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tients — an especial pet of the great hot-water doctor of Baden, who, as I have already mentioned, is an Abernethy martinet in the surveillance of the subjects of his tender mercies — had unguardedly yielded to the blandishments of a waltz, and had been detected swimming along to the true double Wien time. But the eyes of Argus were upon him, despite his thaumaturgic twinklings. Have you ever seen a Newfoundland-dog dart into a crowd and single out his master by the coat-tails ? Well, even so did this little wretch of a doctor rush out into the middle of the room and seize, with dexterous gripe, not the coat-tails, but the collar of his victim, who, truth to say, looked more like the dog than the master. A frightful objurgation ensued; the lady was swung down nearly on her knees, but the detestable little janizary of Galen held fast, puffing and inexorable.

For shame! my friend!' shrieked he, in the other's agitated ear; what were you doing with that lady? Why are you not a-bed? What excitement! what a scene for you! How can you come and subject yourself to such

* Brutality!' shouted the prisoner, endeavoring to free himself with & jerk that only wrought his cravat into a hangman's knot under his left ear.

"Oh no! you need n't think to be released until you give your word of honor to go home and take a hot blanket. I hope you will be cool, then, as I am now. Sir, I expostulate. I warn you that I have help at hand, in case you make it necessary to proceed to extremities, and then, God's thunder-weather ! you will soon see with whom you have to deal. Sir, I am bold; I know it; I thank HEAVEN that I am. But, Sir, remember, it is not I, but my duty that holds you by the collar.'

With this sublime sentence he ceased. There was no appeal. There was no eye to pity, nor arm to save. There was nothing but a Red-Sea of ridicule yawning to engulf him. His little Terpsichore was gathered unto her family, who now all conjoined in looking stilettoes at the illstarred waltzer. The path of policy seemed to coïncide with that of duty; and the martyr of medicine submitted to social ostracism as the martyr of melted wax had done before him.

Was I not right,' asked Ernest,' in calling him a memento mori? If you consult him, you might as well engage a police-spy at once on your heels; he has a hound-like instinct after patients which is truly appalling:

Or rather,' said Babbleton Bore, it is like selling yourself, body and soul, to the Devil himself, of whom I firmly believe Dr. Gulpingen is a prime agent. After your compact with him you are no longer your own keeper; if you are fortunate enough to escape alive from the toils of his treatment, it is only to be badgered to death by his attentions, and they are to the treatment what the tail is to the comet.'

‘And there is no shaking off his unrequited attachment to you,' added De Genlis, who had just come up. What does he care though you have paid your bill fifty times, or though you may never pay it ? To hunt you down is with him a labor of love; he can never desist after he once scents your trail. Singular taste and devotion!'

* Strange indeed!' chimed the fire-eater, who now wore the Cordon Des Chevaliers D'Enfer in commemoration of his fifty duels.

'As for my part," lisped Mr. Pappen J. Burde, 'if ever I am ill-advised enough to make his acquaintance, I shall always go armed.'

* Well said! mon bravo,' exclaimed the fire-eater ; shoot him like a dog and show your teeth! 'Sacre mille tonnerres! I shall certainly leave my card on him to-morrow morning.'

What does he come here for at all ?' inquired Babbleton Bore of the fire-eater.

* What for returned the other, fiercely, cracking the knuckles of his clenched fists. Sacre nom de Dieu ! how should I know? As a policeman visits a flash-house, I suppose, in pursuit of prey'

• He looks upon a ball-room as a Bedlam, where every body ought to be put in a strait-jacket. From the manner in which he constitutes himself sanitory guardian of his subjects, I opine that that is precisely the operation he would be most pleased to perform on this raff of lunatics, as he styles the dancers,' said an officer.

"Whom he loveth, he chasteneth,' is his declared motto,' added the croupier of the roulette-table, who had just been attracted from the adjoining salon, with a roll of bank-notes in his hand.

Mais à quoi bon les coquilles, quand l'æuf est avalé,' interposed the majestic Passim Partout. “Pshaw! This is but a trifting display of the doctor's force of character. I was myself a witness to a much superior instance a few weeks ago. The doctor is my best friend. He came to me in the afternoon and said:

"Count, I am afflicted with a contumacious patient; he will not take kindly to boiling water.'

Won't he, though ?' said I; 'nous verrons ; invite him up with you to look at the reservoir.'

Dr. Gulpingen caught at my suggestion. I accompanied him and the patient, who, by the way, was a great mineralogist, up the hill. You know it is usual, on opening the door of the grand reservoir of the boiling fountain, to wait a few moments until the excessive steam evaporates. But not so the doctor.

* Now's the time,' whispered I, as the patient was turning the knob. " What do you see?' inquired the doctor.

"Nothing,' replied the patient, looking through his misty spectacles, * except a dense, hot fog.'

" " Then in with you!' roared Dr. Gulpingen, giving him a push in the back that would have felled a rhinoceros.

“The patient bolted in; a tremendous splash was heard; a gurgle ; and all was over The old she-Cerberus, who keeps the hot-water gates, instantly ran up with a hunting-net, which we soon cast in. The poor devil! when he was hauled out and extricated, it was found that the coat was boiled off his back. These Dutchmen, however, are blessed with thick skins; and a three-weeks' course of wet-sheet brought him up standing, washed inside and out, as he expresses it. The gentleman now appears at least fifteen years younger, although somewhat over-florid in the face as yet, and though he has lost the larger portion of his hair. But le printemps reviendra, as Dr. Gulpingen playfully assures him. The most extraordinary fact in the case is, that a collection of chrysolites which remained in the gentleman's pocket during his immersion was

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afterward found to be bloated to nearly double their original bulk. He left Baden very well pleased with himself

. And now, gentlemen,' added the Count, desirous to extinguish the subject, since the doctor is disposed of, let us return and gamble or dance.'

