abaster. Numberless tombs, covered with
elaborate ornamental work, fill the edifice. It gives one a singular
feeling to stand at one end and look down the lofty hall, dim with
incense smoke and dark with the weight of many centuries.

On the way down again, we stepped into the St. Nicholas Church, which
was built by the Jesuits. The interior has a rich effect, being all of
brown and gold. The massive pillars are made to resemble reddish-brown
marble, with gilded capitals, and the statues at the base are profusely
ornamented in the same style. The music chained me there a long time.
There was a grand organ, assisted by a full orchestra and large choir of
singers. It was placed above, and at every sound of the priest's bell,
the flourish of trumpets and deep roll of the drums filled the dome with
a burst of quivering sound, while the giant pipes of the organ breathed
out their full harmony and the very air shook under the peal. It was
like a triumphal strain; the soul became filled with thoughts of power
and glory--every sense was changed into one dim, indistinct emotion of
rapture, which held the spirit as if spell-bound. I could almost forgive
the Jesuits the superstition and bigotry they have planted in the minds
of men, for the indescribable enjoyment that music gave. When it ceased,
we went out to the world again, and the recollection of it seems now
like a dream--but a dream whose influence will last longer than many a
more palpable reality.

Not far from this place is the palace of Wallenstein, in the same
condition as when he inhabited it, and still in the possession of his
descendants. It is a plain, large building, having beautiful gardens
attached to it, which are open to the public. We went through the
courtyard, threaded a passage with a roof of rough stalactitic rock, and
entered the garden where a revolving fountain was casting up its
glittering arches. Among the flowers at the other end of the garden
there is a remarkable fountain. It is but a single jet of water which
rises from the middle of a broad basin of woven wire, but by some means
it sustains a hollow gilded ball, sometimes for many minutes at a time.
When the ball drops, the sloping sides of the basin convey it directly
to the fountain again, and it is carried up to dance a while longer on
the top of the jet. I watched it once, thus supported on the water, for
full fifteen minutes.

There is another part of Prague which is not less interesting,