eminent men here, not to be seen in the play-rooms, who are taking the
waters--Lord Clarendon, Baron Rothschild, Prince Souvarof, and a few
more--but the general run of guests is by no means remarkable for birth,
wealth, or respectability; and we are shockingly off for ladies. As
a set-off against this deficiency, it would seem that all the aged,
broken-down courtesans of Paris, Vienna, and Berlin have agreed to make
Wiesbaden their autumn rendezvous. Arrayed in all the colours of
the rainbow, painted up to the roots of their dyed hair, shamelessly
_decolletees_, prodigal of "free" talk and unseemly gesture, these
ghastly creatures, hideous caricatures of youth and beauty, flaunt
about the play-rooms and gardens, levying black-mail upon those who are
imprudent enough to engage them in "chaff" or badinage, and desperately
endeavouring to hook themselves on to the wealthier and younger members
of the male community. They poison the air round them with sickly
perfumes; they assume titles, and speak of one another as "cette chere
comtesse;" their walk is something between a prance and a wriggle; they
prowl about the terrace whilst the music is playing, seeking whom they
may devour, or rather whom they may inveigle into paying for their
devouring: and, _bon Dieu!_ how they do gorge themselves with food and
drink when some silly lad or aged roue allows himself to be bullied
or wheedled into paying their scot! Their name is legion; and they
constitute the very worst feature of a place which, naturally a
Paradise, is turned into a seventh hell by the uncontrolled rioting
of human passions. They have no friends--no "protectors;" they are
dependent upon accident for a meal or a piece of gold to throw away at
the tables; they are plague-spots upon the face of society; they are,
as a rule, crassly ignorant and horribly cynical; and yet there are many
men here who are proud of their acquaintance, always ready to entertain
them in the most expensive manner, and who speak of them as if they were
the only desirable companions in the world!

'Amongst our notabilities of the eccentric sort, not the least singular
in her behaviour is the Countess C----o, an aged patrician of immense
fortune, who is as constant to Wiesbaden as old Madame de K----f is to
Hombourg on the Heights. Like the last-named lady, she is daily wheeled
to her place in the Black and Red temple, and plays away for eight or
nine hours with wonderful spirit and perseveran