I WAS leaning on the stout wooden rail that forms the bulwark of the kind of gravelled quarter deck terrace on which stands the Weissenstein Kurhausthe old hostel that was built by the commune of Soleure in the year of the battle of Waterloo,-and was wondering at the marvellous view of the plain that stretched into a purple distance at my feet. From this height of 4250 feet above sea-level the air was chill, for the sun had just set. But if the cold had been arctic, one could not have taken one's eyes away from that seemingly unsubstantial rosy cloud that lay high up in heaven above the evening mists; for that cloud was in reality nothing but the snow-clad company of giant watchers for the dawn that stretch from Sentis in the far south-east to Mont Blanc in the extreme south-west. As one gazed upon the rosy moveless cloud, one was able to recognise in its ridged and wavy outline mountain-peaks long familiar at nearer view, but from the distance how changed! The three- peaked Wetterhorn, the the sharp-toothed Finsteraarhorn, the Schreckhorn, the Blumlis mass, the glorious Altels, the long-ridged Wild - Strubel, and the domed Mont Blanc glowed and flushed and faded, and flushed again. Then the grey night seemed to weave a veil between us and the distant peaks, and our eyes travelled back over that limitless plain of towns and towers, and forests and fields, with here a snowy wreath of vapour, there a glinting and a glimmer in the grey expanse, to tell us of some rivers rolling through the midst, back to the wonderful silver serpent coiling

from the far west to the far east at our feet, on by the purple town of old Soleure, that now began to twinkle into stars.

There is nothing more beautiful, at the closing of the day, from this high mountain seat, than the way in which, as twilight steals upon the mighty plain, the lamps of distant towns and villages, "like fireflies tangled in a silver braid," suddenly jewel the twilight. As I looked far down the woody precipices upon the Oberdorf and Langendorf villages, my eyes caught a long, white, ghostlylooking road, straight as arrow, that glimmered in parallel with the main course of the river Aare, on past a forest dark as death, to a little cluster of these newcome fireflies. "What are those village lights?" I said.

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"Those are the lamps at Selzach; they will be hung there to-night, because to-morrow is to be the third performance of the second year's enacting of the village Passion Play," said a voice beside me. "It will be worth going down to see; for though it looks far, one can walk it in an hour and a half, and you will not be disappointed. The day begins with a special service in the village church at eight o'clock, but the performance does not commence till eleven. As a friend of the chief promoter, Herr Schäfli, I have promised to be present; will you bear me company? I can telephone for a ticket early in the morning, and for a place at the luncheon-table in the La Croix Hotel opposite. The new play-house seats 1200 people, but it may be crowded, and since an interval of one hour and a half is allowed for rest and

luncheon, we shall start for our six miles' walk early. You had You had better not be above such simple fare as the village inn can give you."

I assented, and on the morrow at 8.30 dropped down through the long incline of beech woods to Nesselboden; saw the white cliffs -whence Weissenstein takes its name-shine out among its firtrees overhead; down through meadows golden with yellow gentian; by roadside banks filled with the flax-leaved harebell or manyflowered campanula, and delicious with wild strawberry; on through woods purple with columbine; by a stream that chattered at our side; down the hot gorge to the white shining road beneath that led us to the village of Oberdorf -Oberdorf, with its giant barns, its vine-trellises, its fragrant wal

seemed as if no inch of that vast patchwork of husbandry had been left uncared for.

There were no marks of separate ownership, no fence to keep us from the cherry-bowers or the corn-land plots; the light green oats waved here; beside them shone the yellowing barley; there, clover was sweet for the lark that hung above it; here a patch of flax or purple vetch was in flower for the bird that hides its nest in its close undergrowth. All was peace, prosperity, and friendship. Children with hands full of wild chicory or

blue corn-flowers and scarlet poppies passed us, tending their goats and keeping them to the open road. Ever at our right-hand side rose up the great Jura wall of beech and fir to heaven; ever on our left the coiling Aare glittered towards Solothurn. Truly, if ever there was to be seen a "wellwatered garden of the Lord," it is here, in this canton of that old river-town the Romans knew so well.

We dived into a forest of pines that here and there let the sunlight splinter through with dazzling surprise, and gaining more corn - fields and potato - patches, made our way to the little village of Lommiswyl, with its white chapel and square belfry pinnacle standing unfenced among its pleasant fields-Lommiswyl, with its bees and roses, its well-kept "open stores," its huge stabled farmhouses, and its entirely comfortable look of happy industry.

