Mr. Webster served four years in Congress as a Representative from his native State. He had reached the age of thirty-one when he entered the public service, and therefore, though not the youngest, was among the youngest members of that important body. As we have seen, though without previous legislative experience, he advanced at once to a leading place and took prominent part in all the discussions of important questions, his opinions always carrying weight. He was opposed to the administration and its war policy, but he opposed it in no factious spirit.

He distinguished himself particularly by his speeches on finance. When a bill was proposed to establish a national bank, with a capital of fifty millions of dollars, of which only four millions was to be specie, and the balance to consist of Government stocks, then very much depreciated, Mr. Webster rode forty miles on horseback from Baltimore to Washington, in order to defeat what he regarded as a scheme to create an irredeemable paper currency, fraught with widespread mischief to the country. The vigorous speech which he made defeated the bill. It is interesting to record that Mr. Calhoun, when the vote was announced, walked across the floor of the House to where Mr. Webster stood, and holding out both hands to him, told him that he should rely upon his help to prepare a new bill of a proper character. When this assurance was given Mr. Calhoun’s feelings were so stirred that he burst into tears, so deeply did he feel the importance of some aid for the Government, which he felt with Mr. Webster’s co-operation might be secured.

It may be stated here that these great men cherished for each other mutual respect and friendship, widely as they differed on some points. The Senator from South Carolina showed this in a notable manner when he arose from his deathbed (his death followed in a few days), and sat in his place to listen to his great friend’s seventh of March speech, in 1850, looking a wan and spectral auditor from the next world.

The battle for sound money which Mr. Webster fought then has been renewed in later years, as some of my young readers may be aware. In his speeches he showed a thorough mastery of the subject which he discussed. He showed the evils of a debased coin, a depreciated paper currency, and a depressed and falling public credit, and it is largely due to his efforts that the country emerged from its chaotic financial condition with as little injury as it did.

I have spoken of Mr. Webster’s relations then and later to Mr. Calhoun. Among the members of the House representing Virginia was the famous John Randolph, of Roanoke, with whom it was difficult for any one to keep on good terms. He saw fit to take offense at something said by Mr. Webster, and sent him a challenge. Webster was never charged by any man with physical cowardice, but he thoroughly despised the practice of dueling. He was not to be coerced into fighting by any fear that cowardice would be imputed to him. This may seem to us a very trivial matter, but seventy years ago and even much later, it required considerable moral courage to refuse a challenge. I place on record, as likely to interest my readers, the letter in which Mr. Webster declined to give satisfaction in the manner demanded.

“Sir: For having declined to comply with your demand yesterday in the House for an explanation of words of a general nature used in debate, you now ‘demand of me that satisfaction which your insulted feelings require,’ and refer me to your friend, Mr.——, I presume, as he is the bearer of your note, for such arrangements as are usual.

“This demand for explanation you, in my judgment, as a matter of right were not entitled to make on me, nor were the temper and style of your own reply to my objection to the sugar tax of a character to induce me to accord it as a matter of courtesy.

“Neither can I, under the circumstances of the case, recognize in you a right to call me to the field to answer what you may please to consider an insult to your feelings.

“It is unnecessary for me to state other and obvious considerations growing out of this case. It is enough that I do not feel myself bound at all times and under any circumstances to accept from any man who shall choose to risk his own life an invitation of this sort, although I shall be always prepared to repel in a suitable manner the aggression of any man who may presume upon such a refusal.

“Your obedient servant,

“Daniel Webster.”

Mr. Randolph did not press the matter nor did he presume upon the refusal, but the matter was adjusted amicably. Nearly forty years later a similar reply to a challenge was sent by a later Senator from Massachusetts, Henry Wilson, and in both cases the resolute character of the men was so well known that no one dared to taunt the writer with cowardice.

While upon the subject of physical courage I am tempted to transcribe from Mr. Harvey’s interesting volume an anecdote in which the famous lawyer, William Pinkney, is prominently mentioned. In answer to the question whether he ever carried pistols, Mr. Webster answered:

“No, I never did. I always trusted to my strong arm, and I do not believe in pistols. There were some Southern men whose blood was hot and who got very much excited in debate, and I used myself to get excited, but I never resorted to any such extremity as the use of pistols.

“The nearest I ever came to a downright row was with Mr. William Pinkney. Mr. Pinkney was the acknowledged head and leader of the American bar. He was the great practitioner at Washington when I was admitted to practice in the courts there. I found Mr. Pinkney by universal concession the very head of the bar—a lawyer of extraordinary accomplishments and withal a very wonderful man. But with all that there was something about him that was very small. He did things that one would hardly think it possible that a gentleman of his breeding and culture and great weight as a lawyer could do.

