His hair was abundant and flowing,
tossed back from his full forehead like a cataract. His eyes were blue
and penetrating, but kindly. His face rather square. His voice deep and
resonant. His words were clearly spoken, and fell from his lips freely,
as if he were loosening them into a channel worn by long thinking. His
ideas were clearly envisioned. He had read books of which I had never
heard. But apart from books his sallies of wit, the aptness of his
stories and allusions quite dazzled me.
Though he was but two years my senior, I felt like a boy in his
presence. His maturity and self-possession and intellectual mastery of
the hour kept me silent. He recalled what he had done to bring me to the
comforts of Mrs. Spurgeon's house when I arrived in Jacksonville, ill
and helpless. After that he did not exactly ignore me, but I seemed not
to enter into the association of his ideas or their expression. He
talked of the country. There was the matter of Texas, a territory half
as large as central Europe. But if Texas seceded from Mexico he wished
the country absorbed into the domain of the United States. Texas has a
right to secede. All governments derive their powers from the consent of
the governed. Let moralists and dreamers say what they would, the course
of America was toward mastery of the whole of North America.
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