The godlike qualities of this great and good man made him none the less
a man. His separation unto God implied no unnatural isolation from his
fellow mortals. Like Terence, he could say: "I am a man, and nothing
common to man is foreign to me." To be well known, Mr. Muller needed to
be known in his daily, simple, home life. It was my privilege to meet
him often, and in his own apartment at Orphan House No. 3. His room was
of medium size, neatly but plainly furnished, with table and chairs,
lounge and writing-desk, etc. His Bible almost always lay open, as a
book to which he continually resorted.

His form was tall and slim, always neatly attired, and very erect, and
his step firm and strong. His countenance, in repose, might have been
thought stern, but for the smile which so habitually lit up his eyes and
played over his features that it left its impress on the lines of his
face. His manner was one of simple courtesy and unstudied dignity: no
one would in his presence, have felt like vain trifling, and there was
about him a certain indescribable air of authority and majesty that
reminded one of a born prince; and yet there was mingled with all this a
simplicity so childlike that even children felt themselves at home with
him. In his speech, he never quite lost that peculiar foreign quality,
known as accent, and he always spoke with slow and measured
articulation, as though a double watch were set at the door of his lips.
With him that unruly member, the tongue, was tamed by the Holy Spirit,
and he had that mark of what James calls a 'perfect man, able also to
bridle the whole body.'

Those who knew but little of him and saw him only in his serious moods
might have thought him lacking in that peculiarly human quality,
_humour._ But neither was he an ascetic nor devoid of that element of
innocent appreciation of the ludicrous and that keen enjoyment of a good
story which seem essential to a complete man. His habit was sobriety,
but he relished a joke that was free of all taint of uncleanness and
that had about it no sting for others. To those whom he best knew and
loved he showed his true self, in his playful moods,--as when at
Ilfracombe, climbing with his wife and others the heights that overlook
the sea, he walked on a little in advance, seated himself till the rest
came up with him, and then, when they were barely seated, rose and
quietly said, "Well now, we have had a good rest, let us go on." This
one instance ma