misty are the
memories that haunt its walls. There was no need of a magician's wand to
bid that light cloud shadow forth the forms of other times. They came
uncalled for, even by fancy. Far, far back in the past, I saw the
warrior-princess who founded the kingly city--the renowned Libussa,
whose prowess and talent inspired the women of Bohemia to rise at her
death and storm the land that their sex might rule where it obeyed
before. On the mountain opposite once stood the palace of the bloody
Wlaska, who reigned with her Amazon band for seven years over half
Bohemia. Those streets below had echoed with the fiery words of Huss,
and the castle of his follower--the blind Ziska, who met and defeated
the armies of the German Empire--moulders on the mountain above. Many a
year of war and tempest has passed over the scene. The hills around have
borne the armies of Wallenstein and Frederic the Great; the war-cry of
Bavaria, Sweden and Poland has echoed in the valley, and the red glare
of the midnight cannon or the flames of burning palaces have often
gleamed along the "blood-dyed waters" of the Moldau!

But this was a day-dream. The throng of people coming up the steps waked
me out of it. We turned and followed them through several spacious
courts, till we arrived at the Cathedral, which is magnificent in the
extreme. The dark Gothic pillars, whose arches unite high above, are
surrounded with gilded monuments and shrines, and the side chapels are
rich in elaborate decorations. A priest was speaking from a pulpit in
the centre, in the Bohemian language, which not being the most
intelligible, I went to the other end to see the shrine of the holy
Johannes of Nepomuck. It stands at the end of one of the side aisles and
is composed of a mass of gorgeous silver ornaments. At a little
distance, on each side, hang four massive lamps of silver, constantly
burning. The pyramid of statues, of the same precious metal, has at
each corner a richly carved urn, three feet high, with a crimson lamp
burning at the top. Above, four silver angels, the size of life, are
suspended in the air, holding up the corners of a splendid drapery of
crimson and gold. If these figures were melted down and distributed
among the poor and miserable people who inhabit Bohemia, they would then
be angels indeed, bringing happiness and blessing to many a ruined home-
altar. In the same chapel is the splendid burial-place of the Bohemian
kings, of gilded marble and al