later. I get quite nervous
sometimes, now."

At the corner of the Wenzelsplatz, Harris, who was a few steps ahead of
us, paused.

"It's a fine street, isn't it?" he said, sticking his hands in his
pockets, and gazing up at it admiringly.

George and I followed suit. Two hundred yards away from us, in its very
centre, was the third of these ghostly statues. I think it was the best
of the three--the most like, the most deceptive. It stood boldly
outlined against the wild sky: the horse on its hind legs, with its
curiously attenuated tail; the man bareheaded, pointing with his plumed
hat to the now entirely visible moon.

"I think, if you don't mind," said George--he spoke with almost a
pathetic ring in his voice, his aggressiveness had completely fallen from
him,--"that I will have that cab, if there's one handy."

"I thought you were looking queer," said Harris, kindly. "It's your
head, isn't it?"

"Perhaps it is," answered George.

"I have noticed it coining on," said Harris; "but I didn't like to say
anything to you. You fancy you see things, don't you?"

"No, no; it isn't that," replied George, rather quickly. "I don't know
what it is."

"I do," said Harris, solemnly, "and I'll tell you. It's this German beer
that you are drinking. I have known a case where a man--"

"Don't tell me about him just now," said George. "I dare say it's true,
but somehow I don't feel I want to hear about him."

"You are not used to it," said Harris.

"I shall give it up from to-night," said George. "I think you must be
right; it doesn't seem to agree with me."

We took him home, and saw him to bed. He was very gentle and quite
grateful.

One evening later on, after a long day's ride, followed by a most
satisfactory dinner, we started him on a big cigar, and, removing things
from his reach, told him of this stratagem that for his good we had
planned.

"How many copies of that statue did you say we saw?" asked George, after
we had finished.

"Three," replied Harris.

"Only three?" said George. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," replied Harris. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing!" answered George.

But I don't think he quite believed Harris.

From Prague we travelled to Nuremberg, through Carlsbad. Good Germans,
when they die, go, they say, to Carlsbad, as good Americans to Paris.
This I doubt, seeing that it is a small place with no convenience for a
crowd. In Carlsbad, you rise at five, the fashionable hour for
pr