to fires. His fastening upon the favorably placed, whether it was
Morton in his youth, or Wilson in his maturity, was not ordinary
self-seeking, not having for its object riches or power or
influence. It was merely desire to see for the pure love of seeing.

His is a boundless curiosity about both men and events. His eyes
are the clue to his character. Boardman Robinson, with the
caricaturist's gift for catching that feature which exhibits
character, said to me one day during the War, "I just passed
Colonel House on the street. The most wonderful seeing eyes I ever
saw!"

Nature had made Colonel House all eyes--trivial in figure,
undistinguished, slightly ludicrous, almost shambling, shrinking
under observation so that he gained a reputation for mystery, with
only one feature to catch your attention, a most amazingly fine
pair of eyes. It was as if nature had concentrated on those eyes,
treating all the puny rest of him with careless indifference. They
are eyes that delight in seeing, eyes to seek a place in the first
row of the grand stand of world events, eyes that turn steadily
outward upon objective reality. Not the eyes of a visionary--House
got his visions of the brotherhood of man and the rest of it at
second-hand from Wilson--eyes that glow not with the internal fires
of a great soul, but with the intoxication of the spectacle.

And with the eyes nature had given House an unerring instinct for
getting where, with his small figure, he could see. The ego of the
passionate spectator is as peculiar as that of the book collector
or the curiosity hunter. Given a shoulder tall enough the
diminutive House perches upon it, like a small boy watching a