This literary woman, great lady, and _dévote_ of centuries ago belongs to a type that is out of fashion to-day; it was not common even then. She was the perfected fruit of the finest spirit of her time. She did not write for money or fame; she sought neither honors nor society nor worldly pleasures, though she was a social queen by right of inheritance. She loved high things for their own sake and because she was akin to them. She loved her friends, too, for what they were, not for what they brought her, and gave them of her best, even to her own hurt. If she tried to reconcile her beliefs and her environment, it was a fault of sanity and loyalty; to break with her church traditions was to lose her influence and gain nothing. Possibly this is not the spirit of a reformer, but it is the spirit of those who trust to the saving quality of light rather than of heat. No doubt the conflict helped to wear out her waning forces. In this restless age the world praises such women from afar. They appeal to it as do the pictures of Raphael and Fra Angelico, which we are quite ready to adore as they hang in gallery or drawing-room, for some subtle quality of beauty consecrated by the homage of centuries, though their underlying significance we may have long outgrown. If they are seen at rare intervals in real life, we give them a certain tribute of admiration, no doubt, but we are apt to speak of them personally as visionary, antiquated, or other-worldly. The lofty sentiment, the stateliness, the repose, the indefinable distinction, are not in the line of modern ideals. VII It is worthy of note that in an age which was essentially devoted to beauty and a glorification of the senses, women almost invariably wrote on sacred or ethical themes. Even love they transfigured into something divine. The first-fruits of their intelligence were offered on the shrine of a purer morality. As a rule, too, they were women of serious tastes and conspicuous virtues.