up in those countries, and quite certain that all the random stories about the Prince of \Vales never stopped during his illness the popular prayer for his recovery. We suspect, indeed, that slander on royal persons, so long as they do not make themselves politically offensive to their people, goes very little way. It is not really credited. The people are tickled by it, just as they are by any other romances about the great, but they do not, while perhaps repeating the ill-natured story, believe it to be more than an expression of momentary dislike. If Marie Antoinette, who of all human beings was the one most foully libelled, had been on the popular side, neither the malice of her enemies nor her own indiscretion would have diminished her popularity one tittle, while her one grand prosecution did her more harm than all the inventions of the libellers. Extreme cases might, no doubt, occur, but as a rule, slanderous stories against royal personages are best refuted after they are dead, and in books like Mr. Martin's. Every Democrat in America used to read every day that General Grant was a drunkard, and a horse jockey, and a plunderer, and worse; but the Democrat who would not dine with General Grant, or who judged him differently on account of all these stories, might be sought in vain. He read in them expressions of an opinion that the general should not be reelected, and that was all.
HELIOGOLAND
There are few places in Europe where the traveller may feel so secure from the companionship of the ordinary British tourist as in Heliogoland. And yet it is a British possession, and has been one ever since 1814. Up to that date the steep rock in the North Sea, whose name is sometimes spent Helgoland, or Heilgeland, but which we call Heliogoland, had remained in uncoveted and undesired possession of the Danes. Early in the beginning of the present century, however, when strange acts of appropriation were committed under the influence of panic, and justified by the rough-and-ready laws of self-defence, we seized upon this little group of islands lying in the German Ocean, right opposite the mouths of the great rivers Elbe and Weser. It consists of Heliogoland, Sandy Island, and several reefs and rocks, of which only two have been given the distinctive names of the Monk and the Steen. Heliogoland itself is barely a mile long, and its average breadth is only the third of a mile. Even these moderate dimensions are said to be subjected to a steady reduction by the encroachments of the sea. There is every reason to believe that the whole group of islets, which bear distinct traces of change in their physical geography, once formed a single island — large compared to the size of an of its existing fragments.
A bit of old Frisian doggerel describes vividly enough the impression of the traveller who first sees Heliogoland in its summer dress: —
Road es det Lunn,
Grön es de Kaut,
Witt es de Sunn;
Deet es de woaper vant, Helligeland.
Red is the land,
Green is the grass,
White is the sand;
These are the colors of Heliogoland.
And very bright and pretty these colors looked to our eyes, when we dropped the "Sunbeam's" anchor in the harbor last August, after a swift and safe run across — under sail — from Margate in forty-eight hours. The ordinary route is by way of Hamburg, and from thence by steamers making an eight hours' voyage three times a week. Only a couple of these hours, however, are spent at sea, the other five being occupied by a slow progress down the Elbe. Heliogoland is a favorite resort of Austrian an German families, who flock here during the summer months to enjoy the delicious sea- bathing, and the inexpensive, pleasant, sans-façon out-of-door life.
Indeed, the coup d'œil which first presented itself reminded me of nothing so much as one of the scenes from the opera' of "The flying Dutchman." There was the same bright sea, the dark cliffs, and the sandy shore. The same sort of long wooden pier straggled out into the blue water, and was crowded with groups of sturdy, fair, North Sea fishermen. They were idling about, too, in true theatrical fashion, dressed in loose trousers, light-blue striped sailor shirts, and blue or red woollen caps. Nor did the women look less picturesque in their bright scarlet or yellow bordered petticoats, light overdresses, and black or chintz sun-bonnets. Small as is the principal island, it yet boasts of two towns — one on the high land, and one on the low land. There is as much as one hundred and seventy
