the heroine, and with Chorley as the husband -a character which he plays so magnificently as almost to throw the fine actress whom he supports into the shade. What a strange history has been that of this much-talked - of melodrama! Though a success in Paris, it was a failure in London, and no wonder, for, though it is a play possessing very considerable merit, it was so atrociously acted that failure was inevitable, for even Shakespeare himself appears wearisome when very badly played. The scene in the theatre on the solitary night of "Rose Michel" in London must have been very funny, for the gallery - gods got awfully impatient at the drawling delivery of the principal actress, and indulged in audible comments thereupon. Then the representative of George de Buissey presented himself, in the scene after that wherein his cries, as he was being put to the torture, were heard, very trim and elegant, in a white-satin doublet with silken hose to match, whereupon the gods made some more forcible observations respecting the incongruity of his attire and situation.

It is rumored here that you are not to have Rossi in America after all, that he has paid forfeit to manager Grau, the sum being stated as anywhere from eight to twenty thousand dollars, and that he has leased the Salle Ventadour for six months in order to present himself in his regular round of characters to the Parisian public. If this be true, why, then, your loss will be our gain. The French papers fib so, however, that I am never inclined to believe their assertions without some outside corroborative evidence. Rossi played Othello for the third time on Saturday last, before an audience as large and as wildly enthusiastic as those that greeted him on the two previous occasions.

The recently-published and posthumous work of Philarète Chasles, notwithstanding its very untempting title ("The Social Psychology of New Nations"), is full of sparkle and charm, united to a depth of erudition and a felicity of criticism which are truly remarkable. I select a few passages, which may be found interesting. Here is a criticism on the relations of Napoleon I. with the fair sex: "It can be said, and with truth, that Napoleon, a true sultan without wives, was vanquished by women! He passed his life in protecting himself against them, which was manly; in insulting them, which was vulgar; in irritating them, which was imprudent. It is well known how he acted toward Marie Louise, toward Madame Walewski, toward Madame de Staël, toward Queen Louisa of Prussia, toward that unhappy Princess de Solms, the sister of Queen Louisa, whom he met at a ball, and whose life might indeed have been made the subject of criticism, but that criticism should have been private. 'Well, princess, are you still fond of men?' 'Yes, sire, when they are polite.' The strange explanation of this brutality is not that he disliked women, but that he feared them."

Here is a just and vivid picture of the genius of the elder Dumas: "That extraordinary talent, that tropical genius, powerful, abundant, ardent, mobile, and entirely physical, did not need to create a work. It warmed into life whatever it encountered. A Protestant refugee at Rotterdam had published in that city, about the year 1700, three wretched little volumes of a tolerably happy invention, but diffuse and vulgar in style. Dumas made of them the entertaining history of the 'Trois Mousquetaires.' You might bring him a history of any kind, a subject well or ill treated, the astonishing artist would cast the paste

is not true. The oven belonged to him. No matter from what quarter came the paste, so long as he had not kneaded, retouched, and watched over it, it had no value. He corrected the mould, recombined the elements, and superintended the baking. One of his comedies, the Demoiselles de St. - Cyr,' which achieved more than a hundred representations, was, when it fell into his hands, nothing more than a little unformed vaudeville, which its author sold for fifty francs. He was at once a wit, a poet, a manufacturer, and an engineer."

Here is a sketch of Bismarck: "This redoubtable contemporary, who has already his coat-of-arms, and whose father was the guardian of a state fortress, the Prince von Bismarck, is a human enigma, who has in his service the strangest of faculties. History can alone solve this riddle. He might replace his armorial bearings by a silver sphinx on a fieldgules. It is not yet time to judge this wild Richelieu of the Baltic. But a quality which cannot be denied to him is a power of penetration, which was aided by his journeys and his youthful observations, which was sharpened by his sojourn in France, and which is marvelously aided by his natural boldness and his brusquerie, assumed or real, and which permit him to manage, I will not say to deceive, mankind. When he busied himself with overthrowing the scaffolding of the ancient little feudal principalities of Germany, he was thought to be a democrat, and all democrats hastened to follow in his train. When, afterward, he brought up the old grievances of the Prussian monarchy against us, and raised up the trivial Spanish quarrel of the Hohenzollerns, so insanely accepted by the representatives and masters of France, the Prussian feudalists, then taking him for the most monarchical of royalists and the most feudal of feudalists, fought at his side as one man. This enigmatical series of problems is not yet ended."

