Pressed on all sides for an account of the occasion on which he was wounded, Paul Fletcher gave a graphic sketch of the day in his simple, straightforward manner-losing sight of himself in the narration, you may be sure, as much as possible. Lady Torwood listened attentively, and once when it was evident-tell it as he might-that Paul's share of the honour and danger of the day had been no small one, a light kindled in her eyes, and she fixed them earnestly on his face, listening eagerly. She had always known he was a true, brave man; till now, she had never considered the heroic in his composition. As Paul concluded, Miss Ellis rose from her seat and walked slowly and majestically towards the sofa.

"I think I am going to faint," she uttered, without any inflexion of voice. And thereupon, sinking quietly and with dignity on to the couch, she let her head fall back gradually on to the pillow, and— fainted. Mrs. Heathcote suppressed a laugh; Paul could not quarrel with her for the inclination, as he felt his own sense of the ludicrous tickled at the deliberate manner in which Miss Ellis had fulfilled what she announced.

Lady Torwood, who never fussed anybody, put aside Mrs. Campbellwho had a happy knack in general of fussing everybody-and bathed Caroline's forehead with eau-de-Cologne, motioning at the same time to Noel to open the window. In a few moments Miss Ellis opened her handsome, solemn blue eyes, raised her head as gradually as she had laid it down, and as majestically got up from the sofa.

I

"Thank you," she said to Lady Torwood; "I am quite well now. never fainted before in my life. How long is it since you returned to England, Captain Fletcher ?"

"How long' reminds me that we have really trespassed on your time, Lady Torwood," said Paul, taking up his hat to go. "Miss Ellis, I am

sure, requires rest.”

And with this somewhat original finale terminated Paul's first visit to Lady Torwood.

"LORDS AND LADIES."

A SYLVAN FANCY.

BY W. CHARLES KENT.

FAIRIES from the world though vanished,
Dainty Queen Titania banished,

Ev'n the royal Oberon

From his sylvan realms long flown;
Puck no more from cowslip yellow
Tumbling forth as Rob Goodfellow;
Though no tiny moonlight fays,
Floating down the silvery rays,
Here no longer, sporting seen,
Gem with acid rings the green;

Yet some pretty elves I know,
Covertly on sly tiptoe,

Lurking in the hedgerow bank
'Mid the docks and darnels rank,
Where the honey-bee oft booms

When the sweet-flowered nettle blooms;
Hid where purple violets blow,
And pale primrose loves to grow.
What though Lords-and-Ladies hight,
Each is but a rustic sprite!

Sleek with ruby velvet head,

Fringed with brown, and frilled with red,
Cloaked about in verdure brief
With a single curling leaf.

In

my childhood's dreamy days
These to me were floral fays;
Fairies blooming in the grass
Near where village urchins pass;
Radiant sprites with power untold
Budding from the common mould;
Quaint wee shapes with elfin graces
Lingering in forgotten places,
Ready for the sports of yore
Should the signal sound once more—
Signal blown on woodbine horn
Hours before the glint of morn;
Signal at whose magic might
Glow-worms lit the gloom of night;
Signal at whose wizard spell
Chimed each flower's melodious bell,
Still, when lapped in slumbers deep,
When through visions of my sleep
Watching fitful summer shadows
Floating mist-like o'er the meadows,
Where the kingcups fresh I view
Brimming with the early dew,
And the little daisies white
Reddening at their rims with light,
While the blue-bells' scent, more rare
Than balm of Gilead, loads the air-
Then, by childhood's hours refined,
Then, ah! then-while all my mind
Free from every earthly care is-
Lords and Ladies still are Fairies!

* Blossoms of the cuckoo-pint, or wake-robin, botanically designated arum maculatum, but familiarly called lords-and-ladies by children.

BYWAYS OF THE BLACK FOREST.

