merely coming no man knows whence, nor merely passing no man knows
whither, but existing no man knows where; and existing not even as a
name--except on the tip of the tongue. National dignity, as well as
the republican ideal, is served better thus. Besides, it is less
trying for the President.

And yet, stronger than all my sense of what is right and proper is the
desire in me that the President of the Swiss Republic should, just for
once, be dragged forth, blinking, from his burrow in Berne (Berne is
the capital of Switzerland), into the glare of European publicity, and
be driven in a landau to the railway station, there to await the King
of England and kiss him on either cheek when he dismounts from the
train, while the massed orchestras of all the principal hotels play
our national anthem--and also a Swiss national anthem, hastily
composed for the occasion. I want him to entertain the King, that
evening, at a great banquet, whereat His Majesty will have the
President's wife on his right hand, and will make a brief but graceful
speech in the Swiss language (English, French, German, and Italian,
consecutively) referring to the glorious and never-to-be-forgotten
name of William Tell (embarrassed silence), and to the vast number of
his subjects who annually visit Switzerland (loud and prolonged
cheers). Next morning, let there be a review of twenty thousand
waiters from all parts of the country, all the head-waiters receiving
a modest grade of the Victorian Order. Later in the day, let the King
visit the National Gallery--a hall filled with picture post-cards of
the most picturesque spots in Switzerland; and thence let him be
conducted to the principal factory of cuckoo-clocks, and, after some
of the clocks have been made to strike, be heard remarking to the
President, with a hearty laugh, that the sound is like that of the
cuckoo. How the second day of the visit would be filled up, I do not