DANIEL AT EXETER ACADEMY.
The principal of Exeter Academy at that time was Benjamin Abbot, LL.D.,
a man of high repute in letters as well as in the educational field. He
was a man of dignified presence, who exacted and received deference not
only from his pupils but from all with whom he came in contact.
“Dr. Abbot,” said Judge Webster, when the two were admitted to his
presence, “I have brought my son Daniel to study in your institution,
if you find him qualified.”
The dignified principal turned towards the bashful boy, and said, “What
is your age, sir?”
“Fourteen,” answered Daniel.
“I will examine you first in reading. Take this Bible, my lad, and read
that chapter.”
It was the twenty-second chapter of St. Luke’s Gospel, and was very
well adapted as a test of the boy’s ability in reading.
Now if there was anything Dan could do well it was this. He never
could remember the time when he could not read. Probably he had learned
from his mother, and his first text-book was the Bible. He was endowed
with reverence, and his grave, sonorous voice was especially well
fitted for sacred reading.
The boy took the book and commenced the task prescribed. Usually a
few verses are considered sufficient, but in this case the dignified
listener became absorbed in the boy’s reading, and he listened, half
forgetful of the object he had in view. It is a good deal to say that
he actually enjoyed it. He had seldom listened to a voice at once so
rich, deep and sonorous as belonged to this young boy of fourteen.
Daniel, too, forgot that he was on trial, and read with his whole soul
intent upon the words before him.
When he had completed the chapter Dr. Abbot said, abruptly, “You are
qualified to enter this institution.”
This was all the examination which in his case was required.
It was no common school that Daniel had entered, as is shown by the
list of eminent men who have gone forth from it. George Bancroft,
Edward Everett, Alexander H. Everett, Lewis Cass, Levi Woodbury, John
E. Palfrey and others received here the first rudiments of their
classical education, and all of them looked back with affection to
their Alma Mater. But without derogating from the fame of any of these
eminent men, it may surely be said that in Daniel Webster not only
Exeter but Dartmouth College boasts its greatest alumnus.
Daniel soon vindicated the good judgment of Dr. Abbot in admitting him
as a pupil. As to the manner in which he improved the advantages which
his father’s self-denial had secured to him, I quote the testimony of
Dr. Tefft in his interesting life of Webster:
“During the nine months of his stay at Exeter he accomplished as much
for himself, according to every account, as most young gentlemen could
have accomplished in two years. When he left he had as thoroughly
mastered grammar, arithmetic, geography and rhetoric, as the majority
of college graduates usually have done after a full collegiate course.
He had also made rapid progress in the study of the Latin language. Dr.
Abbot, fully appreciating the capacity of his most remarkable pupil,
did not tie him down to the ordinary routine of study, nor compel him
to lag behind with the other pupils, but gave him free scope and a
loose rein, that he might do his utmost; and the venerable preceptor,
after the lapse of more than half a century, during all which time he
continued to be a teacher, declared on a public occasion that Daniel
Webster’s equal in the power of amassing knowledge he had never seen,
and never expected to see again.
“It is not enough to say of him, according to Dr. Abbot’s description
of him at this time, that he had a quick perception and a memory
of great tenacity and strength. He did not seem barely to read and
remember, as other people do. He appeared, rather, to grasp the
thoughts and facts given by his author with a peculiar force, to
incorporate them into his mental being, and thus make them a part of
himself. It is said of Sir Isaac Newton, after reading for the first
time the geometry of Euclid, and on being asked what he thought of
it, that he knew it all before. He understood geometry, it seems, by
intuition, or by a perception so rapid that it seems like intuition;
but it was also true of the great astronomer that he had great
difficulty in remembering even his own calculations after he had gone
through with them. Daniel Webster, on the other hand, though endowed
with a very extraordinary quickness of insight, worked harder for
his knowledge than did Newton; but when once he had gained a point,
or learned a fact, it remained with him, a part of his own essence,
forever afterwards. His mind was also wonderfully fertile. A single
truth, which, with most boys of his age, would have remained a single
truth, in him became at once a starting-point for a remarkable series
of ideas, original and striking, growing up out of the seed sown by
that mighty power of reflection, in which no youth of his years,
probably, was ever his superior.”
At that time an assistant in the school was Joseph S. Buckminster,
who later became an eminent preacher in Boston, and died while yet a
young man. He was very young at the time, a mere boy, yet such were
his attainments, and such was the confidence reposed in him by his old
teachers, that he was selected to fill the position of tutor. He it
was who first directed the studies of the new scholar, and encouraged
the bashful boy to do his best. In after life Webster never displayed
timidity or awkwardness; but, fresh from the farm, thrown among a
hundred boys, most of whom were better dressed and more used to society
than he, he felt at times awkward and distrustful. One thing he found
it hard to do was to declaim. This is certainly singular, considering
how he excelled in reading, and considering moreover what an orator he
afterwards became.
