Daniel was not a student, while Ezekiel was; and as a counselor Ezekiel was the safer man.  Up to the very week of Ezekiel’s death Daniel advised with him on all his important affairs.  When Ezekiel fell dead in the courtroom at Concord and the news was carried to his brother, it was a blow that affected him more than the loss of wife or child.  His friend and counselor, the one man in life upon whom he leaned, was gone, and over his own great, craglike face came that look of sorrow which death only removed.  But care and grief became this giant, as they do all who are great enough to bear them.

It was two years after his brother’s death that he made the speech which is his masterpiece.  And while the applause was ringing in his ears he turned to Judge Story and said, “Oh, if Zeke were only here!” Who is there who can not sympathize with that groan?  We work for others; and to win the applause of senates or nations, and not be able to know that Some One is glad, takes all the sweetness out of victory.

“When I sing well, I want you to meet me in the wings of the stage, and taking me in your aims, kiss my cheek, and whisper it was all right.”  When Patti wrote this to her lover she voiced the universal need of a some one who understands, to share the triumph of good work well done.  The nostalgia of life never seems so bitter as after moments of success; then comes creeping in the thought that he who would have gloried in this—­knowing all the years of struggle and deprivations that made it possible—­is sleeping his long sleep.

In that speech of January Twenty-sixth, Eighteen Hundred Thirty, Webster reached high-water mark.  On that performance, more than any other, rests his fame.  He was forty-eight years old then.  All the years of his career he had been getting ready for that address.  It was on the one theme that he loved; on the theme he had studied most; on the only theme upon which he ever spoke well—­the greatness, the grandeur and the possibilities of America.  He spoke for four hours, and in his works the speech occupies seventy close pages.  He was at the zenith of his physical and intellectual power, and that is as good a place as any to stop and view the man.

On account of his proud carriage, and the fine poise of his massive head, he gave the impression of being a very large man; but he was just five feet ten, and weighed a little less than two hundred.  His manner was grave, deliberate and dignified; and his sturdy face, furrowed with lines of sorrow, made a profound impression upon all before he had spoken a word.  He had arrived at an age when the hot desire to succeed had passed.  For no man can attain the highest success until he has reached a point where he does not care for it.  In oratory the personal desire for victory must be obliterated or the hearer will never award the palm.