ozen men with his revolver, freed a negress, and conquered an
island. An Englishman has passed some stiff examinations, been
attached to an embassy, founded a factory, converted a Catholic, gone
round the world, and read the complete works of Walter Scott. A
Frenchman has rhymed a tragedy, written for two newspapers, been
wounded in three duels, twice attempted suicide, vexed fourteen
husbands, and changed his politics nineteen times. A German has
slashed fifteen of his dearest friends, swallowed sixty hogsheads of
beer and the Philosophy of Hegel, sung eleven thousand couplets,
compromised a tavern waiting-maid, smoked a million of pipes, and been
mixed up with, at least, two revolutions.

The Roman prince has done nothing, seen nothing, learnt nothing, loved
nothing, suffered nothing. His parents or guardians open a cloister
gate, take out a young girl as inexperienced as himself, and the pair
of innocents are bidden to kneel before a priest, who gives them
permission to become parents of another generation of innocents like
themselves.

Probably you expect to find them living unhappily together. Not at
all. And yet the wife is pretty. The monotonous routine of her convent
education has not so frozen her heart that she is incapable of loving;
her uncultivated mind will spontaneously develope itself when it comes
in contact with the world. She will not fail, ere long, to discover
the inferiority of her husband. The more her education has been
neglected, the greater is her chance of remaining womanly, that is to
say, intelligent, tender, and charming. In truth, the harmony of their
household is less likely to be disturbed at Rome than it would be at
Paris or Vienna.

Yes, the huge extinguisher which Heaven holds suspended over the city
of Rome, stifles even the subtle spark of passion. If Vesuvius were
here, it would have been cold for the last forty years. The Roman
princesses were not a little talked of up to the end of the thirteenth
century. Under the French rule their gallantry assumed a military
complexion. They used to go and see their admirers play billiards at
the Cafe Nuovo. But hypocrisy and morality have made immense progress
since the restoration. The few who have afforded matter for the
scandalous chronicles of Rome are sexagenarians, and their adventures
are inscribed on the tablets of history, between Austerlitz and
Waterloo.

The young princess whom we have just seen entering upon her married
life