He loved to point and enliven his reasoning by
humorous illustrations, usually anecdotes of Western life, of which he
had an inexhaustible store at his command. These anecdotes had not
seldom a flavor of rustic robustness about them, but he used them with
great effect, while amusing the audience, to give life to an abstraction,
to explode an absurdity, to clinch an argument, to drive home an
admonition. The natural kindliness of his tone, softening prejudice and
disarming partisan rancor, would often open to his reasoning a way into
minds most unwilling to receive it.
Yet his greatest power consisted in the charm of his individuality. That
charm did not, in the ordinary way, appeal to the ear or to the eye. His
voice was not melodious; rather shrill and piercing, especially when it
rose to its high treble in moments of great animation. His figure was
unhandsome, and the action of his unwieldy limbs awkward. He commanded
none of the outward graces of oratory as they are commonly understood.
His charm was of a different kind. It flowed from the rare depth and
genuineness of his convictions and his sympathetic feelings.
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