Then, where the village roadside cross stands between its poplars, and the finger - post points to "Hasenmatt" towering overhead, we turned in the exactly opposite direction to our left hand, and so made our way across the sunny rolling plain to Selzach. In twenty minutes we saw below us in a bowery hollow the white tower of the church, and a glimpse of a new wooden building that was the theatre, a theatre that had been raised during the year at the cost of £2000 by a publicspirited company in the village, under the direction of the mayor, who seems to be a very father of his people.

The scene of the village nestling in the bosom of the hill, the farms hidden in ample walnuts, the pastured slopes and grassy swells filled with sun and shadow, the Aare rolling beyond it from the

blue distance, the great Alpine chain of snowy cloud laid all along upon its lilac wall of lucent mist, was beautiful beyond words. A church bell tolled from the hollow, and a band of music was heard in the village. We sat down on a bank of flowers and talked of the history of the Selzach Passion Play.

"It was," said my companion, "in 1890 that the mayor of the village, who, as the owner of the large watchmaking factory, is the principal employer of labour hereabout, happened to visit Oberammergau. He, with a few Selzach companions, was so impressed, that he determined if possible to create on a simple scale some representation of the kind here in his own home. He knew his people well, and believed they would enter into it in the earnest spirit which alone could either justify or give success to the attempt. There was a natural love of music in the village -perhaps the making of watches may induce a feeling for time, as it certainly encourages a feeling for exactness; and he knew also that there was a native ability to act. The village dramatic society had proved that. But there was no one to take direction or to train a choir, and though a professional musician was despatched to Oberammergau, he came back without having been enabled to obtain the necessary help in this direction. It chanced that just at this crisis a new teacher for one of the classes in the village school - the great white building with green shutters, by the side of the church yonderwas needed. The choice of the direction fell upon Mr VögeliNunlist, who is the musical manager of the whole of to-day's performanace, and whose wife will undertake the task of Prologue to the Passion Play. With more

than ordinary musical ability, this new teacher threw himself into the scheme heart and soul, and at once set about the training of a choir and orchestra capable one day of undertaking the task. They are not a large community to furnish orchestra, choir, and players to the number of 200, as you will see to-day. I think the village-man, woman, and child-only numbers 1500 inhabitants; but the village is united, there are no cliques or sets, and perhaps the very trade that occupies their hands the trade of watchmaking-has sharpened their wits.

"After little more than a year's training the Selzach choir performed Witt's 'Jubilee Mass' and Romberg's 'Lay of the Bell,' supplying both orchestra and voice for the rendering of these. They next undertook to present at Christmas of the following year, 1892, Heming's Christmas Oratorio,' with readings and eight tableaux vivants interspersed in the musical part of it.

"The same year, 1892, one of the cathedral clergy at Fulda, Henrich Fidelis Muller by name, published his Passion Oratorio.' The Selzach players determined to present it, and having obtained leave to make such alterations as were necessary to allow of their undertaking it, they provided themselves with suitable prologues and declamatory text, and following closely the line of the Passion Play performance at Höritz in Bohemia, they were enabled to present the play in the summer of 1893 with such care and reverence, such real religious feeling and devotional earnestness, as to disarm whatever hostile criticism existed, and to astonish all who came to see.

"They played it in the little village playhouse attached to the La Croix Hotel, and though the

room seated 500 it was found to be quite inadequate.

"In 1894 a company was formed in the village to build a separate theatre to be kept for the 'PassionSpiel.' That great white-shining wooden building we saw this morning from Weissenstein is the result. Ugly enough and bare enough; but, admirably constructed for its purpose of sweet pine-wood, it has been arranged absolutely with a view to use, not ornament. It has been built after the model of the Baireuth theatre, so that the chorus and the orchestra are quite unseen, being below the floor of the building. The floor is sloped from front to back, so that all have equal chance of seeing the stage. It will seat 1200 people, is fitted with electric light and all the improvements of modern scenic appliance, and is admirably ventilated. You will admit," continued my friend, "that the village is in earnest, if it will spend £2000 of hard earnings on its theatre.

