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FOUNTAIN OF ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.

and other officials of the town and some nobles assembled at the council hall, Tilly announced that though a certain number should go free, the others were condemned to death. During the parley, however, the Count was indulging freely in the famous wine of this district, and happily for the condemned, its effects made his heart glad. The intended victims were conversing with their friends when the eye of the Count fell on an immense beaker holding three and one-half quarts. His face brightened as a humorous conceit flitted over his wine - touched brain, He ordered the glass brought to him.

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drink the entire contents of that glass filled to the brim with this wine, I will let all go free."

Promptly Herr Nusch, famed for his love of the fruit of the vine, stepped forward. The great beaker was filled to the brim and Herr Nusch with one long, deep draught drained it to the last drop, to the utter amazement of the victor. A few moments later he sank to the floor and for three days his life was despaired of. He got well, however, and lived to be eighty odd years old.

Count Tilly fulfilled his promise and freed the condemned. The beaker which held the wine with which Herr Nusch saved the condemned is still preserved

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THE PLAY-MAIDENS BEARING THE TOWN-KEYS TO COUNT TILLY.

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as an heirloom in one of the private families of Rothenburg.

Gone forever are those days of religious fanatical strife, in which men and nations indulged the basest passions in the supposed interest of God, torturing and slaying the children of the All-Father, vainly imagining they were doing the service of the Prince of Peace who was the incarnation of love. But though the night-time of religious bigotry has waned, and for the most part men of all faiths to-day would forget the atrocities of the darker ages committed in the name of the Christ, the citizens of Rothenburg do not intend that their children shall forget "Der Meister

THE PLAY-TILLY'S TROOPERS MARCHING INTO THE TOWN.

THE PLAY-THE WINE-CASK.

trunk" by which the lives of their most honored citizens were saved, and every Whitsuntide a great fête is held in commemoration of the event, the crowning feature of which is the production by the towns-people of a play in which this memorable passage in the history of Rothenburg is enacted with becoming ceremony and solemnity, to the great delight of the citizens and the people from the country and villages near the town.

It was my good fortune to be present at this great gala event of the year and to witness the play. The day before the anniversary the town assumed a holiday attire. Flags and bright streamers were hung from almost every avail

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THE PLAY-RESTING AT THE HOTEL "ZUM EISENHUT."

able place, and especially were the large end-windows under the long slanting roofs utilized for the display of flags. Indeed, there was a very riot of gay color everywhere.

On the morning of the great event the first intimation that the play is about to be enacted is the booming of cannon and the distant sound of drums, which come nearer and nearer, announcing the fact that Count Tilly has entered the town and is even then approaching the Rathaus.

Having bought my ticket the day before, I repaired to the great council hall, an immense room which, had it a tongue, could tell a thrilling story of exciting episodes in the march of succeeding generations. In this hall in the old days the Ratsherren used to meet on the first of May every year to choose new members. It is in this great hall that the play is to be given. At one end a platform has been reared for the actors. There is little or no attempt at scenic effects, and in due time the performance

is opened by the appearance of Burgomeister Bezold, who in a monologue tells of the condition of the besieged town and how, early that morning when the gray of dawn was only beginning to dispel the darkness of night and the town was wrapped in profound silence, her people for the most part slumbering soundly, though here and there lights were to be seen in the homes of the early risers, suddenly the silence was rudely broken by the ominous pealing of the great bell in the tower calling the people to arms. He describes

the commotion that followed, the fear and perplexity of the good people, who seemed to waver for a time, doubtful whether it was best to give up or to make another desperate stand for their homes. Then they go forth, trusting in God and bearing arms of various kinds for the defence of the town.

The play is acted with great earnestness, simplicity and real art—that art that is found in imaginative minds that vividly feel the moving sentiments they are describing and for whom acting has not become a thing of habit rather than the out-picturing of an imagination under the compulsion of scenes too rarely enacted to become stale and unstimulating.

One little scene in the opening act impressed me deeply. It was the hurried leave-taking of a father from his family, every member of which seemed fully alive to the dire possibilities that lay before the soldier, husband and father.

From the spoken text we are made to feel that joyous spring is in her glow and glory. The woods are beautiful in new green; the Tauber Tal is covered with fruit trees in the splendor of full bloom. Whitsuntide is at hand-the great feast

day of the year, the time for peace, joy and gladness. Why should war and the threat of death intrude? Some of the people are inclined to make light of the peril. They doubt the danger being as great as others believe. Suddenly the door of the church is thrown open; the minister steps forth and engages in silent prayer. The effect upon the multitude is magical. Instantly all clamor ceases and the people likewise engage in silent supplication to God. Then comes the harsh danger-cry from the bell of old Saint Jacob's church. Danger, great danger, is at the door. The wild tumult quickly changes into panic as news flies that Count Tilly has entered the town and is advancing toward the councilhouse. This act closes with a slow curtain just as the victorious Tilly arrives before the Ratsherren.

