Her invention of a language seems a simply natural motion of the mind when left to itself.  The language we habitually use is so broken, and so hackneyed by ages of conventional use, that, in all deep states of being, we crave one simple and primitive in its stead.  Most persons make one more or less clear from looks, tones, and symbols:—­this woman, in the long leisure of her loneliness, and a mind bent upon itself, attempted to compose one of letters and words.  I look upon it as no gift from without, but a growth from her own mind.

Her invention of a machine, of which she made a drawing, her power of drawing correctly her life-circle, and sun-circle, and the mathematical feeling she had of her existence, in correspondent sections of the two, are also valuable as mental facts.  These figures describe her history and exemplify the position of mathematics toward the world of creative thought.

Every fact of mental existence ought to be capable of similar demonstration.  I attach no especial importance to her circles:—­we all live in such; all who observe themselves have the same sense of exactness and harmony in the revolutions of their destiny.  But few attend to what is simple and invariable in the motions of their minds, and still fewer seek out means clearly to express them to others.

Goethe has taken up these facts in his Wanderjahre, where he speaks of his Macaria; also, one of these persons who are compensated for bodily infirmity by a more concentrated and acute state of mind, and consequent accesses of wisdom, as being bound to a star.  When she was engaged by a sense of these larger revolutions, she seemed to those near her on the earth, to be sick; when she was, in fact, lower, but better adapted to the details and variations of an earthly life, these said she was well.  Macaria knew the sun and life circles, also, the lives of spirit and soul, as did the forester’s daughter of Prevorst.

Her power of making little verses was one of her least gifts.  Many excitable persons possess this talent at versification, as all may possess it.  It is merely that a certain exaltation of feeling raises the mode of expression with it, in the same way as song differs from speech.  Verses of this sort do not necessarily demand the high faculties that constitute the poet,—­the creative powers.  Many verses, good ones, are personal or national merely.  Ballads, hymns, love-lyrics, have often no claim differing from those of common prose speech, to the title of poems, except a greater keenness and terseness of expression.

The verses of this Seherin are of the simplest character, the natural garb for the sighs or aspirations of a lonely heart.  She uses the shortest words, the commonest rhymes, and the verses move us by their nature and truth alone.

The most interesting of these facts to me, are her impressions from minerals and plants.  Her impressions coincide with many ancient superstitions.