was crowded. Some one advised us to call here. The old
gentleman, after a deal of grumbling, showed us into a room, the first
floor front. I feel sure he really never liked us; in fact, we were no
sooner asleep than he came in and cut our heads off. He put our bodies
in one of our trunks, the contents of which he kept as souvenirs; you
know he was a great collector. He mislaid our heads, and we have
suffered much inconvenience in consequence. The ones we are wearing now
are not real ones--wax, you know; quite good of their kind, but not what
we have been used to. If you would be good enough to look around for
those heads, put them in a coffin with our bodies and have our whole
outfit decently buried, we should feel much relieved. By the way, our
old trunks are somewhere about the premises still, down in the cellar;
your great-grandfather was always keen on cold-storage--a collector
should be." The confectioner promised to see to this little matter, the
visitors tried to get up a smile of gratitude, and faded away. Right
enough, after searching diligently amongst his ancestor's collection,
the confectioner found the missing articles, carried out the
instructions given him by his visitors, and never saw them again. They
have left Prague for good and all, I gather.

It is well worth while to dive into the little narrow streets and alleys
to right and left; here you come upon many reminders of ancient Prague.
Look out especially for the quaint house-signs, some of which have not
yet been swept away--signs of exquisite design and workmanship, a lily,
a fish, keys or bunches of grapes. The Karlova Ulice eventually lands us
in the little Old Town Square, where you will find a beautiful
wrought-iron cage over a well, of sixteenth-century workmanship, and
passing on we arrive at one of the most historic spots of Prague, the
Starom[ve]stke Nam[ve]sti, the Old Town Square, or Ring. In shape it is
neither of these two, but that does not detract from the throbbing
interest that clings to it.

* * * * *

There was something unusual in the atmosphere of Prague when on the 21st
of June the sun dispelled the river mist, penetrated the purple shadows
of the quaint old streets, lit up the windows along the modern quays,
and gave promise of a glorious day to those who hurried to their daily
work. The unusual thing was an occasional streak of black in the general
radiance. Above that quarter of the castle wh