PROMENADE IN BADEN-BADEN.
We were sitting on the ground on which knights and ladies in the centuries past had sat and feasted. There was not an inch of space within a half mile of us that had not its story. Mailed knights in that very room had
“Carved their meat in gloves of steel,
And drank red wine with their visors down.”
WAR AND CARDS.
And possibly their spirits were hovering over us. If they were, we did not know it; they did not materialize. Instead of the mailed knights and beardless pages and fair ladies of the middle ages, there was a party of Americans in tall hats and short coats, ladies in the latest possible Parisian walking dresses, and instead of the glorious game of war it was a simple game of euchre, which the men played with the same earnestness that characterizes them at home in their business, and the ladies with that utter disregard of rule that characterizes feminine card playing everywhere. It is needless to observe that in the matter of wine the example of the old knights was followed, only we had no visors.
