fair proportioned. Nature had originally cast his form in an athletic
mould, but sedentary habits and the wear of mind seemed somewhat to have
impaired her gifts. His cheek was pale and delicate; yet it was rather the
delicacy of thought than of weak health. His hair, which was long, and of
a rich and deep brown, was worn back from his face and temples, and left a
broad high majestic forehead utterly unrelieved and bare; and on the brow
there was not a single wrinkle--it was as smooth as it might have been
some fifteen years ago. There was a singular calmness, and, so to speak,
profundity of thought, eloquent upon its clear expanse, which suggested
the idea of one who had passed his life rather in contemplation than
emotion. It was a face that a physiognomist would have loved to look upon,
so much did it speak both of the refinement and the dignity of intellect."

"Such was the person--if pictures convey a faithful resemblance--of a man,
certainly the most eminent in his day for various and profound learning,
and a genius wholly self-taught, yet never contented to repose upon the
wonderful stores it had laboriously accumulated."

(Aram thus describes his own character:--)

"Ah!" said Aram, gently shaking his head, "it is a hard life we bookmen
lead. Not for us is the bright face of noon-day or the smile of woman, the
gay unbending of the heart, the neighing steed and the shrill trump; the
pride, pomp, and circumstance of life. Our enjoyments are few and calm;
our labour constant; but that is it not, Sir?--that is it not? the body
avenges its own neglect. We grow old before our time; we wither up; the
sap of our youth shrinks from our veins; there is no bound in our step. We
look about us with dimmed eyes, and our breath grows short and thick, and
pains, and coughs, and shooting aches come upon us at night; it is a
bitter life--a bitter life--joyless life. I would I had never commenced it.