This criticism of Mozart by Italian appreciation sixty years ago is curious, and reminds one of the "Tannhäuser" hissed from the Parisian stage some few years past.

"It may be remembered that Mozart in Milan in 1815 was looked upon as a barbarous composer, whose troppo robusta music, as the Italian critic Baretti phrased it, 'might possibly please, not the nightingales that sing, but the asses that bray.'

An unfortunate clock-maker of the Quartier Latin, named Marambot, having shot the seducer of his daughter, Alexandre Dumas comes out with a long article as a pendant to his "Tue-la!" wherein he no longer cries "Kill her!" but, more sensibly, "Kill him!” The peculiar and cold-blooded indelicacy of style of the great author, when he plies his pen in behalf of these social problems, prevents me from giving any extracts. I was struck, however, with one passage, wherein he advocates a change from the invariable French practice of bringing up young girls in ignorance and in leading-strings. "Teach them the dangers that environ them, and let them guard against them themselves," would be the advice of an American, and such substantially is that of M. Dumas. "She would know, it is true, what a young girl ought not to be told, but, on the other hand, she would know what a young girl ought not to do." Come, thenif American training is advocated in Paris by

such an advocate, there is hope for the future of Parisian society, after all. LUCY H. HOOPER.

OUR LONDON LETTER.

THE best thing appearing in Mrs. RossChurch's magazine, London Society, just now, is Mr. Joseph Hatton's "The True Story of Punch." Mr. Hatton, as you know, is the author of some clever novels, and editor of our best-informed theatrical paper, the Hornd. He knew personally most of the old Punch men-Douglas Jerrold, Thackeray, Mark Lemon, for instance; and he quotes more than one characteristic and hitherto unpublished letter from them. Of Jerrold, especially, be writes lovingly. Take this paragraph, for in

stance:

"A score of stories of Jerrold occur to me, though it is too late to add any new ones to the record, for his wit and humor' have been carefully collected and published. There are a few good things, however, which will bear repetition. 'Nature has written "honest

man

upon his face,' said a person trying to make interest for his friend with Jerrold. Then Nature must have had a very bad pen,' was the prompt reply. Everybody knows how he revenged himself upon a pompous fop, who had made himself offensively conspicuous at a club dinner where sheep's head was a favorite dish. Pushing his plate aside, the stranger exclaimed, 'Well, I say, sheep's head forever!' 'What egotism!' remarked Jerrold. This, no doubt, led up to a kindred flash of wit on another occasion, at the expense of a literary friend of Jerrold's, who had just ordered Some sheep's-tail soup, waiter. Ah,' said Jerrold, looking up, and smiling with his great eyes, 'extremes meet sometimes.' There was an old gentleman who drove a very slow pony in a ramshackle gig, and he was anxious one day to pay Jerrold a little special attention. The humorist was on his way to the station from his house. Ah, Mr. Jerrold,' said the old gentleman, 'shall I give you a lift?' 'No, thank you,' said Jerrold, 'I am in a hurry. In the country, on a visit, Jerrold was told, among other gossip, of a young man in the neighborhood named Ure, who had cruelly jilted his sweetheart. 'Ure seems to be a base 'un,' said Jerrold. At a ball, seeing a very tall gentleman waltzing with a very short lady, Jerrold said, 'There's a mile dancing with a mile-stone.' The author of an epic poem entitled A Descent into Hell' used to worry Jerrold very much. At last the wit grew irritated with the poet, who, coming bounding upon him with the question, Ah, Jerrold, have you seen my "Descent into Hell?" was answered, with quick asperity, 'No; I should like to !'"

You may like to know that our new lordmayor, Alderman Cotton, M. P., is a literary man-at least, he has written both poetry and prose. The former is passable (one volume of it was dedicated, by permission, to Charles Dickens, another volume to the late Lord Lytton); the latter has dwelt mainly on financial matters in the city.

Mr. Irving is being considerably "chaffed" by the poetasters over his Macbeth. They poke boisterous fun at him because of his make-up and "mouthing." This (condensed) is from the Figaro, the editor of which, Mr. James Mortimer, is at daggers drawn with the young tragedian, and will persist in always calling him in print "the Eminent 1."

