At this time—­April, 1861—­General Lee was fifty-four years of age, and may be said to have been in the ripe vigor of every faculty.  Physically and intellectually he was “at his best,” and in the bloom of manhood.  His figure was erect, and he bore himself with the brief, somewhat stiff air of command derived from his military education and service in the army.  This air of the professional soldier, which characterized generally the graduates of West Point, was replaced afterward by a grave dignity, the result of high command and great responsibilities.  In April, 1861, however, he was rather the ordinary army officer in bearing than the commander-in-chief.

He had always been remarkable for his manly beauty, both of face and figure, and the cares of great command had not yet whitened his hair.  There was not a gray hair in his head, and his mustache was dark and heavy.  The rest of his face was clean-shaven, and his cheeks had that fresh, ruddy hue which indicates high physical health.  This was not at that time or afterward the result of high living.  Of all the prominent personages of his epoch.  Lee was, perhaps, the most temperate.  He rarely drank even so much as a single glass of wine, and it was a matter of general notoriety in the army afterward, that he cared not what he ate.  The ruddy appearance which characterized him from first to last was the result of the most perfectly-developed physical health, which no species of indulgence had ever impaired.  He used no tobacco then or afterward, in any shape—­that seductive weed which has been called “the soldier’s comfort”—­and seemed, indeed, superior to all those small vices which assail men of his profession.  Grave, silent, with a military composure of bearing which amounted at times, as we have said, to stiffness, he resembled a machine in the shape of a man.  At least this was the impression which he produced upon those who saw him in public at this time.

The writer’s design, here, is to indicate the personal appearance and bearing of General Lee on the threshold of the war.  It may be said, by way of summing up all, that he was a full-blooded “West-Pointer” in appearance; the militaire as distinguished from the civilian; and no doubt impressed those who held official interviews with him as a personage of marked reserve.  The truth and frankness of the man under all circumstances, and his great, warm heart, full of honesty and unassuming simplicity, became known only in the progress of the war.  How simple and true and honest he was, will appear from a letter to his son, G.W.  Custis Lee, written some time before: 

“You must study,” he wrote, “to be frank with the world; frankness is the child of honesty and courage.  Say just what you mean to do on every occasion, and take it for granted you mean to do right.  If a friend asks a favor, you should grant it, if it is reasonable; if not, tell him plainly why you cannot:  you will wrong him and wrong yourself by equivocation of any kind.