“He was at that time (and indeed always remained) very slight of his age, of rather florid complexion, and with a singularly bright, quick, and yet often dreamy expression. He wore his hat rather on the back of his head, and walked with queer little short shuffling paces, rather on his heels, so that you could tell him by his gait at any distance—a singular contrast to the Doctor’s long shambling stride as they walked along at the side of Mrs. Arnold’s gray pony on half-holiday afternoons.”—1834.

“Il n’improvisait jamais; il lisait avec gravitÉ, avec une force rÉelle qui Étonnait, sortant d’un corps si fragile, mais avec une sorte de monotonie. L’action oratoire manquait de variÉtÉ et d’abandon; c’Était toujours la mÊme note. Du reste, personne n’avait l’oreille moins musicale que le doyen.... D’une complexion dÉlicate, de petite taille, son corps semblait n’Être qu’un prÉtexte pour Être, et pour retenir son esprit dans le monde visible.”

“Dean Stanley, like so many great men, possessed some strongly-marked personal characteristics. If he was superintendent in some qualities there were some of which he was almost altogether destitute. He was utterly careless of personal appearance, and of external circumstances. Short and spare in figure, there was a beauty and a dignity about him that made his presence a perpetual pleasure. Those clear-cut features, the beautiful forehead, and the silvery head of hair, will remain photographed on the minds of this generation. When in the performance of any sacred or secular function, the more crowded his auditory, the more he was at ease. There must be many who can remember him as he used to stand at the lectern in the Abbey waiting to read the lesson in one of those crowded services in the nave, with the people clustered even round his feet, and yet unconsciously, as if in his own library, with the old familiar action, passing his hand across his face and ruffling up his head.”