“The surpassing _grandeur_ of the scenery has been so constantly dwelt upon, that the hopeless task of description is unnecessary. Should you love all that is _awful_, sombre, wild, and _grand_ in scenery, wander but _half a mile_ from town, and you may be lost amid the dark valleys that wind through the pine-covered mountains.”—_Mrs. Trollope._ Now I most positively deny that there is anything either grand, or awful, or sublime, in the scenery of Baden. The valley is picturesque, romantic, or even beautiful—and the view from the ruins of the old castle (rather more than half-a-mile, by the way, from the town) is extensive and very fine; but the sublime and the awful do not enter into the composition of Baden scenery. You must wander among the Alps for these. LINES _Written at the VIEUX CHATEAU, August, 1834._ The pine-clad mountains boldly rise Round BADEN’S hot and healing spring; And cloudless are the azure skies, With HEALTH on every Zephyr’s wing. But ah! in this romantic dell, Where streams of life for ever flow, The demons of destruction dwell, With VICE, the harbinger of woe! That horrid thirst of other’s gold— Those hell-born passions pent within, Corrupt alike the young and old, For “sin doth always pluck on sin!”— At tables piled with many a heap Of ore from Earth’s dark entrails torn,[27] The harpy brood their vigils keep From dewy eve till rosy morn. Hither the pamper’d landlords hie— While shivering tenants pine for bread— Transform’d to brutes in Circe’s stye, To every Christian precept dead! The prince, the peasant, and the peer, The soldier, cit, and baron bold, On equal terms assemble here— The race is not for rank—but gold! And whilst the whirling ball flies round, In dread suspense the gamester stands— It drops—and quick each shining mound Dissolves—and shifts to other hands. Shall Albion’s sons and daughters roam To Baden’s fonts for “change of air,” And bring these foreign vices home— Abhorr’d—endured—but _practis’d_ there![28] Haste then, my friend, from scenes like these— And scale the mountain’s airy height— Inhale the morning’s balmy breeze, And contemplate the landscape bright:— That glorious view of hills and dales— Of fertile plains and winding Rhine— Of forests vast—romantic vales— And slopes that “teem with corn and wine.” Or hie thee to the healing wave, By Heaven to suffering mortals sent— The cold and palsied limbs to lave, Or soothe the joints with torture rent.— But ye, whom HEALTH, or pleasure calls, To seek that prize in distant lands, Avoid, as ye would death, those halls, Where dwell the DÆMON-ROBBER bands! Lest I should be suspected of taking a cynical view of Baden-Baden, I shall adduce the following quotations from Dr. Granville.