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AMONGST THE EEUNIOXISTS IN SWITZERLAND- IV.-IN THE LAND OF TELL. Was Wilhelm Tell a real or a mythical per- sonage? The problem is one which I do not propose to discuss, but this at least is certain, that no one who is familiar with the dramatic story told with so much force and interest by Schiller, can enter the land of Uri without being impressed by the associations, be they legend or verity, which burround him. Here it was thatthe patriotism of the Swiss peasants, their passion for freedom, their love for the sanctity of their mountain homes and simple pastoral lives found expression. Every spot we visit, on mountain or in valley, on the lake shore or among the Alpine villages, is redolent with the national spirit and memories and the fires of patriotism, which Austrian tyranny failed to extinguish, are still kept burning. No one with a -grain of poetry in his make-up, thinks of visiting Lucerne without making a pilgrimage to the shrine of Wilhelm Tell. Pilgrimage" is perhaps the wrong word to use, because the excursion itself, apart from its associations, is one of the most delightful in the neighbourhood. So at least-and we were not disappointed-ail of our party anticipated when, by the early morning boat, we left the Schweizerhof quay at Lucerne. The scene was a glorious one. The rising sun kept lighting up peak after peak until the snow covered summits at last presented a blaze of light, while below the vegetation line, over the hills and vales luxuriant" a bounteous Heaven was beginning to spread its rich autumnal feast. The country was asleep. At the stopping stations no fashionable visitors crowded the qu.ys as would be the case later in the day. An excursionist got off here and there, and the village postman came down to receive a few contributions, but beyond such little incidents all around was a picture of repose. On the boat, however, all was life. We had one passenger who acted as a sort of general instructor, He was an Englishman, who had been to Switzer- land 1,3 ti nes, and who felt that it was a part of his mission in life to see that everybody was made acquaint d with the fact-a windy, bumptuous old hum lUg, who, as such persons always are, turned out in the end to know very little. He was tolara ed until he arrived at his stopping station when he was invited on behalf of his fellow- countrymen in a manner not at all respectful to his ye irs to visit Switzerland a fourteenth time and then die. Fortunately, our friends were not all Of that class. We had a happy little company of shool girls, who, under the charge of their mis5: esses, were off for a lesson in botany on the slopes of Pilatus. They helped us to pass a pie .is ant trip by singing, with great sweetness, sooie of their Swiss songs, reminding one strongly in their simplicity and love of country, of the songs of Wales. Before leaving us they rendered, Wilat some of us erroneously took to be a Swiss version of the British National Anthem, and of course it was the bounden duty of all Englishmen to let off a good cheer. They were a little dis- appointed afterwards to learn that the music of the Swiss National Authem is the same as that of our own, though the sentiment, in ours personal, is in theirs republican. In this and other ways the time was passed till Brunnen was reached. Here the last branch of the lake opens out. The section goes by the separate name of Lake Uri, and is one of the finest portions. It is shut in by rocky banks which come straight down for hundreds of feet. Our course lies along this arm of water to Fluelen, and as we. enter it the view is a magnificent one. On the left is the Axenstrasse, the main road to Italy, skirting the lake and then leading over the St. Gothard heights. It is cut out of the rock, with great cliffs overhanging above, which occasionally completely cover the road and form short tunnels. A more romantic pathway could not be imagined—here and there a monument denoting a fall from the cliffs or some similar event; or some disused landing place which has played a part in stirring scenes of bygone days, the blue lake in the depths below, grotesquely contorted rocks rising to a dizzy height on the other side, picturesque fir groves, dimly lighted tunnels with .openings here and there through which charming glimpses are caught of the lake and mountains, and wonderful views of the distant Alps, then emerging again into the blinding sunlight, and so on along the edge of the precipice through ever changing scenes of pastoral life aad natural beauty. Underneath the road, at a considetable distance below, and nearly on a level with the lake, runs the St. Gothard railway, tumbling (the mountain from one end to the other. The trains appear for a moment as if to take breath, and is again lost sight of. The construction of the line must have been a gigantic undertaking, but viewed from the steamer it seems only like pushing a needli into a huge pumpkin, or like watehingsome minute insects burrowing in a mound. On the right the objects are equally in'eresting. Risi out ofthe lake close to the shore is a piece of rock 85 feet high, known as the Mythenstein, and utilized as a monument to the memory of Schiller, whose name, together with an inscription, it bears on its face. High r up, beneath the crags of the Seelisburg. is the Rutti, one of the most sacred spot on the soil of Switzerland. It is a steep mea.