PRAGUE, BOHEMIA.

BY N. C. S.

It was late on Saturday evening when our party reached the above named city. The hotels were crowded by strangers, who had come to witness the ceremonies of the following day. Nine hundred years had elapsed since the foundation of the Praguer Bisthum (Bishopric); this event was celebrated by a series of exercises, which lasted from the latter part of August until the beginning of October. The interest reached its climax on the 28th of September, the day on which pious Bohemians invoke their patron Saint, the Holy Wenceslaus. Early in the morning the streets began to resound with the music of brass bands, the chants of priests and monks, and the measured tread of military parades. These were all on their way to the northern suburbs, from which a grand procession was to start at 9 o'clock, and proceed to the Cathedral known as St. Veit's Dom. Meanwhile crowds of people came streaming into the city. Many of them approached the knightly statue of St. Wenceslaus with uncovered heads and knelt down before it to say their prayers. Others hastened to the chapel where his body lies buried. At first I could not understand why everybody was anxious to touch the iron ring which is held by the jaws of a lion's head fastened to the door, but the mystery became plain as soon as I learned that this was the ring to which the Saint clung when he was murdered by his brother. In the main auditory of the Dom, women could be seen confessing their sins to priests through latticed partitions. By moving along with the crowd I found my way into the imperial palace, which is open to the public, whenever the ex-emperor is not at home, but on this occasion the rabble soon became so unmanageable that the doors had to be closed for the remainder of the day. At last the long expected procession came, the flying banners with embroidered crosses, the waving crests of the soldiers, and the long array of priests and monks robed in black, singing spiritual songs, inspired the crowd with awe, and many took off their hats out of reverence. The ceremonies were of an imposing character, sermons were preached in different languages, the people uncovered their heads, bowed, knelt and crossed themselves at given signals

with military precision. Of course, a ritual of this kind must be seen in order to be appreciated; a description would only weary the reader. After the services were over, the citizens returned to their homes to eat the customary goose and a species of small round cake called, Bömische Kolatschen. The rabble went to the public saloons where there was music and dancing during the whole afternoon and evening.

The St. Wenceslaus here spoken of, must not be confounded with a later King of the same name, who seems to have been more like a beast than a human being. It was he who threatened to destroy every hamlet inhabited by Germans. Fortunately he was prevented from carrying out his design by the victorious career of Rudolph, the founder of the present dynasty of Austria. Towards his own people his conduct was no better. In a fit of rage he kicked his wife that she died from the effects, and because the priest Nepomuk refused to disclose the contents of her confession, the King drowned him in the Nooldau. This occurred March 21, 1383, but the body was not found until the 16th of May. A statue marks the place on the bridge where he was thrown into the river. Thither thousands of pilgrims repair for the purpose of kisssing the cross at the feet of the statue. Those coming from Moravia wear white mantles and red or green pantaloons. Many sleep on the bridge for several nights in succession, which they do with perfect safety, because during the festal week, horses and carts must cross the river elsewhere. Divine services are also held on the bridge, the neighboring island is illuminated by fire-works; and the surface of the river is covered with small boats having dim lights and carrying brass bands, which play at intervals to increase the magnificence of the occasion.

At sunset, I was promenading on the heights of Belvidere, watching the golden tints of the western sky. The one hundred towers for which Prague is noted, reminded me of the county seat of my native county; but the noise and the tumult presented a strange contrast with the quietness of that city on Sunday evening. I made some remark to this effect to an aged man with whom I had entered into conversation. His reply was: "In former times things were different here too. When Sunday morning came every business place was closed. But in the tumultuous days of 1848, things were turned topsy-turvy. The people declared that as they were compelled to pay tax for a whole year, it was no more than right to make money on every one of the 365 days. The Bishops in vain protested, saying, that business transactions should not be allowed to disturb the divine services on the Sabbath." My own opinion is that the example of the rulers only encourages this state of things. In Vienna, I watched very close

ly for the emperor in St. Stefan's Cathedral, where he has an elevated seat, partitioned off by glass windows, but he was not there. In the afternoon I saw him and the King of Italy drive a four horse team. They were on their way to the international horse races! If such be the example of the monarch, what else can be expected of his people?

While looking down from these heights upon the ancient buildings of Prague, a person can not help thinking of the mighty events which have transpired in this city. It was here that the great reformer, John Huss, exposed the vices and heresies of the Romish Church, and taught those truths for which he was burned at the stake and his ashes thrown into the Rhine, lest some disciple might collect and preserve them as a sacred relic. The servants of the palace still point out the window from which the mob cast the two statesmen, Slawata and Martinitz, and their private Secretary, Fabricius, thereby occasioning the well-known Thirty Years' War. The place, where they fell, is now a garden. In those days it was covered with manure, a fact which explains why they did not hurt themselves in falling a distance of at least eighty feet. About one hundred and forty years later, the city was saved from coming into the hands of Frederick the Great by an accident, the particulars of which are known to but few. The Austrian army, 50,000 strong, had taken refuge within the walls for the purpose of defending themselves against the victorious Prussians. The keen-eyed king perceived that the heights of the Belvidere were left unprotected. A few cannon on these heights would have placed the enemy's troops at his mercy, and enabled him to dictate terms of peace to the Austrian government. The capture of a city with 50,000 soldiers by storm, and in broad day light, would be regarded fabulous if recorded in the annals of war; nevertheless such a feat would certainly have been accomplished, had not a monk while taking his morning walk perceived a cloud of dust in the distance. He immediately repaired to the observatory, and by means of a spy-glass, saw an approaching squadron of cavalry. The Austrian commander was informed of the danger; several thousand Kroatians were sent to occupy the heights, the Prussians came a few minutes too late, and the war lasted six years longer. A little thing has more than once determined the fate of a nation.

