Were Taglioni, by the malediction of Providence, to break her leg, what corner of the civilized earth but would sympathize in the casualty?  Or were Elssler epidemically carried off, on the same day with the Pope, the Archbishop of Dublin, a chancellor of an university, an historiographer, or astronomer-royal—­which would be most cared for by society at large, or to which would the public journals distribute the larger share of their dolefuls?

Nor is it alone the levities of Europe which have encompassed with a gaseous atmosphere of enthusiasm these idols of the day.  We appeal to our sober, plodding, painstaking brother Jonathan.  We move for returns of the sums he has expended on his beloved Fanny, and for notes of the honours conferred upon her, not only on the boards of his theatres and in the publicity of his causeways, but amid the august nationalities of his senate!  “Fanny Elssler in Congress” has become as historical as the name of Washington!  As if for the purpose of proving that extremes meet, the democrats of the New World were demonstrating the wildest infatuation in favour of one dancer, while the great autocrat of the Old was exhibiting a similar fervour in honour of another.  La Gitana became all but presidentess of the Transatlantic republic; La Bayadere depolarized the tyrant of the Poles!  But, above all, the Empress of Russia—­albeit, the lightest of sovereigns and coldest of women—­was carried so far by her enthusiasm as to fasten a bracelet of gems on the fair arm of Taglioni; while the Queen-Dowager of England conferred a similar honour on the Neapolitan dancer Cerito!

Now, what queen or princess, we should like to know, has lavished necklace, or bracelet, or one poor pitiful brooch, on Miss Edgeworth or Miss Aitkin, Mrs Somerville or Joanna Baillie, or any other of the female illustrations of the age, saving these aerial machines which have achieved such enviable supremacy?  Mrs Marcet, who has taught the young idea of our three kingdoms how to shoot; Miss Martineau, who has engrafted new ones on our oldest crab-stocks, might travel from Dan to Beersheba without having a fatted calf or a fatted capon killed for them, at the public expense.  But let Taglioni take the road, and what clapping of hands—­what gratulation—­what curiosity—­what expansion of delight!

The only wonder of all this is, that we should wonder about the matter.  Dancing constitutes that desideratum of the learned of all ages—­an universal language.  Music, which many esteem much, is nearly as nationalized in its rhythm as dialect in its words; whereas the organs of sight are cosmopolitan.  The eye of man and the foot of the dancer include between them all nations and languages.  The poetry of motion is interpreted by the lexicon of instinct; and the unimpregnable grace of a Taglioni becomes omnipotent and catholic as that of

  “The statue that enchants the world!”

Who can doubt that the names of these sorceresses of our time will reach posterity, as those of the Aspasias and Lauras of antiquity have reached our own—­as having held philosophers by the beard, and trampled on the necks of the conquerors of mankind—­as being those for whom Solon legislated, and to whom Pericles succumbed?