During the early period of practice at the bar I studied my cases carefully and had fair success. I settled more cases by compromises, however, than I tried before a jury. I got the reputation of being successful by full preparation and a thorough knowledge of the facts and law of the case. In addressing a jury I rarely attempted flights of oratory, and when I did attempt them I failed. I soon learned that it was better to gain the confidence of a jury by plain talk than by rhetoric. Subsequently in public life I preserved a like course, and once, though I was advised by Governor Chase to add a peroration to my argument, I did not follow his advice. While I defended many persons for alleged crimes I never but once prosecuted a criminal. My old friend, Mr. Kirkwood, was the prosecuting attorney of the county, and I renewed with him my "moot court" experience in frequent contests between real parties.
During this period I became a member of the order of Odd Fellows in Mansfield. I took an active interest in the order, and was at one time Noble Grand of the lodge. I have continued every since to pay my dues, but have not been able to attend the meetings regularly for some years. I have always thought, without any reference to its supposed secrecy, that it is an association of great value, especially in bringing young men under good social influences with men of respectable character and standing.
Among the political incidents of this period I recall the excitement that grew out of the Mexican War. The general feeling among all classes, and the universal feeling among the Whigs was, that the Mexican War was purposely and unjustly entered upon to extend the institution of slavery. There is, now, no doubt that such was the object of the war. After the battles at Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma a call was made upon the people of Ohio for two regiments of volunteers. These were raised without much difficulty, one being placed under the command of Col. Thomas L. Hamer, the other under my old commander, Col. Samuel R. Curtis. I was somewhat tempted to enter the service, though I did not believe in the justice of the war. My old friend, Gen. McLaughlin, raised a company in Mansfield, and my comrade on the Muskingum Improvement, James M. Love, raised one in Coschocton, and Col. Curtis was to command the regiment. My brother, William Tecumseh, then captain in the regular army, was eager to go into the war. He had been stationed at Pittsburg, on recruiting service, but during the excitement visited us at Mansfield, and chafed over the delay of orders to join the troops, then under General Taylor. No doubt his impatience led him to be assigned to the expedition around Cape Horn to occupy California, this, greatly to his regret, keeping him out of the war with Mexico.
Whatever may have been the merits of this war in the beginning, its fruits were undoubtedly of immense value to this country. Without this war California might, like other provinces of Mexico, have remained undeveloped. In the possession of the United States its gold and silver have been discovered and mined, and, together with all the vast interior country west of the Mississippi, it has been developed with a rapidity unexampled in history.
In the winter of 1846-7, I for the first time visited the cities of Washington, New York and Boston. I rode in a stage coach from Mansfield to the national road south of Newark, and thence over that road by stages to Cumberland, the railroads not having yet crossed the mountains. From Cumberland I rode in cars to Baltimore, occupying nearly a day. From Baltimore I proceeded to Washington.
On my arrival I went to the National Hotel, then the most popular hotel in Washington, where many Senators and Members lodged. I found there, also, a number of charming young ladies whose company was much more agreeable to me than that of the most distinguished statesmen. We had hops, balls and receptions, but I recall very few public men I met at that time. Mr. Vinton, then the veteran Member from Ohio, invited me to join for a few days his mess; he was then boarding in a house nearly opposite the hotel, kept by an Italian whose name I cannot recall. He was a famous cook. The mess was composed entirely of Senators and Members, one of the former being Mr. Crittenden, of Kentucky. I was delighted and instructed by the free and easy talk that prevailed, a mixture of funny jokes, well-told stories and gay and grave discussions of politics and law.
My stay at the capital was brief as I wished to go to New York and Boston. In New York I received from a relative a letter of introduction to Benj. R. Curtis, then an eminent lawyer, and latterly a more eminent justice of the Supreme Court. When I presented my letter I was received very kindly and after a brief conversation he said he was able to do me a favor, that he had a ticket to a grand banquet to be attended by the leading men of Boston at Plymouth Rock, on the anniversary of the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers, and that Daniel Webster would preside. I heartily thanked him, and on the next day, prompt on time, I entered the train at Boston for Plymouth. When I arrived at the hotel, which is also a station- house of the railway, I did not know a single person in the great assemblage. In due time we were ushered into the dining hall where the banquet was spread. There was no mistaking Webster. He sat at the center of a cross table with the British minister on his right and Jeremiah Mason on his left. At the other end of the room sat Abbott Lawrence and other distinguished men. The residue of the guests, merchants, poets, and orators of Massachusetts, filled every seat at the tables. I sat some way down on the side and introduced myself to my neighbors on the right and left, but my eye was on Webster, from whom I expected such lofty eloquence as he alone could utter.
Much to my surprise, when the time came for the oratory to commence, Mr. Lawrence acted as toast master. We had stories, songs, poetry and oratory, generally good and appropriate, but not from Webster. And so the evening waned. Webster had been talking freely with those about him. He displayed none of the loftiness associated with his name. He drank freely. That was manifest to everyone. His favorite bottle was one labeled "Brandy." We heard of it as being "more than a hundred years old." It did not travel down to us. Webster was plainly hilarious. At this time the conductor appeared at a side door and announced that in fifteen minutes the cars would start for Boston. Then Webster arose—with difficulty —he rested his hands firmly on the table and with an effort assumed an erect position. Every voice was hushed. He said that in fifteen minutes we would separate, nevermore to meet again, and then, with glowing force and eloquence, he contrasted the brevity and vanity of human life with the immortality of the events they were celebrating, which century after century would be celebrated by your children and your children's children to the latest generation.
I cannot recall the words of his short but eloquent speech, but it made an impress on my mind. If his body was affected by the liquor, his head was clear and his utterance perfect. I met Mr. Webster afterwards on the cars and in Washington. I admired him for his great intellectual qualities, but I do not wonder that the people of the United States did not choose him for President.
Soon after the national Whig convention of 1852, of which I was a member, I heard this story told by his secretary. In the evening, when Mr. Webster was at his well-known residence on Louisiana Avenue, near Sixth street, he was awaiting the ballots in the convention. When it came by the telegraph, "Scott 159, Fillmore 112, Webster 21," he repeated it in his deep tones and said: "How will this read in history?" He did not like either Scott or Fillmore, and was disappointed in the votes of southern members. To be third in such a contest wounded his pride. He died before the year closed. He was, perhaps, the greatest man of intellectual force of his time, but he had faults which the people could not overlook. Another incident about Mr. Webster, and the house in which he lived, may not be without interest. On New Year's day of 1860, Mr. Corwin, Mr. Colfax and myself made the usual calls together. Among the many visits we made, was one on a gentleman then living in that house. As we entered, Mr. Corwin met an old well-trained negro servant who had been a servant of Mr. Webster in this house. I noticed that Mr. Corwin lost his usual gayety, and as we left the house he turned to us, and, with deep emotion, asked that we leave him at his lodgings, that his long associations with Mr. Webster, especially his meetings with him in that house during their association as members of the cabinet of Fillmore, unfitted him to enjoy the usual greetings of the day. I felt that the emotion of such a man as Corwin was the highest possible compliment to the memory of Daniel Webster.