When I last saw him, some five or six weeks before his death, his face
was haggard with care, and seamed with thought and trouble. It looked
care-ploughed, tempest-tossed, weather-beaten, as if he were some
tough old mariner, who had for years been beating up against the wind
and tide, unable to make his port or find safe anchorage. Judging from
that scathed, rugged countenance, I do not believe he could have lived
out his second term had no felon hand been lifted against his
priceless life.