bronze with which it darkened on the banks of the White Nile
, as well as the Japanning which his last excursion gave it. Pale, delicate-featured, with a curling beard and subdued moustache, slight in figure, and dressed with care, he has as little the aspect of an adventurous traveler, and as much the air of a nice young gentleman, as can be imagined.
He may read in peace, for he is not now one of the ‘hack-horses’ of the daily press.
Tile tall, pale, intense-looking gentleman who is slowly pacing the carpet of the inner sanctum is Mr. William H. Fry
, the composer of Leonora.
At this moment he is thinking out thunder for to-morrow's Tribune.
William Henry Fry
is one of the noblest fellows alive—a hater of meanness and wrong, a lover of man and right, with a power of expression equal to the intensity of his hate and the enthusiasm of his love.
There is more merit in his little finger than in a whole mass-meeting of Douglass-senators; and from any but a grog-ruled city he would have been sent to Congress long ago; but perhaps, as Othello
remarks, “it is better as it is.”
, who came in a few minutes ago, and sat down before that marshaled array of books and magazines, might be described in the language of Mr. Weller
the elder, as “a stout gentleman of eight and forty.”
He is in for a long day's work apparently, and has taken off his coat.
Luckily for authors, Mr. Ripley
is a gentleman of sound digestion and indomitable good humor, who enjoys life and helps others enjoy it, and believes that anger and hatred are seldom proper, and never “pay.”
He examines each book, we observe, with care.
Without ever being in a hurry, he gets through an amazing quantity of work; and all he does shows the touch and finish of the practical hand.
enters with a quick, decided step, goes straight to his desk in the green-carpeted sanctum sanctorum, and is soon lost in the perusal of “Karl Marx
,” or “An American woman in Paris
In figure, face, and flowing beard, he looks enough like Louis Kossuth
to be his cousin, if not his brother.
, as befits his place, is a gentleman of peremptory habits.
It is his office to decide
; and, as he is called upon to perform the act of decision a hundred times a day, he has acquired the power both of deciding with despatch and of announcing his decision with civil brevity, If you desire a plain answer to a plain question, Charles A. Dana
is the gentleman who can accommodate you. He is an