_Baden, July 9th._--On Friday dined with Lady Aldborough and Mrs. Murchison, wife of the geologist, at an hotel _table-d'hôte_, where Lady A.'s screaming and strange gestures alarmed me for the effect they would produce on the company, and lest she should come out with some of those extraordinary things which she does not scruple to say to almost everybody she talks to. She is eighty-seven years old, still vigorous, and has all her wits about her, only her memory is gone, for she tells a story, and, forgetting she has told it, begins it again almost directly after. I remarked that all the women who dined with us ate almost everything with their knives, which was very disagreeable to see. A boy was stuck up on a chair who gave us several recitations in German, and then came round to lay us under contribution, though it was hard upon me to be forced to pay for hearing what I did not understand, and what only interrupted my conversation with my neighbour. Yesterday, Westmoreland, his son and I, went to see the New Castle, which the Grand Duke is repairing and fitting up. He has given the Grand Duchess Stéphanie, to whom it belonged for her life, a house in the town in exchange for it, and he is going to make it a residence for himself, and very handsome and agreeable it will be. The dungeons are curious and exhibit in perfection the local details of feudal tyranny and oppression. There are the long passages and dark chambers, the thick walls and stone doors, the shaft down which the wretches were lowered, the hall in which they were judged, and the well or oubliette into which by a trap-door they were precipitated, never to be heard of more. After seeing the Castle, we drove to La Favorite, a very curious place. It is not quite deserted, for the present Grand Duchess occasionally takes up her abode there. The house is, however, exactly in the state in which it was left by the Margravine Sybilla, who built it. Everything is faded, but nothing altered, and it exhibits a perfect specimen of a residence of the great people of that period, about 120 years ago. It is curiously but richly adorned with gilding, painting, glass, mosaic, and inlaid marble, all the furniture of silk or velvet, and an immense collection of portraits in miniature, half a hundred at least of Sybilla herself, and her husband, the Margrave Louis, in every variety of costume, some the most grotesque possible, besides those of curious worthies, let into the mirrors on the walls. Downstairs there is a quantity of Venetian and Bohemian glass, exceedingly fine, and a strange dinner service of delft, very well done, in which there are turkeys, woodcocks, bones, asparagus, cabbages, &c., the dishes representing the animals or the vegetables which are to be served up in them. The most extraordinary thing is the chapel which the old Margravine built in the garden in the days of her penitence, to which she used to retire during Lent,