She was far from beautiful, and her features were still
further marred by the small-pox ; but her plainness had noth-
ing repulsive at the first glance ; at the second the eye grew
accustomed to it, and as soon as she spoke it was forgot-
ten. She was tall and well-made. I did not know her until
she was thirty-eight years old, and her figure was still noble
and full of grace. But what she possessed, what distin-
guished her above all, was that chief charm without which
beauty is but a cold perfection — expression of countenance
l_physionomie']. Hers had no particular character; it united
all. Thus one could not say precisely that it was clever, or
brilliant, or sweet, or noble, or refined, or gracious, — a species
of praise by which, as I think, we degrade the faces we wish
to praise ; for when a face has an habitual expression, that
expression is more the effect of conformation and what may
be called style of feature, than physionomie — revelation of
nature. That revelation on the countenance comes from
within, it is born of thought, it is mobile and fugitive; it
escapes the eye and mocks the brush. O Eliza, Eliza, whoso
has not had the happiness to live in your intimacy, in your
affections, your emotions, your confidence, knows nothing of
what is meant by expression of countenance. I have seen
faces animated by intellect, by passion, by pleasure, by pain ;
but lights and shades were all unknown to me until I knew
Eliza. That flame of heaven, that energy of feeling, — in short,
if I may so express it, that abundance of life, — Eliza, when
she was not overwhelmed by troubles, shed on all that she
wished to animate ; but she wished nothing for herself ; she
animated all without personal pretensions or projects. One
never approached her soul without feeling drawn by it. I
have known apathetic hearts which she electrified ; I have
seen dull minds that her companionship had elevated. "Eliza,"
I said to her once, after seeing her perform that operation,
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EULOGY OE ELIZA,
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