George Lewes once said to me when I made some observation to the effect that she had a sweet face (I meant that the face expressed great sweetness), "You might say what a sweet hundred faces! I look at her sometimes in amazement.

Her countenance is constantly changing." The said lips and mouth were distinctly sensuous in form and fulness.
She has been compared to the portraits of Savonarola (who was frightful) and of Dante (who though stern and bitter-looking, was handsome).

_Something_ there was of both faces in George Eliot's physiognomy.

Lewes told us in her presence, of the exclamation uttered suddenly by some one to whom she was pointed out at a place of public entertainment--I believe it was at a Monday Popular Concert in St.
James's Hall.

"That," said a bystander, "is George Eliot." The gentleman to whom she was thus indicated gave one swift, searching look and exclaimed _sotto voce_, "Dante's aunt!" Lewes thought this happy, and he recognised the kind of likeness that was meant to the great singer of the _Divine Comedy_.