like that of a man who is not in
perfect health, and his appearance yesterday was that of the spirit
bearing up against the exhaustion of the body; he was sea-sick during
the passage, and had not slept for two or three nights. His manner in
speaking is at once incomparably dignified and graceful. Gestures more
admirable and effective, and a play of countenance more expressive and
magnetic, we remember in no other public speaker. He stands quite erect,
and does not bend forward like some orators, to give emphasis to a
sentence. His posture and appearance in repose are imposing, not only
from their essential grace and dignity, but from a sense of power they
impress upon the beholder. This sense of unused power, this certainty
that he is not making an effort and doing his utmost, but that behind
all this strength of fascination there are other treasures of strength,
other stores of ability not brought into use, possibly never brought
into use, is perhaps what constitutes the supreme charm of his oratory.
He speaks as if with little preparation, and with that peculiar
freshness which belongs to extemporaneous speaking; there is no effort
about it, and the wonderful compactness and art of his argument are not
felt until you reflect upon it afterward. His every movement is
perfectly easy, and he gesticulates much, equally well with either arm.
Nothing could be more beautiful in its way than the sweep of his right
hand, as it was raised to Heaven, when he spoke of the Deity--nothing
sweeter than the smile which at times mantles his face. His voice is not
very loud, but it was heard distinctly through the large pavilion. On
the whole our previous impression was perfectly confirmed by hearing
him. In speaking, Kossuth occasionally referred to notes which lay on
the stand before him. He was dressed after the Hungarian fashion, in a
black velvet tunic, single breasted, with standing collar and
transparent black buttons. He also wore an overcoat or sack of black
velvet with broad fur and loose sleeves. He wore light kid gloves.
Generally his English is fluent and distinct, with a marked foreign
accent, though at times this is not at all apparent. He speaks rather
slowly than otherwise, and occasionally hesitates for a word. His
command of the language, astonishing as it is in a foreigner, seems
rather the result of an utter abandonment to his thought, and a reliance
on that to express itself, than of an absolute command of the niceti