_Friday._--There are compensations for everything. Weather has not permanently recovered earthquake-breaking-up on day of our arrival. Still sun occasionally comes out, making it worth while to be on foot at seven o'clock in the night, when the sky is an unclouded arc of blue, and the sun sparkles on dewy grass. Pleasant then at noon, or afternoon, to stroll about under the lindens in the Park, still full of leaves, or to lounge in Tennis grounds watching the play. Oftener it is cold and rainy, and here's where philosophic mind finds its recompense. Homburg perhaps most open-windowed town north of Alps. On sunny days not a window in any house closed. Every home has its piano, more or less in tune. Every piano has its relays of players. Pianist at No. 14A, Untere Promenade, cannot help hearing pianiste next door, and plays loud to hold the field. Next door hears practitioner on other side, and plays louder still; so it goes on all up and down the street. Here and there the uproar is pierced by the shrill voice of a singer. It is the same in the next street, and in the street after, till all Homburg becomes a Pandemonium of piano-pounding. Now I sit in my room, with windows closed, listening with gratitude to the pelting rain and the soughing of the wind through the dripping trees. All other windows are necessarily closed, and above wind and rain is audible undertone of universal piano-playing, like the sound of a barrel-organ in far-off back-street. Perhaps not quite worth while coming all the way to Homburg for; but I like to make best of things. _Monday._--His Serene and Blind Highness still here, dutifully taking waters, and pluckily striding forth to complete regulation-turns. No one would guess at his affliction, except upon close observation. A photographic portrait of him on view in one of the Studios here, in which he looks forth open-eyed as keenest-sighted of his subjects; a kindly, genial, brave-hearted gentleman. All unconscious, he is made the occasion for a little satire on Royalty which would have delighted THACKERAY. To him ladies, entering into passing conversation, curtsey; gentlemen doff their hats; and _Jeames de la Pluche_ stands bare-headed as he hands him glass of water from spring. It is horrible to think that JEAMES might, with impunity--there being no on-lookers--shake his fist playfully in his Royal Master's face. Hope he never takes base advantage of his opportunities. But there is a look in JEAMES'S eye, as he hands the glass of water, which melikes not.