, low forehead,
indicative of great mathematical and constructive power. His brows were
long and shaggy, and overhung a restless, deep-set, cold, gray eye, that
met the fiercest glance unquailingly, and seemed possessed of that
magnetic power which dazzles, reads and confounds whatsoever it looks
upon. There was no escape from its inquisitive glitter. It sounded the
very depths of the soul it thought proper to search. Whilst gazing at
you, instinct felt the glance before your own eye was lifted so as to
encounter his. There was no human weakness in its expression. It was as
pitiless as the gleam of the lightning. But you felt no less that high
intelligence flashed from its depths. Courage, you knew, was there; and
true bravery is akin to all the nobler virtues. This man, you at once
said, may be cold, but it is impossible for him to be unjust, deceitful
or ungenerous. He might, like Shylock, insist on a _right_, no matter
how vindictive, but he would never forge a claim, no matter how
insignificant. He might crush, like Caesar, but he could never plot like
Catiline. In addition to all this, it required but slight knowledge of
physiognomy to perceive that his stern nature was tinctured with genuine
enthusiasm. Earnestness beamed forth in every feature. His soul was as
sincere as it was unbending. He could not trifle, even with the most
inconsiderable subject. Laughter he abhorred. He could smile, but there
was little contagion in his pleasantry. It surprised more than it
pleased you. Blended with this deep, scrutinizing, earnest and
enthusiastic nature, there was an indefinable something, shading the
whole character--it might have been early sorrow, or loss of fortune, or
baffled ambition, or unrequited love. Still, it shone forth patent to
the experienced eye, enigmatical, mysterious, sombre. There was danger,
also, in it, and many, who knew him best, attributed his eccentricity to
a softened phase of insanity.

But the most marked practical trait of Pollexfen's character was his
enthusiasm for his art. He studied its history, from the humble hints of
Niepce to the glorious triumphs of Farquer, Bingham, and Bradley, with
all the soul-engrossing fidelity of a child, and spent many a midnight
hour in striving to rival or surpass them. It was always a subject of
astonishment with me, until after his death, how it happened that a
rough, athletic seaman, as people declared he was originally, should
become so intensely absorb