grateful as that of one woman to another.  There is a sort of free-masonry among women, by which they understand at once those with whom they have any intellectual sympathy.  A few words, and all reserve was gone.  ’Come, sit by me on this sofa,’ she said; and instantly, seated side by side, we were deep in conversation.  It is in such intimacy one feels the magnetism of a large mind informed by a true woman’s heart; then, as the soul shines through the face, one perceives its intellectual beauty.  No portrait can give the full expression of the eye any more than of the voice.  Looking into that clear, calm eye, one sees a transparent nature, a soul of goodness and truth, an impression which is deepened as you listen to her soft and gentle tones.  A low voice is said to be an excellent thing in a woman.  It is a special charm of the most finely cultured English ladies.  But never did a sweeter voice fascinate a listener,—­so soft and low that one must almost bend to hear.  You can imagine what it was thus to sit for an hour beside this gifted woman and hear talk of questions interesting to the women of England and America.  But I should do her great injustice if I gave the impression that there was in her conversation any attempt at display.  There is no wish to shine.  She is above that affectation of brilliancy which is often mere flippancy.  Nor does she seek to attract homage and admiration.  On the contrary, she is very averse to speak of herself, or even to hear the heartfelt praise of others.  She does not engross the conversation, but is more eager to listen than to talk.  She has that delicate tact—­which is one of the fine arts among women—­to make others talk, suggesting topics the most rich and fruitful, and by a word drawing the conversation into a channel where it may flow with broad, free current.  Thus she makes you forget the celebrated author, and think only of the refined and highly cultivated woman.  You do not feel awed by her genius, but only quickened by it, as something that calls out all that is better and truer.  While there is no attempt to impress you with her intellectual superiority, you naturally feel elevated into a higher sphere.  The conversation of itself floats upward into a region above the commonplace.  The small-talk of ordinary society would seem an impertinence.  There is a singular earnestness about her, as if those mild eyes looked deep into the great, sad, awful truths of existence.  To her, life is a serious reality, and the gift of genius a grave responsibility.”

Mrs. Lewes was in the habit for many years of receiving her friends on Sunday afternoons from two to six o’clock.  These gatherings came to be among the most memorable features of London literary life.  A large number of persons, both men and women, attended her receptions, and among them many who were well known to the scientific or literary world.  Especially were young men of aspiring minds drawn hither and given a larger comprehension of life.  She had no political or