as constant
reminder of those men who died in the courage of their convictions, both
religious and political. It seems to be a peculiarly Slavonic trait,
this recalling of sad events in their history. The Serbs still celebrate
Vidovdan, the day of their disastrous defeat at Kossovo, where their
chivalry, the finest in Eastern Europe, went under in a sea of blood.

[Illustration: THE CHAPEL OF THE TOWNHALL.]

As a boy I was very strong on observing national and other holidays, but
cannot recall any celebration of the Saxon defeat at Hastings; it never
occurred to me: lack of imagination probably--and another festive
occasion missed.

There is, however, something fine in this Slavonic conception of events
worth commemorating; they may celebrate victories, but they also observe
the anniversaries of great national disasters, "lest they forget."

In the broad space between the Town Hall and the Tyn Church stands an
imposing group of statuary. Its centre figure of a simple and
convincing dignity represents Master John Hus, the great precursor of
those sons of Bohemia who died for their faith. The figure stands facing
towards the Town Hall.

This group of statuary has only recently found its appropriate site here
in the ancient centre of the city's life--formerly a column surmounted
by the "Virgin" threw its slender shadow across the square.

Looking out over the city on the 6th of July the first sight that caught
my eye was a display of bunting; flags flew everywhere, most of them the
colours of the Czecho-Slovak Republic, red and white with a blue
triangular insertion close up to the flagstaff. There is a correct
heraldic method of describing this, but to most people, as to myself, it
is barely intelligible, and hardly fits in with an everyday account of
things seen from a terrace in the capital of a very modern republic, the
constitution of which allows of no titles of nobility, and therefore has
little use for heraldry.

Titles of nobility have been abolished, and he who under the old regime
of Austria would style himself Count von Potts and Kettlehausen is now
called plain Mr. Potts. Other titles, those that have been won by
individual achievement and cannot be inherited, still remain in use to
brighten our drab existence. Most common amongst these is "Doctor"; you
may be a doctor of any or many more or less exact sciences; Professor
seems to come next in quantity; again you may profess anything you like.
This tit