’The head of Aspasia was instinct with the voluptuousness of intellect.  From the eyes, the cheek, the divine lip, one might hive honey.  Both the Loves were exquisite:  one, that zephyr sentiment which visits all the roses of life; the other, the Amore Greco, may be fitly described in these words of Landor:  “There is a gloom in deep love, as in deep water; there is a silence in it which suspends the foot, and the folded arms and the dejected head are the images it reflects.  No voice shakes its surface; the Muses themselves approach it with a tardy and a timid step, with a low and tremulous and melancholy song."’

* * * * *

’The Sibyl I understood.  What grace in that beautiful oval! what apprehensiveness in the eye!  Such is female Genius; it alone understands the God.  The Muses only sang the praises of Apollo; the Sibyls interpreted his will.  Nay, she to whom it was offered, refused the divine union, and preferred remaining a satellite to being absorbed into the sun.  You read in the eye of this one, and the observation is confirmed by the low forehead, that the secret of her inspiration lay in the passionate enthusiasm of her nature, rather than in the ideal perfection of any faculty.

* * * * *

’A Christ, by Raphael, that I saw the other night, brought Christianity more home to my heart, made me more long to be like Jesus, than ever did sermon.  It is from one of the Vatican frescoes.  The Deity,—­a stern, strong, wise man, of about forty-five, in a square velvet cap, truly the Jewish God, inflexibly just, yet jealous and wrathful,—­is at the top of the picture, looking with a gaze of almost frowning scrutiny down into his world.  A step below is the Son.  Stately angelic shapes kneel near him in dignified adoration,—­brothers, but not peers.  A cloud of more ecstatic seraphs floats behind the Father.  At the feet of the Son is the Holy Ghost, the Heavenly Dove.  In the description, by a connoisseur, of this picture, read to me while I was looking at it, it is spoken of as in Raphael’s first manner, cold, hard, trammeled.  But to me how did that face proclaim the Infinite Love!  His head is bent back, as if seeking to behold the Father.  His attitude expresses the need of adoring something higher, in order to keep him at his highest.  What sweetness, what purity, in the eyes!  I can never express it; but I felt, when looking at it, the beauty of reverence, of self-sacrifice, to a degree that stripped the Apollo of his beams.’

MAGNANIMITY.

Immediately after reading Miss Martineau’s book on America, Margaret felt bound in honor to write her a letter, the magnanimity of which is brought out in full relief, by contrast with the expressions already given of her affectionate regard.  Extracts from this letter, recorded in her journals, come here rightfully in place:—­