faculties and capabilities of his being: and this in its relation to man is the end of the redeeming economy; it is to bring him to this that its amazing provisions have been supplied-to remove all the obstructions and hindrances that sin had raised-to subdue the distrust and unwillingness of his heart. Man was in a state of rebellion against God, and deserved condemnation; but instead of condemning him God devised a scheme for cancelling his guilt, and reclaiming him to his allegiance-a scheme in which are developed new and unspeakably attractive features of the Divine character, which embodies new and far more powerful motives to dutywhich, in short, exhibits God as far more than ever deserving to be loved by us with our whole "heart and soul, and mind and strength," and gives tenfold force to our obligation to "love our neighbour as ourselves." What aspect, then, we ask, do the general pursuits of men and the gratifications in which they indulge wear towards these high purposes of our being, to fulfil which we are so solemnly and emphatically called? What relation is there between the purposes of life, as they appear in the active and pleasure-seeking world, and as they are read in the Divine economy and the Divine requirements? Is man placed in a sphere where he may allow sensual objects to engross his whole attention, while, at the same time, he is solemnly warned and emphatically enjoined not to do so, and plied with the strongest motives to this course, and the strongest dissuasives from the opposite; and is he yet found pursuing that course intensely and alone, all the motives and dissuasives notwithstanding? Such Such is the melancholy fact. All the high ends of life, all its sublime purposes, are disregarded, all that is worthy of its noblest endowments lost sight of; while those objects are pursued as ends and hugged as treasures, which were only meant to be the instruments we were to use in working our way upward to this high elevation. Yet, blessed be God, all do not act thus; there are some who have listened to his voice, are awake to the high purposes of their being. They regard the objects of attraction which this world presents under a very different aspect: instead of pursuing any of these as a mere source of enjoyment, or as an ultimate end of strenuous exertion, they regard its entire economy as a scheme of moral discipline, and its objects as deriving their importance, not from any intrinsic value they have in themselves, but from their adaptation, if rightly used, to minister to the development and strengthening of devout feeling and moral principle, for inuring him to hardship and privation, and present selfdenial, on the faith and hope of ultimate exaltation and happiness. He feels within himself a disposition towards what God has forbidden, he feels deeply a desire to have this disposition subdued, he knows that it cannot be so, but by his denying himself the objects which his appetite craves; he therefore "counts it all joy when he falls into divers temptations," and rejoices that he is placed in a sphere where he is daily and hourly called upon to "crucify the flesh with its affections and lusts." So far from regarding suffering as purely an evil, something to be dreaded and shunned, he, when his mind is in its proper temper, "glories in tribulation; knowing that tribulation worketh patience, and patience experience, and experience hope"-that "whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth;" and that his "light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh out for him a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory." You look again over the toiling, struggling crowds of men, and wistfully ask what will be the issue of a life thus engrossed and occupied? You can perceive that it is immediately and directly productive of a vast amount of evil and suffering. That struggle, while it springs from, feeds a deep selfishness, and is animated by jealousies and envies, and often fixed malice. You perceive thousands sinking under a hopeless combat, with imminent crushing power on the one hand, and grim want on the other; while the bottom of that acclivity is white with the bones of innumerable victims, and others, ever and anon precipitated from the steeps above, are lying along sinking in hopeless stupor, or convulsed in expiring agonies. These scenes, however, heart-sickening though they be, are, in the case of each individual sufferer, but of short duration. In the longest protracted cases of suffering, dissolution terminates it at length. But man's being does not cease with the cessation of his animal life; rather till then it has not obtained its proper development; ere that, he is but drawing to himself and assimilating | those elements which are to constitute his enduring character, and fix his eternal destiny a destiny that will be according as his cherished habitudes of mind, and chosen course of conduct, have been in harmony with the declared will of his Sovereign, having relation to another state of being, or inimical to this law and having relation solely to this world. Those, the main purpose of whose lives has had relation solely to sublunary objects, and who have formed that purpose, and acted on it regardless of the will of God, whether they have succeeded or failed in the combat of life here, must fail of its proper and happy issue in the life to come. Having pursued as their chief aim an object which as such God has disallowed, and which they