46 "THE FALL OF THE EMINENT 1. ""Twas in the prime of autumn-time, An evening calm and cool, And full two thousand cockneys went To see him play the fool; And the critics filled the stalls, as thick As the balls in a billiard-pool.

"He wore pink tights-his vest apart, To clutch his manly chest;

And he went at the knees in his old, old way,
While his brow he madly prest;

So he whispered and roared, and gasped and groaned,

As with dyspepsia possest.

"Act after act he ranted through.

And he strode for many a mile,

Till some were ready to leave the house,
Too weary to even smile;
For acting murderers' parts so oft
Had somewhat marred his style.
But he took six more hasty strides
Across the stage again-

Six hasty strides-then doubled up,
As smit with searching pain;
As though to say, 'See me create

The conscience-stricken thane!' "Then leaping on his feet upright,

Some moody turns took he;
Now up the stage, now down the stage,
And now beside Miss B.;

And, looking off, he saw her ma,
As she read in the R. U. E.
"Now, Mrs. B., what is't you read?'
Asked he, with top lip curving.
'Queen Mary? A play by Mr. Wills?
Or something more deserving?"
Said Mrs. B., with an upward glance,
It is The Fall of Irving!""

"One night, months thence, while gentle sleep
Had stilled the city's heart,

Two bill-stickers set out with paste,

And play-bills, in a cart,

And the Eminent 1 had his name on them,

In a melodramatic part."

Mr. Mortimer, I may add here, is about to start an illustrated daily paper, after the style of your own Graphic. He is advertising for capitalists to join him in the venture, and doubtless will get them, for there's always plenty of money forthcoming for literary enterprises. Besides, Mr. Mortimer is one of the most energetic of our journalists. He has stuck to the Figaro through thick and thin; and now see the result! After more than once altering its price, size, and date of publication -at first it was a penny "daily," now it is a penny "weekly "-he has made it a success. An illustrated daily, well done, would, I am sure, have a very large circulation here.

In a week or two Mr. Toole will begin an engagement at his favorite London house, the Gaiety. Mr. Mathews is still personating the "awful dad" there; but, to put it as mildly as possible, "standing-room" can always be had. This will hardly be the case when Mr. Toole visits us again, for the first time since his American tour. Already every seat has been "booked" for the opening night. How popular he is with cockneys, to be sure! As for the provincials, they too swear by him-never at him, as they do in the case of some other "stars" I could name.

Mr. Sims Reeves's sons follow in the foot

steps of their father. They are sweet singers. One of them will soon make his appearance in public. He is said to have an excellent tenor voice; his brother's voice is a fine barytone.

Your countryman, Colonel Jeems Pipes, has been "drawing" large audiences in the provinces; by-and-by he will make his debut in London-a fact which reminds me that Mr. J. P. Burnett and Miss Jennie Lee have al

ready arrived here from San Francisco. It is probable that they will open at the Queen's; meanwhile, Mr. Burnett is being taken to the bosoms of our clubs.

It would be strange, wouldn't it, if, after all," Rose Michel" were to have a successful "run" among us? It may have, for I hear that there is a movement on foot to put Mr. Daly's version of it on the boards of one of our principal theatres. WILL WILLIAMS.

formed like those of an organ by means of

THE NEBELHORN, OR AUSTRIAN FOGTRUMPET.

AMONG the many objects of interest ex

At

hibited by Austria at the late Vienna Exposition was the Nebelhorn, or Austrian fogtrumpet. At stated and not infrequent periods the attention of the traveling public is directed to the positive need of some efficient means of signaling during a fog at sea. such times all the common signals, such as lights, whistles, bells, etc., are of no avail. The recent wreck of the Schiller upon the very rocks that formed the foundation of two light-houses, and the still more recent disaster to the Vanguard in the Irish Channel, prove that, until we have solved this problem of fog-signals, one great danger of the deep must still be unabated. In former communications we have laid before our readers the opposing theories of Henry and Tyndal! regarding the effect of fogs upon the transmission of sound-waves, and it may yet be safe

