“Mr. Keble greeted us, emerging from his little study, the door of which, as I afterwards noticed, oftener than not, stood open.... His features, indeed, were familiar to us, as to most people, from the engraving of Richmond’s first portrait of him, taken in middle life for Sir John Coleridge. Now the original stood before me, and I saw at a glance that face and figure had been faithfully portrayed. The forehead was pale and serene, the hair silvery; doubtless this token of advancing years must have helped to give softness and refinement to the features; eyebrows, sprinkled with white, shaded eyes of singular brilliancy and depth of expression, as ready (I afterwards well knew) to light up with mirth and mischief while playful talk was going on, as they were to melt into mournful earnestness when graver topics were broached. He habitually wore glasses, but used often to take them off and hold them in his hand when conversing with animation. A dear and old friend of his has told me that he ‘looked almost boyish till about fifty, and after that rapidly aged in personal appearance.’ At this time he was in his sixty-first year, healthy and strong and active.... In appearance he was quite one’s ideal of an old-fashioned country clergyman, but of one whose Oxford days were still fresh in his mind; there was a touch of _vieille cour_ in his manner, which added, I think, to its charm. His voice in speaking was rather low, and especially so when the subject of conversation was very near his heart. It often struck me, when listening to him, that without the slightest effort or aim at effect, he always hit upon the most suitable and telling words, (and the shortest), in which to clothe his ideas. This unconscious beauty of language, coupled with the originality and wisdom of the ideas themselves, riveted them in one’s memory; the look, too, with which they were uttered, could not be forgotten, and rises as vividly before my mind’s eye ‘through the golden mist of years’ as though it belonged to the present, instead of the ‘long ago.’”--1852. [Sidenote: L. A. Huntingford: private letter.]