cannot make himself popular, it is at least his interest to make
himself pleasing.

Of one of these chapels Enoch Ellis was the farmer general; and
this necessary endeavour to please had produced in him a remarkable
contrast of character. He was a little man, with thin legs and thighs
and a pot belly, but precisely upright: an archbishop could not
carry himself more erect: his chest projecting; his neck stiff; his
head thrown back; his eyes of the ferret kind, red, tender and much
uncovered by the eyelid; his nose flat on the bridge, and at the end
of the colour and form of a small round gingerbread nut, but with
little nostril; his lips thin; his teeth half black half yellow; his
ears large; his beard and whiskers sandy; his hair dark, but kept
in buckle, and powdered as white as a miller's hat; his complexion
sallow, and his countenance and general aspect jaundiced and mean.

With these requisites, there was a continual struggle, between his
efforts to preserve his clerical solemnity and to make himself
agreeable. His formal manner of pursing up his face into smiles, for
this purpose, had produced a regular set of small wrinkles, folds, and
plies, that inevitably reminded those who were not accustomed to him
of the grinning of an ape; for he was so fearful of derogating from
his dignity that it was impossible for his smile to take the form of
meaning.

After waiting about ten minutes this reverend little gentleman, such
as I have described, entered, assumed one of these agreeable solemn
smiles, and bowed; but instantly recovered his full stature; as if he
had been then measuring for a grenadier.