It is well worth while to dive into the little narrow streets and alleys to right and left; here you come upon many reminders of ancient Prague. Look out especially for the quaint house-signs, some of which have not yet been swept away--signs of exquisite design and workmanship, a lily, a fish, keys or bunches of grapes. The Karlova Ulice eventually lands us in the little Old Town Square, where you will find a beautiful wrought-iron cage over a well, of sixteenth-century workmanship, and passing on we arrive at one of the most historic spots of Prague, the Staroměstké Náměsti, the Old Town Square, or Ring. In shape it is neither of these two, but that does not detract from the throbbing interest that clings to it. * * * * * There was something unusual in the atmosphere of Prague when on the 21st of June the sun dispelled the river mist, penetrated the purple shadows of the quaint old streets, lit up the windows along the modern quays, and gave promise of a glorious day to those who hurried to their daily work. The unusual thing was an occasional streak of black in the general radiance. Above that quarter of the castle where the President's standard flies, a black flag floated on the morning breeze. The same black note was repeated at the Czech National Theatre, and elsewhere black banners waved out over the streets. This 21st of June was a day of mourning for the children of Prague; on that day they remembered the events of three centuries ago, events which robbed them of their rights as a sovereign people, and fixed them firmly, ruthlessly, under the yoke of Habsburg. It was the commemoration day for those who had made the supreme sacrifice for the faith that was in them. The battle of the White Mountain had been lost, and with it went the last remnant of those able to resist the encroaching Austrians and the band of adventurers who, under the cloak of religion, waged savage war in this fair country.