sentient extremities of the nerves of the skin, and too often excite dangerous commotions in the animal economy. In the course of the day I fell in with my bath acquaintance, Count ——, the Russian General, and had a long conversation with him. He had been in the memorable campaign of 1812, and had, for some years, laboured under a paralytic affection of the lower extremities. He assured me that in four or five weeks of these baths and douches, he had regained a good deal of power in his limbs; but his general strength had decreased, and he was about to repair to Schwalbach, in hopes that the chalybeate springs there would invigorate his constitution. We had a polite invitation to a fête at the palace that evening, from the gallant General.[31] In respect to the “bathing in company,” I confess I have a repugnance to it on many accounts, only one of which I shall state. The pleasure of conversation, in such places, is dearly purchased by the impossibility, (for the bather must go in a light dress,) of employing friction and shampooing on the naked surface—one of the greatest luxuries and salutary processes that can possibly be practised in warm-baths of any kind. This objection alone is entirely fatal to the “community of bathing,” laying aside the indelicacy of the thing.[32] The douches are easily and simply performed by a kind of pump and hose, by which the warm water is directed against any part of the body, and with any degree of force. A new source was discovered last year, near the Furstenbad, which will greatly extend the means of bathing singly. Already the refuse waters from the baths are sufficient to turn a mill as they run out from the baths to the Enz—the river never freezing in the town. In chemical and physical properties, the waters of Wildbad closely resemble those of Pfeffers and Schlangenbad. They are clear and odourless; but have a mawkish taste. In a pint, Professor Sigwart found 3½ grains of saline matters, of which nearly 2 grains were common salt—half a grain of carbonate of soda—and nearly the same of sulphate of soda. The other ingredients are chips in porridge, if we except a mere trace of iron. When boiled, it disengages a very trifling quantity of carbonic acid gas. The air which bubbles up from the waters contains (according to Gaeger and Gaertner) five parts of carbonic acid—7 of oxygen—and 88 of azote. Since that analysis, it has been found that there is little or no oxygen in the air. The temperature varies in the different sources from 88° to 99° of Fahrenheit. It is quite independent of summer, winter, storms, or calms. When waters, so simple as scarcely to differ from the purest spring used for drink, produce medicinal effects, the cause is attributed to some mysterious power, incognizable by the senses and inimitable by human art. Arcana Dei miraculis plena.