EiD . mmuititatbirts. SIN AND SUFPERING IN THE UNIVERSE, Letters addressed to the Hon. Gerritt Smith, of Peterboro, New York. BY ALBERT BARNES. LETTER 111. HON, GER'EtITT SMITH: .710 Dear Sin In my last letter to you, I noticed the various explanations which have been suggested of the existence of sin and misery in the universe, with reference to the question whether those explanations are adapted to calm down the anxieties of a troubled mind, In this letter, I propose to enter on an examination of your solution of those facts. Respecting your theory of explanation it is proper to inquire„kst: What it i's? and second Whether the explanation removes the difficulty? First. Yonr explanation of the difficulty, embra cing also your views of the manner in which the evils are to he removed, is comprised in the follow i ag specifications: 1. That man is so made of necessity that he can sin, and could not have been made otherwise if he was a free agent, and that the whole evil is there fore to be traced to the freedom of man ; or in other words, that the existence of sin follows inevitably from the notion of free agency, and that this is a matter for thankfulness and of rejoicing. (pp. 6,7.) 2: Pliat God saves all that he can. (p. 9.) 3. That death is an advantage, or that the ar rangement is to be regarded as one of benevolence. (1)- 11 .) 4. That the representation that sin is a great evil, deserving of infinite punishment, tends to make men hate one another, or to judge men contrary to what God does. (p. 7.) 5. That.science is doing something to mitigate the evil, and that it may be hoped that it will do more. 71, 6. That the grand remedy for the evils of the world is wealth; (p. 11,) and 7. That it may be hoped and expected that man will be in a more favorable condition in the future world, or that, though the wicked may suffer there, yet that there will be a more desirable system of probation, so that all, evil may there come to an end. (PR- 7, 8 .) i propose now to make some general remarks on this solution, and then to examine these points in detail. In, general, then, I remark that your theory does not deny the existence of the main facts which con stitute the difficulty, and which I said did so much to perplex my own mind, and which made the sub ject to me as it has to thousands of others, so dark— the present so dark—the future so dark. You can not deny, and you do not attempt to deny, the exis tence of evil. You do not deny—you could not do it —that this is a world of sinners and sufferers—of death-beds and grave-yards. You do not deny— you could not do it—that the race is involved in sin and danger; you do not deny that men may suffer in the future world. All these things are either ad mitted in express terms in your letter, or are implied an your theory of explanation. These are the main, the essential facts which haye (riven me so much perplexity. In like manner, you do not deny—yon could not deny—that these things occurunder divine ad ministration ; that they constitute a part of a plan ; that they actually take place under the government of the world under which we hire, and by which we, and our friends, and all our fellow-creatures, are, and must be, deeply affected. You do not deny—and you cannot deny—that they seem to conflict with the essential elements of a just and benevolent divine administration, and with the character of an Al mighty, a just; and a merciful God; for you attempt to explain them, and to show how they are consis tent with such a character; or, in other words, you aim to show how they, in fact, constitute the best ,system—a better system than one would be if these things had not been permitted to occur. In regard. to the material facts, then, I think we do not, differ. I do not see how we could differ, unless one of us should deny the existence of what is constantly oc curring before our own eyes. Do you doubt that there are evils, crimes, woes, sorrows, in this world ? Do you, doubt that a system of slavery fraught with tremendous evils has been allowed to exist in our own country? Do you doubt that a, war most fear ful and bloody has been allowed to occur as the con sequence of the existence of slavery? Do-you doubt that this has somehow been permitted to take place under the administration of an Almghty, a just, and a benevolent God? And do you doubt that the would is now filled with error, superstition and crime, and is strewed with sick-beds and graves—that the earth itself is "a vast revolving grave"—and has been for many thousands of years? Now I had 'these facts before my mind, and not any theory in regard to them. The facts themselves gave me trouble, not any theory on the subject. I saw no way in which to relieve my mind from per-. plexity. You have proposed to me a way of expla nation and relief. I shall now proceed to examine that with some minuteness of detail. (1.) The first point which you rely upon is that man is so made necessarily that he'can sin, and that the origin of evil is to be traced wholly to the free dom of man, or to the freedom of the will; or, in other words, that sin is inseparable from the notion of free agency, and that this constitutes the true no bleness of man, and is a matter for thankfulness and rejoicing. I have referred to the passage in which you affirm this before, but it is so remarkable, and enters so vitally into your theory of explanation, that I will copy it again. The statement is in the following words ; • ,4 It is true that man is so made that •he can sin ; but, instead of complaining of this, we should be thankful for it, Instead of lamenting it, we should rejoice in it. Row low a being would man be, were .he of necessity sinless! Row far inferior to what he mow is, were he so constituted that he could not sin I lie mould be a mere machine, and his going right would .no more argue wisdom and goodness in him than sioesthe right-going of a clock argue wisdom and good mess in it. The brute, shut up to the direction of its instincts, cannot err—cannot wander from its nature. But Infinite Wisdom, instead of predetermining the peps of man, has left him to judge for himself. Great, indeed, is the hazard of his judging wrongly; but great, also, is the honor of being placed so high in the scale of creation 4,9 to be allowed to judge for one's self. "Alessed he'Ged that helms made us capable of sin ning; or, in other words, capableof transgressing the laws which He has written upon our being ! It is not His fault if we transgress them; for He has writ ten them so 'plain., that lie may run that readeth' the most essential of them; and honest and persistent gaudy will compass the remainder. I .ack no wledged the:goodness of God in snaking us ca.