His ears were large and malformed.
In “Abraham Lincoln: A Medical Appraisal,” by Abraham M. Gordon.
When he was in a good humour I always expected him to flap with them like a good-natured elephant.
In “Ten Years of My Life,” by Princess Felix Salm-Salm.
His nose was not relatively oversized, but it looked large because of his thin face.
In “Abraham Lincoln’s Philosophy of Common Sense,” by Edward J. Kempf.
His nose is rather long but he is rather long himself, so it is a Necessity to keep the proportion complete.
In “Mary Lincoln: Biography of a Marriage,” by Ruth Painter Randall, account of a soldier.
His Way of Laughing two was rearly funney and Such awkward Jestures belonged to No other Man they actracted Universal attention from the old Sedate down to the School Boy then in a few Minnets he was as Calm & thoughtful as a Judge on the Bench.
Wilson and Davis, op. cit., account of Abner Ellis.
I thought him about the ugliest man I had ever seen.
In Francis F. Browne, “The EveryDay Life of Abraham Lincoln: A Biography of the Great American President from an Entirely New Standpoint, with Fresh and Invaluable Material,” account of Rev. George C. Noyes.
The first time I saw Mr. Lincoln I thought him the homeliest man I had ever seen.
In “My Day and Generation,” by Clark E. Carr.
The ugliest man I have ever put my eyes on.
In “The Photographs of Abraham Lincoln,” by Frederick Hill Meserve and Carl Sandburg, account of Colonel Theodore Lyman.
The homeliest man I ever saw.
Piatt, op. cit.
Not only is the ugliest man I ever saw, but the most uncouth and gawky in his manners and appearance.
In “Lincoln,” by David Herbert Donald, account of a soldier.
He was never handsome, indeed, but he grew more and more cadaverous and ungainly month by month.
In “Lincoln’s Washington: Recollections of a Journalist Who Knew Everybody,” by W. A. Croffut.
After you have been five minutes in his company you cease to think that he is either homely or awkward.
In the Utica “Herald.”
Regarding a face & carriage so uniquely arranged by Nature, one’s opinion of it seemed to depend more than usual on the predisposition of the Observer.
In “Letters of Sam Hume,” edited by Crystal Barnes.
He never appeared ugly to me, for his face, beaming with boundless kindness and benevolence towards mankind, had the stamp of intellectual beauty.
Salm-Salm, op. cit.
The good humor, generosity, and intellect beaming from it, makes the eye love to linger there until you almost fancy him good-looking.
In “Way-Side Glimpses, North and South,” by Lillian Foster.
The neighbors told me that I would find that Mr. Lincoln was an ugly man, when he is really the handsomest man I ever saw in my life.
In “Reminiscences of Abraham Lincoln by Distinguished Men of His Time,” by Allen Thorndike Rice.
I never saw a more thoughtful face, I never saw a more dignified face.
Rice, op. cit., account of David Locke.
Oh, the pathos of it!—haggard, drawn into fixed lines of unutterable sadness, with a look of loneliness, as of a soul whose depth of sorrow and bitterness no human sympathy could ever reach. The impression I carried away was that I had seen, not so much the President of the United States, as the saddest man in the world.
Browne, op. cit.
LXIII.
Each motion seeming to require a terrible effort on his part, Mr. Lincoln took hold of the chain and hung the lock upon it.
roger bevins iii
The door being ajar, however, and his boy’s sick-form within, it seemed he could not resist making one final entry.
the reverend everly thomas
Vaulting down from the roof, we followed him in.
hans vollman
The sick-form’s proximity seeming to jar Mr. Lincoln loose from some prior resolution, he slid the box out of the wallslot and lowered it to the floor.
the reverend everly thomas
This, it seemed, was as far as he meant to go.
roger bevins iii
(He had not meant even to go this far.)
the reverend everly thomas
Except then he knelt.
hans vollman
Kneeling there, it seemed he could not resist opening the box one last time.
the reverend everly thomas
He opened it; looked in; sighed.
roger bevins iii
Reached in, tenderly rearranged the forelock.
hans vollman
Made a slight adjustment to the pale crossed hands.
roger bevins iii
The lad cried out from the roof.
hans vollman
We had forgotten about him entirely.
roger bevins iii
I stepped out, vaulted back up, worked for some time to get him free. He was in rough shape: stunned speechless, banded-down good.
Then it occurred to me: if I could not pull him up, perhaps he could be pushed down.
And I was quite right: he had not been impaired at all yet beneath his back.
Working my hands in through the pulpy, still-forming carapace until I felt his chest, I gave him a good shove there, and down he went, with a cry of pain, through the roof, into the white stone home.