Meanwhile, not content with the representation of the Suffering, Death, Resurrection, and Ascension of our blessed Lord, as shown in 1893, the village Passion players have determined to add eleven tableaux vivants, representing typical scenes illustrative of Old Testament history, and twelve other New Testament scenes, from the Annunciation to Christ's triumphal entry into Jerusalem. They have obtained the aid of one of the first scene-painters in Switzerland, and have made most careful studies of the work of the old masters in the grouping and colour and costume of the tableaux, and seem to have spared neither time nor expense in their production."

"But," I broke in, "they must have had some very able directing hand?"

"Yes; Herr Schäfli, the mayor, is an enthusiast, and his enthusiasm has struck right through the village. You would be surprised how the players themselves have consulted books, have visited galleries to see old pictures. We have, for example, a famous picture of the Madonna by Hans Holbein at Soleure. You will see to-day to what advantage that picture has been studied; and if you know the aspect of our Jura hills at sunset or sunrise, the deep purple of our valley folds, the bright dazzling splendour of our mountain limestone cliffs, or how the river Aare yonder winds through its fields of flowers in this midsummer month, you will note, as the play proceeds to-day, that the scenepainter, Mr Libiszensky, has done what he can to localise the scene and give an air of familiar home surroundings to the tableaux."

"But of the actors," I said, "who are they, and what are they?"

They are all from the village. It is their pride that they shall always be so. For example, the Christus is the watchmaker Robert Kocher. The St John is his brother Joseph. St Peter's part is played by another Kocher, a cousin; he enacts also the part of Moses in the Old Testament scenes. The Virgin Mary is a certain Marie Kocher, another cousin. The Prologue's part in the morning performance is undertaken by a young farmer in the village, Adolf Amiet, and Madame Vögeli-Nunlist will, as I said before, again undertake the speaking of the prologues for the Passion Play in the afternoon.

"I am telling tales out of school, for it is the desire of the players themselves that their names shall not appear on any programme, and if you purchase their photo

graphs you will find that their names are not affixed."

"And what has been the effect upon village morals of this Passion Play?"

"The standard of morality," said my friend, "has ever been a high one in this Jura plain. The village of Selzach is no exception. But it is quite certain that earnestness has been added to the lives of the players, and the actual effort of working together for so long at a common piece of work has harmonised the village life. You know how watchmaking is done in bits; a man works always at this or that lever or escapement or toothed wheel - he never has the joy of completing the watch from first to last. Now in this play-acting he is a working part of a whole, and feels the joy of completeness of labour. This in itself is a real recreation. You would be astonished at the amount of work in common which has been bestowed upon this representation to-day. All through the winter months the chorus and orchestra and players practised or rehearsed five times a-week, coming together at eight o'clock each evening, and often working on till one o'clock in the morning. This, for men who had to go to the factory or to begin their day's work at early hours in the morning, is proof positive that their hearts were in it. But do you hear that fanfare of trumpets? That tells us that we must take our seats within a quarter of an hour."

great brown-backed Jura barn, or barn and farmhouse combined, was the feature. Each house seemed to have abundance of roominess all about it for the life of its inhabitants. Flowers shone in the balconies, vines grew on the trellises; cocks crew from their well-kept dunghills; doves cooed from the shadowy eaves; and old people sat in their shirtsleeves and enjoyed the Sabbath sunshine. We passed the bald grey church, with nothing noteworthy about it but the magnificent bronze St Peter's cock upon its weather - vane, and the scarlet lilies that blossomed at its feet on the graves below. We passed the still balder villageschool. Banners with a white cross upon them floated at the village corners. All was Sabbath quietude. Except that from house after house came singers with the music-folio under their arms, all tending towards the new theatre, you could not have suspected that anything out of the way was going to happen in Selzach to-day. Then the road seemed to be blocked

with black - coats. Opposite the La Croix Hotel on the left six soldierly-looking men in volunteer costume stepped out of a tiny guard-house, and at the word of command halted and again gave us a fanfare. We took our tickets and our book of the words, and entered the cool, darkened building on our right hand.

Once more the trumpets sounded, this time from inside the theatre; and ere from its apparently subterranean source the sweet notes died away, the doors were all closed, and out of the wings in front of the drop-scene

realistic picture of Moses breaking the Tables of the Law in his anger, surrounded by the emblems