“The face was a pure oval of the most refined description; that perfection of form that is so rarely seen. A small, straight, very delicate and refined nose; teeth of dazzling whiteness, entire to the day of her death; a perfect mouth, revealing at once the sensitiveness and tender sympathy of her nature, and the steadfastness of her disposition. Her eyes were unusually large, dark, and flashing, with a penetrating gaze that seemed to read your inmost thoughts. One felt that everything before her had to be outspoken; for if you uttered only half your thoughts, she would certainly divine the rest.... The head was well set upon the shoulders; a head perfect in form, small except where the intellectual faculties were developed. Her complexion was dazzling, the most lovely bloom at all times contrasting with the brilliant whiteness of her skin. In hours of animation I have watched the delicate flush come and go a hundred times in as many minutes across her wonderful countenance; and, to record the simile once used by a friend in speaking to me of this peculiar beauty, ‘chasing each other like the rosy clouds of sunrise sweeping across a summer sky.’ She had a very keen sense of wit and humour. This strange beauty remained with her to the end. Even in hours of illness and suffering it never forsook her. Her face never lost its look of youth. It was absolutely without line or wrinkle or any mark or sign of age. She kept to the last the complexion and freshness of a young girl; that strange radiancy which seemed the reflection of some unseen glory. This was so great that to the last we were unable to realise that death could come to her.” WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 1770-1850 [Sidenote: Leigh Hunt’s _Autobiography_.] “Mr. Wordsworth ... had a dignified manner, with a deep and roughish but not unpleasing voice, and an exalted mode of speaking. He had a habit of keeping his left hand in the bosom of his waistcoat; and in this attitude, except when he turned round to take one of the subjects of his criticism from the shelves (for his contemporaries were there also), he sat dealing forth his eloquent but hardly catholic judgments.... Walter Scott said that the eyes of Burns were the finest he ever saw. I cannot say the same of Mr. Wordsworth; that is, not in the sense of the beautiful, or even of the profound. But certainly I never beheld eyes which looked so inspired and supernatural. They were like fires half burning, half smouldering with a sort of acrid fixture of regard, and seated at the further end of two caverns. One might imagine Ezekiel or Isaiah to have had such eyes. The finest eyes, in every sense of the word, which I have ever seen in a man’s head (and I have seen many fine ones), are those of Thomas Carlyle.”--1815. [Sidenote: S. C. Hall’s _Memories of Great Men_.]