My brother had received a new book from Germany.

It was a tragedy, and the first attempt of a Saxon poet, of whom my brother had been taught to entertain the highest expectations.

The exploits of Zisca, the Bohemian hero, were woven into a dramatic series and connection.

According to German custom, it was minute and diffuse, and dictated by an adventurous and lawless fancy.

It was a chain of audacious acts, and unheard-of disasters.