would be anomalous, for a _Quaker_ in black. He looked still
more like (what he really was) a literary Modern Antique, a
New-Old Author, a living anachronism, contemporary at once
with Burton the Elder, and Colman the Younger. Meanwhile he
advanced with rather a peculiar gait, his walk was
plantigrade, and with a cheerful "How d'ye do," and one of
the blandest, sweetest smiles that ever brightened a manly
countenance, held out two fingers to the Editor. The two
gentlemen in black soon fell into discourse; and whilst they
conferred the Lavater principle within me set to work upon
the interesting specimen thus presented to its speculations.
It was a striking intellectual face, full of wiry lines,
physiognomical quips and cranks, that gave it great
character. There was much earnestness about the brows, and a
deal of speculation in the eyes, which were brown and
bright, and "quick in turning"; the nose, a decided one,
though of no established order; and there was a handsome
smartness about the mouth. Altogether it was no common
face--none of those _willow-pattern_ ones, which Nature
turns out by thousands at her potteries;--but more like a
chance specimen of the Chinese ware, one to the set--unique,
antique, quaint. No one who had once seen it, could pretend
not to know it again. It was no face to lend its
countenance to any confusion of persons in a Comedy of
Errors. You might have sworn to it piecemeal,--a separate
affidavit for every feature. In short his face was as
original as his figure; his figure as his character; his
character as his writings; his writings the most original of
the age. After the literary business had been settled, the
Editor invited his contributor to dinner, adding "we shall