'I must devise some polite mode of telling that man he lies, or I shall expire with ennui, murmured the fire-eater, cracking his war-like knuckles.

“True, gentlemen; true, every word, I assure you, parole d'honneur. I was of the party ; true, il faut vivre, il faut vivre,' sang a melodious voice from behind, which, after diligent research, was discovered to proceed from the Count's bottle-bolder.

At this stage of the proceedings there spread an universal hush throughout the human hive of hum. The first performer on the cornetd-piston in Germany was about to play. A flock of fans, which were actively exercised but a moment ago, now paused like birds asleep on the wing. A whole ottoman-full of flirters was stilled. Not even the clink of coin was heard. The Germans were mule from admiration; the French from politeness; the English from listlessness. The performance ceased; applause stormed down from all sides like the pattering of big rain; and, shower-like, it was followed by a profusion of flowers in bouquets.

The noon of night — the only noon, I fear, ever known to the beauty and chivalry that graced this occasion -- was now ranked among the gathered hours. I left the company while music was again pouring its voluptuous tides through their bounding pulses. A tight boot binted the propriety of retiring with an admonition much more effectual than that which the heroine of the slipper so rashly disregarded.

How I marvelled during the evening at some peculiar features of this ball; and chiefly at the conservative construction of the ladies' robes, which established such a high protective tarif on the demesnes of the sweet throat that all criticism was precluded of the well-furnished busts for which German dames are renowned; how I marvelled more on being apprised of the motive of the mode, videlicet, that a certain Savoy princess, the coryphée of taste and ton at Baden, was instigated by a voluminous endowmout of nature - an unsightly gôitre — to act the prude, and set the example of high-necked reserve, which etiquette required the rest to copy; jow I admired the amiable arrangement of fashion which dictated the disguise of the many in order to hide the deformity of one ; how all this, and much more of titillating interest transpired, yet remains to be recorded, but not here, for why prolong the scandal ? Satire, alas! is to society what salt is to the egg, or sauce to the gander. So passed the first group of mes beaux jours a Bade-Bade, the sights and sounds of a week. Do you ask after its successors ? Life, when most delightful, is not like a kaleidoscope, changing its hues and phases with each diurnal resolution, Neither Democritus nor HERACLITUS, you will admit, could perish for want of pastime amid the various acts of the Grand Comedy of Errors -— life — which are represented here; for here, at least, the complaint does not hold good that,

"SOCIETY is smoothed to such excess
That manners differ hardly more than dress.'

Nor can I concur with him who said that · Half a word upon the spot is worth a whole cart-load of recollections. An epistolary journal grows not unlike old wine. As for oblivion, its cold shadow can never attain to Baden-Baden. Indeed, it is, after all, greatly to be wished that the Fool's Paradise' were less rife with those matchless associations which make the American reminiscent, on his return home, wish to Heaven that the Atlantic were LETHE, so that he might have drowned his pertinacious mistress Mnemosyne, the Syren who will continue to sing sweetly and maliciously in his ear.

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*How many fingers ? Be jabers!

I nivir put in a one!
D'ye think I'd be afther ramming

Me fingers into the gun?'
"Well, give me the powdher, JAMEY!'

"The powdher! as sure as I'm born,
I put it all in yer muskit,

As I had ne'er a powdher-horn!' Philadelphia, August, 1853.

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With his household, quaint and simple, 'FATIER, tell us of the Quakers,'
In his manly prime,

(Did the children say,) By the fire-light sat a QUAKER, How the cruel Pilgrim rulers In the winter time;

Drove the Friends away; Moved in feeling by the pealing Tell us how they whipped and killed Of the Christmas chime:

them Little looked he to the outward;

In that olden day, Feasts and holy days,

When they hung poor Mary DYER — To his inward faith and worship,

Cruel men were they'
Were as worldly ways;
But he scoffed not at the symbols

IV. of the people's praise.

FEARFUL was the inward conflict Little loved he art or music,

Ere he made reply, And his fire-light falls,

For his nature, brave and martial,
In fantastic shape and semblance,

Broke so bold and high
O'er ungarnished walls:

Into flame along his forehead,
But he loved the blessed teaching

Lightning from his eye,
Which the chime recalls.

As the martyrs of his people
All so still he sate, and solemn,

Passed in spirit by,
While his own high thought, Looked he like a warrior waiting
Throned upon his ample forehead,

For the battle-cry.
Such a stillness wrought,

So the fiery indignation
That the mystic spell of SILENCE

Through his pulses ran,
All around him caught.

For a moment, ere the Christian
Sweetly looked they in that circle, Triumphed o'er the Man;
Wife and children three;

And his tones were deep and thrilling Two brave boys beside the mother As the tale began:

Hushed their boyish glee;
And a fair young girl was kneeling

At her father's knee.

SATE the Puritanic rulers,

In a stately row,
ENDICOTT, with scowl and scorning

On his lip and brow,
OUTWARD, with its sweet evangel While a herd of vulgar bigots
On the ear of TIME,

Thronged the court below; Upward far, to meet the star-light, Then came Michelson the Marshal, Swept the sounding chime,

Filled with savage ire, As the centuries shall hear it

Through the motley crowd of gazers,
Ever more, sublime.

Thrusting Mary DYER,
From the ages dim and distant, With her quiet, grave demeanor,
Through the pealing bell,

In her quaint attire;
Rolled anew the inspirations

As the people pressed asunder
From His lips that fell,

Round her foot-steps close,
On the ancient Mount of Olives, From the bar she gazed serenely
By Samaria's well,

O'er a host of foes; While the echo star-ward dying, Then, the clerk commanding silence, Seemed each martyr's knell.



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