Cracow, old, tired and dispirited, speaks and thinks only of the ruinous past. When you drive into Cracow from the station for the first time, you are breathless, smiling, and tearful all at once; in the great Ring-platz-a mass of old buildings-Cracow seems to hold out her arms to you-those long sides that open from the corner where the cab drives in. -from "Cracow," by M nie Muriel Dowie From the era from a trip to the Continent was rarer but more...