THE BLOOD OF THE NATION. 133 



tinction means a grea.t deal from the point of view of this discussion. 

 In modem times the greatest loss of Germany has been not from war, 

 hilt from emigration. If the men who have left Germany are of 

 higher type than those who remain at home, then the blood of the 

 nation is impoverished. That this is the case the Germans in Germany 

 are nsnally not willing to admit. On the other hand, those competent 

 to judge the German-American find no type of men in the Old World 

 his mental or physical superior. 



The tendency of emigration, whether to cities or to other countries, 

 is to weaken the rural population. An illustration of the results of 

 checking this form of selection is seen in the Bavarian town of Oberam- 

 mergau. This little village, with a population not exceeding fifteen 

 hundred, has a surprisingly large number of men possessing talent, 

 mental and physical qualities far above the average even in Germany. 

 The cause of this lies in the Passion Play, for which for nearly three 

 centuries Oberammergau has been noted. The best intellects and 

 the noblest talents that arise in the town find full scope for their 

 exercise in this play. Those who are idle, vicious or stupid are excluded 

 from it. Thus, in the long run, the operation of selection is to retain 

 those whom the play can use and to exclude all others. To weigh 

 the force of this selected heredity we have only to compare the quality 

 of Oberammergau with that of other Bavarian towns, as, for example, 

 her sister village of Unterammergau, some two miles lower down, in 

 the same valley. 



XXXIV. Switzerland is the land of freedom — the land of peace. 

 But in earlier times some of the thrifty cantons sent forth their men 

 as hireling soldiers to serve for pay under the flag of whomsoever might 

 pay their cost. There was once a proverb in the French Court, 'pas 

 d'argent; pas de Suisses,' no money; no Swiss, for the agents of the 

 free republic drove a close bargain. 



In Luzerne stands one of the noblest monuments in all the world, the 

 memorial of the Swiss guard of Louis XVI., killed by the mob at the 

 palace of Versailles. It is carved in the solid rock of a vertical cliff 

 above a great spring in the outskirts of the city. A lion of heroic size, 

 a spear thrust through its body, guarding in its dying paws the Bour- 

 bon Ulies and the shield of France. And the traveler, Carlyle tells us, 

 should visit Luzerne and her monimient, "Not for Thorwaldsen's sake 

 alone, but for the sake of the German Biederkeit and Tapferkeit, the 

 valor which is worth and truth, be it Saxon, be it Swiss." 



Beneath the lion are the names of those whose devotion it com- 

 memorates. And with the thought of their courage comes the thought 

 of the pity of it, the waste of brave life in a world that has none too 

 much. It may be fancy, but it seems to me that as I go about in Switzer- 

 land I can distinguish by the character of the men who remain those 



