presidentess of the Transatlantic republic; La Bayadère 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