“He was a very vain man. One saw it in every motion he made. When he came into court he was dressed in the very extreme of fashion—almost like a dandy. He would wear into the court-room his white gloves that had been put on fresh that morning and that he never put on again. He usually rode from his house to the Capitol on horseback, and his overalls were taken off and given to his servant who attended him. Pinkney showed in his whole appearance that he considered himself the great man of that arena, and that he expected deference to be paid to him as the acknowledged leader of the bar. He had a great many satellites—men of course much less eminent than himself at the bar—who flattered him, and employed him to take their briefs and argue their cases, they doing the work and he receiving the greatest share of the pay. That was the position that Mr. Pinkney occupied when I entered the bar at Washington.

“I was a lawyer who had my living to get, and I felt that although I should not argue my cases as well as he could, still, if my clients employed me they should have the best ability I had to give them, and I should do the work myself. I did not propose to practice law in the Supreme Court by proxy. I think that in some pretty important cases I had Mr. Pinkney rather expected that I should fall into the current of his admirers and share my fees with him. This I utterly refused to do.

“In some important case (I have forgotten what the case was) Mr. Pinkney was employed to argue it against me. I was going to argue it for my client myself. I had felt that on several occasions his manner was, to say the least, very annoying and aggravating. My intercourse with him, so far as I had any, was always marked with great courtesy and deference. I regarded him as the leader of the American bar; he had that reputation and justly. He was a very great lawyer. On the occasion to which I refer, in some colloquial discussion upon various minor points of the case he treated me with contempt. He pooh-poohed, as much as to say it was not worth while to argue a point that I did not know anything about, that I was no lawyer. I think he spoke of ‘the gentleman from New Hampshire.’ At any rate, it was a thing that everybody in the court-house, including the judges, could not fail to observe. Chief Justice Marshall himself was pained by it. It was very hard for me to restrain my temper and keep cool, but I did so, knowing in what presence I stood. I think he construed my apparent humility into a want of what he would call spirit in resisting, and as a sort of acquiescence in his rule.

“However the incident passed, the case was not finished when the hour for adjournment came, and the court adjourned until the next morning.

“Mr. Pinkney took his whip and gloves, threw his cloak over his arm, and began to saunter away.

“I went up to him and said very calmly, ‘Can I see you alone in one of the lobbies?’

“He replied, ‘Certainly.’ I suppose he thought I was going to beg his pardon and ask his assistance. We passed one of the anterooms of the Capitol. I looked into one of the grand jury rooms, rather remote from the main court-room. There was no one in it, and we entered. As we did so I looked at the door, and found that there was a key in the lock; and, unobserved by him, I turned the key and put it in my pocket. Mr. Pinkney seemed to be waiting in some astonishment.

“I advanced towards him and said: ‘Mr. Pinkney, you grossly insulted me in the court-room, and not for the first time either. In deference to your position, and to the respect in which I hold the court, I did not answer you as I was tempted to do on the spot.’

“He began to parley.

“I continued. ‘You know you did; don’t add another sin to that; don’t deny it; you know you did it, and you know it was premeditated. It was deliberate; it was purposely done; and if you deny it, you state an untruth. Now,’ I went on, ‘I am here to say to you, once for all, that you must ask my pardon, and go into court to-morrow morning and repeat the apology, or else either you or I will go out of this room in a different condition from that in which we entered it.’

“I was never more in earnest. He looked at me, and saw that my eyes were pretty dark and firm. He began to say something. I interrupted him.

“‘No explanation,’ said I; ‘admit the fact, and take it back. I do not want another word from you except that. I will hear no explanation; nothing but that you admit it and recall it.’

“He trembled like an aspen leaf. He again attempted to explain.

“Said I, ‘There is no other course. I have the key in my pocket, and you must apologize, or take what I give you.’

“At that he humbled down, and said to me: ‘You are right, I am sorry; I did intend to bluff you; I regret it, and ask your pardon.’

“‘Enough,’ I promptly replied. ‘Now, one promise before I open the door; and that is, that you will to-morrow state to the court that you have said things which wounded my feelings, and that you regret it.’

“Pinkney replied, ‘I will do so.’

“Then I unlocked the door, and passed out.

“The next morning, when the court met, Mr. Pinkney at once rose, and stated to the court that a very unpleasant affair had occurred the morning before, as might have been observed by their honors; that his friend, Mr. Webster, had felt grieved at some things which had dropped from his lips; that his zeal for his client might have led him to say some things which he should not have said, and that he was sorry for having thus spoken.’

“From that day,” adds Mr. Webster, “there was no man who treated me with so much respect and deference as Mr. William Pinkney.”

I have recorded this anecdote that my young readers may understand clearly that the young lawyer was manly and self-respecting, and declined the method of satisfaction then in vogue from high and honorable motives.