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a flood of light; the snow on the Oberland glistened like mines of jewels. It is difficult to say what you cannot see from the top of the Rigi, and any book about Switzerland will tell

what you can.

We arrived on the top a couple of hours before the show' took place, namely, the sunset, and, as it was bitterly cold, and we were wet through with perspiration, we were obliged to keep on the full jog-trot all the time, to keep our blood in circulation. People were wrapped-up in most extraordinary fashion ; delicate ladies cuddling horse-rugs; gay young men with shawls and cloaks; and boys in blankets. It was intense enjoyment, , however, to spread out the map, and find out all the mountains and lakes and villages; and then, by way of a change, to talk to the people, or knock-up an impromptu game to keep ourselves warm. One ugly old Scotchman, whose teeth were chattering with cold, was asked by a blooming niece who was leaning on his arm, whether he did not think it was charming? 'Hech, lassie! it canna beat the view from Lomond,' said he.

“By-and-by tourists and travellers gathered round a grand stand erected on the Kulm. The great performance of the day was to be gone through. Hotel proprietors, guide-books, steamboat companies, mule-owners, had raised their voices in one chorus, and cried, “Walk up! walk up! and see the wonderful performance of the Orb of Day!' and so the tourists had walked up accordingly. A man played an overture on an Alpine horn, to announce that the fun was about to commence, and everybody rushed to the best places to see the sun go down. It set. The people stood with open mouths; some seemed to expect that the hotel proprietor, like a second Joshua, would bid it stand still, or balance itself upon one of the mountain peaks before it went down. One swell said, “By Jove !' in a tone of wonderment; and I question whether he had ever observed before that day that the sun was in the habit of setting daily; and one young lady said, 'I must confess I'm rather disappointed ; I expected something more!'. Poor thing! Squibs and crackers let off from the top of the hotel would have pleased her infinitely better.

“But it was very glorious! If it had not been for the people, and the show, and the clap-trap, it would have been grander still."*

And here is a reflection written many years ago, but it is worth repeating and thinking over :

“A strange thing it seems, when one thinks of it, that on the top of any given mountain in Europe shall be nightly collected a company of fifty or sixty persons from all parts of the old world, and even from many parts of the new, and that for any object less potent than a religious one. And yet, is not that object somewhat akin to a religious one? for it is an appreciation of a part of the Divine mind. When the Almighty rested from His labours, He looked on everything that He had made, and behold it was very good. Now, it is not to all men, it has not been in all time, that everything is good. The plain, yielding bread to strengthen man's heart, and wine to gladden his face; the forest, with its fruitful trees, and its shelter for the hunter's game; the lake, the river, with its myriad fish,-oh, yes !—the fertile plain is good, and the forest, and the teeming lake; but the lonely mountain, the terrible glacier, and the awful cataract? Yes! and he who can feel that they too are good, completes a link upwards towards his Creator. Even poor Shelley, when he looked upon the glory of Mont Blanc, could exclaim, amid his sorrows and his doubts :

* Old Merry's Travels on the Continent.

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'Thou hast a voice, great mountain ! to repeal

Large codes of fraud and woe.'
And doubt not, ye


from the mountain top on the magnificence of God, that He who once pronounced it good, still looks down with like pleasure on the beauty which He has made." *


We will now take a few excursions in the neighbourhood of Lucerne, and in doing so let us not forget that we are in the Land of Tell, Switzerland's darling hero. It

may be we have imbibed the spirit of the age before starting, and have listened with credulous ears to the discussions of the learned, which prove to their satisfaction that Tell was a myth, and the time-honoured associations of places connected with his name mere fables ;-in short, that the whole “idea ” of Tell and his times was either a gross plagiarism of the legends of other lands, or was "evolved out of the inner consciousness of a poetic people."

Armed with similar arguments, certain German and French philosophers have visited Palestine, and have discovered that the Holy One, whose record is written indelibly in ten thousand loving hearts, was also a myth, and that the idea of the Incarnation was but a plagiarism of the legends of other nations; and so the spirit of doubt is abroad, and it attacks that which is most pure, most lovely, and of best report amongst all peoples and in nearly all lands.

I've stood upon Achilles' tomb, and heard Troy doubted.
Time will doubt of Rome.”
* Ferguson's “Swiss Men and Swiss Mountains.”

But here, on the threshold of the land of Tell, we throw off the trammels of thought which dissecting writers would throw around our minds, and are determined to accept the traditions concerning the Swiss hero, whose nobility has inspired nobility, whose story has given a noble impulse to youth, and a fixed resolution to manhood.

Fools can destroy what wise men build, and the “ great” philosophers of the day are mighty in destroying, while they have not power to create stories as pure and beautiful as that of William Tell. Whether we read it in the monuments and classic spots in which it is written, or in the flowing numbers of the immortal Schiller, let us enjoy the satisfaction of regarding it as true, until better evidence is forthcoming to prove that it be false. Even then let the lessons remain, though the learned men may “prove away" the existence of the patriotic man and noble boy who taught them.

If time is precious, the whole of the places of deepest interest connected with the legends of Tell may be made in one visit.

An account of such a visit is before me, to which I shall add a few supplementary notes.

“On the morning of the 9th we took an excursion in one of the many steamers which ply between Lucerne and Flüelen. This journey gives the traveller a full view of all the beauties of this most beautiful of lakes. It is diversified by innumerable little bays, and the lake stretches its arms in and out amongst the surrounding mountains, in a most extraordinary manner. At Weggis the steamer touched to land and embark passengers to and from the Rigi, which is passed on our left. After leaving Weggis the steamer touches at Küssnacht and Schwytz. Each of the little villages has its church, generally spired, and frequently covered entirely, or at the angles, with what appeared to be tin, but which is some micaceous substance, having a metallic

lustre. These latter sequestered spots are of course at the margin of the lake, and the neighbouring mountains, now covered with verdure and trees in full foliage, are dotted over with little chalets perched here and there, in apparently inaccessible situations to anything less nimble and surefooted than a goat or a chamois. However, these are for the summer-time occupied by peasants looking after their cattle, which have the right of free-grazing on these lovely spots.

As the steamer progresses on her voyage, the scenery becomes more wild and romantic. We seem to be sailing point blank at the mountain's side, when lo! an opening appears, disclosing further beauties-soon again to be shut out by the ever tortuous course of the vessel, as it shoots across the placid surface of this inland sea. At the left, running along the base of the mountain, vast numbers of men were busily engaged in forming a road, which we were told, when completed, would be the highroad to Italy, via the St. Gothard.

At Grütli, which is simply a green plain, with a few unpretending dwellings spread on its fertile surface, on the margin of the lake, in the year 1307, was held the meeting of the Swiss confederates (one of whom was the fatherin-law of the celebrated William Tell) who determined to maintain their independence against the tyranny of Austria. So well did they carry out their resolution, that after a series of wars, lasting one hundred and fifty years, their descendants succeeded in establishing their independence, which they have ever since retained. Approaching Flüelen, we pass Tell's chapel, a small building at the water's edge, backed by the Achsenberg, nearly 7000 feet high, and going down some 600 feet into the lake below. We could discern a small altar and some pictures in the chapel as we slowly passed; but, except for the tradition

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