<10w -surrounded by trees, where, on the 7th November, 1307, Walter Furst, of Uri; Werner Stauffacher, of Scbwyx, and Arnold Anderholden, of Unterwalden, each seconded by faithful followers, formed a league in the name of their cantons against the tyrannous rula of Austria. The Rutli 18 the place of piigrimage of the patriotic Swiss youtb, and is frequently visited on fine summer days by schools and societies of all descriptions. It is now left behind, and in a few minutes all eyes are turned upon the little chapel on the left side of the lake, erected on the spot where Tell escaped from Gessler! It is but a glimpse we get as passing, and in a little while we are at Fluelen, where all disembark, some to take the train for the sunny south, via the great St. Gothard tunnel, some to walk back along the Axenstrasse, and others, like ourselves, to journey on to Altdorf, the capital of the canton, which.figures so conspicuously in the story of Tell. It is an old. world sort of placa, which brings memories of the past to ruind. The market-place is first of all sought out. Here was enacted the memorable shooting scene. You remember how it arose. By the direc- tions of Gessler, the Austrian Viceroy, the Emperor's cap, fixed on a pole, had been carried through the district, with the following official proclamation Ye Men of Uri, ye do see this cap, It will be set upon a lofty pole, In Altdorf in the market place and this, Is the Lord Governor's good will and pleasure; The cap shall have like hononr to himself, And all shall reverence it with bended knee And head uncovered; thus the King will know Who are his trne and loyd subjects here, His life and goods are forfeit to the crown ,That shall refuse obedience to the order. I The sequel is familiar, how Tell, denying this called for homage, was arrested, ordered GO stand J cst 80 paces as the custom is, Kot an inch more or lese,, and shoot at an apple fixed upon his boy's head the success of the archer the anger of Gessler on finding that TeS had a second arrow in reserve for the Governor had be hurt his boy.; the re-arrest of Tell; tli,, storm on the lake as the party journeyed to Kusanachr; and the ecapeof Teil, to whom the safety of the boat had been entrusted in the storm. In the market place stand two fountains were Teil and his son axe supposed to have -stood. A statue of 1 xen aiso staucs there, and is soon to be replaced by c worthier one. Scarcely half-an-hoar's walk from Altdorf is Burgicn the birthplace of Tell, whose house is-said to have stood on the spot now oecupied by a little chape). Betarnicg to Fluelen, aad along the Axenstrasse we are soon at Tell's platte, a glimpse of which we ha.d obtained from the steamer. A large, hotei stands on the roadside, and in the open air, ¡ under the friendly shadow of the trees, tourists from all lands are seated, smoking, chatting, and refresh- ¡ in? thcinner man. A long and steep flight of steps leads down through the bushes to the edge of the inne, aua nere on a roc*:y sheir, upon wiueh J ell j threw himself to escape from the tyrant's power, stands the hero's memorial chapel. It Is A square etone building, not of very iasrge dimensions, with an Gpen front faeing the lake, and protected only by non bars. Just inside is a visitor's book in which our names are dnly inscribed, and a glance through its payes shows how comparatively few are the English visitors to the shrine of Tell. The roof intide is painted blu,, picked out with golden stara i Opposite us in the eeatre of the chapel is the altar. and the walls on either side are oceupied by L. ar largo mural paintings redresenting four scenes in the life of Tell. The first is the shooting scene after the shot, the mother embiacing her boy, and Tell! repealing his second arrow; the second, the escape of Tell from the beat; the third, the shooting of Gesaler; and the fourth, the oath of alleiriadoo taken by the Swiss chiefs. To be on the-spot, gazing upon these things amongst the romantic surroundings is an experience not soon to be forgotten. Having completed our inspection the next move is to Sisikon, a pretty little village, at which we pick up the boat, and resume our journey as far as Kussnacht the last scene in the Gessler tragedy. It is under the shadow of the Rigi, and its surroundings are simply perfeet. The chief object of interest, however, is again Tell's chapel and the Hohle Gasse, a long road leading be. tween high banks through a thickly wooded region to Immensee on the lovely lake of Zag. It was in this narrow lane that Gessler, after weathering the storm and reaching Brunnen, was met byJjTell and shot. The Viceroy was being pleaded with by a poor Swiss peasant woman, whose husband had been im. prisoned, and he was in the act of ordering her to be ridden over, for she had thrown herself and her children in hia way, when an arrow from Tell's cross bow, in pursuance of his oath;of vengeance, pierced the Ruler's heart and put an end to his reign of tyranny in Switzerland. Near the spot is a little chapel, similar to the one already described, erected in honour of Tell's deeds and memories. It may be all romance this story of peasant heroism, but its appeal to one's love of freedom, its legendary in. terest, and the added charm which it lends to a country already romantic beyond comparison, make ,one wish as we leave these old-time scenes that the -stirring tale may never have to yield ita charms to the demands of historic accuracy.