peculiarly beholden to genius: poetry is the language of pure passion; painting is silent poetry; music is the accent of passionate expression.
Some do not allow this grand power to be one of the properties of woman; but, if we are correct in our analysis, we can testify to the contrary. We must remember Boadicea, Eleanora of Aquitaine, Queen Elizabeth, Catherine of Russia, Wilhelmina Anspach, the unfortunate Mary, Mrs. Siddons, Mrs. Clarke, Anna Maria Porter, Miss Cushman, Mrs. Sigourney, Mrs. Carpenter, Lady Strafford, Catherine of Arragon. But names are needless, we have in these days, women, intellectual and lovely, moving amongst us like stars of glory. They are courteous and affable, but you may see in their eyes, that which reminds you of deep magnificent lakes, inhabited by spirits, who hold, fiefdom under the seal of grandeur; they are constantly communing with beings free from the ties and thraldom of time:—
Their palace standeth in the air,
By necromancy placed there,
That it no tempest needs to fear
Which way it blow, or high so 'ere.
And—
When the moon is laid asleep,
Sitting in her silver chair—
Then walks genius with slow step,
Midst things unseen:
Thus it fell upon a night,
When there was nought but starrie light.
****** The eye of a woman of genius is always bewitching, and in every clime is worshipped: many bow as at a shrine, lowly they whisper, look, and pass along; they feel they are on holy ground; no heedless foot disturbs the beatific exercises of genius. Let not the vain enter her
