still lives in the democracies of Switzerland, alike in the Landesgemeinde of Uri and in the Federal Assembly at Bern. The ministers of kings, whether despotic or constitutional, may vainly envy the sure tenure of office which falls to the lot of those who are chosen to rule by the voice of the people. Alike in the whole confederation and in the single canton, re-election is the rule; the rejection of the outgoing magistrate is the rare exception. The Landamman of Uri, whom his countrymen have raised to the seat of honor, and who has done nothing to lose their confidence, need not fear that when he has gone to the place of meeting in the pomp of office, his place in the march homeward will be transferred to another against his will.” The grand forms of the Windgälle, the Bristenstock, and the other mighty mountains, surrounded us as we stood in deep silence on this high green meadow, profoundly impressed by this eloquent tribute to a devout and liberty-loving people, all the more remarkable as coming from a Protestant writer. There was little to add to it, for Herr H----’s experience could only confirm it in every point. Dinner had to be got through rapidly on our return to Altorf, as we wished to catch the steamer leaving Fluelen at five o’clock. Like all these vessels, it touched at the landing-place beside Tell’s Platform, whence our young friends of the morning, who had been watching for our return, waved us a greeting. Thence we sat on deck, tracing Lecourbe’s mule-path march of torch-light memory along the Axenberg precipices, and finally reached the Waldstätterhof at Brunnen in time to see the sun sink behind Mont Pilatus, and leave the varied outlines clearly defined against a deep-red sky. S. PHILIP’S HOME.[13] O Mary, Mother Mary! our tears are flowing fast, For mighty Rome, S. Philip’s home, is desolate and waste: There are wild beasts in her palaces, far fiercer and more bold Than those that licked the martyrs’ feet in heathen days of old. O Mary, Mother Mary! that dear city was thine own, And brightly once a thousand lamps before thine altars shone; At the corners of the streets thy Child’s sweet face and thine Charmed evil out of many hearts and darkness out of mine. By Peter’s cross and Paul’s sharp sword, dear Mother Mary, pray! By the dungeon deep where thy S. Luke in weary durance lay; And by the church thou know’st so well, beside the Latin Gate, For love of John, dear Mother, stay the hapless city’s fate. For the exiled Pontiffs sake, our Father and our Lord, O Mother! bid the angel sheathe his keen avenging sword; For the Vicar of thy Son, poor exile though he be, Is busied with thy honor _now_ by that sweet southern sea.