His eyes
were large, black, and swimming, like a woman's; his nose straight and
thin; and such a mouth, such an under--lip, full and melting; and teeth
regular and white, and utterly free from the pollution of tobacco; and a
beautifully moulded small chin, rounding off, and merging in his round,
massive, muscular neck.
I had never seen so fine a face, such perfection of features, and such a
clear, dark, smooth skin. It was a finer face than Lord Byron's, whom I
had seen more than once, and wanted that hellish curl of the lip; and,
as to figure, he could, to look at him, at any time have eaten up his
lordship stoop and roop to his breakfast. It was the countenance, in a
word, of a most beautiful youth, melancholy, indeed, and anxious
evidently anxious; for the large pearls that coursed each other down his
forehead and cheek, and the slight quivering of the under--lip, every
now and then evinced the powerful struggle that was going on within.
His figure was, if possible, superior to his face. It was not quite
filled up, set, as we call it, but the arch of his chest was
magnificent, his shoulders square, arms well put on; but his neck--"Have
you seen the Apollo, neighbour?"--"No, but the cast of it at Somerset
House."--"Well, that will do--so you know the sort of neck he had."
His waist was fine, hips beautifully moulded; and although his under
limbs were shrouded in his wide trowsers, they were evidently of a piece
with what was seen and developed; and this was vouched for by the turn
of his ankle and well--shaped foot on which he wore a small Spanish
grass slipper, fitted with great nicety.
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