y assembly, appears all but incredible.

The traveller who visits the canton of Unterwalden to-day finds its
mountains sublime, its valleys beautiful, its waters limpid and living,
as of old. It is a wholly pastoral region, and the smooth green meadows
are thickly sprinkled with peasant homes, neat, cheerful, and peculiar,
like those of all Switzerland. The valley of the Melch is particularly
populous, its green pasture grounds protected by noble mountains, rising
on either side six or eight thousand feet towards the heavens, are
closely dotted with pretty cottages. Among these rustic dwellings, that
once inhabited by Nicholas Loewenbrugger is still shown. It is in good
preservation, and much like those which surround it. Probably the
architecture, like the dress of the Swiss peasantry, has varied but
little for generations. Several personal relics of the venerable man are
also preserved, and shown to the pilgrim traveller--these are two
swords, a silver goblet, and a couple of wooden spoons. It is very
probable that they were in fact what they claim to have been, the
property of the good man, for we, in this country of change, have little
idea of the great care taken with family relics of this description in
the households of the old world. A chapel has been built near the cell
occupied by the hermit; his tomb is at Sachslen, about a league from the
village of Sarnen, in the principal church of the canton. Descendants of
the patriot are still living in Unterwalden, where his family long held
a very honorable position, and is well represented at the present day.
But those who boast of his own blood and name can scarcely claim a
deeper and more heartfelt veneration for his memory than that which is
felt throughout the whole confederacy. There is no name in Switzerland,
not even that of Tell, revered more highly than the name of Nicolas von
der Flue. "Blessed are the peace-makers, for they shall be called the
children of God."

Probably, if earnest efforts in behalf of concord, like those of the old
hermit, were more frequently made, history would, on many occasions,
show less gloomy pictures than those which she now unfolds to the world.
But it is a singular fact that, generally, good men are more easily
disheartened, and, consequently, far less active in times of internal
disturbance than the selfish and intriguing. Surely this ought not to
be.

A STORY WITHOUT A NAME.[E]

WRITTEN FOR THE INTERNATIONAL MONTHLY