is another kind of information to which an historian, in the position of Sallust, might be supposed to have access, and that is the correspondence of the eminent persons of whom he wrote. Of the value of this intelligence Lingard has justly spoken. He looks upon it as drawing aside the veil from the council of princes, and revealing the secret springs that set in motion the machinery of government; as undressing the statesman, and presenting the man. And where the assistance of the correspondence might be expected to be slight, he enjoyed the higher benefit of conversation. An occasional hour of intercourse with Wellington would open a deeper vein into the Peninsular campaigns, than the perusal of six volumes of letters. Sallust could consult and employ both. The senate was in the habit of receiving frequent despatches from the scattered commanders of its armies; and its Blenheims and Vimeiras only wanted a Murray, or a Gurwood, to transcribe them for posterity.

But we must drop the curtain again over these two admirable pictures, before which we have lingered so long in wonder and delight. It is to be expected from every partypencil, that the delusion of colour will be employed to conceal or to heighten defects. The painter, who drew a single-eyed king in profile is the representative of the pamphleteer, and Sallust was a pamphleteer rather than a historian. We have seen that he could introduce the profile, or the full-face, as prejudice or party might suggest. Passion sacrificed principle to the pamphlet, and even a pictorial grace to personal jealousy. Cicero might have been painted with the brilliancy of Catiline; and certainly no incident in the story of the conspirator is more tempting to the pencil, than the orator, at the election of consuls -while the rumours of insurrection dismayed the city-throwing back his gown, and exhibiting a shining breastplate to the people.

A LETTER FROM RIPPOLDSAU.*

THIS sweet Rippoldsau!-how delightful after fashionable BadenBaden, with its gaieties and gambling, its saddening Conversations Haus, where the sound that rests longest, and echoes most mournfully on the sensitive ear, is that which has rung like the death-doom of hope and happiness through many a heart, and carried, if not a demoniac, an unfeeling joy to another's. "Le rouge gagne, le noir perd-messieurs, faites votre jeu;" and so sounds on from minute to minute, hour to hour, and night to night, the monotonous indifferent voice of the croupier, while misery, ruin, it may be death, attend his accents;-"Le noir gagne, le rouge perd-messieurs, faites votre jeu."

Even the Alte Schloss has become a coffee-house, and hundreds and hundreds daily penetrate its surrounding shades, and ascend its once commanding height-to regale themselves with beer and tobacco. Adieu then to Baden, without one sigh of

regret! for there, solitude is peopled.
Five German ladies screaming from
a hired carriage, whose two weary
horses revolted from such a burthen,
and, asserting their claim to nation-
ality, stood stock-still at the last hard
pull of the mountain ascent, suffering
the carriage and its freight to pull
them down again in a backward di-
rection, disturbed the visions of the
"olden time," which I was beginning
to indulge as I sat to rest beneath
the dark shade of the pines; and
when I gained the summit, and beheld
that relic of feudal power and unci-
vilised greatness surrounded by well-
filled little tables with their labouring
waiters, and half enveloped in the
fumes from pipes and cigars, I felt
that the spirit of the past had fled,
far, far away from the Alte Schloss
of Baden-Baden. I entered a little
building, called "Sophia's Repose,
hoping there to be alone; but in it
I met a French papa and mamma,
with a nurse and a little boy, whom

Rippoldsau, one of the most attractive but least known of the Brunnens of Germany. MURRAY's Hand-Book,

they had brought riding on an ass to see the Alte Schloss; and while they were all resting in Sophia's Repose, the little dear was amusing himself and his fond parents by dragging the donkey round and round the circular table, while the hideous contortions of the creature's mouth, being rationally attributed to its obstinacy, caused papa to interfere, and aid his son's efforts by sundry blows and cries, which expedited the donkey's circuit of the table, and made me fly from "Sophia's Repose." Finally, Baden was left, and the glorious view from the lofty Kniebis reconciled me almost to the loss of time I had sustained there; for if I had not gone to Baden-Baden, I should not have gone to sweet, tranquil Rippoldsau. Some say that the gambling-tables, others that the railroad, have spoiled Baden, or, at least, rendered still more motley its motley society; I know not which is most to blame in that respect; and, perhaps, to my natural aversion to all such places is chiefly attributable my discontent: a Frenchman assured me it was a paradise, and an Irishman told me that at Baden every thing that any one could desire in this world was to be found.

me not

"The noblest study of mankind, is man," says our poet. Granted; but to avoid being cynical, let pursue that study at a fashionable watering-place. Rippoldsau, however, achieved a conquest; it was the only place where mineral waters or mineral water-drinkers agreed with

me.

