“The man is not of god-like physiognomy, any more than of imposing stature or costume: close-shut mouth with thin lips, prominent jaws and nose, receding brow, by no means of Olympian height; head, however, is of long form, and has superlative gray eyes in it; not what is called a beautiful man, nor yet, by all appearance, what is called a happy. The face bears evidence of many sorrows, of much hard labor done in this world. Quiet stoicism, great unconscious, and some conscious, pride, well tempered with a cheery mockery of humor, are written on that old face, which carries its chin well forward in spite of the slight stoop about the neck; snuffy nose rather flung into the air, under its old cocked hat, like an old snuffy lion on the watch, and such a pair of eyes as no man, or lion, or lynx, of that century bore elsewhere. Those eyes, which, at the bidding of his great soul, fascinated you with seduction or with terror; most excellent, potent, brilliant eyes, swift-darting as the stars, steadfast as the sun; gray, we said, of the azure-gray color; large enough, not of glaring size; the habitual expression of them vigilance and penetrating sense, and gives us the notion of a lambent outer radiance springing from some great inner sea of light and fire in the man. The voice, if he speak to you, is clear, melodious, and sonorous; all tones are in it: ingenuous inquiry, graceful sociality, light-flowing banter up to definite word of command, up to desolating word of rebuke and reprobation.”