The novels of Charles Brockden Brown, consisting of Wieland;or, The transformation. Arthur Mervyn; or, Memoirs of the year 1793. Edgar Huntly; or, Memoirs of a sleep-walker. Jane Talbot. Ormond; or, The secret witness. Clara Howard; or, The enthusiasm of love. With a memoir of the author.

TIE SECRET WITNESS.

71

of mute expression. They conveyed at a single glance
what could not be imparted by volumes. The features
and shape sunk, as it were, into perfect harmony with
sentiments and passions. Every atom of the frame was
pregnant with significance. In some, nothing was remarkable but this power of the outward figure to exhibit
the internal sentiments. In others, the intelligence thus
unveiled was remarkable for its heterogeneous or energetic
qualities; for its tendency to fill her heart with veneration
or abhorrence, or to involve her in endless perplexities.
The accuracy and vividness with which pictures of this
kind presented themselves to her imagination resembled
the operations of a sixth sense. It cannot be doubted,
however, that much was owing to the enthusiastic tenor
of her own conceptions, and that her conviction of the
truth of the picture principally flowed from the distinctness and strength of its hues.
The figure which she now examined was small, but of
exquisite proportions. IHer complexion testified the influence of a torrid sun; but the darkness veiled, without
obscuring, the glowing tints of her cheek. The shade
was remarkably deep; but a deeper still was required to
become incompatible with beauty. Her features were
irregular; but defects of symmetry were amply supplied
by eyes that anticipated speech, and positions which conveyed that to which language was inadequate.
It was not the chief tendency of her appearance to seduce or to melt. Hers were the polished cheek and the
mutability of muscle which belong to woman, but the
genius conspicuous in her aspect was heroic and contemplative. The female was absorbed, so to speak, in the
rational creature, and the emotions most apt to be excited
in the gazer partook less of love than of reverence.
Such is the portrait of this stranger, delineated by Constantia. I copy it with greater willingness, because, if
we substitute a nobler stature, and a complexion less uniform and delicate, it is suited, with the utmost accuracy,
to herself. She was probably unconscious of this resemblance; but this circumstance may be supposed to influence her in discovering such attractive properties in a
form thus vaguely seen. These impressions, permanent