European Correspondence.

BY GEO. E. WILKINSON.

LEIPZIG, GERMANY, May 11, 1897. The "Winter Semester" of the University of Leipzig had closed-the Easter vacation just begun. On the morning of March 8, a party of seven Americans left Leipzig for a tour through southern Europe. We hastened across the fertile lands of the little kingdom of Saxony to Dresden. Although this is one of the most interesting cities of central Europe, it is too near home for a visit. Soon we were following the winding course of the river Elbe toward Prague, through the picturesque "Saxon Switzerland." Across the Elbe at Bastei, rises the Bastei, a precipitous rock, commanding a most beautiful view of the surrounding country. Further on is the fortress of Koenigstein, on an elevation impregnable in time of war. During the thirty years' and the Napoleanic wars, it was used as the depository for the archives and royal treasures.

At Bodenbach we entered Bohemia. Instead of the filthy and uninviting country that I had expected, it is a land of abundant harvests and beautiful scenery. The "fair-skinned saxons" were left behind; we began to view the features and hear the language of one of the roving tribes whose home was once on the vast plateaus of Central Asia. We crossed the Moldau, by a ser es of islands and bridges into Prague. How often have those waters been dyed with the blood from the armies of Bavaria Sweden, Poland, Wallenstein, and Frederick the Great! No city in Europe so forcibly reminded us of the past. The old Synagogue, founded, according to tradition, by the first Jewish fugitives from Jerusalem after its destruction, with its now disused burial ground containing thousands of time-worn, moss-covered slabs and Hebrew inscriptions, is a sample of its antiquities.

To Vienna, next, through a country fought over by all the great powers of Europe. Where once was the roar of cannon, the gleam of bayonet, and the fire of musketry, is now a field of life, beauty and productiveness. Religious zeal rules. Along the foot-paths, at the cross-roads, in the center of large fields, are madonnas, crucifixes, and small sanctuaries for the homage of passers by.

What a change from the narrow, darkened streets of Prague to the broad streets of Vienna, thronged with people and surging with life and business! This "Austrian Chicago" is truly the link connecting European civilization with the barbaric magnificence of Asia. It was election day. Groups of "SocialDemocrats," of "Christians," and of the parsimonious Jews were collected in many places. Five different parties were represented, but the contest was primarily against the Jews. An election in a kingdom is an interesting sight to Americans. Police were everywhere dispersing the collecting crowds and carefully guarding the polls. Great was the rejoicing next day when it was learned that the "Christian-Social" were victorious in every precinct.

The country from Vienna to Italy is beautiful. The great Danube, and its bustling humanity were left behind and we began the ascent of the Austrian Alps. The slope was not steep till we reached Gloggnitz, the terminus of the far famed Semmering railway, the first great continental route to cross the Alps, noted for both its engineering and its scenery. Drawn by a mountain locomotive, we ascended in loop-like curves, traversing twenty-two tunnels and as many bridges to Semmering, the historic summit. Here a wide field of snow, bordered below by a dense forest of pines, with the green-watered Schwarza winding through the verdant valley far below, and the minday sun shining brightly over all, presented a marvelous scene. Descending, we remain over night in the mountain town of Villach. This trans-Alpine country seems like another world-spring murmurings, new life, and a "confusion of

tongues" surround us.

Passing the boundary between Austria and Italy, the bay surrounding Venice is soon reached, and traversing a low bridge two and one-third miles long, we are in "the city built upon the sea."

Venice! There is none other in the world. Its numerous streets of water, bordered by palaces; its winding and narrow foot-paths, over which the dwellers can shake hands from their windows; the absence of horses and other beasts of burden; the church of St. Mark, in which are deposited the supposed bones of the apostle; the palace of the Doges; the little barefoot boys running in front of us as guides and holding out their hands for money; the "Jack Tars" prone upon the pavements in the "Riva degli Schiavoni," basking in the sunshine; and the ever present gondolier with his gondola, haunting us at every turn, are scenes which I shall never forget.

After four days in Venice, five hours in Padua, and a journey over the country, we reach Bologna. Objects of interest and things of beauty-historic monuments, homes of poets and musical composers, churches, and works of art are everywhere. Crossing the river Reno near the island where Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus concerted the "Second Triumvirate," we ascended the Apennines,-the water-shed of the peninsulaamid most beautiful mountain scenery. Presently, the charming and fertile plains of Tuscany appear. Green growing meadows, newly leafing trees, flocks of lambs and kids, peasants tilling the soil, and innumerable white-washed huts of the Etruscans are the characteristics. The scenery on to Florence is changing and beautiful.

Florence is a city of art and the center of Italian culture. Monuments of sculpture are found everywhere along the streets as well as in gardens and villas. There, Dante was born, worked, fought, and was banished. There, are the greatest picture galleries in the world-the galleria degli Uffizi with its "Medici Venus," Raphael's "Madonna del Cardellino," Duerer's "Adoration of the Magi," Michael Angelo's "Holy Family," and thousands of others; the picture gallery of the Pallazzo Pitti, with its Titian's “Magdalen," Raphael's Madonnas, and many more. There are the great Cathedral, and the Battistero near by, where all the babies born in Florence are baptized; Museo di S. Marco; the S. Lorenzo, with its "Chapel of the Princes," where the Medici are buried, and its "New Sacristy;" the Academia delle Belle Arti with its celebrated "David" by Angelo; and many others, each worthy of separate descriptive letters. We were more than five days in Florence and should have remained longer.

Southward we traveled over the mountainous country made famous by the marches and battles of Hannibal and other great generals, and came down upon the Lake Trasimenus. It was here in 217 B. C., that Hannibal gained his great victory over the Roman consul, Flaminius. We skirted the northern and western boundary of the lake on the very land where the battle was fought. What a change had taken place in the natural scenery! The white limestones and gray sandstones of northern Italy had changed into black, brown and gray tufa. We were forcibly reminded that many, many thousand years ago, before the time of Romulus and Remus, and "Troy Divine," yes, be ore the time of those Italian lakes and rivers themselves, great struggles must have taken place in this same countrystruggles that made the whole earth tremble, struggles that both shaped and unshaped worlds, struggles that destroyed life and formed mountains, struggles between the forces of nature. So far as I saw, all southern Italy has been formed by volcanic action; and I was told that earthquakes are common there today.

We followed the Tiber toward Rome. It is fed by mountain streams and grows wider and wider as we advance. How often it has been crossed by devastators! How often its shores trod