from the graves and placed against the inner walls of the cemetery.  What artists they had in the old times!  They chiseled angels and cherubs and devils and skeletons on the tombstones in the most lavish and generous way—­as to supply—­but curiously grotesque and outlandish as to form.  It is not always easy to tell which of the figures belong among the blest and which of them among the opposite party.  But there was an inscription, in French, on one of those old stones, which was quaint and pretty, and was plainly not the work of any other than a poet.  It was to this effect: 

    Here Reposes in God, Caroline de Clery, a Religieuse
    of St. Denis aged 83 years—­and blind.  The light
    was restored to her in Baden the 5th of January, 1839

We made several excursions on foot to the neighboring villages, over winding and beautiful roads and through enchanting woodland scenery.  The woods and roads were similar to those at Heidelberg, but not so bewitching.  I suppose that roads and woods which are up to the Heidelberg mark are rare in the world.

Once we wandered clear away to La Favorita Palace, which is several miles from Baden-Baden.  The grounds about the palace were fine; the palace was a curiosity.  It was built by a Margravine in 1725, and remains as she left it at her death.  We wandered through a great many of its rooms, and they all had striking peculiarities of decoration.  For instance, the walls of one room were pretty completely covered with small pictures of the Margravine in all conceivable varieties of fanciful costumes, some of them male.

The walls of another room were covered with grotesquely and elaborately figured hand-wrought tapestry.  The musty ancient beds remained in the chambers, and their quilts and curtains and canopies were decorated with curious handwork, and the walls and ceilings frescoed with historical and mythological scenes in glaring colors.  There was enough crazy and rotten rubbish in the building to make a true brick-a-bracker green with envy.  A painting in the dining-hall verged upon the indelicate —­but then the Margravine was herself a trifle indelicate.

It is in every way a wildly and picturesquely decorated house, and brimful of interest as a reflection of the character and tastes of that rude bygone time.

In the grounds, a few rods from the palace, stands the Margravine’s chapel, just as she left it—­a coarse wooden structure, wholly barren of ornament.  It is said that the Margravine would give herself up to debauchery and exceedingly fast living for several months at a time, and then retire to this miserable wooden den and spend a few months in repenting and getting ready for another good time.  She was a devoted Catholic, and was perhaps quite a model sort of a Christian as Christians went then, in high life.