In Prague, we also have relics of the persecution which the Jews were obliged to undergo during the middle ages, in almost every European city. They still pay three times as much tax as the other inhabitants. An old synagogue, that was dug out of the ground, is still on exhibition. Men are required to keep on their hats when they enter this Sanctuary; women are never admitted,

they can only see the inside through a galss-window from a small side room. The neighboring grave-yard is said to be over 1200 years old. This is very likely a mistaken supposition. The stone which is made the basis of this reckoning has on it the figures 606. Without doubt this date should be 1606, because the stone in question does not look near as old as many others which have a more recent date. Here too there are unmistakable traces of persecution. Having no other place in which to bury their dead, they were forced to fill up with ground so that now five layers of dead bodies are buried one upon the other. My guide also pointed out the wire which encloses that part of the city in which all the Jews were formerly obliged to live. A clock in this part of the city has Hebrew numerals, the hands moving contrary to the usual direction. The clock on the Rathshaus is, however, a far more interesting curiosity. It strikes up to 24, shows the hour, day, month, and all the festivals of the entire year, and represents the phases of the moon and the aspect of the heavens. Just before the clock strikes, two windows open; the twelve apostles pass by in a procession; Peter stretches his hands towards heaven; John pronounces a benediction; Paul nods and Thomas shakes his head; each one does something. On one side stands a man with a money bag in his hand; on the other an image of death inverts a sand glass, rings a bell and shakes its head. The popular interpretation is, that the man with the money bag represents a rich Jew, who tries to bribe death to spare him but in vain. Truly the words of the prophet have been fulfilled, that the name of the Jews should become a by-word among all nations.

THE PLEASURES AND PERILS OF "CANAL PACKETS."

BY THE EDITOR.

The old style of travelling is rapidly going out of favor and out of practice. The heavy four-horse coaches, hung on huge leathern straps are rarely found, save along the outskirts of civilization. And the slow and tedious sailing vessel, finds few patrons since the brisk commodious steamers offer to the traveller greater comfort and speed. Yet some of the old-fashioned forms of travelling were not without their comforts and amusements.

So far as I know, "Canal Packets" have entirely gone out of use in this country. It is not very many years since these miniature ships were wholly supplanted by the Railroad train. The travel

ling on "the raging canal" had its advantages. One could thereby get a voyage without peril or pain. No storm, however violent, could disturb the calm canal, or the steady motion of the boat. There you could make a journey by water without getting sea-sick. You were not annoyed by the sickening odor of the ship, which itself is sufficient to turn one's stomach. To be sure, you could not career over and enjoy the scenery of the grand old ocean. The roaring, rolling waves, the huge ship in long and laborious gallops careering over them, are more picturesque and impressive as seen in a description, than from the deck of a storm-tossed vessel. Besides, the most poetic taste soon tires of the monotonous watery waste, unrelieved by plants and varying landscape.

The canal packet would bear you leisurely on your journey, at the rate of four miles an hour. The most fearful and nervous persons felt safe, within twenty yards of the shore. Of fire and boiler-explosions there was no danger, the patient trusty horses being the only motive power. Often it would traverse districts abounding in beautiful scenery. Its slow and steady progress gave you ample time to enjoy this. And many a pleasant word of greeting could be exchanged with the people laboring and living along the canal.

The "packet" was philosophically planned. As its name indicated, its grand problem was to pack the largest possible number of people into the smallest space. This had a two-fold effect, either to promote pleasant social intercourse, or unpleasant friction. Persons of kindly disposition would readily take to one another. Many a one has found a life-long friend on the deck of a "canal packet." The giddy and the gay found those of kindred tastes, who would soon be started in all the frivolous trashy talk in which such people excel. Persons of angular, sour disposition were sure soon to emit sparks on somebody, or strike them from others. Few places were better adapted to bring to view the manners and disposition of a person than "the canal packet."

Sometimes the tedium of the voyage would be relieved by some startling accident, which afforded the passengers material for amusing conversation. One of these is vividly impressed upon my memory. My two Buckeye brethren, Rev. S. Mease, of the Christian World, and Rev. P. C. Prugh, of the Church of the Cross, Cincinnati, were fellow-voyagers. We made a student's tour to Ohio. Somewhere beyond Pittsburgh, we travelled by canal. Among the crowd was a boisterous brawling skeptic, who did his best to annoy the passengers with his impious talk. It was our first canal voyage; indeed our first voyage of any kind, save our little exploits in fishing boats. Night came on us, and it was a very dark night. Where can all these people sleep? one would naturally ask. The