about the streets and country towns, and sold
by wandering pedlars; just such ballads, in
short, as we have quoted and described.

A TASTE OF AUSTRIAN JAILS.

AT the "Fête de Dieu," in Vienna (the
Frohnleichnamsfest), religious rites are not
confined to the places of worship;—the whole
city becomes a church. Altars rise in every
street, and high mass is performed in the
open air, amid clouds of incense and showers
of holy water. The Emperor himself and his
family swell the procession.

I am an English workman; and, having
taken a cheering glass of Kronewetter with
the worthy landlord of my lodgings, I
sauntered forth to observe the day's proceedings.
I crossed the Platz of St. Ulrick, and thence
proceeded to the high street of Mariahilf,—
an important suburb of Vienna. I passed
two stately altars on my way, and duly raised
my hat, in obedience to the custom of the
country. A little crowd was collected round
the parish church of Mariahilf; and, anticipating
that a procession would pass, I took
my stand among the rest of the expectant
populace. A few assistant police, in light
blue-grey uniforms with green facings, kept
the road.

A bustle about the church-door, and a
band of priests, attendants, and—what pleased
me most—a troop of pretty little girls came,
two and two, down the steps, and into the
road. I remember nothing of the procession
but those beautiful and innocent children,
adorned with wreaths and ribbons for the
occasion. I was thinking of the rosy faces I
had left at home, when my reflections were
interrupted by a peremptory voice, exclaiming,
"Take off your hat!" I should have
obeyed with alacrity at any other moment;
but there was something in the manner
and tone of the "Polizerdiener's" address
which touched my pride, and made me
obstinate. I drew back a little. The order
was repeated; the crowd murmured. I
half turned to go; but, the next moment,
my hat was struck off my head by the police-
assistant.

What followed was mere confusion. I
struck the "Polizerdiener;" and, in return,
received several blows on the head from
behind with a heavy stick. In less than ten
minutes I was lodged in the police-office of
the district; my hat broken and my clothes
bespattered with the blood which had dropped,
and was still dropping, from the wounds in
my head.

I had full time to reflect upon the obstinate
folly which hail produced this result; nor
were my reflections enlivened by the manners
of the police-agents attached to the office.
They threatened me with heavy pains and
punishments; and the Polizerdiener whom I
had struck assured me, while stanching his
still-bleeding nose, that I should have at least
"three months for this."

After several hours' waiting in the dreary
office, I was abruptly called into the
commissioner's room. The commissioner was
seated at a table with writing materials
before him, and commenced immediately, in a
sharp offensive tone, a species of examination.
After my name and country had been
demanded, he asked:

"Of what religion are you?"

"I am a Protestant."

"So! Leave the room."

I had made no complaint of my bruises,
because I did not think this the proper place
to do so; although the man who dealt them
was present. He had assisted, stick in hand,
in taking me to the police-office. He was in
earnest conversation with the Polizerdiener,
but soon left the office. From that instant
I never saw him again; nor, in spite of
repeated demands, could I ever obtain redress
for, or even recognition of, the violence I had
suffered.

Another weary hour, and I was consigned
to the care of a police-soldier; who, armed
with sabre and stick, conducted me through
the crowded city to prison. It was then two
o'clock.

The prison, situated in the Spenzler Gasse,
is called the "Polizer-Hampt-Direction." We
descended a narrow gut, which had no
outlet, except through the prison gates. They
were slowly opened at the summons of my
conductor. I was beckoned into a long
gloomy apartment, lighted from one side only;
and having a long counter running down its
centre; chains and handcuffs hung upon the
walls.

An official was standing behind the counter.
He asked me abruptly:

"Whence come you?"

"From England," I answered.

"Where's that?"

"In Great Britain; close to France."

The questioner behind the counter cast an
inquiring look at my escort:—

"Is it?" he asked.

The subordinate answered him in a pleasant
way, that I had spoken the truth. Happily
an Englishman, it seems, is a rarity within
those prison walls.

I was passed into an adjoining room, which
reminded me of the back parlour of a Holywell
Street clothes shop, only that it was rather
lighter. Its sides consisted entirely of sets of
great pigeon-holes, each occupied by the
habiliments or effects of some prisoner.

"Have you any valuables?"

"Few enough." My purse, watch, and pin
were rendered up, ticketed, and deposited in
one of the compartments. I was then beckoned
into a long paved passage or corridor down
some twenty stone steps, into the densest
gloom. Presently I discerned before me a
massive door studded with bosses, and crossed
with bars and bolts. A police-soldier, armed