14

(11)
In the heart of Henry D'Aubigne, impression once made, could never
be erazed. Time indeed might wear away their depth, but death
alone could destroy them. His figure was rather tall & very thin.
The colour, which youth & northern air had kindled in his naturaly
fine & clear complexion, had faded under a southern sun, & left
him not pale, but sallow: the black hair which curled profusely
round his face, would have thrown too dark a shade on
his countenance, had it not been relieved by the brilliancy
of his eyes, the whiteness of his teeth & the benevolent smile which
played round his mouth. Yet the brilliancy of that eye, was sometimes
lost & replaced by an expression of tenderness, that often melted
to sadness--But no care, no sadness, ever vanished that sweet
smile of benevolence; like the rain-dew amid dark clouds,
even in grief, that smile, would promise joy.--

There was a lassitude in his movements that seemed to indicate
indolence in his soul. A softness & gentleness in his voice &
manner in which seemed incompatible with firmness or activity
of mind. But these were the effects of an enervating climate,
& a tender heart. His mind loved to indulge
in tranquility & repose, but when it was roused into activity,
there was no deficiency of ardour or energy.

His imagination was rather warm, than lively & sought rather to
luxuriate in the past, than to create the future. Such a character
in general society made little impression; but when known,
when felt, it excited the warmes, the tenderest interest--it seemed
to ask for kindness--for sympathy, & to promise so much
tenderness & gratitude in return, that it was impossible to withhold,
what was so gently solicited.