to affirm that the question has not been conclusively answered. While these eminent observers have devoted their energies to theoretical tests of the best methods for proJucing sounds that will penetrate the fogclouds, others, directly interested in the practical bearing of the subject, have been occupied in constructing instruments which shall create sounds of sufficient strength to serve the desired purpose. In the JOURNAL for February 13, 1875, an illustrated description was given of certain recent forms of fog-guns and sound-reflectors, and we would now direct attention to this new Austrian Nebelhorn, the form of which is shown in the accompanying illustration, which was placed at the disposal of Major Elliot, and by him given to the public in his recent valuable and interesting report on European light-house systems. From the report which accompanied the illustration we learn that this apparatus was formerly operated by compressed air, which has now been replaced by steam. The notes are

*European Light-House Systems, being a Report of a Tour of Inspection made in 1873. By Major George H. Elliot. New York: D. Van Nostrand.

vibrate by steam, and are sent out in any given direction through a trumpet or augmenter. The notes may be formed automatically and at given intervals, or may be governed by means of a finger-board, so that they may serve the purpose of correspondence as well as of a general signal. This instrument has a most extraordinary power, having been heard at a distance of sixteen nautical miles. It can be put up directly over the boiler or connected with it at a distance with a pipe. Mounted upon a pivot, it can be directed toward any desired point; and, where several are in use upon the same coast, a separate combination of notes may be made, so that each instrument may be distinguished from its neighbor. By means of the fingerboard, long or short notes may be sounded at will and with great accuracy, and communications may be made at night as well as in fogs and snow-storms. By the aid of an alphabetical formula a regular system of sound-telegraphy may be established. The

illustration here given is that of a trumpet,

the steam for which is obtained from an eighthorse-power boiler under a pressure of twentyfive pounds to the square inch, and by its aid thirty blasts may be produced in thirty seconds, audible at a distance of fifteen nautical miles. A small machine connected with the boiler operates the automatic distributing steam-valve.

By the aid of this trumpet, mounted thirty feet above the sea at the harbor of Trieste, signals according to the Morse method were plainly distinguished at a distance of six nautical miles. As a mechanism dependent upon the use of steam, it is evident that trumpets of this form might be made to render efficient service on board of steamers; and, had the Grand-Duke and the Vanguard been so equipped, not only would they have avoided each other, but the fact that the latter had changed its course might have been directly telegraphed to the fleet, together with the causes which rendered the change necessary. The Nebelhorn is the invention of Giovanni Amandi, of the Technical Institute of Trieste, and this his first trumpet was awarded a medal of merit at the Vienna Exposition.

IN the course of our recent editorial discussion regarding the true purpose and limit of governmental functions, reference was made to the geographical expedition now engaged under the sole patronage of an American and English newspaper in exploring the interior lands and lakes of Africa. Hardly had we given expression to these views in support of such private efforts as against those requiring the aid of the government when the New York Herald published, with a just pride, the first letter from its "own correspondent," Henry M. Stanley. This communication bore date March 1, 1875, and was dispatched from the "village of Kagehyi, district of Ucambi, Usukuma, on the Victoria Niyanza." Although the explorer had but then reached the boundary of the mysterious country into which he had been ordered to penetrate, yet the story of the march is one of sufficient interest to suggest a brief review, and to this the attention of the reader may be directed. As originally constituted, the expedition numbered four Englishmen and over three hundred natives; but, on reaching the shores of the Victoria Niyanza, after a march of seven hundred and twenty miles, accomplished in one hundred and three days, but one hundred and ninety-four men remained-dysentery, famine, heart-disease, desertion, and war, having taken from him one hundred and twenty-five Africans and one European. The following account of the fourth day's march will serve to illustrate the difficulties with which the expedition had to contend while simply pushing forward, while further on we read of new dangers from the attacks of the native forces. Owing to the faithlessness of his guides, Stanley found himself, on the third day out, in the midst of a dense jungle of acacias and eupherbia, through which they had literally to push their way by scrambling and crawling along the ground, cutting the convolvuli and creepers, thrusting aside stout, thorny bushes, and by various détours taking advantage of every slight opening in the jungle. It was on the evening of this day that the first death occurred. "The fourth day's march," he writes, "lasted nearly the whole day, though we made but fourteen miles, and was threefold more arduous than that of the preceding day. Not a drop of water was discovered during the march, and the weaker people, laboring under their loads, hunger and thirst, lagged behind the vanguard many miles, which caused the rear-guard, under two of the white men, much suffering. As the rear-guard advanced they shouldered the loads of the weaker men, and endeavored to encourage them to resume the march. Some of these men were enabled to reach the camp, where their necessities were relieved by medicine and restoratives. But five men strayed from the path which the passing expedition had made, and were never seen alive again. Scouts sent out to explore the woods found one dead about a mile from our road; the others must have hopelessly wandered on until they also fell down and died." After this follows the weary waiting for relief, and then the fresh start, which brought them to the district of Suna, in Urimi. Here was discovered a people "remarkable for their manly beauty, noble proportions, and nakedness. Neither man nor boy had either cloth or skins to cover his nakedness; the women bearing children boasted of goat-skins." They proved, in spite of their physical attractions, to be an ungracious and suspicious people, and it required great tact to induce them to trade or in any way further the designs of the expedition. They had no chief, but respected the injunctions of their elders. was at Suna that Edward Pocock was taken

