He was a black,
raven-haired fellow, with an eye as black as death's, and as heavy
as a lion's,--that same heavy look, not sleepy, but as if he didn't
care about anything that was going on about him or anything
anywhere else. He didn't look as if he was thinking about anything,
but as if he _would_ think like a hurricane if he once got waked up
to it. They say the lion looks so when he is quiet.... Webster
would sometimes be engaged to argue a case just as it was coming to
trial. That would set him to thinking. It wouldn't wrinkle his
forehead, but made him restless. He would shift his feet about, and
run his hand up over his forehead, through his Indian-black hair,
and lift his upper lip and show his teeth, which were as white as a
hound's."
Of course the speech so admired then was infinitely below what was done
afterwards. The very next was probably better, for Mr. Webster grew
steadily. This observer, however, tells us not what Mr. Webster said, but
how he looked. It was the personal presence which dwelt with every one at
this time.
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