is again seated on her golden throne in her palace, the
knight should approach her and say, "My fairest princess, dost thou not
know me?" Then she will answer, "My bravest knight, I know thee not!"
And then he shows her the piece cut from her veil, exactly fitting the
deficiency, and she knows that he is her deliverer, and both tenderly
embrace, and the trumpets sound, and the marriage is celebrated. It is
really a very peculiar misfortune that _my_ love-dreams so seldom have
so fine a conclusion.

[Illustration: OLD IMPERIAL PALACE, GOSLAR]

The name of Goslar rings so pleasantly, and there are so many very
ancient and imperial associations connected therewith, that I had hoped
to find an imposing and stately town. But it is always the same old
story when we examine celebrities too closely. I found a nest of houses,
drilled in every direction with narrow streets of labyrinthine
crookedness, and amid which a miserable stream, probably the Gose, winds
its sad and muddy way. The pavement of the town is as ragged as Berlin
hexameters. Only the antiquities which are imbedded in the frame or
mounting of the city--that is to say, its remnants of walls, towers, and
battlements--give the place a piquant look. One of these towers, known as
the "Zwinger," or donjonkeep, has walls of such extraordinary thickness
that entire rooms are excavated therein. The open place before the town,
where the world-renowned shooting matches are held, is a beautiful large
plain surrounded by high mountains. The market is small, and in its
midst is a spring fountain, the waters from which pours into a great
metallic basin. When an alarm of fire is raised, they strike several
times on this cup-formed basin, which gives out a very loud vibration.
Nothing is known of the origin of this work. Some say that the devil
placed it once during the night on the spot where it stands. In those
days people were as yet fools, nor was the devil any wiser, and they
mutually exchanged gifts.

The town hall of Goslar is a whitewashed guard-room. The Guildhall, hard
by, has a somewhat better appearance. In this building, equidistant from
roof and ceiling, stands the statues of German emperors. Blackened with
smoke and partly gilded, in one hand the sceptre, and in the other the
globe, they look like roasted college beadles. One of the emperors holds
a sword instead of a sceptre. I cannot imagine the reason of this
variation from the established order, though it has