It

sick, dying but a few days later-the first European victim to the honorable service in which he was engaged All honor to his name and memory! After burying Pocock at Chiwyu, and marking his grave by a rude cross cut on a tree at its head, the expedition began its northward journey, until the Leeumbu River was reached. Here the first active contest with the natives began, resulting, after a long fight against fearful odds, in the discomfiture of the enemy and the total destruction by fire of many of the most populous villages. The attacking tribes were led by the dreaded Waturu. Of the geological features of the country now entered the traveler writes as follows: " At Mukondoku the altitude, as indicated by two first-rate aneroids, was 2,800 feet. At Mtiwi, twenty miles north, the altitude was 2,825 feet. Diverging west and northwest we ascend the slope of a lengthy mountain-wall, apparently, but which, upon arriving at the summit, we ascertain to be a wide plateau, covered with forest. This plateau has an altitude of 3,800 feet at its eastern extremity, but, as it extends westward, it rises to a height of 4,500 feet. It embraces all Uyanzi, Unyanyembe, Usukuma, Urimi, and Irambo-in short, all that portion of Central Africa lying between the valley of the Rufiji south and the Victoria Niyanza north, and the mean altitude of this broad upland cannot exceed 4,500 feet. From Mizanza to the Niyanza is a distance of nearly three hundred geographical miles, yet at no part of this long journey did the aneroids indicate a higher altitude than 5,100 feet above the sea." Continuing the march, and after crossing numerous fertile plains and the rivers which watered them, the lake is reached, and the actual work of the expedition is projected. This work was to consist in an exploration by water of the Victoria Niyanza, which exploration was to be effected in the boat Livingstone, afterward rechristened the Lady Alice, an illustrated description of which has appeared in the JOURNAL. "I hear of strange tales," says the writer, "about the countries on the shores of this lake, which make me still more eager to start. One man reports a country peopled with dwarfs, another with giants, and another is said to possess a breed of such large dogs that even my mastiffs are said to have beer small compared to them. All these may be idle romance, and I lay no stress on any thing reported to me, as I hope to be enabled to see with my own eyes all the wonders of these

unknown countries." In a second letter, now at hand, Mr. Stanley records his first voyage in the Lady Alice, and, by the aid of a map of his own drawing, describes the Victoria Niyanza more fully, and, it may be believed, more correctly, than his predecessors.

IN the death of Charles Wheatstone, the English electrician, physical science loses one of its most distinguished students and advocates. At an early day we shall notice at greater length the character of his services to theoretical and applied science, the following brief summary of which appears in the columns of a contemporary: "He was born at Gloucester, in 1802. In early life he was a manufacturer of musical instruments, and made researches on the science of acoustics. He displayed much mechanical ingenuity in the construction of instruments and apparatus. He published, in 1834, an ‘Account of Experiments to measure the Velocity of Electricity and the Duration of Electric Light.' In the same year he became Professor of Philosophy in King's College, London. He invented the stereoscope, which he described in his 'Contributions to Physiology of Vision,' published in 1838. He was one of the several persons who, in 1837, claimed the honor of the invention of the electric telegraph. Wheatstone and his partner Cooke obtained, in 1837, a patent for apparatus which they invented for sending signals by means of electric currents. They were successful in the practical application of their invention, which soon came into extensive use. Professor Wheatstone afterward invented several improvements, among which is the magneto-alphabetical telegraph. He was Vice-President of the Royal Society, and was a corresponding member of the French Institute, as well as of several of the leading academies of Europe."

