Within a year of his removal to Portsmouth Mr. Webster took a step most important to his happiness. He was married to Grace Fletcher, daughter of Rev. Elijah Fletcher, of Hopkinton. There is no occasion in a brief biography like this to speak at length of Mrs. Webster. It is sufficient to say that she was qualified by her natural powers and acquired culture to be a sympathizing friend and companion to the husband whom she saw gradually expanding intellectually, and rising higher in reputation, in the twenty years that they lived together. I have said that Mr. Webster’s removal to Portsmouth brought him a wider and more lucrative practice. He still lived plainly, however. His office, though more pretentious than the one at Boscawan, which he hired for fifteen dollars a year, was, according to Mr. Ticknor, “a common, ordinary looking room, with less furniture and more books than common. He had a small inner room, opening from the larger, rather an unusual thing. He lived in a small, modest wooden house, which was burned in the great fire in 1813,” a fire by which he lost a valuable library. Daniel Webster lived in Portsmouth nine years lacking one month. He was in no hurry to remove to the still wider field that was waiting for him in Boston. He says somewhere that these were very happy years. His great powers were gradually expanding. He grew like an oak tree, slowly, but his growth was steady, and the result was massive and majestic. It was not long before he was regarded as one of the most prominent lawyers in his native State, and he was generally matched in important suits with Jeremiah Mason, already referred to as the undisputed head of the bar. Mr. Mason was a remarkable man, not only intellectually but physically. He was a very Titan, almost tall enough to have attracted the attention of Barnum had he lived at a later period. He was six feet seven inches in height, and naturally attracted attention wherever he went—an attention, by the way, which he did not court, and which was embarrassing to him. An amusing story is told of him which I have somewhere read, and will record from memory. In spite of his great height Mr. Mason did not sit high, having a short body and legs of immense length. One day he was driving in the neighborhood of Portsmouth, when in a narrow road he met a man driving a cart, a stalwart man, inclined to be a bully, who, confident in his strength, was disposed to take advantage of it. “Turn out!” he said roughly to Mr. Mason. “My friend,” said the lawyer, who was in a light buggy,” I have already given you half the road.” “No, you haven’t,” answered the other roughly. “At any rate, you must turn out more.” “But I see no justice in that,” said the great lawyer mildly. The mildness of his manner led the bully to think Mr. Mason was afraid of him; so, with an oath, he repeated his demand.