castle, a young girl whose lover was among the rebels.
She threw a rope out of one of the windows of the castle, and by it her
countrymen climbed one after another into the castle. They seized the
bailiff, Landenberg, and confined him in one of the dungeons of his own
castle. Next day the conspirators were reinforced by another party who
gained entrance to the castle by means of a clever ruse. Landenberg and
his men were given their freedom by the peasants on condition that they
would quit Switzerland forever.

The castle of Uri was attacked and taken possession of by Walter Furst
and William Tell, while other strongholds were captured by Arnold of
Melchthal and his associates.

Bonfires blazed all over the country. The dawn of Switzerland's freedom
had appeared. The reign of tyranny was doomed. William Tell was the
hero of the hour, and ever since his name has been enshrined in the
hearts of his countrymen as the watchword of their liberties. Even to
this day, as history tells us, the Swiss peasant cherishes the belief
that "Tell and the three men of Rutli are asleep in the mountains, but
will awake to the rescue of their land should tyranny ever again
enchain it."

Lamartine, to whose story of William Tell the writer is indebted,
commenting on the legend says: "The artlessness of this history
resembles a poem; it is a pastoral song in which a single drop of blood
is mingled with the dew upon a leaf or a tuft of grass. Providence
seems thus to delight in providing for every free community, as the
founder of their independence, a fabulous or actual hero, conformable
to the local situation, manners, and character of each particular race.
To a rustic, pastoral people, like the Swiss, is given for their
liberator a noble peasant; to a proud, aspiring race, such as the
Americans, an honest soldier. Two distinct symbols, standing erect by
the cradles of the two modern liberties of the world to personify their
opposite natures: on the one hand Tell, with his arrow and the apple;
on the other, Washington, with his sword and the law."

"WESTWARD HO!"

When the current serves, the unseen monitor that directs our affairs
bids us step aboard our craft, and, with hand firmly grasping the helm,
steer boldly for the distant goal.

Philip D. Armour, the open-handed, large-hearted merchant prince, who
has left a standing memorial to his benevolence in the Armour Institute
at Chicago, heard the call to put to sea when in