In another chapter of the family romance we find the aunt of the Princess--the Abbess of Gandersheim--exhorting her niece to put no trust in men at all; assuring her that her husband would deceive her, that she would not be happy, ‘and all the nonsense of an envious and a desiring old maid.’ The gaiety of the Princess was eclipsed, for a moment, by the chill cloud thrown across it by the remarks of her aunt. The envoy, however, restored the ordinary sunshine by requesting the Princess, the next time the Abbess held similar discourse, to ask her whether, if she proposed to give up the Prince to her aunt, and take the Abbey of Gandersheim in place thereof, she would then ‘think men to be such monsters, and whether she would not expose herself to all the dangers and misfortunes of such a marriage?’ This sally, with good counsel to garnish it, not only restored the good-humour of the Princess, but made her more desirous than ever to attach the envoy personally to her service as soon as her household as Princess of Wales should be established. Lord Malmesbury avoided an explicit answer, but entreated her not to solicit anything in his behalf. ‘I had,’ he says, ‘the Duke of Suffolk and Queen Margaret in my thoughts.’ He, further, was more anxious than ever with reference to the results of this marriage. With a _steady_ man, he thought, the impulsive bride might have a chance of bliss; but with one that was not so he saw that her risks were many and great indeed. In the meanwhile he poured counsel into her mind--as Mr. Gradgrind used to pour facts into the juvenile intellect at Coketown--by the imperial gallon. The Princess continued to take it all well, but the giver of it was shrewd enough to see that ‘in the long run it must displease.’ He was right in his conclusion, for the night after he expressed the conviction the Princess remarked, on some grave monition of his, that she should never learn it all, and that she was too light-minded ever to do so.