suffered to usurp his place in the soul, if they have failed, it was not by their choice, they would have succeeded if they could-and succeeded in what, but in fabricating a happiness independent of all regard as to the Author and Sustainer of their being: and if they have succeeded here, their success, how great soever it may have been, will only make their failure hereafter the more disastrous, and more deeply felt. Every step which they may rise in this world, every advantage gained by injustice over their fellows, every additional gratification acquired by such means, is preparing a new sting to the undying worm. Gain and glory of this sort-what diabolical misnomers! Gain that involves the loss of the soul! Glory that issues in everlasting shame and contempt! "I was envious at the foolish, when I saw the prosperity of the wicked. For there are no bands in their death: but their strength is firm. They are not in trouble as other men: therefore pride compasseth them about as a chain; violence covereth them as a garment. Their eyes stand out with fatness; they have more than heart could wish. They are corrupt and speak wickedly concerning oppression; they speak loftily. And they say, How doth God know, and is there knowledge in the Most High? Behold, these are the ungodly, who prosper in the world; they increase in riches. * When I thought to know this, it was too painful for me; until I went into the sanctuary of God; then understood I their end. Surely thou didst set them in slippery places: thou castedst them down into destruction, How are they brought * into desolation as in a moment! they are utterly consumed with terrors. As a dream when one awaketh; so, O Lord, when thou awakest, thou shalt despise their image!" How gloriously different is the ultimate issue of life to those who, whatever they may have had to suffer in this world, have counted "the reproach of Christ greater riches than the treasures of Egypt;" and who, looking not at the "things which are seen and temporal, but at the things which are unseen and eternal," have "had respect unto the recompense of reward." "I beheld," says John, "and lo a great multitude, which no man could number, of all nations, and kindreds, and people, and tongues, stood before the throne, and before the Lamb, clothed with white robes, and palms in their hands; and cried with a loud voice, saying, Salvation to our God which sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb. * And one of the elders answered, saying unto me, What are these which are arrayed in white robes? and whence came they? And I said unto him, Sir, thou knowest. And he said to me, These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve him day and night in his temple: and he that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them. They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes." LOVE FOR SOULS. J. M. C. GREATLY as we value, greatly as we feel ourselves indebted to natural love, we must not mistake nor substitute it for spiritual love. That is for earth; this for the holy heavens. That is to vanish away; but this is to spread and reign for ever. Natural affection, however refined and directed by loftier impulses-and without them what would it be!-never looks beyond and above matter. Its fountains, objects, ends, rewards, are all in matter. It never passes over its narrow boundaries to take hold of the infinite, the eternal, the divine. And might not all this be easily proved? Might it not be proved, not from the Bible only, but from the very constitution of man; and not only from the natural constitution of man, but also from his general history-his history, not as the savage in the woods, but as the scholar, priest, philosopher, in Egypt, or Greece, or Rome? Love for souls, as souls, is not a passion of earthly growth. It is a holy fire from heaven. Oh yes, love for souls, for their justification, renewal, and eternal re-union with God, by the precious blood of Christ, is, perhaps, a rarer thing in the world than many of us think. | the entire family of souls-a relation over which time and place and outward things have no power, and whose nature and results will be unfolding themselves in awful grandeur for ever and ever;—can we reflect that God has given us hearts capacious enough to embrace all the members of this great family;-can we reflect on the genius of the gospel, whose provisions are infinite, and whose aspect is universal;-can we reflect on the eternal and unbounded love of God, who spared not his own Son, but delivered Christianity har-him up to be a ransom for all;-can we reflect on these things without feeling our hearts burn for the restoration of all souls to their Father's bosom? In purity and power let our love ever grow; and through the broad channels of missionary societies, and others which bless our age, let it flow forth and fill the earth.