DR. A. W. SAXE recently described before the California Academy of Sciences a colossal tree, one of a grove discovered in Santa Clara County. Its circumference, as actually measured six feet from the ground, was but a few inches less than one hundred and fifty feet; as over one hundred feet of the top had fallen, it was impossible to determine the exact height, though this was probably about three hundred feet! This tree, even in that land of vegetable wonders, stands chief over all, although the other trees in the grove are said to be of immense growth.

Notices.

SCIENTIFIC BOOKS.—Send 10 cents for General Catalogue of Works on Architecture, Astronomy, Chemistry, Engineering, Mechanics, Geology, Mathematics, etc. D. VAN NOSTRAND, Publisher, 23 Murray Street, New York.

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APPLETONS JOURNAL is published weekly, price 10 cents per number, or $4.00 per annum, in advance (postage prepaid by the publishers). The design of the publishers and editors is to furnish a periodical of a high class, one which shall embrace a wide scope of topics, and afford the reader, in addition to an abundance of entertaining popular literature, a thorough survey of the progress of thought, the advance of the arts, and the doings in all branches of intellectual effort. Travel, adventure, exploration, natural history, social themes, the arts, fiction, literary reviews, current topics, will each have large place in its plan. The JOURNAL is also issued in MONTHLY PARTS; subscription price, $4.50 per annum, with postage prepaid. D. APPLETON & Co., Publishers, New York.

MONTHLY PARTS OF APPLETONS' JOURNAL.-APPLETONS' JOURNAL is put up in Monthly Parts, sewed and trimmed. Two out of every three parts contain four weekly numbers; the third contains five weekly numbers. Price of parts containing four weekly numbers, 40 cents; of those containing five numbers, 50 cents. Subscription price per annum, $4.50. For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers. D. APPLETON & Co., Publishers, 549 & 551 Broadway, New York.

A MISHAP.

CHAPTER VII.

"The velvet grass seems carpet meet
For the light fairies' lively feet;
Yon tufted knoll with daisies strown,
Might make proud Oberon a throne;
While hidden in the thicket nigh
Puck should brood o'er his frolic sly;
And where profuse the wood-vetch clings
Round ash and elm in verdant rings,
Its pale and azure penciled flower
Should canopy Titania's bower."

T is not possible to imagine a stronger

are conscious on coming to this gay wateringplace out of the wild gorge through which we have passed, and after the rough life of which we have had a glimpse. We feel as if we had entered by magic into another world. Here is a large hotel, with all the appliances of civilization; well-dressed people in every direction on the piazzas and lawns; stir, movement, and all that air of do-nothing gayety which pervades such places.

No summer resort in the country possess

Continued from JOURNAL, No. 344.

es greater advantages than the Warm Springs - if these advantages were only made the most of. Even now, despite the constant annoyance which bad management causes, the place is very popular, especially among the people of Tennessee and the Gulf States, who go there in numbers. Nature has certainly done every thing for it. The great hills recede, forming a beautiful basin. There is a green, well-shaded lawn in front of the hotel, at the foot of which the French Broad sweeps, chanting its everlasting refrain, while on the other side bold cliffs and mountains rise. In the rear of the hotel flows Spring Creek, one of the brightest and loveliest of mountain-streams. It runs down a picturesque gorge in crystal rapids and falls, with the laurel-clad cliffs towering so sheer and steep on each side that it is only by springing from rock to rock in the bed of the stream that one is able to explore its wild beauty. The warm springs are large pools that bubble up near the river, and range in heat from 98° to 102° Fahr. They are almost of miraculous virtue for rheumatism and neuralgia, and one sees helpless cripples who have the entire use of all their limbs in the bath, when out of it they cannot move hand or foot. The worst cases of rheumatism are always alleviated by these waters, and many persons are wholly cured.

