on the shoulders of men clad in a garb of ages past, are borne the famous horns, the spoils of the wild bull of ancient days, the very horns whose blast struck such dread into the fearless heart of Charles of Burgundy. Then, with then lictors before them, come the magistrates of the commonwealth on horseback, the chief magistrate, the landamman, with his sword by his side. The people follow the chiefs whom they have chosen to the place of meeting,—a circle in a green meadow, with a pine forest rising above their heads, and a mighty spur of the mountain range facing them on the other side of the valley. The multitude of freemen take their seats around the chief ruler of the commonwealth, whose term of office comes that day to an end. The assembly opens. A short space is first given to prayer, silent prayer, offered up by each man in the temple of God's own rearing. Then comes the business of the day. If changes in the law are demanded, they are then laid before the vote of the assembly, in which each citizen of full age has an equal vote and an equal right of speech. The yearly magistrates have now discharged all their duties: their term of office is at an end. The trust which has been placed in their hands falls back into the hands of those by whom it was given,—into the hands of the sovereign people. The chief of the commonwealth, now such no longer, leaves his seat of office and takes his place as a simple citizen in the ranks of his fellows. It rests with the free will of the assembly to call him back to his chair of office, or to set another there in his stead.
"Men who have neither looked into the history of the past, nor yet troubled themselves to learn what happens year by year in their own age, are fond of de-