It was not because he did not try. He committed more than one piece
to memory, and recited it to himself out loud in the solitude of his
own room, but when the time came to get up and declaim it before the
teacher and his schoolmates he was obliged to give it up. Here is his
own account of it:
“Many a piece did I commit to memory, and rehearse in my own room over
and over again; but when the day came, when the school collected, when
my name was called, and I saw all eyes turned upon my seat, I could not
raise myself from it. Sometimes the masters frowned, sometimes they
smiled. Mr. Buckminster always pressed and entreated with the most
winning kindness that I would venture only _once_; but I could not
command sufficient resolution, and when the occasion was over I went
home and wept tears of bitter mortification.”
This is certainly encouraging for bashful boys. Here was a man who
became one of the greatest orators—perhaps _the_ greatest—and yet as a
boy he made an ignominious failure in the very department in which he
afterwards excelled. It is a lesson for parents also. Don’t too hastily
conclude that your boys are dunces, and destined to failure, because
they develop late, or are hindered from making a creditable figure by
timidity or nervous self-consciousness.
In this connection I am tempted to repeat an anecdote of Sir Walter
Scott. It was not till comparatively late that he discovered his
poetical ability. It is related of him that when already a young man
he was rowing with a friend on a Scotch lake, when they mutually
challenged each other to produce a few lines of poetry. Both made
the trial, and both failed. Thereupon Scott said good-humoredly to
his companion, “It’s clear neither of us was cut out for a poet.”
Yet within ten years appeared the first of those Border poems which
thrilled the hearts of his countrymen, and have lent a charm to the
hills and lakes of Scotland which they will never lose.
Daniel remained nine months at Exeter. Though he did not win reputation
as a declaimer, he made his mark as a scholar. When he was approaching
the end of his first term the usher said one day, “Webster, you may
stop a few minutes after school; I wish to speak to you.”
Daniel stopped, wondering whether in any way he had incurred censure.
When they were alone the usher said, “The term is nearly over. Are you
coming back next term?”
Daniel hesitated. He enjoyed the advantages which the school afforded,
but his feelings had been hurt at times by the looks of amusement
directed at his rustic manners and ill-fitting garments.
The usher noticed his hesitation, and said, “You are doing yourself
great credit. You are a better scholar than any in your class. If you
come back next term I shall put you into a higher class.”
These encouraging words made the boy resolve to return, and regardless
of ridicule pursue with diligence the path which had been marked out
for him.
It would be rather interesting to read the thoughts of Daniel’s
schoolmates when years afterwards they saw the boy whom they had
ridiculed moving forward with rapid strides to the foremost place in
the councils of state, as well as in the legal profession.
I am tempted to insert here, on the authority of an Exeter
correspondent of the Chicago _Advance_, an anecdote of Daniel at this
period which will interest my young readers:
“When Daniel Webster’s father found that his son was not robust enough
to make a successful farmer, he sent him to Exeter to prepare for
college, and found a home for him among a number of other students in
the family of ‘old Squire Clifford,’ as we of a younger generation
had always heard him called. Daniel had up to this time led only the
secular life of a country farmer’s boy, and, though the New Hampshire
farmers have sent out many heroes as firm and true as the granite rocks
in the pasture, there cannot be among the hard and homely work which
such a life implies the little finenesses of manner which good society
demands. Daniel was one of these diamonds of the first water, but was
still in the rough, and needed some cutting and polishing to fit him to
shine in the great world in which he was to figure so conspicuously.
“None saw this more clearly than the sensible old Squire. The boy had
one habit at table of which the Squire saw it would be a kindness to
cure him. When not using his knife and fork he was accustomed to hold
them upright in his fists, on either side of his plate. Daniel was a
bashful boy of very delicate feelings, and the Squire feared to wound
him by speaking to him directly on the subject. So he called aside one
of the other students with whom he had been longer acquainted, and told
him his dilemma. ‘Now,’ said he, ‘I want you this noon at the table to
hold up your knife and fork as Daniel does. I will speak to you about
it, and we will see if the boy does not take a hint for himself.’
“The young man consented to be the scapegoat for his fellow-student,
and several times during the meal planted his fists on the table, with
his knife and fork as straight as if he had received orders to present
arms. The Squire drew his attention to his position, courteously begged
his pardon for speaking of the matter, and added a few kind words
on the importance of young men correcting such little habits before
going out into the world. The student thanked him for his interest and
advice, and promised reform, and Daniel’s knife and fork were never
from that day seen elevated at table.”