Fuseli, who was honored by her friendship, was a more severe judge. He says, he “has no wish to contradict those who make success the standard of genius, and, as their heroine equals the greatest names in the first, suppose her on a level with them in power. She pleased, and desired to please, the age in which she lived and the race for which she wrought. The Germans, with as much patriotism, at least, as judgment, have styled her the Paintress of Minds (Seelen Mahlerin); nor can this be wondered at for a nation who, in A. R. Mengs, flatter themselves that they possess an artist equal to Raphael. “The male and female characters of Angelica never vary in form, feature, or expression from the favorite ideal in her own mind. Her heroes are all the man to whom she thought she could have submitted, though him, perhaps, she never found. Her heroines are herself, and, while suavity of countenance and alluring graces shall be able to divert the general eye from the sterner demands of character and expression, can never fail to please.” The lighter scenes of poetry were painted by her with a grace and taste entirely her own, and happily formed, withal, to meet that of an engraver, whose labors contributed to the growth and perpetuity of her fame. This was Bartolozzi, whose talents were in great part devoted to her. One feels naturally desirous of knowing something about the personal appearance of one so much admired. Her portrait, painted by herself, the size of life, is in the Pitti Gallery at Florence, with that of two other female artists; and the three attract the attention of every visitor. The following is the description of one spectator: “The first in feature and expression bears the stamp of a masculine intellect; the touch is vigorous, the coloring has the golden tint of the Venetian school, but it presents no mark of individuality; this is Maria Robusti Tintoretto. The second can not be mistaken; even the most unpracticed eye would discern at a glance that it is a Frenchwoman--piquant, lively, graceful, evidently not so much engrossed with her art as to be insensible to admiration as a woman--this is the well-known Madame Le Brun. Opposite the fair Parisian is a third portrait, a woman still in the bloom of life, but destitute of all brilliancy of coloring, with an expression grave and pensive almost to melancholy. She is seated on a stone, in the midst of a solitary landscape, a portfolio with sketches in one hand, a pencil in the other. The attitude is unstudied almost to negligence. There is no attempt at display; you feel as you look on her that every thought is absorbed in her vocation. This is Angelica Kauffman.”