finger of conventionality. The
inevitable Kur-Haus and bandstand and Anlagen are here; worst of all,
a Trink-Halle! The Trink-Halle stands a mute and awful warning to the
vaulting ambition which overleaps itself, since a classic temple in
the heart of Liebenstein is surely as much out of place as a tiara
would be on the head of the peasant woman who hands you your daily
portion of Stahlwasser. Even the spring it originally sheltered has
revolted against its sham marble pillars and grotesque entablature,
and betaken itself elsewhere! Nowadays the paint and plaster are
peeling off the columns, and its door is padlocked. Happily--although
a melancholy warning to the educated--it remains a source of pride to
the peasant, who loves his shabby temple as the Romans do the marble
glories of their Vesta.

Immediately behind the temple are the springs of Georg and Kasimir, at
which stand two charming maidens ready to fill your glasses. No
conventional and hideous hat or bonnet disfigures the neat outline of
their heads. No travesty of Berlin or Paris fashion burlesques their
sturdy figures. Theirs the traditional costume of the Thuringian
female peasant--a dark skirt, and white, short-sleeved chemisette, a
blue apron and the daintiest of white silk kerchiefs, fringed sparsely
and brocaded abundantly with red roses. Albeit their arms are red and
coarse with the combined effect of iron-water, hot sun, and exposure
to the air, their faces make ample amends in their innocent,
good-tempered comeliness. They greet you with a kindly "Guten Tag" or
"Guten Abend," and, in the case of a lady, seldom omit the pretty
"Gnaedige Frau," for which our "Ma'am" is but a poor correlative.

Wandering through the streets of Liebenstein, one is struck by the
intensely picturesque sights of its older and original part. The
little houses are timber-framed and whitewashed, with deep projecting
eaves and often many gables. Their windows are made gay outside by
boxes filled with geraniums, nasturtiums, and fuchsias. Beneath the
windows lie small gardens, in which bloom roses and single dahlias,
while scarlet runners send their tendrils climbing over the palings
which separate road and garden. Many of the little houses have
projecting signs, on which one reads such legends as "_Tabak,
Cigarren, Cigaretten_;" "Adolf Schmidt, _Herren kleidermacher_;"
"_Weinhandlung Naturreinheit garantirt_;" or the very indispensable
"_Baeckerei_." One house bears a tablet