other. Foremost amongst the latter is the hotel "Vier Jahreszeiten," which is always frequented by Royalty-in April last the Empress of Austria and her suite were staying there. In the neighbourhood is the theatre, and a bust erected to the memory of that great German poet who has been honoured by a monument of bronze or stone in nearly every town of his fatherland-Schiller. But we know that the real beauties of Wiesbaden are not to be found in the town itself, but have to be sought in its surroundings; so we set out on our journey up the Neroberg. The road along the Kapellenstrasse is not particularly steep; but on a July morning, with the scorching sun shining mercilessly down upon us, we soon begin to feel uncomfortably warm, although we make our umbrellas do duty as parasols. In about half an hour we reach the "Russian Chapel," with its five magnificent minarets, one large and four smaller ones, all richly gilt and surmounted by high Russian double crosses with heavy gilt chains. The height of the structure from the ground to the top of the centre cross is about 200 feet; of the chapel itself, about 90 feet. Upon application to the curator we obtain admission to the interior, which is entirely of marble, partly white, partly coloured. The magnificent dome is decorated with beautiful frescoes on gold ground. An artistic altar screen dividing the chancel-which, according to the rites of the Greek Church, is only accessible to the Metropolitan and his coadjutors-from the nave, was painted in Russia, and is of most exquisite workmanship. In a pentagon niche is a noble monument of white marble of the youthful Duchess Elizabeth Michailowna, who died in 1845 at the early age of 17, and to whose memory the chapel was erected by her husband, the then Duke of Nassau. The life-size figure of the Duchess-who was a Russian princess--is lying on a sarcophagus, the base of which is surrounded by statuettes, representing the twelve disciples, and—those at the corners-Faith, Love, Hope, and Immortality. The monument is one of the finest specimens of sculptural art in existence, and on the sarcophagus alone the artist was at work for a period of twelve years. From the niche a door leads to a flight of stairs descending into the vault where the Duchess is buried; but the rites of the Greek Church not permitting of persons being buried within the precincts of a place of worship, the tomb had to be built just beyond the outer walls of the chapel. From the grounds near the chapel there is a beautiful view into the surrounding country. But a still more charming sight extends before our eyes, after we have reached the Säulentempel, an open rotunda on the top of the Neroberg, about 800 feet above the level of the sea. Across the Nerothal and the city of Wiesbaden at our feet, the eye wanders over miles and miles of most delightful scenery, amply repaying for the trouble of the ascent. I cannot too strongly advise those of my realers who contemplate a flying visit to the city which forms the subject of this notice, to ascend the Taunus mountains, at least as far as the Temple on the Neroberg; but if their time permit, they should walk still farther up, until, in less than an hour's time, they reach the Platte, with the palatial Jagdschloss (about 1,800 feet above sea level), whence the view extends over the Spessart and the Odenwald, and the Rhine Valley as far as the Haardt mountains in the Palatinate. On our road from the Neroberg, we re-enter the city by way of the Nerothal, inspecting en passant the beautiful monument erected in commemoration of the late Franco-German war. Besides those which I have named, there are numerous other spots in the vicinity of Wiesbaden worthy of an excursion, if the time of the traveller allow ; but it was this irrepressible enemy that prevented me from visiting them, and as I wish to keep faithfully to the principle laid down in my opening remarks, I must not say anything about them. G. F. E. RICHARD. Sonnet. LOVE IS LIFE'S SUNSHINE. LOVE is life's sunshine; first, in childhood's hour, It dawns upon us from a mother's eyes Sun-kissed, to yield to its warm witcheries. C. "After Dark" in Birmingham. I N keeping my appointment with Detective P- -r, I had to take into account that he might have "a job" at the last moment, which would prevent him from keeping his; and thus it proved, for it was three hours "after dark" before he could meet me, and, as he said, just too late to see what was to have been the first in order, of the series of pictures in real life, hung so low on the line that some painful stooping would be necessary to take in the detail. In its true order, Series I. of the Hogarthian realisms should have been " Supper time in the lodging-houses," followed by Series II., "Lodging-houses after bedtime," but hitting neither of these times we decided to take the lodginghouses just as they came, leaving the special phases for another round when we could go at the right hours. Just as the clock of St. Martin's chimes half-past ten, the luminous face of the same looking calmly down upon the hurrying crowd below, we turn into Park Street-familiar enough to my eyes, having years ago often passed through it on my way to St. Martin's Schools. As we pass the side door of the "Museum vaults my guide says, "One moment: we will see who is in here to-night;" and swinging back the heavy door we enter the large and crowded bar. Our business not being with these places to-night, I have only just time to note that more than one customer has "spotted" my companion, and one at least made a hasty exit, doubtless having an urgent appointment with a friend "outside at the moment. A word or two with an elderly man, and a private door is unlocked admitting us to the body of the music hall, just at the moment when a popular clog-dancer has concluded his final effort and brought down the house. Amid the applause, stamping of feet, cat calls, and the like noises, we pass upstairs to the "reserved" seats; stationing ourselves for a few minutes at a point of vantage, and gazing down on the seething mass of people, principally young boys, who are now settling down for the next item on the programme-but not before some of them engage in a free fight, lasting but a few seconds, a ring being formed, a few blows exchanged, and then the pressure closes in upon the combatants, only to be relaxed at another point for a similar display. But the "M.