evy of priests came
from afar; they made for the market-place and there sold indulgences.
The Pragers, distracted by the dissensions that rent the country, took
to arms repeatedly. Now and then a rift in the clouds would hold out
promise of a serener atmosphere; after two Habsburgs, Albert and his
posthumous son, Ladislaus, came a King of their own choosing, of their
own race and faith, George Podiebrad. But much as the Pragers venerated
this native King of theirs, he was able to bring them little lasting
good, with all his grand efforts and laudable intentions. George
Podiebrad, it appears, was fond of the river, like a good Bohemian, and
would come down to bathe occasionally. To make a clean job of it, he
used to get shaved at the same time, possibly hair-cut. One day as the
barber held the King's chin and flourished his razor, the knight of the
tongs asked his sovereign: "Who is now the most mighty man in this
Kingdom of Bohemia?" "Surely thou art," quoth the King. When the shave
was over the King demanded: "Who is now the mightiest man in this
Kingdom of Bohemia?" "Surely thou art," quoth the barber, who was
thereupon given striking evidence of his monarch's might, a couple of
blows on the jaw, a kick or two in the ribs, and other marks of royal
favour. No doubt a few halidoms, gramercies and other bits of furniture
were set flying about at the time. The barber was so overcome by these
marks of royal favour that he died a few days after taking them. This
was George Podiebrad in lighter mood; he had a serious side to him as
well, as I may try to show you by and by.

There followed Vladislav, a Pole, and various Habsburgs as Kings of
Bohemia, but I see little that the river cares to reflect, of their work
or doings. Instead of reflections in the waters, I see them troubled,
and anxiety on the face of Prague. There seems to have been a
brightening up after the Bohemians had cleared the atmosphere by letting
loose the War of Thirty Years. They had invited a foreign Protestant to
be their King, and they hoped much from his wife. We have met these two
before, Frederick of the Palatinate and Elizabeth, whom the Bohemians
still insist on calling an Englishwoman, whereas everyone should know
that anyone who has even a remote Scottish relative expects to be
considered a Scot "for a' that." The river gives me just a glint of a
reflection concerning Frederick and Elizabeth.

The good people of Prague live by the river, on the