The Queen of Roumania is almost too well known in Europe, through her literary attainments, to need any description here; still a few particulars concerning her may be of interest to our readers. She is of the middle height, has an amiable face and still more affable manner. She, too, might pass for a lady of any western country, having very little to indicate her German nationality. Her voice is soft and melodious, and although she can speak well on literary and scientific subjects, there is not the slightest pedantry or affectation of learning in her discourse. She is said to speak six languages, and she certainly speaks Roumanian, French, German, and English. We do not know what the other two may be, but if she speaks the four languages here named as fluently and with as little foreign accent as she does our own, she may fairly claim to be an accomplished linguist. All educated Roumanians speak French, and most of them German, besides their own tongue; indeed French is almost the universal language of the middle classes, whilst those who have been educated here, especially the younger men, naturally speak English well, and therefore the Queen is in this respect only somewhat ahead of her more accomplished subjects. But, as we have already stated, she is a poetess, and her verses are often marked by great depth of feeling. She possesses, too, considerable scientific knowledge and great taste in art, and one of her chief desires is to promote national industry. She sets the example by wearing the national costume (in which her portrait is usually taken) whilst in the country, and requires it to be worn on State occasions, her main object being, we were told, to encourage the peasant women who make these costumes in their own homes. But whilst in these matters, as in her devotion to public duty, the Queen identifies herself with the Roumanian people and their interests, she would not be a German if she had forgotten the 'Fatherland.'
'Land of greenwood and of vine, Sparkling wavelets of the Rhine, Hushed thy song, afar thy gleam. All to me, now, but a dream.
'Oft when I these eyelids close, Purling sounds haunt my repose, Vessels in the sunlight's ray, 'Fore the wind, speed on their way.