the open work is distinctly seen, it looks like a filmy painting against the sky, more than like a solid edifice. On approaching nearer you find it carved and fretted in the richest manner, but although aware that its elevation must be immense, it is not until you compare it with the surrounding buildings that you can believe it to be higher than the dome of St. Peter's at Rome. The exterior being of red sand stone has not a very pleasing appearance, but the rich and quaint carvings over the grand portal are of great beauty. The interior is indeed magnificent. The long avenue of clustered columns, the curious and elaborate tracery of the high and vaulted roof, the gorgeous coloring of the painted glass of the noble windows, the grand sculptures of the magnificent pulpit in the centre of the nave, all combine to form a most perfect picture, and give one the fullest conception of what a Cathedral ought to be. The Protestant Church of St. Thomas is also worth a visit, if only to see a beautiful monument, erected to the memory of Marshal Saxe. Of the monuments I have yet seen, this surpasses all in its singular appropriateness and beauty. Every point is excellent, and you would not add to, or take away a single portion of it. A most admirably executed full length figure of the Marshal is represented about descending a flight of marble steps; at the foot rests a sarcophagus with the lid partially removed; a draped figure of Death, terrible in its conception, is removing the lid with the skeleton fingers of one hand, while the other extends towards the hero a spent hourglass. A beautiful female figure, (emblematic of France), with the most intense agony depicted on her exquisite features, is endeavoring with one hand to stay the descent. of the Marshal, towards the open tomb, while with the

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other she appears pleading with the grim spectre beneath for a longer forbearance. The three principal figures of the group, are a perfect study. The cool, heroic, and determined countenance of the Marshal, with a slight shade of sadness on the noble brow-the intense and shuddering agony of France, who feels that she is about to lose her greatest hero-the horrid grin of the spectre Death, who seems to exult in the prospect of so distinguished a victim, are faultless. There are other figures in the group, such as a lion striking down a leopard, and a most superbly sculptured Hercules, with his lion skin about his shoulders, leaning in deep grief upon his club; but the three principal figures absorb all your attention, and the others are lost sight of. On leaving the Church, in a small chamber near the entrance door, we were shown in cases covered with glass, the bodies of a Count of Nassau, and his daughter, who had been dead for four hundred years. The body of the Count is in a most remarkable state of preservation; the face quite full, and the features perfect. The body of the daughter is not so well preserved; the skull and face of the last are almost reduced to fine powder, but the hands quite perfect, while the long tapering fingers are covered with the rings she wore at her burial; a singular head dress of flowers, still crowns the crumbling skull. In the neighborhood of such objects a strange mysterious feeling lays you under a spell. By a sort of process of transfusion, the vital principle that departed from the silent forms before you, seems to have passed into an abstract figure. Life is death, but death is alive, and you breathe, look, tread and whisper, as if you were in the actual, though invisible presence.

Lingering two or three days in Strasburg, we left it for

the far-famed watering-place, Baden-Baden. The town of Baden is not a place one would travel far to see. It has, however, a thousand circumjacent attractions, not to speak of its subterranean one-the hot water, boiled in nature's own tea kettle, for the restoration of the halt, maimed and blind, and for the delectation of those who like it; but it has a marvellous resemblance to very weak chicken broth. The town of Baden is situated partly on the side of a hill, and partly in a valley, watered by the little narrow stream of the Oosbach, which wanders through it in a sluggish current. The nearer hills are covered with beeches and vineyards, while the more distant summits are fringed with dark firs, forming a striking frame-work to the natural picture. The principal hot spring rises in a hollow rock, near the Trinkhalle a little door opens into a place like a cellar, and looking in, your curiosity may be gratified by seeing a cloud of vapor, and hearing the bubbling of the water produced at this spot, at the rate of seven millions of cubic inches in a day. Besides the Trinkhalle, which is a magnificent building, with some very ill-executed frescoes illustrating the traditions of Baden and vicinity, and a portico supported by twelve very fine Corinthian pillars: there is the Conversationshaus, a vast edifice, with a handsome facade of Corinthian columns-comprising, in addition to the principal saloon, which is a magnificent chamber, the Hall of Flowers, so called from its being tastefully ornamented with artificial flowers from ceiling to floor, and two very spacious drawing rooms most superbly furnished. The Hall of Flowers on a ball-night, when its magnificent mirrors reflect back the blaze of gas light from its four immense chandeliers, looks like the chamber of some fairy palace. It is in the large Hall for promenading, and

the one adjoining it, that the gambling tables attract their victims. From an early hour in the morning, until a late hour in the night, you will find these tables crowded with both sexes and all ages. Sunday is a great day for the gamblers. Then, these tables are thronged in rows two or three deep, with an excited crowd; and there you may observe fair faces of women lit up with the excitement of success, or saddened by disappointment: fair hands clutching the golden pile as it is scored, or fingering restlessly that which is fast diminishing. It is bad enough when the gentler sex are represented at these tables, by those whose blanched locks and wrinkled features are no earnests that advancing age has dulled the fever of this wretched excitement in their veins, but when youth and beauty takes its place in the list, to stand "the hazard of the die," you long to whisper the note of warning in the ear of the giddy creature, begging her to shun a temptation which only leads to misery, and whose pursuit most certainly tends to dry up all the nobler, finer feelings of the soul. The next morning after our arrival, we started to visit the old Castle of Baden, located on one of the loftiest hills overlooking the town. Thanks to the liberality of the young Grand Duke, a fine carriage way has been constructed, winding gradually up to the ruin, with pleasant seats and bowers along the entire road. We passed some most delightful shady recesses in the fine woods that cover the hill-side. One charming retreat looked as if it might have been the tiny theatre

"Where elves had acted plays, such as they took
From the fond legends of old fairy book.

Their 'tiring room, beneath these hollows green,
While clustering glow worms lighted up the scene,
Their orchestra, these happy bows which shook
With music, such as lulls the gentle brook."

The old ruin is about two miles from the town, upon a very lofty elevation, in the midst of a forest of pines, oaks, elms, and beeches. This truly magnificent pile reposes in death-like tranquility. From the vast extent of the enclosure and loftiness of the remaining towers, you are impressed with the same mixture of awe and curiosity, you would feel on meeting with the bones of a giant upon some lofty mountain top. The view from the summit of the keep of the old Castle is superb. Looking in the direction of Baden, you have the town with its quaint roofs, some two thousand feet below, while the lofty hills beyond covered with the dense masses of the Black Forest form a most enchanting back-ground to the picture. On your right, the rich smooth plains of the Rhine, covered with villages fade away in the extreme distance to a haze, in the midst of which, the shadowy outline of the spire of the Strasburg Cathedral, thirty miles away, may be seen. The mountains behind, the forests around, the enchanting valleys, the wild ravines, and fertile plains, form a picture which lingers in the memory long after you have turned from it with unwilling feet. This old Castle has never been repaired since it was set on fire by Marshal Turenne, during his memorable ravage of the Palatinate.

On descending from our pleasant visit to the old ruin, we stopped at the new Castle, at present occupied by the reigning Grand Duke. It is not remarkable for its architecture, but commands very noble views of the surrounding country. Near it is a Convent, the walls of which are built against a rock. As we passed in, the sweet voices of the nuns singing sacred hymns, were borne to us on the breeze. But the most remarkable thing about this Castle, is the number of subterranean vaults it contains; the P. 2..