"And you seriously think," I observed, in answer to something she said, "that the story of Hercules and the distaff has a purpose?" "A deep purpose, and a very obvious moral," she replied. "Will you expound it to me?" "It is quite plain--the parable of strength vanquished by gentleness. There is nothing so strong as gentleness." This reply took me by surprise, and I observed, "I should hardly have expected that from you." I was thinking more of the unexpected admission of the power of gentleness from the lips of Astræa, than of the truth or depth of the remark. "Do you mean that as a compliment?" she inquired. "Well--no. But from a mind constituted like yours, I should have looked for a different interpretation." "Then you think that my mind ought to prostrate itself before a brawny development of muscles?" "No, no; remember, you spoke of gentleness." "That is the mind of woman," she answered, "taking its natural place, and asserting its moral power. For gentleness, like beauty, is a moral power." "Beauty a moral power?" I exclaimed. "That is its true definition, unless you would degrade it by lowering it to the standard of the senses," she replied, kindling as she spoke. "It elevates the imagination; we feel a moral exaltation in the contemplation of it; it is the essential grace of nature; it refines and dignifies our whole being; and appreciated in this aspect, it inspires the purest and noblest aspirations." This creed of beauty was very unlike any thing I had anticipated from her. If any body in a crowded drawing-room had spoken in this style, I should have expected that she would have smiled somewhat contemptuously upon them. "Your definition is imperfect," I ventured to say; "I do not dispute it as far as it goes, but it is defective in one article of faith." "Oh! I am not sent from the stars--though they have voted me Astræa--to convert heathens. Pray, let us have your article of faith." "I believe implicitly in your religion," said I; "but believing so much, I am compelled to believe a little more. If beauty calls up this homage of the imagination, and inspires these pure and elevating aspirations, it must awaken the emotions of the heart. To feel and appreciate beauty truly, therefore, is, in other words, to love." "That is an old fallacy. If love were indispensable to the appreciation of beauty, it would cruelly narrow the pleasures of the imagination." "On the contrary," I replied, "I believe them to be inseparable." "You are talking riddles," she replied, as if she were getting tired of the subject; "but, true or false, I have no reliance upon the word love, or the use that is made of it. It means any thing or nothing."