In going to St. Peter's, they crossed the bridge of St. Angelo on foot. "It was here," said Oswald, "that, on my way from the Capitol, I, for the first time, mused long on Corinne."--"I do not flatter myself," she rejoined, "that I owe a friend to my coronation; yet, in toiling for celebrity, I have ever wished that it might make me beloved; were it not useless, at least to a woman, without such expectation?"--"Let us stay here awhile," said Oswald. "Can bygone centuries afford me one remembrance equal to that of the day on which I beheld you first?"--"I may err," answered Corinne, "but I think persons become most endeared to each other while participating in the admiration of works which speak to the soul by their true grandeur. Those of Rome are neither cold nor mute; conceived as they were by genius, and hallowed by memorable events. Nay, perhaps, Oswald, one could not better learn to love a man like yourself than by enjoying with him the noble beauties of the universe."--"But I," returned Oswald, "while gazing listening beside you, need the presence of no other wonder." Corinne thanked him by a gracious smile. Pausing before the castle of St. Angelo, she pursued: "This is one of the most original exteriors among all our edifices: the tomb of Adrian, fortified by the Goths, bearing a double character from its successive uses. Built for the dead, an impenetrable circle inclosed it; yet the living have added more hostile defences, which contrast strongly with the silent and noble inutility of a funeral monument. You see, at the top, the bronze figure of an angel with a naked sword;[1] within are prisons, famed for ingenious torture. All the epochs of Roman history, from the days of Adrian to our own, are associated with this site. Belisarius defended it against the Goths; and, with a barbarism scarce inferior to their own, hurled on them the beauteous statues that adorned the interior. Crescentius, Arnault de Brescia, and Nicolas Rienzi,[2] those friends of Roman liberty, who so oft mistook her memories for her hopes, long defied their foes from this imperial tomb. I love each stone connected with so many glorious feats. I applaud the master of the world's luxurious taste--a magnificent tomb. There is something great in the man who, while possessing all the pomps and pleasures of the world, fears not to employ his mind so long in preparations for his death. Moral ideas and disinterested sentiments must fill the soul that, in any way, outsteps the boundaries of life. Thus far ought the pillars in front of St. Peter's to extend; such was the superb plan of Michael Angelo, which he trusted his survivors would complete; but the men of our days think not of posterity. When once enthusiasm has been turned into ridicule, all is defeated, except wealth and power."--"It is for you to regenerate it," cried Nevil. "Who ever experienced such happiness as I now taste? Rome shown me by you! interpreted by imagination and genius! What a