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 Lucerne stands the noblest of all mon- 

 uments 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 

 Bourbon liHes and the shield of France. 

 And the traveller, Carlyle tells us, should 

 visit Lucerne and her monument, " 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 commemorates. 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 need for it all. "Sons 

 of the men who knelt at Sempach, but not 



The 



Human 



Harvest 



[8i] 



