To be sure it is irregular and without form. Its houses are generally old and poor-looking—its streets are rather dirty—but there are many exceptions. A part of the town is very high, overlooking the river in a very pleasant manner, and affording many fine seats. Some handsome buildings ornament the town. The Dutch Reformed Church and the new State Bank would not disgrace State Street (Boston). Here are all sorts of people, both Greek and Jew, Englishman and Dutchman, Negro and Indian. Almost everybody speaks English occasionally, though I have heard them speak among themselves in a lingo which I never learned even at the Indian Charity School. The river here is half a mile wide, that is, I should think so; and, if I think wrong, you: must look at Dr. Morse and correct me.”

The cosmopolitan character of Albany nearly eighty years since, when it probably contained not over five thousand inhabitants, is certainly rather amazing, and I can conceive the modern Albanian reading the description given above with considerable surprise. But Daniel was at an age and in a state of inexperience in which everything new is wonderful, and he certainly saw everything under very pleasant circumstances.

From a letter written by his sister it appears that the young law student was paid seven dollars a day for his company by his rich and eccentric companion, who, if he lived to know of Webster’s eminence, probably concluded that the price was by no means exorbitant.

In the letter of Sally Webster, already referred to, there is a passage which will amuse my young readers. “Before I have finished my nonsense I must tell you that our neighbors opposite the door fought a duel the other day, one with the gridiron, the other with the candlestick. The female, however, came off victorious, and he, with all speed, ran here with some lint and rum, to be applied immediately, for he was bleeding to death with a wound in his head caused by the gridiron.”

It is evident that if the women of New Hampshire were not strong-minded, there were some who were strong-armed, and calculated to strike terror in an average husband.

Meanwhile how were things going at the early home of the future statesman in New Hampshire? Judge Webster no doubt experienced satisfaction in knowing that the two sons for whom he had hoped so much, and sacrificed so much, were now possessors of a collegiate education, and in a fair way to make their own way in the world. But he was not without his anxieties. To obtain that education he had been obliged to mortgage his small estate for nearly all it was worth. He was sixty-five years of age, and a life of labor and exposure had made him old before his time. He could not look for many years more of life, and he might die before his two boys were able to support themselves by their professional labors, without speaking of taking his place at home. But he had been sustained by one hope, which finally seemed in a way of being realized. The clerk of the Court of Common Pleas, of which he was an associate judge, died. Chief Justice Farrar, knowing the family circumstances of his associate, immediately placed the office at his disposal for his son Daniel.

For that day it was a lucrative office, paying much more than a judgeship. The emoluments were fifteen hundred dollars a year, and that would be a competence to a young man brought up like Daniel. It would make life easy to him, and enable him to smooth the pathway of his father, and release the homestead from mortgage.

With glad heart Judge Webster wrote to Daniel of his good fortune, and Daniel on his side was elated. He felt that it would make him independent, that he would pay off the family debt, and assist his brother Ezekiel.

So, full of the good news, he went over to the office in the morning, and with a beaming face acquainted Mr. Gore with the offer he had received, and then waited to receive his congratulations.

“Well, my young friend,” said he, “the gentlemen have been very kind to you; I am glad of it. You must thank them for it. Certainly they are very good; you must write them a civil letter. You will write immediately, of course.”

“I feel their kindness and liberality very deeply,” answered Daniel. “I shall certainly thank them in the best manner I am able, but, as I shall go to Salisbury so soon, I hardly think it is necessary to write.”

“Why,” said Mr. Gore, seeming greatly surprised, “you surely don’t mean to accept it?”

Daniel was astounded. Not to accept such a magnificent proposal! As soon as he could speak he said that he had no thought of anything else but acceptance.

“Well,” said Mr. Gore, “you must decide for yourself; but come, sit down, and let us talk it over. The office is worth fifteen hundred a year, you say; well, it never will be worth any more. Ten to one if they find out it is so much the fees will be reduced. You are appointed now by friends; others may fill their places who are of different opinions, and who have friends of their own to provide for. You will lose your place; or, supposing you to retain it, what are you but a clerk for life? And your prospects as a lawyer are good enough to encourage you to go on. Go on, and finish your studies; you are poor enough, but there are greater evils than poverty; live on no man’s favor; what bread you do eat let it be the bread of independence; pursue your profession, make yourself useful to your friends, and a little formidable to your enemies, and you have nothing to fear.”

Daniel hardly knew what to think or to say. It was presenting the subject from a very different point of view. He had looked forward to this office as a thing greatly to be desired. It had been the height of his ambition, and now his legal instructor, a man whose opinion he greatly valued, told him he must give it up. He was indeed flattered and encouraged by the eminent lawyer’s estimate of his talents and prospects, an estimate far beyond any he had formed for himself, for Daniel, as I have already had occasion to say, was modest, and wholly ignorant of the extent of his powers.

It was not that he expected to enjoy a clerkship. He knew he should not, but he had been struggling so long with poverty that the prospect of a competency was most alluring. Besides he was a good son and a good brother. He knew how much his father’s mind would be relieved, how he could help his favorite brother, and it seemed very hard to resign such a piece of fortune.

“Go home and think it over,” said Mr. Gore, “and come back in the morning, and we will have another talk.”

Daniel followed his advice, but passed a sleepless night.

CHAPTER XVII.

DANIEL REFUSES A CLERKSHIP

Those of my readers who have read “The Canal Boy” will remember that before Gen. Garfield graduated from college he too was met by a similar temptation, in the shape of an offer which, if accepted, would have materially changed his course of life, and given him a comfortable obscurity in place of national renown. He was offered a school in Troy, N. Y., with a salary of one hundred and twenty-five dollars per month, while up to that time he had never earned but eighteen dollars per month and board. He declined after a hard struggle, for he too had been reared in poverty and still suffered from it.

