Daniel Webster | Page 5

one occasion, but haying was not to his tastes. He found it "dull and
lonesome," and preferred rambling in the woods with his sister in
search of berries, so that his indulgent father sent him back to his
studies. With the help of Dr. Wood in Latin, and another tutor in Greek,
he contrived to enter Dartmouth College in August, 1797. He was, of
course, hastily and poorly prepared. He knew something of Latin, very
little of Greek, and next to nothing of mathematics, geography, or
history. He had devoured everything in the little libraries of Salisbury
and Boscawen, and thus had acquired a desultory knowledge of a
limited amount of English literature, including Addison, Pope, Watts,
and "Don Quixote." But however little he knew, the gates of learning
were open, and he had entered the precincts of her temple, feeling
dimly but surely the first pulsations of the mighty intellect with which
he was endowed.
"In those boyish days," he wrote many years afterwards, "there were
two things which I did dearly love, reading and playing,--passions
which did not cease to struggle when boyhood was over, (have they yet
altogether?) and in regard to which neither cita mors nor the victoria
laeta could be said of either." In truth they did not cease, these two
strong passions. One was of the head, the other of the heart; one
typified the intellectual, the other the animal strength of the boy's
nature; and the two contending forces went with him to the end. The
childhood of Webster has a deep interest which is by no means usual.
Great men in their earliest years are generally much like other boys,
despite the efforts of their biographers to the contrary. If they are not,
they are very apt to be little prigs like the second Pitt, full of "wise saws
and modern instances." Webster was neither the one nor the other. He
was simple, natural, affectionate, and free from pertness or precocity.
At the same time there was an innate power which impressed all those
who approached him without their knowing exactly why, and there was
abundant evidence of uncommon talents. Webster's boyish days are

pleasant to look upon, but they gain a peculiar lustre from the noble
character of his father, the deep solicitude of his mother, and the
generous devotion and self-sacrifice of both parents. There was in this
something prophetic. Every one about the boy was laboring and
sacrificing for him from the beginning, and this was not without its
effect upon his character. A little anecdote which was current in Boston
many years ago condenses the whole situation. The story may be true
or false,--it is very probably unfounded,--but it contains an essential
truth and illustrates the character of the boy and the atmosphere in
which he grew up. Ezekiel, the oldest son, and Daniel were allowed on
one occasion to go to a fair in a neighboring town, and each was
furnished with a little money from the slender store at home. When
they returned in the evening, Daniel was radiant with enjoyment;
Ezekiel rather silent. Their mother inquired as to their adventures, and
finally asked Daniel what he did with his money. "Spent it," was the
reply. "And what did you do with yours, Ezekiel?" "Lent it to Daniel."
That answer well sums up the story of Webster's home life in childhood.
All were giving or lending to Daniel of their money, their time, their
activity, their love and affection. This petting was partly due to
Webster's delicate health, but it was also in great measure owing to his
nature. He was one of those rare and fortunate beings who without
exertion draw to themselves the devotion of other people, and are
always surrounded by men and women eager to do and to suffer for
them. The boy accepted all that was showered upon him, not without an
obvious sense that it was his due. He took it in the royal spirit which is
characteristic of such natures; but in those childish days when laughter
and tears came readily, he repaid the generous and sacrificing love with
the warm and affectionate gratitude of an earnest nature and a naturally
loving heart. He was never cold, or selfish, or designing. Others loved
him, and sacrificed to him, but he loved them in return and appreciated
their sacrifices. These conditions of his early days must, however, have
had an effect upon his disposition and increased his belief in the fitness
of having the devotion of other people as one of his regal rights and
privileges, while, at the same time, it must have helped to expand his
affections and give warmth to every generous feeling.
The passions for reading and play went with him to Dartmouth, the

little New Hampshire college