and the exchange of "_La Perseveranza_" of Milan for "_Il Popolo_"
of Turin with one of them quickly opened the way for conversation and
acquaintance. (_En passant_: I know of no journal in the United States
whose articles are better than those of the "_Perseveranza_," and it
was gratifying to an American to read in this ablest journal of Italy
nothing but applause and encouragement of the national side in our
late war.) My new-made friend turned out to be a Milanese. He was
a physician, and had served as a surgeon in the late war of Italian
independence; but was now placed in a hospital in Milan. There was a
gentle little blonde with him, and at Piacenza, where we stopped
for lunch, "You see," said he, indicating the lady, "we are newly
married,"--which was, indeed, plain enough to any one who looked at
their joyous faces, and observed how great disposition that little
blonde had to nestle on the young man's broad shoulder. "I have a
week's leave from my place," he went on, "and this is our wedding
journey. We were to have gone to Florence, but it seems we are fated
not to see that famous city."

He spoke of it as immensely far off, and herein greatly amused us
Americans, who had outgrown distances.

"So we are going to Genoa instead, for two or three days." "Oh,
have you ever been at Genoa?" broke in the bride. "What magnificent
palaces! And then the bay, and the villas in the environs! There is
the Villa Pallavicini, with beautiful gardens, where an artificial
shower breaks out from the bushes, and sprinkles the people who pass.
Such fun!" and she continued to describe vividly a city of which
she had only heard from her husband; and it was easy to see that she
walked in paradise wherever he led her.