Every one is familiar with the story of the English navvy who pointed at Mr.Webster in the streets of Liverpool and said, "There goes a king." Sidney Smith exclaimed when he saw him, "Good heavens, he is a small cathedral by himself." Carlyle, no lover of America, wrote to Emerson:-- "Not many days ago I saw at breakfast the notablest of all your notabilities, Daniel Webster.

He is a magnificent specimen.

You might say to all the world, 'This is our Yankee Englishman; such limbs we make in Yankee land!' As a logic fencer, or parliamentary Hercules, one would incline to back him at first sight against all the extant world.

The tanned complexion; that amorphous crag-like face; the dull black eyes under the precipice of brows, like dull anthracite furnaces needing only to be _blown_; the mastiff mouth accurately closed; I have not traced so much of _silent Berserkir rage_ that I remember of in any man.

'I guess I should not like to be your nigger!' Webster is not loquacious, but he is pertinent, conclusive; a dignified, perfectly bred man, though not English in breeding; a man worthy of the best reception among us, and meeting such I understand." Such was the effect produced by Mr.Webster when in England, and it was a universal impression.