His
frock coat, rusty from dust and wear, did not fit him. The sleeves
escaped his wrists by several inches; his trousers had hitched up as he
sat down, so that one half of his shanks was exposed to view, leaving
his monstrous feet, like the slap-boots of a negro minstrel, for
ludicrous inches over the floor. His neck was long and feminine, and
stuck up grotesquely much above a sort of Byronic collar held together
by a black stock tie. I had never seen a man so absurd.
Douglas was as ludicrously short as Lincoln was tall; broad shouldered
where Lincoln was narrow; thick chested where Lincoln was thin; big
headed where Lincoln was small; of massive brow where Lincoln was full
and shapely; of strong bull-like neck where Lincoln was small and
delicate; of short, compact, powerful body where Lincoln was tall,
loosely constructed, awkward, and muscular. Douglas' face wore
determination, seriousness, force, pugnacity, and endurance. But his
hair was grayer than mine; he looked tired. He arose and in that great
melodious voice which always thrilled me, he said: "It is now nearly
four months since the canvass between Mr. Lincoln and myself commenced."
He went on and controverted Mr. Lincoln's "house divided against
itself," going over the ground of the previous debate. There was not a
sound of disturbance in the audience.
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