- - Rev. Caleb Morris. monizes the temporal and the spiritual Let us, then, have love for souls. But how can we have it-how can it be begotten in our hard hearts? That is the great question. By trying to love them? That would only prove that we love them not. Love is free and spontaneous. By acting as though we loved them? That would be a hypocrisy which would soon expose and exhaust itself. The only true method is, to draw near to them, and to look at them-to look on them in the light of reason and revelation, of immortality and of God. Let the church, under the teaching of the Eternal Spirit, give herself up to study deeply, and in earnest, the transcendent worth and destiny of souls, and that will fire her with an irresistible passion for their salvation. Now, this spiritual love we should spread over the length and breadth of our age. And, oh! how numerous, how constraining, are our obligations to do so! Can we reflect on our relation to --- CHAMOUNI AND THE GHEMMI PASS. In the course of the autumn of 1843, I made my second visit to Switzerland, and by way of change of route I went to Geneva, through France, (by the way of Paris and Dijon,) having determined, after a few days' sojourn in those cities, to take a view of that sovereign of European mountains, Mont Blanc, and visit the Montanvert, and Mer de Glace, in my way to the Bernese Oberland. Although the mode of travelling in France, by public diligence, is slow and tedious, and the country, for the most part, flat, barren, and insipid; yet I found the route from Paris to Geneva to possess greater interest than I had anticipated. Indeed, the country is beautiful in some parts, especially in the superb ascent of the Jura Mountains. But when, after travelling all night, as was my case, you approach to a view of the Alps, with the cheerful brilliance of the morning sun illumining the high cliffs, and throwing the deep woody valleys into the darkest shadow; and look backward to see the far-distant plains of France, between the hills, melting away into a soft vapoury light; and then turning a corner of the road, as it winds round a cliff, near the summit, you behold the lake and city of Geneva spread at your feet, with its magnificent back-ground of the Italian Alps, peak beyond peak, snow-crowned, and Mont Blanc towering above all-this, indeed, is a treat not to be appreciated except by | nefits arising from free administration, and the Protestant faith. actual observation. The Geneva is situated upon the narrowest part of the lake, which here bears its name, and where the Rhone issues in two rapid streams, afterwards uniting together. This river separates the city into two divisions, receives the muddy Arve in its course, and flows through France into the Mediterranean. city is beautiful, and the surrounding country offers a prospect of which it is not easy to give a just description. The objects which compose the landscape are the town, the lake, and the numerous hills and mountains, which are seen rising in all their fantastic forms, backed by the Glaciers of Savoy, with their snowy and frozen tops glistening in the sun, and Mont Blanc rearing its gigantic figure, "white with eternal snow," above them all. The ancient part of the city itself, which is irregular, contains some lofty houses, well built, but the new part reminds you of the contrast afforded by the old and new towns of Edinburgh. The streets are clean and well-paved, as well as lighted. The Hotel de Ville is a large handsome building, and the Great Church is a considerable structure, with marble front in imitation of the Pantheon at Rome, whilst the interior is perfectly plain. The house wherein Calvin is said to have been born is situate very near to the church in which he preached, and both are objects of interest. The sabbath here, unlike most parts of the Continent of Europe, is reverenced, and the general appearance of the people resembles that of an English city. I left Geneva for Chamouni; and immediately on entering Savoy, I was struck with the strong contrast between the two countries in such immediate conjunction. It was, indeed, painful to witness the miserable and wretched appearance of the people of Savoy, after contemplating the simplicity and comfort of the Genevese. Those on the side of Geneva are healthy, and neat in their dress and appearance, whilst the Savoyards are dirty; they are miserably clothed, and their dwellings are also wretched. "What," I asked myself, "can be the reason of this great difference in the condition of the people? Is it attributable to moral causes the despotic government of the country, and the Roman Catholic religion?" I concluded it must be the be The town of Bonneville, about nine miles from Geneva, and situated on the Arve, at the bottom of a chainy rock, is beautiful in its appearance; the mountains which rise above it, on the right, are of great height, while the summits are capped with snow. The bridge over the Arve, on quitting the town, is a singular object; and I then entered a narrow valley, not more than a mile and a half in breadth-the mountains on the right being close to the road. The scenery shortly afterwards changed, and the road was lined with trees in the highest state of luxuriance; villages pleasing in variety and picturesque in appearance. The town of Cluses is also very curious, and seems to be famous for makers of watches. To this town, a narrow valley succeeds, and shortly we approach the village of St. Martin's, beyond which nothing but a char road is found; and here I waited until one of the light chars, in which the journey is usually performed, was in readiness to convey a companion, who joined me on the road from Geneva, and myself (to which was added a third gentleman, a native of France, who had travelled with us from Geneva, and expressed a wish to join us,) to the village of le Prieure, in Chamouni. But as we set out late in the afternoon, and the weather was wet, no view of the majestic mountain could be had, either from the hotel at St. Maurice, which in fine weather affords a rich treat, or on the road. The