real sorrow, continued to weep till the very end; nor could I recover till I left the house.
‘That is genius, which could give such life to this play; for, if I may judge from other parts, it is defaced by inflated sentiments, and verified by few natural touches. I wish I had it to read, for I should like to recall her every tone and look.’
‘I have been studying Flaxman and Retzsch. How
pure, how immortal, the language of Form! Fools
cannot fancy they fathom its meaning; witless dillettanti
cannot degrade it by hackneyed usage; none but
genius can create or reproduce it. Unlike the colorist,
he who expresses his thought in form is secure as man
can be against the ravages of time.’
‘I went to the Athenæum in an agonizing conflict of
mind, when some high influence was needed to rouse
me from the state of sickly sensitiveness, which, much
as I despise, I cannot wholly conquer. How soothing
it was to feel the blessed power of the Ideal world, to
be surrounded once more with the records of lives
poured out in embodying thought in beauty! I seemed
to breathe my native atmosphere, and smoothed my
ruffled pinions.’
‘No wonder God made a world to express his thought.
Who, that has a soul for beauty, does not feel the need
of creating, and that the power of creation alone can
satisfy the spirit? When I thus reflect, the Artist seems
the only fortunate man. Had I but as much creative
genius as I have apprehensiveness!’
‘How transcendently lovely was the face of one young
angel by Raphael! It was the perfection of physical,
