Then comes the real last end of the speech,—a perfect bijou of rhetorical amplification.
“I came into public life, sir, in the service of the United States.” (Mr. Webster probably means to serve the United States.) “On that broad altar my earliest and all my public vows have been made. I propose to serve no other master. So far as depends on any agency of mine, they shall continue United States, united in interest and affection, united in every thing in regard to which the constitution has decreed their union; united in war, for the common defence, the common renown, and the common glory; and united, compacted, knit firmly together in peace, for the common prosperity and happiness of ourselves and our children.”
Who does not here remember the wholesome piece of advice Napoleon gave to his brother Lucien when the latter had sent him a proclamation intended for the public? “I have read the proclamation,” observed Napoleon; “it is good for nothing. There are too many words and too few ideas in it. You struggle after pathos. This is not the way to speak to the people. They possess more tact and judgment than you are aware of. Your prose will do more harm than good.”
I am not disposed to undervalue Mr. Webster’s talent as a judge and critic,—except as regards poetry and the arts. The bench is the proper place for him; but as a statesman, or party leader, he can only succeed by the blunders of his antagonists.
The next gentleman to whom my democratic friend directed my attention was a short stout figure, with a bald head, and a cold, displeasing, repulsive countenance, which, notwithstanding, beamed with an almost supernatural intelligence. “This is Mr. John Quincy Adams,” observed my friend, “formerly President of the United States, and now a member of Congress. Next to General Jackson, he is perhaps the most remarkable man in the country, though he is his perfect antipode. If anything shows the superiority of character over abstract knowledge, it is the triumph of the honest, straightforward soldier over this hair-splitter. Were there yet twenty Jacksons in the country, they would yet twenty times succeed against such a man. This is a law of nature.
“Mr. Adams, if you consider his acquirements, is probably the best informed man in America, though his knowledge is somewhat rhapsodical, like his character. He has the most astonishing memory, and possesses great conversational powers. Yet, with all these eminent qualities, he has not one true friend! With almost universal talent, and, I might add, universal application, he possesses no genius, no great personality, like Jackson, born to wield the destinies of a country. He is full of information, understands most perfectly the routine of business, reads everything, examines everything, and remembers everything; and yet, when he comes to act, is sure of committing some blunder which will expose him and his friends. He is, in fact, a living illustration of Voltaire’s motto:
‘Nous tromper dans nos entreprises,
C’est à quoi nous sommes sujets;
Le matin je fais des projets,
Et le long du jour des sottises.’
The reason is, he knows Europe better than he does America;—he is a stranger in his own country. He fights his battles on paper; calculating the number of men, their position, and the kind of arms, but making no allowance for their moral character. Many of his plans are well conceived, but all are badly executed; and he has the weakness of most bad generals, to account for his lost battles by the faults of his inferior officers.
“The gaucheries which distinguish his political life also mark his private intercourse; he talks better than any man in the United States, and yet is sure to be embarrassed when addressed, unless previously prepared for it. This want of social talent I have frequently noticed among the most eminent men of New England, and it accounts for their little popularity. Mr. Adams belongs, of course, to the opposition; but, like the independent Yankee militia-man, fights his battles ‘on his own book.’[29] He will not suffer any one near him, and attacks indiscriminately friend or foe that opposes his progress. Of late, few of his own party have dared to come within his reach; for, though his political principles are somewhat rococo, his wit and sarcasm are as unimpaired as ever, and his capacity to scratch those who tread upon his toe as good as in the best days of his manhood.