Č." raps loudly وو with his hammer, one or two "lambs" collar the most unruly of the "school." and chuck them out just as the boards are graced by the "Cornish Couple," who forthwith commence a sentimental duet. Soon wearying of this, we make our way out into the comparative quiet of Park Street. Walking quickly past the "Phoenix," just as a couple of drunken Arabs reel in, each with a jug in hand, we come upon the first of the lodging-houses. Without any ceremony, P. pushes open a door, and we find ourselves standing in a rather long, but low and narrow room, dark in the corners, but sufficiently light near the fireplace, in which a tolerable fire is burning; a small paraffin lamp supplying such remaining light as suffices for the needs of those grouped around. Here I counted fourteen people, composed of three men, five women, and six children, the latter at once riveting my attention. Three of them were seated on a form, the end of which touched the fireplace; and one stood by it, a little fellow about three years old, curly headed, dirty, evidently very sleepy, and perfectly quiet, with his finger in his mouth. A pair of big blue eyes were raised for a moment and fixed upon mine, or upon the cigar I was smoking, and then fell again. Poor little chap! his attitude seemed to say, as plainly as any words, "I want to go to bed;" and so did the collapsed postures of numbers two, three and four. A few questions elicited the information that their mother had not come in yet. She was a firewood seller; and until the few requisite coppers were forthcoming, they could not go to bed at all, nor have any supper; but being "regulars" they were allowed to sit there until the needful was obtained. I learned from the lips of the eldest that they had had nothing to eat since breakfast, and that they were very hungry; so, finding which was the woman of the house, we deposited fourpence for a loaf, with an injunction (not to be trifled with) from my companion, to "see they had it." The latter, now going up to the sleeping figure of a man on a settle near the wall, shook him by the shoulder until he sat up, rubbing his eyes with his tolerably clean hands. "What,--you're down here again, Splits, are you?" said P.; and the fellow, carefully avoiding the "speaker's eye," growled out, "Well, what if I am ?" and either in pretence or in reality, dropped off into his drunken sleep again. This, P. told me, was one of "the boys," from London, his clean hands indicating that he followed one of the genteel callings analogous to pocket-picking. (In these quarters, all the honest men have dirty hands, a singular reversal of the sense in which “clean” and “dirty” hands are spoken of in commercial and polite circles.) With an injunction to one of the women to send her children to bed at once, and a warning word to the master of the house— who now lounged in in a beery condition, and seemed more than half inclined to quarrel with us—we turned into the street again, just as a maddrunk Irishwoman was raving at an entry end, cursing and swearing at some invisible foe; quite satisfied to maintain all the talking to herself, and supremely unnoticed by those who stood about, even at her elbow. Nothing could more clearly have impressed upon one that such hideous discords were the normal state of things too often in this neighbourhood. Turning down another entry, passing through an empty house, and emerging into a back yard, we entered one of what are called “furnished apartments;" and found in a small room, lighted by one small candle in a bottle, and containing a table, two chairs, and a shelf, a man at work mending a pair of boots; and at his feet, asleep on the bare floor, a little child, just covered with his own coat. Here the father was an honest man, paying three-and-sixpence a week for two rooms, under the same roof with thieves and burglars. The mother had not come home, and he could not leave this little one upstairs alone, for the boots must be done to-night, or there would be no breakfast to-morrow. I glanced down at the sleeping two-year-old, and again (as when I looked at the sleepy curly-head in the house we had just left) I thought of my own little fellow, snugly tucked-up in his cot at home; and my heart gave a thump, while I involuntarily said to myself "God help these little mites!” and stood for a moment or two, and thought upon the mystery of life. After visiting a similar scene, where a workman lived in " apartments," the annual rental of which was nine pounds, two shillings, and where we saw three children-" well cared for," as P said, distinguishing them at a glance from the waifs and strays, who all, more or less, bore the marks of "pinching '-we descended to the ground floor, into one of the common rooms--occupied by women only, the men having gone out after supper. A few questions drew from one of these, the story that she was passing through the town with her husband, and was here with her four children. Finding us sympathetic, an old crone in the chimneycorner came forward, and with surprising glibness told us of her having come all the way from Dublin, etc., etc., and concluded with a most comprehensive blessing when we put a few pence into her hand for the company. Not long afterwards, we saw her going into one of the gin shops near, with a bottle for the refreshment. Intending next to visit a notorious "thieves' house," a temporary abode of some of " the boys" from London, or elsewhere, who wanted to remain in hiding, P. led the way down another ominous-looking row, and stopped at a door which we found was locked. Here he expected we should have some difficulty in gaining admittance; but, after knocking in a peculiar way, a shuffling noise was heard from within, and after a time the door was opened, when we entered, to find wretched-looking young man, clad in a shirt only. He looked half scared at our appearance, and in a trembling voice assured us that the "mother" was out, and he alone in the house. This we found was true; and making the poor fellow sit down near the fire, to keep his bare feet from the brick floor, we questioned him, and found he was a shoeblack, who was in trouble, as the police had driven him away from his corner, because he had fits, which made him an object of fear and alarm, especially to women who might be passing by. P. spoke a kind word or two to him, and said he would see what could be done; and the poor fellow appeared quite grateful even for this slight indication of some interest being taken in his welfare. a |