they symbolize. The plague has left this dreadful evidence of itself all over this part of Europe. Everywhere you see a "Dance of Death."
The artist is, after all, the best historian of his time, and in whatever he is wrought upon to paint, be it "Holy Family," "The King Drinks," "Beatrice Cenci," "Galileo before the Council," or the grim and gloomy allegory of the "Dance of Death," he paints better than he knows, and gives us the age he lived in, its ruling influences, its agitations, and its crimes.
From Basle to Lucerne is a short railway journey, but rich in experiences, for you see first that long line of snow-clad Alps. It is an enormous lift to the vision, as you gaze on that rosy summit:
"The last to parley with the setting sun."
We arrived at the Schweizerhof, one of the best hotels of Europe, in time for a glorious sunset over the Lake of Lucerne. Its royal guards, Pilatus (named for the Governor of Judea, who is supposed to have wandered hither, pursued by a guilty conscience, and to have perished miserably on the cloudy heights) and Rhigi, were clad in purple for the occasion, and it was a kingly sight.
There arose beyond the lake those White Peaks, lovely nymphs who entice you onward to their frozen bowers. Who can describe them, who can resist their weird, unusual charm? I do not wonder at the power of the Siren of the Alps, nor at the numbers of her victims. Lucerne is the chief town of the canton, and situated as never town was, with the lake in front and the mountains on three sides. The "Lake of the Four Forest Cantons," this lovely Lake of Lucerne, is probably the most beautiful in the world. It is of that peculiar and indescribable blue —
