not soft, but sharp and small black eyes, with a cold smile as of enquiry in them; fine brow; fine chin; thin lips—­lips always gently shut, as if till the enquiry were completed, and the time came for something of royal speech upon it.  She had a slight accent, but spoke—­Dr. Hugh Blair could not have picked a hole in it—­and you might have printed every word, so queen-like, gentle, soothing, measured, prettily royal toward subjects whom she wished to love her.  The voice was modulated, low, not inharmonious; yet there was something of metallic in it, akin to that smile in the eyes.  One durst not quite love this high personage as she wished to be loved!  Her very dress was notable; always the same, and in a fashion of its own;—­and must have required daily the fastening of sixty or eighty pins.—­Reminiscences.

     She had a pleasant, attractive physiognomy; which may be considered
     better than strict beauty.—­Frederick the Great.

That light, yet so stately form; those dark tresses, shading a face where smiles and sun-light played over earnest deeps....  He ventured to address her, she answered with attention:  nay, what if there were a slight tremour in that silver voice; what if the red glow of evening were hiding a transient blush!—­Sartor Resartus.

     The whims of women must be humoured.—­French Revolution.

     A woman of many household virtues; to a warm affection for her
     children and husband she joined a degree of taste and intelligence
     which is of much rarer occurrence.—­Life of Schiller.

    She is meek and soft and maiden-like.... 
    A young woman fair to look upon.

      Life of Schiller.

     My dear mother, with the trustfulness of a mother’s heart,
     ministered to all my woes, outward and inward, and even against
     hope kept prophesying good.—­Reminiscences.

Women are born worshippers; in their good little hearts lies the most craving relish for greatness; it is even said, each chooses her husband on the hypothesis of his being a great man—­in his way.  The good creatures, yet the foolish!—­Essay on Goethe’s Works.

She is of that light unreflecting class, of that light unreflecting sex:  varium semper et mutabile.  And then her Fine-ladyism, though a purseless one:  capricious, coquettish, and with all the finer sensibilities of the heart; now in the rackets, now in the sullens; vivid in contradictory resolves; laughing, weeping, without reason,—­though these acts are said to be signs of season.  Consider, too, how she has had to work her way, all along, by flattery and cajolery; wheedling, eaves-dropping, namby-pambying; how she needs wages, and knows no other productive trades.—­The Diamond Necklace.

Thought can hardly be said to exist in her; only Perception and Device.  With