Louis XVI did not die in his bed, consequently history is very gentle with him she is charitable toward his failings, and she finds in him high virtues which are not usually considered to be virtues when they are lodged in kings. Martyrdom is the luckiest fate that can befall some people. The Lion of Lucerne would be impressive anywhere, but nowhere so impressive as where he is. The place is a sheltered, reposeful, woodland nook, remote from noise and stir and confusion,-and all this is fitting, for lions do die in such places, and not on granite pedestals in public squares fenced with fancy iron railings. Vines hang down the cliff and wave in the wind, and a clear stream trickles from above and empties into a pond at the base, and in the smooth surface of the pond the lion is mirrored, among the water lilies.Īround about are green trees and grass. His head is bowed, the broken spear is sticking in his shoulder, his protecting paw rests upon the lilies of France. The Lion lies in his lair in the perpendicular face of a low cliff,-for he is carved from the living rock of the cliff. The shape is right, the attitude is right, the proportions are right, but that indescribable something which makes the Lion of Lucerne the most mournful and moving piece of stone in the world, is wanting. Even the sun fails to get it both the photographer and the carver give you a dying lion, and that is all. There is a subtle something about the majestic pathos of the original which the copyist cannot get. But they are libels upon him, every one of them. I will not conceal the fact that miniature figures of the Lion of Lucerne are to be had in them. The commerce of Lucerne consists mainly in gimcrackery of the souvenir sort the shops are packed with Alpine crystals, photographs of scenery, and wooden and ivory carvings. Then right away the organist would let go another avalanche. It is true, there were some soft and merciful passages occasionally, but the tramp-tramp of the tourists only allowed one to get fitful glimpses of them, so to speak. Meantime the big organ is booming and crashing and thundering away, doing its best to prove that it is the biggest and loudest organ in Europe, and that a tight little box of a church is the most favorable place to average and appreciate its powers in. This tramping back and forth is kept up nearly all the time, and is accented by the continuous slamming of the door, and the coughing and barking and sneezing of the crowd. They don't stay to hear all of it, but get up and tramp out over the sounding stone floor, meeting late comers who tramp in in a sounding and vigorous way. All summer long the tourists flock to that church about six o'clock in the evening, and pay their franc, and listen to the noise. THE Hofkirsche is celebrated for its organ concerts.

A tramp abroad