We cross the river in a ferry-boat-the bridge not having been yet rebuilt-and in doing so are the objects of many stares from a party of equestrians who are waiting on the other side. At a place of this kind new. comers are always certain of being stared at -generally in a very ill-bred manner-but on this occasion there is more than ordinary excuse for the starers. Evidently they are at a loss to imagine where we can possibly have come from. They know that Laurel is "up," for the stage from Asheville has not crossed

since Monday, and this is Thursday. As we approach the bank, we hear them exchanging wonders and conjectures.

"The waters must be down," says one. "Of course the stage will come to-night," remarks another.

"We could assure them to the contrary, if we chose," says Sylvia. "Our boatman told us, you know, that the stage cannot possibly cross until to-morrow-if then."

We drive into the grounds and up to the door of the hotel with the air of people who feel that they have a right to make a sensation.

Our appearance certainly excites a great deal of wonder and interest among the lounging groups on the long piazza.

"From Asheville?" says the astonished clerk who opens the carriage-door. "How is it possible you've crossed Laurel? The stage hasn't been here in a week."

"People can generally accomplish what they want to do," says Eric. "The stagedrivers are probably not so anxious to cross as we were. Here we are, and we want good rooms immediately."

Thanks to this young gentleman's somewhat arbitrary energy, the good rooms-and they are excellent ones-are obtained. In this respect we are more fortunate than many others. Let people show any capability of being imposed upon, and hotel proprietors are commonly the people to take advantage of the fact.

"It is the most disagreeable feature of this place," says a gentleman a few days later, "that you can obtain nothing without such a great amount of unpleasant bullying."

Not alone at the Warm Springs, however, does such short-sighted policy prevail. Who that has traveled has not suffered often in this manner, and been wrought to indignation by the deception and imposition which the keepers of many places of resort delight to practise, and injure themselves more grievously than they know by practising them?

The rooms at the Warm Springs are admirably furnished, as far superior in size, comfort, and upholstery, to those of the famous Virginia White Sulphur as a first-class hotel is superior to an ordinary boardinghouse. And the table is as good as can reasonably be desired. Sylvia, it is true, casts a discontented glance over the bill-of-fare, and remarks that she sees no mention of

"You'd like a bear-steak, also, wouldn't you?" the latter asks. You must go a little farther from cut-glass and damask before you find those things, ma belle."

"Is there no game around here?" asked Mr. Lanier. "There ought to be."

"There is none for amateur hunters," answers Eric. "I was here for a week last summer, and I soon saw how the thing was managed. A party of gentlemen want a deer-hunt. Being ignorant of the country, and having no dogs, they engage some of the mountaineers to drive' for them. These fellows regard the deer as their monopoly, so they station the strangers at certain stands, then they take the dogs and drive the deer in the opposite direction, receive their pay in the evening, and have probably also a deer which has been killed by one of their own number. After trying this lively amusement for a few days, the would-be hunters are generally disgusted, and firmly persuaded that there is no such thing as game in the mountains."

"Is there no chance of a stranger ever killing a deer, then?" asks Mr. Lanier.

"Not unless he is one of a party who know the country and drive for themselves. Even under those circumstances, however, game is scarce around here-so scarce that it is not worth hunting. I knew that, so I left my gun in Asheville. We shall not have a good deer-hunt until we go to Buck Forest -eh, Charley?"

"What is Buck Forest?" asks Sylvia. "The jolliest place in the mountains," answers Charley. "Let that suffice until you go there."

It does not take us long to fall into the groove of watering-place life-the most absolutely idle and aimless life in the world. Who does not know the routine? A vast amount of lounging and promenading on piazzas, a considerable amount of flirtation under lawn-trees, much smoking on the part of the men, unlimited gossip on the part of the women, idle hours in the bowling-alley, idle hours by the river pretending to fish, idlest hours of all in the ballroom, criticising faces and costumes, and dancing to poor music. This order of existence pleases only two of our party-Aunt Markham, who likes comfort and the baths, and Mr. Lanier, who likes comfort and society. Sylvia tolerates it being young and pretty, and not adverse to admiration and belleship-but she wears a wistful look when the horses are brought out for a ride or drive, and she confides to me that she is longing to be "up and away" to the wild fair regions that lie yet unexplored before us. Eric and Charley make no secret of the fact that they are bored, and the latter relapses into his usual state of indolence -out of which our day or two of roughing temporarily roused him. He finds it too much trouble to contend with Ralph Lanier and half a dozen other old friends and new admirers for a share of Sylvia's society, so he calmly relinquishes all of it, and devotes himself to a flirtation with a pretty Memphis belle. I see them for hours together on the lawn-Charley lying lazily on the shad

in remote nooks of the piazzas, and see them stroll away for long walks together. Sylvia says nothing, but her color heightens once or twice when some one remarks Mr. Kenyon's "devotion" to Miss Hollis, and she is more gracious than I have seen her yet in her manner to Mr. Lanier.

