formed for their accommodation, as the
surrounding villages could not hold them. But
the spa has now lost much of its once
unrivalled fame, probably because so many other
valuable springs have been made known.

Of the Pyrenean springs those of Barèges
and Cauterets are the most powerful. The
spring of Barèges rises at a spot about sixteen
miles from Luz, and on the left bank of the
impetuous torrent of the Bastan, in wild and
savage scenery. The spring is four thousand
feet above the sea, and winter avalanches
often fall upon the site of the wooden
barracks that are erected each summer down
the one long street that forms the village.
Its modern fame dates from the visit of
Madame de Maintenon with the young prince
of Maine in sixteen hundred and seventy-
five. La Raillère is a celebrated spring in
Cauterets— a district three thousand feet
above the sea. Every year, horses affected
by chronic bronchitis and leanness are
brought here from Tarbes and Pau, and they
drink with instinctive avidity, and recover.

Nearly a thousand springs are enumerated
in France; but the mineral waters of that
great country are less known in England than
the spas of Germany. The establishment at
the German spa ia generally a matter of
government, and often a large part of a grand
duke's revenues is drawn from a well. In
France, on the contrary, many medicinal
springs are the property of a commune, and
therefore suffer under as sordid and grasping
a spirit as if they belonged to a reformed
municipality in England. Some improvement,
however, is noticeable, and access is
becoming more easy; so that when the
extreme value of many of the springs and the
grandeur of the scenery in which they rise,
as well as their advantages of climate, become
better known, many of the waters of France
and Savoy will probably be as freely resorted
to by our countrymen, if sufficient accommodation
is provided.

The mineral waters of Central France are
chiefly situated in the old province of
Auvergne and in the Bourbonnais, which is a
vast granitic mass pierced by secondary
porphyries and volcanic rocks. The temperature
of some of the springs approaches the
boiling point. The waters of this great
district are saline: they contain sulphates,
bicarbonates, chlorides, and silicates, and
abound in carbonic acid gas. The Spa of
Vichy is unlike any other alkaline water,
and unites rare and valuable qualities. The
bicarbonate of soda so predominates in all the
eight springs of Vichy that it is regarded as
the essential element in their mode of action.
The alkaline springs generally contain the
carbonate of soda, sometimes the carbonate
of lime or of magnesia, and often other salts.
Such springs are generally found near
volcanic rocks. There's physic enough; and if,
O reader, you are not yet satisfied with my
catalogue, accept one mouthful of salt as a
last mineral blessing from your faithful showman,
Julep.

The predominating element in the waters
of the east of France is common salt. To
this eastern division also belong the much
frequented springs of Plombières, the most
peaceful part of France. The spring of Bourbon
I'Arch-ambault, in the department of Allier, is
the place to which Madame de Montespan
retreated to end her life in repentance and
devotion; and here it was that on the night of
her death a cavalier dismounted at her door,
and, hastily entering her chamber, withdrew
the clothes which covered her breast, and
tore away a key that was suspended at her
neck; then, taking a casket from a drawer,
without having spoken, remounted his horse
and pursued his way to Paris. It was her
son, the Duke of Antin; but what mystery
the casket concealed was never known.

Now, believe me if you please, that I have
given you the key to the casket of Madame
la Terre; or, Mother Earth as she is called
vulgarly in England.

HAUNTED.

    COME, fill my goblet up with wine,
      My little page with dusky eyes,
    And pile those purple grapes on high,
      Till the red light upon them lies.
    Bring hither all your daintiest cates,
      And cordials, perfumed even yet:
    Wheel up the little stand of books;
      'Tis luxury makes the heart forget I

    Come when you hear the silver bell.
      Now, sparkling offspring of the vine,
    You have no griefs nor cares to tell,
      So teach me how to conquer mine!
    My golden poet, sing some song
      To make the hours more quickly fly?
    What sayest thou? " Man would be blest,—
      But love and sorrow never die!"

    Now, what a moonsick plaint is this!
      Why, he who e'er could make them last.
    Through our poor human life, deserves
      To have his bust in opal cast?
    They 've died a thousand deaths, with me,
      And each one took a different way.
    I drink the latest one of all,—
      The love I lost "the other day."

    The latest, deepest one I knew,
      And only lost "the other day."
    So gladly won, so sadly lost,
      It took life's sunshine quite away.
    Well, let it go! the moon remains;
      Her light is quite enough for me,
    And better that it sometimes lulls
      This gnawing pain of memory.

    Melt in my mouth, O luscious grape!
      O, cordials rich, and rare, and strong,
    I take you for the sage's thought,
      I take you for the poet's song!
    Preach, then, a sermon! As I sip,
      Let each drop sparkle up again!
    Alas! alas! you kiss my lip,
      But have no skill to heal my pain!