are 365 days in the year is of course sufficient proof of this assertion!  The towers, which rise two or even three stories above the wall, communicated on both sides with the covered way.  They are now used as dwelling-houses.  On some of them there can still be seen, projecting near the roof, two little machicoulis turrets, which served as guard-rooms for observing the enemy, and also, by overhanging the base of the tower, enabled the garrison to hurl down on their assailants at the foot of the wall a hurricane of projectiles of every sort.  Like the wall the towers are built almost entirely of sandstone, but on the side facing the town they are usually faced with brick.  The shapes of the roofs vary from flat to pointed, but the towers themselves are simple and almost austere in form in comparison with those generally found in North Germany, where fantasy runs riot in red brick.  The Nuremberg towers were obviously intended in the first place for use rather than for ornament.

At the end of our long perambulations of the walls it will be a grateful relief to sit for a while at one of the “Restaurations” or restaurants on the walls.  There, beneath the shade of acacias in the daytime, or in the evening by the white light of incandescent gas, you may sit and watch the groups of men, women, and children all drinking from their tall glasses of beer, and you may listen to the whirr and ting-tang of the electric cars, where the challenge of sentinels or the cry of the night-watchman was once the most frequent sound.  Or, if you have grown tired of the Horn- and the Schloss-zwinger, cross the ditch on the west side of the town and make your way to the Rosenau, in the Fuertherstrasse.  The Rosenau is a garden of trees and roses not lacking in chairs and tables, in bowers, benches, and a band.  There, too, you will see the good burgher with his family drinking beer, eating sausages, and smoking contentedly.

[Footnote A:  From “The Story of Nuremberg.”  Published by E.P.  Dutton & Co.]

ALBERT DUERER[A]

BY CECIL HEADLAM

Among the most treasured of Nuremberg’s relics is the low-ceilinged, gabled house near the Thiergaertnerthor, in which Albert Duerer lived and died, in the street now called after his name.  The works of art which he presented to the town, or with which he adorned its churches, have unfortunately, with but few exceptions, been sold to the stranger.  It is in Vienna and Munich, in Dresden and Berlin, in Florence, in Prague, or the British Museum, that we find splendid collections of Duerer’s works.  Not at Nuremberg.  But here at any rate we can see the house in which he toiled—­no genius ever took more pains—­and the surroundings which imprest his mind and influenced his inspiration.