In the second act the scene of the saving of the condemned by "Der Meistertrunk," which I have described, is enacted with great spirit and sincerity by the thirty or more people who form the cast. The play requires two hours for its performance and is a representation that one can never forget.

After the play was ended I strolled forth through the town, pausing now and again before quaint signs, inscriptions and coats-ofarms. One coat-of-arms, over a bakery, was interesting as suggesting the story of how the bakers came to enjoy the right to use a coat-of-arms. Long, long ago, so runs the story as told to me, Vienna, if I remember rightly, was besieged. The enemy was busily at work sapping and mining, thus hoping to effect an entrance before the watch suspected the peril of the city. The work

was being pushed forward in the dead of night, but the bakers, being up and at work baking the bread for the morrow's consumption, heard the besiegers and gave timely alarm. Thus the city was saved, and as a reward for this service the bakers throughout the empire were accorded the right to carry a coat-of-arms.

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Some of the streets of Rothenburg run almost their whole length between convent-like walls, but others are very charming and interesting. Then there are little by-streets where the very poor dwell. I happened to drift into one of these, the name of which I have forgotten, and there I met an old peasant woman wheeling her barrow. She eked out a wretched living as a beast of burden, her wheelbarrow being her sole source of livelihood. She presented a picture of grinding poverty such as the traveler meets from time to time all over the world. Perhaps I should not have been so strongly impressed as I was, had it not been for the striking contrast she presented

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ST. WOLFGANG'S CHURCH-THE OLD WOMAN BRINGING IN HER

BARROW-LOAD OF GRASS.

to the brilliant and rich raiment of the Burgomeister and other officials whom I had seen a short time before at the Rathaus. Seeing me, she stopped before her wretched little home, and I spoke to her, asking if I might take her picture. She seemed pleased, as for a moment her face lighted up with the ghost of a smile; her little black eyes seemed to dance as she acquiesced, and as I took her picture while she stood beside her wheelbarrow with her little home as the background, I could not help feeling that she was a fitting symbol of a vast multitude of burden-bearing human beings who are ill requited for their patient toil. If a poet of the genius and imagination of our own Edwin Markham had been present, he would, I think, have gotten inspiration for an immortal poem; for surely she presented a scene that would have appealed to a prophet-poet of democracy. More even than "the man with the hoe,"

this face and form appealed to the sympathies of the enlightened twentiethcentury manhood of the New World. Here was a type of humanity, the mother of nations and races, condemned by environment and social conditions to live the life of a beast of burden-a life of endless drudgery. In youth she doubtless cherished dreams and bright visions, in a narrow way, of happy days to come. That was when those little black eyes were dancing with the light born of expectant hope, ere excessive toil, grief and endless disappointments had set their stamp upon her features. Now the weariness of age was on her face and the dullness of a life of drudgery dimmed her brain. You may see her in the picture as I saw her on that memorable afternoon, after I had witnessed "Der Meistertrunk" at the old town-hall of Rothenburg. WILLIAMSON BUCKMAN. Trenton, N. J.

AN AUSTRALIAN ARTIST WHO BELIEVES IN ART FOR MORAL PROGRESS.

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I.

By B O FLOWER.

S OUR special art feature this month we present four original pictures by Mr. George Taylor of Sydney, Australia. They are taken from a series of drawings sent to THE ARENA by the artist, dealing with various phases of human life and the lessons and suggestions which they awaken. In a note accompanying the series of pictures Mr. Taylor says:

"In these pictures has been kept in view the nobility of man, irrespective of the physical autocracy of kings and earthly rulers, or the mental autocracy of dogmatic ecclesiasticism. Beneath each golden crown or fustian cap there dwells

a soul only great in proportion to its striving for good ideals. The search for truth in science extends beyond the farthest star and knows no dominance. So man's striving for a nobler idea of his destiny should not be curtailed or dominated by dogmatic conservatism."

It is our purpose to present other of these pictures from time to time. All of them are highly suggestive and calculated to arrest the attention and awaken thought in a way that will prove of more practical value than many essays or sermons; for unhappily in our age a large proportion of the hurrying multitude

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