MANY a free and enlightened Briton in the course of a summer tour spends a day or two at Baden-Baden, and fancies that in rambling to Lichtenthal and breakfasting at the Alt Schloss-not to mention vespertinal losses to M. Benazet-he has seen the Black Forest. It is true that Baden is situated in that portion of the world which Mrs. Radcliffe and her followers thought proper to brand as the resort of banditti and midnight murderers, and which still, probably, furnishes the schoolboy with material for thrilling scenes of perilous adventure, though the only robbers now to be found consist of landlords, who bring you down with a long bill instead of a pistol-bullet; still the routine traveller in visiting Baden-we say it with all humility-knows absolutely nothing of the Black Forest. The mode of life at Baden is so entirely exceptional, so utterly cosmopolitan, that those peculiar elements which characterise the Black Forest disappear, and give place to Parisian manners and customs, very charming, it is true, per se, but still far from satisfying any one who interests himself in ethnology, or likes to study his fellowmen under various aspects. To find the true Schwarzwälder, he must put on his knapsack and leave the beaten track; he must wander through secluded valleys, where he will find a population, self-depending and selfsatisfying, ignoring the luxuries of civilisation to a great extent, and perfectly content to let the world wag on as it listeth, so that their small manufactories be not interfered with. We have had opportunities in our time for visiting the Schwarzwald thoroughly; and hence, we trust we shall not be thought presumptuous if we draw our readers' attention to a district where the omniscient Murray has thought it beneath his dignity to penetrate.

On leaving Baden-Baden the traveller should proceed by railway to Achern, whence the first excursion must be made to the ruins of Allerheiligen. And we may here remark at starting, that the traveller must be blessed with good legs if he wish to enjoy the Black Forest scenery, for it is a constant succession of going up and down hill. The first object of interest seen is the Brigitten Schloss, built on such a tremendously steep rock, that it seems impossible for the owner ever to have descended to the plain without imminent risk of breaking his neck. Indeed, the story runs that the fort was originally situated at the foot of the mountain, but was lifted up to its present position bodily by the spells of the wicked fairy Brigitta. The view from the ruin, however, well repays the exertion of reaching it. It extends an extraordinary distance, comprising the valley of the Ortenau, the whole of Central Alsace, with the Rhine winding like a silver thread through the valley; while in strange and romantic contrast to this lovely scenery, the Hornissgründe rise frowningly in the rear, and the valley of the Seebach looks black as the entrance to Hades. After a rugged walk of about two hours we reach a solitary inn, and a path turns off through the heart of the forest. Suddenly the trees disappear, and we enter a sequestered valley, occupied almost entirely by the ruins of a large edifice. It seems to have been

exposed for centuries to the fury of the wind and storm; but it is scarcely fifty years since the chants of the monks were heard in the halls of All Saints. In 1803 it was struck by lightning, and since that period has never been restored. The treasure-seekers then did their share in the destruction by undermining the walls in their search for the treasures which the monks were supposed to have buried there. At last the present forester's house was built to protect the few traces of the former splendour of the abbey.

But the traveller soon quits these remnants of Teutonic architecture to follow the course of the stream as it hurries to the vale below. In a few minutes the point is reached. The forest valley is suddenly broken away by a wall of naked rock, nearly perpendicular, and of immense height, through which the water has forced its way in a zigzag direction. In seven waterfalls the roaring rivulet dashes down its granite bed, and at length finds rest below in a circular basin. Various projecting rocks and cavities have been childishly christened "The Pulpit," "The Gipsy's Cave," "The Raven's Nest," "The Knight's Leap," &c., and German authors have been found to invent legends to order, justifying these titles. This is one of the greatest defects in German show places; they will not allow you to enjoy the tout ensemble in peace, but will insist on drawing your attention to trumpery accessories, which afford you not the slightest interest, as you cannot be expected to know the private history of every ruffian, called by courtesy knight, who has imparted a local importance to otherwise valueless points. In every direction footpaths, auxiliary steps, thoughtful banisters have been placed about the waterfall, as if the object were to lessen the really magnificent effect of the whole by a leisurely examination of the details. Still, in one respect they are useful, for by their assistance you reach in all possible comfort the valley, where the Lier now runs in a state of model civilisation through gentle meadows. If you feel inclined to follow its course, it will lead you to the town of Oppenau, and thence to the railway on your homeward route.

