Brown, and I met him, or rather his
effigy, in Vienna many years ago. To give him all his style and title,
or as much as I can recollect--Field-Marshal Count Brown, but for all
that a good stout Briton. He happened to serve the Empress Maria
Theresia, and served her well. When her arch-enemy, Frederick of
Prussia, came this way, Brown was one of those who came out to meet him;
was wounded and died of his wounds in Prague. Frederick of Prussia was
obliged to raise the siege of Prague, according to popular opinion
forced thereto by supernatural powers. It is said that one night, just
after the battle of Prague, fought some five miles out, at a place
called St[ve]rboholy, and while the siege of Prague was still in
progress, the guard at one of the gates was surprised by a visitor. He
appeared suddenly coming from the city on a black horse, dressed in
ancient costume and wearing, mark you, a prince's cap. He demanded right
of egress, the gate was opened, and the night-rider vanished into the
darkness. The next day came news of the Austrian victory at Kolin, and
everyone knew that one of Bohemia's ancient champions had decided the
issue of that day. The pious generally ascribe the victory to St.
Wenceslaus; if supernatural agency was at work, I am more inclined to
attribute this ingerence to Brother Boleslav, the hearty heathen: it was
more in his line.

Those dark days passed, and a century elapsed before the Prussians came
pouring in again to disturb the _Pax Austriaca_ which held Bohemia
enveloped. They came as before, over the passes and through the Gate of
Bohemia at that dear little town among the pine forests, Nachod. But all
this is ancient history, is past and over, and the serene atmosphere of
Good King Charles's gracious days is glowing over Prague again. Old
Prague, the somnolent city of centuries after Bohemia's freedom went, is
regaining her place and rising to her high mission as capital of a free
and independent State, the most promising of those that arose out of the
ruins of the Habsburg dynasty's dominions. Old customs, no doubt, are
vanishing: I have looked in vain for the bootmakers' Fidlova[vc]ka and
the tailors' revels in Stromovka, the butchers' special form of annual
rejoicing seems also to have fallen into desuetude. Like pious souls, as
they undoubtedly are, the butchers of Prague choose an ancient and
respectable church for their peculiar celebration, which, to my
thinking, has a somewhat pagan sa