In this way he acquired a vast hoard of all sorts of learning, and had it pigeon-holed in his head where he could put his intellectual hand on it whenever it was wanted.
His clothes differed in no respect from a 'wharf-rat's,' except that they were raggeder, more ill-assorted and inharmonious (and therefore more extravagantly picturesque), and several layers dirtier.

Nobody could infer the master-mind in the top of that edifice from the edifice itself.
He was an orator--by nature in the first place, and later by the training of experience and practice.

When he was out on a canvass, his name was a lodestone which drew the farmers to his stump from fifty miles around.

His theme was always politics.

He used no notes, for a volcano does not need notes.