“‘No explanation,’ said I; ‘admit the fact, and take it back. I do not want another word from you except that. I will hear no explanation; nothing but that you admit it and recall it.’ “He trembled like an aspen leaf. He again attempted to explain. “Said I, ‘There is no other course. I have the key in my pocket, and you must apologize, or take what I give you.’ “At that he humbled down, and said to me: ‘You are right, I am sorry; I did intend to bluff you; I regret it, and ask your pardon.’ “‘Enough,’ I promptly replied. ‘Now, one promise before I open the door; and that is, that you will to-morrow state to the court that you have said things which wounded my feelings, and that you regret it.’ “Pinkney replied, ‘I will do so.’ “Then I unlocked the door, and passed out. “The next morning, when the court met, Mr. Pinkney at once rose, and stated to the court that a very unpleasant affair had occurred the morning before, as might have been observed by their honors; that his friend, Mr. Webster, had felt grieved at some things which had dropped from his lips; that his zeal for his client might have led him to say some things which he should not have said, and that he was sorry for having thus spoken.’ “From that day,” adds Mr. Webster, “there was no man who treated me with so much respect and deference as Mr. William Pinkney.” I have recorded this anecdote that my young readers may understand clearly that the young lawyer was manly and self-respecting, and declined the method of satisfaction then in vogue from high and honorable motives. CHAPTER XXIV. MR. WEBSTER IN BOSTON. Before his second Congressional term had expired, Mr. Webster carried out a plan which was first suggested by the destruction of his house and library. His talents demanded a wider arena. Moreover, his growing family necessitated a style of living for which his professional income was insufficient. Happily as his life had flowed on in the chief town in his native State, he felt that he must seek a new residence. For a time he hesitated between Albany and Boston, but happily for the latter he decided in its favor, and in August, 1816, he removed thither with his family, fixing his home in a house on Mt. Vernon Street, but a few rods from the State House. It mattered not where Daniel Webster might choose to locate himself, he was sure to take at once a leading position both as a lawyer and a man. He was now thirty-four years old. He had outlived his early delicacy, and began to assume that dignity and majesty of mein which made him everywhere a marked man. Appearances are oftentimes deceptive, but in his case it was not so. That outward majesty which has been quaintly described in the statement that “when Daniel Webster walked the streets of Boston he made the buildings look small,” was but the sign and manifestation of a corresponding intellectual greatness. By his removal New Hampshire lost her greatest son, and Boston gained its foremost citizen.