road was narrow, and we soon began to ascend a jagged and winding path, bordered by fruit trees. Descending a little, we came to the small town of Servez, where the horse was baited, and whence we sauntered onward until overtaken by the vehicle, in which we resumed our seats; and at a late hour we reached the Hotel de Londres, in Chamouni, a very comfortable place, where we found seated at table as many as thirty or forty persons, chiefly English, who had come on the same errand as ourselves, and most of whom seemed in ecstasies at the anticipation of the view which the morning was expected to give them of the mountain. The vale of Chamouni, unlike most of the Swiss valleys, is a plain without undulation, and no person who has visited this spot can avoid remarking that the vale appears as if expressly prepared for the perfect exhibition of Mont Blanc, by the wide space which gives you at once the entire range of the mountain, with its attendant pinnacles and glaciers, by the dark range of the mountains which lie on the opposite side, and by the absence of all other charms which could divert or distract the attention. The line of hill opposite Mont Blanc rises to the height of 8000 feet in Mount Breven, but is entirely without snow, and not being broken into points, like its soaring brother, offers a striking contrast to the Alpine monarch before it, which occupies the entire side of the gallery, at a length of at least twelve miles. Thus from end to end, as well as from the root to the summit, the snowy mountain is seen at a glance, and nothing else. the chasms; but great caution is necessary in crossing them, as there is considerable danger of slipping in. The appearance of the whole, from the top and downwards, as far as the eye can reach, is magnificent, as well as curious. On leaving Chamouni, I travelled by mule, by way of the Tete Noire, down to Martigny in the valley, where I halted for a day or two; then resolving to go to Berne by the way of the Ghemmi Pass, which of all the Alpine roads is the most wonderful. It is also difficult of ascent, and dangerous. It seems, from the accounts given by modern tourists, that this pass is more frequently approached from Thuné, in the canton of Berne, than from canton le Vallais. And Murray states, that "the wonders are much increased in appearance, to those who proceed to it from the side of Lenk." One morning I left the Hotel de la Grande Maison, at Martigny, by the small light diligence, called the "Milan Courier," which, indeed, is the mail-coach of that country, and conveys both travellers and letters into Italy. After reaching Lenk, I took a guide and horse to the baths near that village, about five or six miles distant, and situated at the base of a mountain gorge, which separates the canton of Berne from that of the Vallais. This curious bathing-place (Lenk) is much frequented in the season. Having passed the night at a very comfortable hotel called the "Eagle," I sallied forth in the morning, accompanied by two other travellers with whom I there met with their guides and mules, to cross the mountain range, and descend to Thuné. On leaving the sin On the following day I set out alone for the Montanvert, or Green Mountain; and having crossed the river Arve, and passed a few houses and a small farm or two, I began to ascend the mountain. The road, or track, was much covered with fallen trunks of pines, larches, and fragments of rock. But woods of the larch tree surround the spots, whence beautiful peeps are gained of the opposite mountains, the plain, and the river beneath, with villages that are continually diminishing to the sight. The mules pass over the rocks with unexpected activity, and pick their way with a sagacity peculiar to them. After a meandering advancement of some length, and keeping a progressive ascent, occasionally halting to draw breath, I at length reached the small chalet above, where I rested myself for half an hour before I descended to the plain, or sea of ice. The glacier of the Mer de Glace ap-gularly romantic district of Lenkerbad, pears to be produced by accumulated bodies of snow, melted, and afterwards hardened by the frosts-the heat of the sun being no more than sufficient to melt a part of it, which gliding over the surface, re-freezes, and gives the whole an appearance of massive ice; while the avalanches and falls of snow supply the waste occasioned by any apparent or secret efflux. Some of the chasms, or crevices, are of great depth, whilst others are comparatively shallow. Many of the piles of ice are of a pyramidal shape, and have a clear and blue surface; others appearing only as piles of dirty snow. With the aid of an alpenstock, and the assistance of the guide, I walked over the Mer de Glace, and closely inspected as the Germans term it, the route lay along a valley apparently enclosed by high and rocky mountainous walls, without any visible outlet. The ascent soon begins, and the narrow path runs along a ridge; in other parts it courses on a mere ledge cut in the side of huge cliffs, but just wide enough for a mule to get footing; and at the turn of the zigzags you frequently overhang steep precipices, gradually becoming more fearful to look down upon as you approach the summit of this mountain, which is at least 500 feet high. From the narrowness of the path in some places, which in the broadest never exceeds eight or nine feet, and from the frequent and sudden turns, there is great danger of inadvertently |