They know by a sort of hereditary instinct how to deal with a labouring man, and a horse, and how to break in a dog.
They give themselves no airs.

We have _millions_ of men like this, and it is doubtful whether the nation finds much use for them, except at coronations, where they look beautiful; or on county councils, where they can hold an opinion without the preliminary fatigue of forming it; and on the bloodstained fringes of our empire, where they serenely meet their dreadful deaths.
In the ranks of that vast army I descry Michael, and I wonder what it is in him that makes me able to descry him at all.

He is like thousands of other men.

In what is he unlike?
I think it must be something in his expression.

Of many ugly men it has been said with truth that one never observes their ugliness.