"Ah how triste!" exclaimed a young baron, alighting from his carriage, and desiring his horses to be ready to start again in a few hours. "Oh, how delightful!" I ejaculated, as, with a heart that thanked God for the capability of enjoying his works, the works of nature, I climbed the pleasant hills, and sank into the depths of the silent forest.

Rippoldsau is one house, or rather a collection of houses, united, or communicating together, forming a most singular and beautiful village on the borders of the great Schwartzwald-Forêt noir, or Black Forestwithin a morning's journey of Strasburgh or Baden, yet as retired as if a desert intervened. From the

former it is approached from the town of Offenbach, through the charming vale of Kensig; and from the latter, by the romantic and better known (though by no means more lovely) valley of the Mourg; or, for diligence travellers, from the railway station of Appenweir, over the lofty Kniebis.

The pretty valley of Schapbach, in which it is situated, possesses those healing streams which have given, and most deservedly, some celebrity to Rippoldsau; I speak from experience, and grateful experience, when I say it is impossible to taste the mineral waters of Rippoldsau without feeling that they possess natural and inherent virtues.

The place itself is a curiosity; the domain of the landlord of the hôtel, who is the lord of the manor, the youngest son of the former manager : he was able to purchase the entire property twenty years ago from the Prince of Furstenburg, and since then, to aggrandise and improve it have been his pleasures and his occupation. He is the patriarchal head of his establishment, and takes as much pleasure in promoting the enjoyment of its several members as any good-natured papa can possibly do. I shall have to relate some instances of this again; at present, let me only say, that this most amiable Monsieur, or rather Herr Göringer, has cut walks, and placed seats, and built little pavilions, wherever a walk or a seat, or a pavilion could be made on the slopes of the pinecovered mountains, the dark Sommerberg in front, and the Winterberg at the back of his mansion, at the foot of which are agreeable gardens; and in any one of these seats or pavilions I can find a scribbling-place, for few of the bathers and waterdrinkers, of which there are generally from one to three hundred, most good-humoured and united folks[not English] break through the regular rules which water-drinkers usually observe. There they are, hurrying through that little court, running down like night travellers, wrapped in their great cloaks, as soon as the bell rings at half-past five or six o'clock, hastening away to begin with two, and end perhaps with twelve glasses of that most admirable, and to me who never

his object was to look at the luggage
that was dismounted, by which cri-
terion he judged of the party to
whom it appertained! As soon as
the diligence is unloaded our whole
party enter their quarters, and gene-
rally repair to the salle à manger,
where a very nice supper can be had
à la carte by all who wish for such.
I wish I could give a sketch of Rip-
poldsau, with its double line of white
houses, one side ancient, with an old
chapel on a small eminence; the other
new and handsome-both bounded
by the towering pines that clothe
the lofty mountains, and blend their
murmur with the perpetual music of
the ever-flowing streams. The pro-
prietor of this charming spot com-
prises every thing within his own
domain. There is the post-office,
and the bakery, and the forge, and a
large hall appropriated to various
sorts of tradespeople, pedlars and
haberdashers. It is a little seig-
neurie, and Herr Göringer, the master
of the hôtel, is the seigneur. Here
there is no formality, no restraint,
no grandeur and vulgarity mixing
together, no vice, walking unabashed
and unrepressed-nothing, in short,
like what one meets at Baden-Baden.

