" you make marble feel and matter think." What must have
been that celestial soul for him whom she had made its first
object, for him who animated her soul in return !
thou who wert that object, Gonsalve ! [M, de Mora] happy Gonsalve! thou must have felt thyself beneath the burning climate of the equator, beloved by a daughter of the Sun. Death removed thee in the midst of thy career, but thou hadst, in those few years, exhausted all the happiness that heaven grants to man on earth : thou wert loved by Eliza. Ah ! if thou couldst know what she became after thee ! she lived for two years withered by sorrow, bearing the wound of grief like a tree struck by lightning, and she ended blessing death as she expired.
It might be thought that Eliza, thus eagerly occupied by one object, was less than before to her friends ; but never did she love them better, never was she dearer to them. Passion and misfortune seemed to have given to her soul fresh activity, new vigour. Ah ! who like her could make us taste the charms of friendship ? who knew like her how to ap- proach the hearts of those she loved ? She drew confidence so gently; she understood so well the language of passion. With whatever sentiment the soul was filled she made it feel it needed to communicate with hers; and each was happier, or less unhappy, beside her. Were we in that state of languor which is the habitual condition of persons in society when they have neither pleasure nor pain, in Eliza's presence we came out of it; for, seeing her suffering and unhappy, we were filled with a sense of her sorrows, or — as happened oftener — her mind and soul took the ascen- dency, and then what interest ! what conversation ! In spite of one's self one had to listen, to think, to revive.
Often, in comparing Eliza with the charming women and the men of intellect whom I hiave known, I try to explain
