d body, the right and due preparation for the solemn
event which closed the day--stepping with metaphorically uncovered head
into the presence of the most impressive mountain mass that the globe
can show--the Jungfrau. The stranger's first feeling, when suddenly
confronted by that towering and awful apparition wrapped in its shroud
of snow, is breath-taking astonishment. It is as if heaven's gates had
swung open and exposed the throne.

It is peaceful here and pleasant at Interlaken. Nothing going on--at
least nothing but brilliant life-giving sunshine. There are floods and
floods of that. One may properly speak of it as "going on," for it is
full of the suggestion of activity; the light pours down with energy,
with visible enthusiasm. This is a good atmosphere to be in, morally
as well as physically. After trying the political atmosphere of the
neighboring monarchies, it is healing and refreshing to breathe air that
has known no taint of slavery for six hundred years, and to come among
a people whose political history is great and fine, and worthy to be
taught in all schools and studied by all races and peoples. For the
struggle here throughout the centuries has not been in the interest of
any private family, or any church, but in the interest of the whole body
of the nation, and for shelter and protection of all forms of belief.
This fact is colossal. If one would realize how colossal it is, and
of what dignity and majesty, let him contrast it with the purposes and
objects of the Crusades, the siege of York, the War of the Roses, and
other historic comedies of that sort and size.

Last week I was beating around the Lake of Four Cantons, and I saw Rutli
and Altorf. Rutli is a remote little patch of meadow, but I do not know
how any piece of ground could be holier or better worth crossing oceans
and continents to see, since it was there that the great trinity of
Switzerland joined hands six centuries ago and swore the oath which set
their enslaved and insulted country forever free; and Altorf is also
honorable ground and worshipful, since it was there that William,
surnamed Tell (which interpreted means "The foolish talker"--that is to
say, the too-daring talker), refused to bow to Gessler's hat. Of late
years the prying student of history has been delighting himself beyond
measure over a wonderful find which he has made--to wit, that Tell did
not shoot the apple from his son's head. To hear the students jubilate,
one