exceeded three, most exhilarating
water-then up and down the pretty
and silent road, which passes straight
through our court, and leads to
Wolfbach and Offenbach, for about
two hours, when the tables at each
side of the court become supplied
with guests partaking of coffee and
rolls: after which, every one dis-
appears. I did not know at first
what was then going on, but felt it
was very unfashionable in me to be
rambling about hither and thither
between the hours of ten and twelve
o'clock. I found, however, it was
the usual practice to take the baths
about ten o'clock, then go to bed,
and afterwards make the toilet; at
this time, one might suppose every
one, save myself, was dead in the
hotel. About half-past eleven or
twelve the gentlemen become vi-
sible, moving about, or sitting reading
the journals, or devoutly smoking.
Shortly before one, the ladies and
their parasols make their appearance
in the court, knitting as devoutly as
the gentlemen smoke; for surely, if
the pipe is the symbol of the male
German, the knitting-needle is that
of the female. Thus, they await the
summons to the table d'hôte, and a
really beautiful and well-supplied
table d'hôte it is. The salle à
manger, built over the river, does
credit to the taste of the proprietor.
The Germans do not talk very much
at dinner, therefore that stunning
music in the orchestra is less an-
noying than it might otherwise be.
When the table d'hôte breaks up,
the court serves as the general with-
drawing room:
heard, and good-humoured laughter;
merry voices are
then, for a short space, all relapses
into repose; and again, our little
community comes forth, and gene-
rally disperses in groups on excur-
sions into the delightful neighbour-
hood. Music usually enlivens the
evening, for there are almost always
some amateurs to give a little exercise
to the grand pianoforte in the great
salle à danse; but the day at Rip-
poldsau may be properly said to con-
clude with the arrival of the dili-
gences, about eight o'clock, one from
Appenweir, the other from Offen-
bach. Every one gathers round to
behold the probable acquisitions to

But I believe I must for the present stop short in description, in order to relate a story,-a singular history. I shall tell more about my favourite Rippoldsau another time. I was invited one afternoon to join a party to visit the Wasserfall, the chief beauty of which consists in the singularity of the rocks over which it falls, resembling exactly the ruins of an ancient castle cresting the mountain. Herr Göringer made a little pavilion here at its foot, and named it after the Grand Duchess Stephanie, and then gave a splendid fête to celebrate its completion. There was abundance of coffee and champagne, and the band played away as loudly as could be desired. All his guests had been invited, and all agreed to go; but when the hour

arrived, one unfortunate monsieur, having delayed too long to make his toilet, or spent too much time in making it-could he be German ?sent a message to say he would follow when the said toilet was comHe did follow, but, un

their society; an Englishman-the luckily, not in the right path-lost

only one, alas! among us-told me

himself in the mountains and woods,

out of reach even of the music, whose
noise might have guided him aright;
and when, at last, he was conducted
back to the hôtel, after having
missed the fête, he found it absolutely
necessary to get rid, as quickly as
possible, of the toilet that had taken
so much time to make.

Instructed by this warning, I did
not begin to make excuse when
asked to join a party to the water-
fall; for, fond as I am of solitary
walks, I had already found it quite
sufficient to be once lost in the Black
Forest. I went, therefore, in com-
pany, and found there was no chance
of having lost myself, even if alone.

But how strange is often my lot! Why is it that I am so frequently brought into the sorrows of others? made the depositary of woes which, without greatly lightening another, do not a little burden myself? I know not-but God knows. This has not always been without a purpose, without an end.

Returning from the waterfall, I had been walking with a grave Swiss professor of theology and astronomy, and left him to join the ladies, who formed the advanced corps. I was struck by the worn and altered countenance of one of these, a widow lady, judging by her dress, who was my regular neighbour at the table d'hôte, where she was most remarkable from always wearing her black bonnet, with a thick crape fall, that entirely covered the upper part of her face. I inquired if she were fatigued, or ill.

66 Oh! I am ill," she answered, yes, impatiently; "let us go in there and get some coffee-I must be alone."

I entered, with her, a little summer-house or refreshment-room, in a small garden fronting an inn, still called the Klösterle, that ancient convent, whose monks are said to have been in the olden time the patrons of the springs of Rippoldsau, being now converted into a church, a picturesque and prominent object in the landscape, and an inn which affords, in the height of the season, sleeping accommodation for the surplus of Herr Göringer's guests.

In this offset to the Inn of Klosterle, my companion threw herself on a bench, and her bonnet on the table, exhibiting to me, for the first time, a face which, without being

positively ugly, ranked among those so well described by the term plain. It was only for an instant, however, for the next it was buried in her open hands, with a gesture indicative of emotion bordering on despair. She was not only plain in feature, but her figure bore marks of early debility, which had left some deformity in its formation; one shoulder was higher than the other, and the bust, instead of that open carriage so charming in woman, was considerably contracted. Yet the early malady which had caused this irregularity of shape had left an expression on her countenance, which rendered it in general one of interest.

At this moment, however, its only expression was that of passion or of

misery.

inquiring manner.
"You are very ill ?" I said, in an

"Yes, but it comes from the heart," was her answer; "it is one of my bad moments: how insufferable to me was the society I was in!"