But the traveller who has followed the road we have indicated, has, after all, only seen an interesting Schwarzwald waterfall, and has left a far more interesting picture of life in the Black Forest unnoticed. We mean the Kniebis baths, bedded in the dense forest foliage above Oppenau in the valley of the Rench, and known by the names of Freyersbach, Petersthal, Griesbach, Antogast, and Rippoldsau. Even as early as the seventeenth century, when Baden-Baden was desolated by the Thirty Years' War and that of the Palatinate, and Baden Weiler had as yet obtained no celebrity, these Kniebis baths, with their "sour" waters, were well known. Of course they never were a gathering place for the fashionable world, and it is not till the last ten years that they have been visited at all by luxury and elegance. At the present day these forest hermitages are by no means huts built of trunks of trees and covered with straw, with poor furniture and hard beds. On the contrary, they ought rather to be compared to pleasant villas or châteaux. All that comfort, or even fashionable habits may require, to enjoy at their ease their idyllic fancies, is found in all possible abundance. But the fact that in the majority of these baths all the visitors live in the bathhouse itself, that there is no other place for their meals than the common

salon, that every guest with his daily requirements is bound to the bathhouse, gives them a resemblance with the well-known Swiss pensions, which, on one hand, render too great an accession of guests impossible, on the other, bring all the inmates necessarily into association. As a general rule, carefully tended gardens in the immediate vicinity of the Cur Haus form the meeting-place for the visitors. But if you wish to escape from society and indulge in misanthropic tendencies, there are plenty of smooth, gently ascending paths leading through the forest, with comfortable benches and shady resting spots, and terminating usually in some glorious view over mountains and valleys. But to the right or left of these tracts of civilisation you can immediately enter the unknown portions of the Schwarzwald, you can attain a delicious solitude, where only rarely a charcoal-burner's hut, a band of woodcutters, or a grazing herd evidence the proximity of humanity, and with each declivity you can regain a road which brings you shortly to meadows, villages, and towns. And as these bathing-places are situated so near each other, their summer population generally become known, and pleasant intimacies are formed. Elegant ladies, attired in a rustic négligé, harmonising well with the romantic scenery, animate the overshadowed roads, and yet the true rural life enjoyed here gradually gains the mastery over the forms of society, and many who would at first think it a crime to appear ungloved, end by being as sunburnt as the veriest peasant. The ennui of fashionable life is soon dispelled by the healthy mountain atmosphere; eau-de-Cologne is superfluous in the aromatic fragrance of the pine forest, and the cares of high life float merrily along upon the rustling waters of the mountain stream, into the Rench, into the Rhine, into the sea-of oblivion.

We do not wish to assert that in the villages where these bathing establishments have been opened Schwarzwald life has remained as clear and unpolluted as the forests which enclose them, and the streams which bound along through them. But, on the other hand, they have generally grown out of their original poverty, are adorned with pretty little cottages, and are wont to put on their holiday aspect and Sunday clothes to greet their stranger but most welcome guests. It may be that they

assume from their visitors unwonted notions of luxury, and that their primitive manners and customs have been considerably modified, but we must not forget that with increased wants there is always an increase of industry. And even supposing the present generation acquires more bad than good, still the following one will grow up with wants which will render a further advance on the path of civilisation absolutely necessary. While formerly feudal lords and monasteries represented the intellectual life of the people, at present the people acquires its education from intercourse with foreigners whom the charms of novelty attract to their mountain homes. Sentimentalists may lament the disappearance of national or local costume, but on looking at the magnitude of the question such lamentations are simply absurd.

Our sketch of this Schwarzwald valley would be incomplete unless we mounted to the summit of the Kniebis, a height of 3283 feet above the level of the sea. Here we quit the luxuriance of the forest to enter a sterile and poor district. Heather, juniper-bushes, and scrubby firs clothe the sides of the pass through which the Strasburg-Stuttgardt road runs.