As the interior stretches away into sombre immensity, the figures on these columns, half discerned and half divined, seem like the ghosts of former worshipers who, in past centuries, have knelt upon this tessellated pavement, and confessed to ears, now dull in death, their loves and hates, triumphs and failures, passions and penitence,-the long catalogue of sin and suffering which make up the warp and woof of human life.

What an eventful history has this old Viennese cathedral! Before the great High Altar -lost in the gloom and distance, save for the sanctuary lamp which glows in mid-air like a monster ruby -hundreds of mailed soldiers of the Cross have knelt to receive the sacrament of consecration, ere they marched eastward to the Holy Land to rescue from Moslem hands the sepulchre of Christ; and here, too, some of these heroes, fallen in the conflict, have been brought again, their steel-gloved hands still folded, as if in prayer, but this time lying in eternal rest upon the sheathed sword and pulseless heart. Lingering one evening in this ancient sanctuary, I seemed to see - where the faint light of dying day came stealing through the lofty transept - the spectral standards carried through these aisles by valiant knights of long ago; and even to hear the distant echo of the clank of armor, and the clang of lance and shield, together with the shouts of triumph, hymns of praise, the wail of sorrow, and the miserere of despair, all of which have, in turn, for centuries been heard within these walls.

A Historic Altar.

What sameness, yet what infinite variety, there is in this cathedral's life! Before that altar has been reared the stately catafalque, upon which Austria's imperial dead have lain in solemn state, to be replaced, it may be, the next day by the plain bier, whereon some weary child of toil has found his first repose. To-day, perhaps, the mournful grandeur of the requiem yields to the joyous splendor of the nuptial mass, - where bright eyes and resplendent gems relieve the sombre shadows of the church with the warm glow of youth and radiance of love; and these again to-morrow may give place to some display of gorgeous vestments, flashing in the light of countless tapers, when a distinguished prelate shall be consecrated, or one of Austria's sovereigns be crowned.

The Pulpit Of St. Stephen's.

A Princely Residence.

Perhaps the most impressive hour in St. Stephen's is that of the vesper service. The vast interior is then filled with reverent worshipers, whose whispered prayers float among the arches like the south wind sighing through the trees. Meantime, as taper after taper on the altar trembles into flame, like stars upon the darkening curtain of the night, the chancel becomes radiant with light, dimmed only by the smoke from censers swung by white-robed acolytes, while the officiating priests, in their rich vestments, appear the counterparts of figures in the stained-glass windows, glorious with varied colors. At length there comes a solemn pause; a silver-throated bell sends forth its thrice-repeated call, and then, before the hushed and kneeling multitude, the celebrant elevates the Host for adoration. A moment more, and, with a burst of harmony which rolls in a resistless flood from marble floor to vaulted roof, filling the chapels, aisles, and galleries with a tumultuous sea of sound, the congregation, priests, and choir join in a solemn symphony of praise.

A Street Car Station.

Various features of street life in Vienna soon attract the tourist's attention. There is, for example, here, as in many other German cities, a system of service which is much cheaper and more accessible to the general public than that of our " District Telegraph Messengers," since at the various street corners are stationed no fewer than one thousand six hundred licensed dienstmanner, or porters, who will go on errands, and carry letters or parcels at the very reasonable rates established by law.

I observed with pleasure, also, the pretty little stations, where people awaiting horse-cars are protected from the weather. These are improvements ; but on the other hand, one sees occasionally in the Austrian capital an evidence of conservatism which seems incredibly "behind the times." Thus, we were greatly amused by the Viennese mode of sprinkling the streets. The water-cart was somewhat like our own, but in the rear of it protruded a piece of hose, about three feet in length, resembling an elephant's tail. This curious appendage was held by a man who walked behind the cart, like a page supporting a lady's train, and it was the duty of the wretched individual (whose rubber apron by no means prevented him from being drenched), to swing the hose violently right and left, scattering the water over as much of the street as possible. The sight of this ridiculous combination of discomfort and unnecessary physical exertion never failed to excite our laughter.