he died.  In the Ogden and Saunders case he settled the constitutionality of State bankrupt laws; in that of the United States Bank he maintained the right of a citizen of one State to perform any legal act in another; in that which related to the efficacy of Stephen Girard’s will, he demonstrated the vital importance of Christianity to the success of free institutions,—­so that this very college, which excluded clergymen from being teachers in it, or even visiting it, has since been presided over by laymen of high religious character, like Judge Jones and Doctor Allen.  In the Rhode Island case he proved the right of a State to modify its own institutions of government.  In the Knapp murder case he brought out the power of conscience—­the voice of God to the soul—­with such terrible forensic eloquence that he was the admiration of all Christian people.  No better sermon was ever preached than this appeal to the conscience of men.

In these and other cases he settled very difficult and important questions, so that the courts of law will long be ruled by his wisdom.  He enriched the science of jurisprudence itself by bringing out the fundamental laws of justice and equity on which the whole science rests.  He was not as learned as he was logical and comprehensive.  His greatness as a lawyer consisted in seeing and seizing some vital point not obvious, or whose importance was not perceived by his opponent, and then bringing to bear on this point the whole power of his intellect.  His knowledge was marvellous on those points essential to his argument; but he was not probably learned, like Kent, in questions outside his cases,—­I mean the details and technicalities of law.  He did, however, know the fundamental principles on which his great cases turned, and these he enforced with much eloquence and power, so that his ablest opponents quailed before him.  Perhaps his commanding presence and powerful tones and wonderful eye had something to do with his success at the Bar as well as in the Senate,—­a brow, a voice, and an eye that meant war when he was fairly aroused; although he appealed generally to reason, without tricks of rhetoric.  If he sometimes intimidated, he rarely resorted to exaggerations, but confined himself strictly to the facts, so that he seemed the fairest of men.  This moderation had great weight with an intelligent jury and with learned judges.  He always paid great deference to the court, and was generally courteous to his opponents.  Of all his antagonists at the Bar, perhaps it was Jeremiah Mason and Rufus Choate whom he most dreaded; yet both of these great men were his warm friends.  Warfare at the Bar does not mean personal animosity,—­it is generally mutual admiration, except in the antagonism of such rivals as Hamilton and Burr.  Webster’s admiration for Wirt, Pinkney, Curtis, and Mason was free from all envy; in fact, Webster was too great a man for envy, and great lawyers were those whom he loved best, whom he felt to be his brethren, not secret enemies.  His admiration for Jeremiah Mason was only equalled by that for Judge Marshall, who was not a rival.  Webster praised Marshall as he might have Erskine or Lyndhurst.