to myself the principle of that charm which no one possessed
as she did, and here is what, it seems to me, it consisted in :
she was always free from personality, and always natural.
Free from personality: never was any one as much so.
With her friends it was from feeling ; she had always more
need to speak to them of their selves than of herself ; with
the rest of the world it was from delicacy of mind and judg-
ment. She knew that the great secret of pleasing was in
forgetting self to give our interest to others, and she forgot
herself perpetually. She was the soul of a conversation, but
she never made herself its object. Her great art lay in show-
ing the minds of others to advantage ; she enjoyed that more
than to show her own. Always natural : she was that in her
bearing, in her movements, in her gestures, in her thoughts,
in her expressions, in her style ; and at the same time this
naturalness had something that was elegant, noble, sweet,
gay ; part of it was no doubt perfected by a sound educa-
tion, an exquisite taste, by the habits of her youth passed in
the best company, and among the most agreeable persons of
her day; but it had become so a part of herself that we
never felt that art had aught to do with it ; an amiable de-
lusion which vanishes as to most women when we converse
with them for any length of time.
What struck me most in conversing with Eliza was the relation, the harmony, so to speak, that reigned between her thoughts and their expression. When animated by her mind, or by her heart, her motions, her face, — all, even to the tones of her voice, was in perfect accord with her words. It is from lack of this accord that the conversation of so many persons of mind and talent is without warmth and without effect. . . . Again, what Eliza possessed in a supreme degree was tact, — so rare and so difficult in dealing with persons and conventions. Never was she mistaken; never did she