This gentleman expresses himself very much pleased with the Springs and the company.

"It would be much more sensible to spend the rest of the summer here, instead of wandering about the mountains, encountering all manner of hardships," he remarks one day, with the air of one who has fully made up his mind.

Eric utters a long, low whistle.

If you have any intention of that kind, mother," he says, "pray give me warning, and I'll be off to-morrow."

"To Buck Forest, I suppose," says Sylvia, glancing round.

"To Buck Forest or some other place where there is something to be done besides lounging and smoking. To a man who flirts -Charley there, for instance-a place like this may be tolerable; but to me-"

"I beg to observe," says Charley, "that not even flirting can make it tolerable. A man must do something, in self-defenseand flirting is one of the easiest things to do but, as for finding pleasure in it, that's another matter."

"Don't try to make us believe, my good fellow, that you haven't found pleasure in Miss Hollis's society," says Mr. Lanier, with the amiable pleasantry of a victorious rival.

"It is not a matter of the least importance what you believe," answers Charley, more brusquely than he usually speaks.

"Have you all forgotten," I interpose, hastily, "that we have not seen Paint Rock yet? Let us go down there to-morrow."

"Let us go somewhere, by all means," says Sylvia. "This kind of tread-mill existence begins to oppress me with a sense of weariness. I want to ride, to cross a swollen stream, to climb some rocks-to do any thing that has the thrill of adventure in it."

"There is not much adventure in climbing the Paint Rock," says Eric, "but, if you are very anxious for a thrill, you may throw yourself off."

"Thanks for the permission-but did not somebody talk of crossing the river and going to Lovers' Retreat this evening?"

There is nothing else to be done, so we all decide to go, and Charley invites Miss Hollis to join our party. We cross the river, which is beginning to lose its turbid tinge and wear its emerald tint again-those of us who are prudent on the ferry-boat, those who are imprudent in a small craft that lies at the foot of the lawn. The latter crew consists of Charley, Miss Hollis, and Rupert. Sylvia would like to be with them, but she does not say so. I only know as much by the expression of her eyes as she watches the little boat shoot across the rapid current, while our slow old ferryman has not pulled us half across the stream.

We land on the other side at length, however, and stroll along the road for some dis

ravine. A musical stream comes dashing over its rocks to meet us, up the bank of which we take our course. There is no per ceptible path, and the way is very rough, but only Mr. Lanier complains of this.

"If these people had any enterprise," he says, "they would have all such places as this made accessible by good paths."

"May a kind Fate keep such an idea from ever entering their heads!" says Sylvia. "Can't you see how much more delightful this is? Who cares for a pleasure that costs no effort? We enjoy the cascade a great deal more-my dress is caught, if you please because we have trouble in reaching it."

Do you think so?" asks the young man, a little skeptically, as he unfastens the dress from the bush on which it is caught.

"O Mr. Kenyon, how shall I ever climb over this?" cries Miss Hollis, hesitating at the foot of a large rock which it is necessary to mount.

"There's no difficulty at all," says Rupert, "if you just put your foot on that ledge and spring."

"There will be still less difficulty if you

"I won't trouble you," she says, waving aside his offered hand. "I don't consider this any thing at all in the way of climbing. Is that the cascade yonder?"

Yes, it is the cascade-filling all the stillness with its fairy-like murmur. Over rocks, across fallen trees, and through the dense growth of laurel that fringes all these watercourses, we make our way to the bank, and go out on the rocks below the fall. The glen is only one of thousands equally beautiful; but, as we stand, with the sheet of spray and foam before us-a cascade that might be Undine herself-dense foliage on each side, towering mountains above, and an atmos