I thought she was really suffering from a heart complaint; but, in answer to my solicitude, she murmured-"No no; it is feeling-it is the mind that suffers: these moments will come on."

"Had she no friends with her?" I demanded; " no family? was she quite alone ?"

"Alone!" she repeated, with a sort of shiver; "alone?—yes, quite alone; always alone-I am dead?"

I became alarmed; surely I was in company with a deranged person. She saw my uneasiness. "Pardon me," she added, in a calmer tone. "I am the most miserable creature on earth; but I cannot excuse myself for thus giving way to my always concealed misery in your presence. I know not why I have done so; it is the first time; and yet, you are quite a stranger to me."

“A stranger, undoubtedly," I replied, "but one who can feel for human woe. Why will you say you are the most miserable? ah! who can say so?-who dare say they will not be yet more miserable? God is very merciful; we are not overwhelmed at once; his chastisements are those of a father who would draw his children closer to him. Can you not look to heaven for peace and comfort?"

"Ah, truly I can-I do. Yes, God is my dependence; I have a right to look to Him: for, if God supports those who deserve his help, He will support me."

"Deserve! ah, there is the root of misery! Pride deprives us of the help we need—pride leaves us to our own support."

"I am not proud," she answered, in a mournful voice; "oh, no! But do you not think that those who have made great sacrifices for the good or happiness of his creatures, are not entitled to believe that they merit the support and favour of

God?"

"No, we merit nothing; because nothing is perfect or entire on our part: even the sacrifices we make to his will and our duty are seldom entire, or if so, are often regretted or repented of. A single regret or repentance must efface their merit; and sometimes the sacrifices we make are made to our own will, or the will and desires of others, not to those of our God: those to whom we make such sacrifices occupy, perhaps, his place in our souls."

"Yes, I will-I sometimes do try to do so; I like you," she added, glancing at me for an instant; "I liked you from the first moment you spoke to me it was something in the tone of your voice, I believe. I think it would do me good to speak to you often; I should weep then more than I do now."

"Ah, there is something in that!" she murmured, burying her face again, with a low moan, in her extended hands.

"You read the Scriptures?" I asked.

"Yes."

At this moment the pretty mädchen entered with our coffee, and, though we spoke in French, the conversation ceased, and was not afterwards renewed. I saw some large tears roll down the pallid cheeks of my suffering companion; and, in her state of evident excitement, I felt that these would probably afford her more relief than my words would be able to do. It was only two days afterwards that one of those strange events which the romance of real life affords occurred in the hotel of Rippoldsau, the nature of which was known only to myself and the unfortunate heroine of my story.

Behold, then, in the life of the Redeemer the only entire, pure, and constant sacrifice of self, yet a sacrifice continually sustained by prayer, and accompanied with perfect sub

mission."

"He sacrificed himself to others, and was accepted," she rejoined.

We were seated at the table d'hôte, when a newly arrived couple, who had been arranging their toilet, appeared entering the large antechamber called the salle-à-danse, and approaching the folding-doors of the salle-à-manger. It was not so much the splendid figure of a man in the prime of life-perhaps about thirty-five years age, the eyes full of expression, lofty brow, and rich, curling hair-that struck the instant attention of our whole party, as the air of mingled happiness and pride which breathed on every feature, animated even his movements, and caused every beholder's eye to turn upon his companion, as if to seek the object that inspired such sentiments. Indeed it was one capable of doing so. Never did I behold a sweeter vision of human loveliness in real human form than in that of the lady who leaned upon his arm. She appeared to be two or three-and-twenty, of an exquisite fairness, and extreme delicacy of feature, united to an ex

"Yes, for the spiritual and moral good of others. The sacrifices we make to those we love or idolise are generally made to their temporal welfare or happiness; we may mistake, and do evil when we would do good; and when the effect of these sacrifices upon ourselves is that of inducing a repining or unhappy spirit, pression impossible to describe. When

we may be sure there is something
wrong. God loveth a cheerful giver.'
"You blame me, then?"
"Blame you! how can I? I know
not what you have done."

"Ah! God alone knows that."
"Then you must look to Him alone
for comfort, support, direction."

I heard afterwards the remark repeated, "When she looks down, it is a Madonna! when she looks up, a Hebe!" I recognised the same kind of idea that had occurred to myself.

But a cold, hard grasp of my arm drew my attention from this brilliant pair. I turned to my unhappy neigh