And now a similar temptation had come to Daniel Webster.

He went home and thought the matter over. He felt that Mr. Gore’s advice was good, but how could he accept it? His father was old and in poor health. He had set his heart on Daniel’s accepting this place. A contrary decision would strike him like a thunderbolt. Moreover it would bring him home, and give his father the comfort of his society, as well as pecuniary prosperity.

It seemed a selfish thing to refuse, to show a lack of consideration for his father, and Daniel was a good son. I mention all these things to show that in this turning-point of his career Daniel had a hard decision to make. There was another circumstance to consider—his father was in present need of money.

Finally Daniel made up his mind. If he could borrow a sum of money sufficient to help his father, he would venture to refuse the clerkship.

He went to Mr. Joseph Taylor, a Boston acquaintance, and said to him abruptly, “Mr. Taylor, I want to borrow some money. I will pay you some time or other, but I can’t tell exactly when.”

“You can have as much as you want,” answered Mr. Taylor kindly.

“But,” said Daniel, “I want a good deal of money.”

“How much?” asked his friend, not seeming alarmed at his rash promise.

“Three or four hundred dollars,” was the reply, and this in the eyes of the young law student was a very large sum, though his ideas changed when money came in by thousands from wealthy clients, not many years afterwards.

“You shall have it,” said Mr. Taylor, and he counted out the money into the young man’s hands.

Daniel was elated with his success. He would not go home empty-handed, and this sum would soften the blow which his determination would bring to his father.

Now to get home and have it over as soon as possible! He hired a seat in a country sleigh which had come down to market, and was on the point of returning, for there was neither railroad nor stage to convey him to his home. It was a crisp winter day, and they glided over the snowy roads for many hours till they were beyond the New Hampshire line. Still mile after mile was traversed till the old home was reached.

Just at sunset Daniel reached his home. Through the window, even before he entered, he saw his father in his little room sitting in his arm-chair. The old man, worn out by a long life of hard labor, seemed very old and thin, but his eyes were as black and bright as ever. Daniel’s heart was touched, and he felt that the trial had come. It was no light thing to disappoint such a father.

As he entered the presence of his father Judge Webster looked up with a smile of gladness.

“Well, Daniel, we have got that office for you,” he said.

“Yes, father,” said Daniel a little nervously. “The gentlemen were very kind. I must go and thank them.”

“They gave it to you without my saying a word about it,” said Judge Webster complacently.

“I must go and see Judge Farrar, and tell him I am much obliged to him, father.”

Still the father suspected nothing of Daniel’s intention, though his son treated it more carelessly than he had anticipated. He had thought so much about it and come to look upon it as so desirable that it did not seem to him possible that his son could regard it in any other way, as indeed he would not but for Mr. Gore’s advice.

But at last the true meaning of Daniel’s indifference flashed upon him, and he looked at him earnestly.

He straightened himself up in his chair, and he regarded him intently.

“Daniel, Daniel,” he said, “don’t you mean to take that office?”

“No, indeed, father,” answered Daniel lightly, though his lightness was assumed, and covered a feeling of anxiety; “I hope I can do much better than that. I mean to use my tongue in the courts, not my pen; to be an actor, not a register of other men’s acts. I hope yet, sir, to astonish your honor in your own court by my professional attainments.”

Youth is hopeful and ready to take risks; age is conservative and takes little for granted. Judge Webster must have thought his son’s decision exceedingly rash. Let me tell the rest of the story in Daniel’s words, as indeed I have closely adhered to his version thus far.

“For a moment I thought he was angry. He rocked his chair slightly; a flash went over an eye softened by age, but still as black as jet; but it was gone, and I thought I saw that parental partiality was, after all, a little gratified at this apparent devotion to an honorable profession, and this seeming confidence of success in it. He looked at me for as much as a minute, and then said slowly, ‘Well, my son, your mother has always said you would come to something or nothing, she was not sure which; I think you are now about settling that doubt for her.’ This he said, and never a word spoke more to me on the subject.”

Daniel explained to his father the reasons which had induced him to arrive at the decision he had just expressed, and as an earnest of the good fortune which he anticipated in the career he had chosen he produced the money he had borrowed, and placed it in his father’s hands. Probably this satisfied Judge Webster that there were others who had faith in his son’s promise, since he could offer no other security for borrowed money. At any rate it softened his disappointment, since it brought him help which he sorely needed.

Daniel stayed at home a week, contributing as such a son might to the happiness of his parents, who, now in the sunset of life, had little to hope for themselves, but lived wholly for their children.

Now he must go back to Boston, for the period of his preparatory studies was drawing to a close, and he was almost to seek immediately admission to the bar.

In March, 1805, he was admitted to practice in the Court of Common Pleas in Boston, the usual motion being made by his friend and teacher, Mr. Gore. This eminent lawyer, according to the custom of that time, accompanied his motion by a brief speech, which was of so complimentary a character that it must have been exceedingly gratifying to the legal neophyte, who stood waiting for the doors to open through which he was to enter into the precincts of a dignified and honorable profession. “It is a well-known tradition,” says Mr. George Ticknor Curtis, “that on this occasion Mr. Gore predicted the future eminence of his young friend. What he said has not been preserved; but that he said what Mr. Webster never forgot, that it was distinctly a prediction, and that it excited in him a resolve that it should not go unfulfilled, we have upon his own authority, though he appears to have been unwilling to repeat the words of Mr. Gore’s address.”