His face was deeply pitted with the small-pox.

His short grisly hair stood up stiff and straight on his head like hair fixed in a broom.

His small whitish-grey eyes had a restless, inquisitive, hungry look in them, indescribably irritating and uncomfortable to see.

The one personal distinction he possessed consisted in his magnificent bass voice--a voice which had no sort of right to exist in the person who used it.

Until one became accustomed to the contrast, there was something perfectly unbearable in hearing those superb big tones come out of that contemptible little body.
The famous Latin phrase conveys, after all, the best description I can give of Reverend Finch.