- ptibk‘of Ginning. I might have added, in making us Ca paliemf sianingso greatly. For to say that we can sin so greatly is, is effect, to say that we have great powers:and advantages for leacning and , obeying law:; it being on!y in the abuse of such powers and advan tages that great ainning is possible."' (pp. 6,7.) I have already remarked , on this passage, so far as ' iit relates to the question whether it is possible for God to make a iree agent, anal yet secure his perfect and continued holism, consistently with the idea that the agent would still be free, or consistently with the idea of liberty. I have nothing more to add •on that point than to , observe that we do not THE AMERICAN PRESBYTERIAN, THURSDAY, JULY 16, 1868. connect the idea of stern and unbending virtue— virtue so unbending and so stern that we feel assur ed that it will not do wrong, with the idea of sla very, or with the violation of personal liberty. An honest man—a man thoroughly and always honest —honest without wavering through the longest life —is not less free than a dishonest man ; a sincere and incorruptible patriot is not less a freeman than a traitor. The community never suspected that your being an upright and a benevolent man, was any proof that you were not free; nor in the highest conception in which those qualities have been justly ascribed to you, was there any idea that you did not, and do not, exercise perfect liberty. If there was, in your case, such a foundation of virtue and benevo lence, as to constitute a ground of moral certainty— as I doubt not there was—that this would charac terize you through the whole of a long life, no one would suppose that this would be incompatible with the highest consciousness of personal liberty in your own mind. From anything that appears, General Washington was as really a freeman as Benedict Ar nold, nor was that incorruptible patriotism and in tegrity which was so great in the one that his coun try confided in it always, any more a proof of sla. very than was the love of gold in the other. Nay, it has been commonly held that vice and sin constitute servitude; and that virtue is true freedom. There was more of truth than of poetry in the remark of Cowper: " He is a freeman whom the truth' makes free, and all are slaves besides." And it is not mere ly the authority of inspiration that makes the decla ration of the Saviour true : " Whosoever committeth sin is the servant—dovX6c—of sin" (John viii. 34); or of the declaration of Paul; "Know ye not that to whom ye yield yourselves servants to obey, his ser vants ye are to whom ye obey." (Romans vi. 16.) Can it be doubted that the Redeemer of the world was invested with perfect freedom, and yet that it was certain that he would never sin? Can we doubt that God is free, and'yet that it is "impossible that He should lie?" (Hebrews vi. 18.) What would be the security of the universe if the doctrine implied in your statement were correct—that immunity from sin, or the certainty that one will not sin, is incom patible with freedom ; that one cannot be so pure and virtuous that he could never do wrong, and yet be free? Is not all our security of every kind founded on the idea that the Creator and Governor of the universe is immutably holy: that we have the ut most assurance that He will never do wrong? Might not then a creature be so made—so entirely created in the image of God that there would be a certainty that he would never sin, and yet be free? If he could not be so made, will you solve this problem: Why he should be made at all ? I have, therefore, said that this explanation does not meet my difficulties on the subject. But there is a more important aspect still, in which your solu tion of the Alifficulty is to be noticed. It is, that the fact that man is so made that be can sin, and that under the circumstances of the case, he would sin, is, in your apprehension, a matter of thankfulness and rejoicing; that this, in fact, constitutes the true no bleness of his nature. " Blessed be God that he has made us capable of sinning; or, in other words, ca pable of trangressing the laws which he has written on our being." " I acknowledge the goodness of God in making us capable of sinning. I might have added, in making us capable of sinning so greatly. For to say that we can sin so greatly, is in effect, that we have great powers and advantages for learn ing and obeying law." That is to say, the real great ness, the dignity, the true nobleness of man, is rnani feated in the fact that he is capable of committing enormous crimes . ; his real greatness and nobleness would not and could not have been manifested if he had been so made that it would have been certain that he would never sin. In other words, the real greatness and nobleness of man is to be measured by the greatness of his sin ; or by the fact that he does sin "so greatly." He could not have manifested his true greatness if he had not shown it in this manner, or if he had been so made, or if such, an influence had been exerted on him, that it would ave been certain that he would not have sinned ; that is, if, lie had been made as it is commonly supposed the redeemed will be in heaven, secure in their holiness; or as the holy angels are; or as the Saviour was; or if he him self had been made, in this respect, perfectly in the "image of God." According to this view, therefore, the measure of the greatness and nobleness of Adam was not his capacity to worship God, or his disposition to do so, but his capacity to apostatize, and to " bring death into the world and all our woe," and this measure of greatness is to be found in the extent of death, and the amount of woe that he has brought upon the earth; the nobleness of Cain was not in his.capabili ty to wbrship God, and could not have been in any' certainty that he would do this, but in his capability to murder his brother; the nobleness and greatness of Noah was not that he was a " preacher of right eousness," standing as an unshaken monument of piety in a wicked world, but in his capability to be made drunk after he had been saved from the del uge; the nobleness of Lot was not that he set an ex ample of piety to the guilty inhabitants of the cities of the Plain, and that "his righteous soul was vexed with the filthy conversation of the wicked," but that he was capable of being intoxicated and of commit ting incest; the nobleness of David was not in his valor in war, in his sweet poetry, in the wisdom of his administration in his humble piety, but in his ability to violate the sixth and the seventh com mandments of the Decalogue ; the nobleness of Ju das was not in any power to love and serve his Mas ter as John did, but in his power to betray him ; the nobleness of Benedict Arnold was not in any power which he had to serve his country as Washington did, but in the fact that he could act under the in fluence of British gold, and attempt to ruin the cause of liberty; the nobleness received from his Maker by Afferson Davis was not in the fact that he might have exerted his talents for the good of his country, and in the cause of liberty, but that he, was capable of plotting the ruin of both, and of putting„ himself at the head of the most formidable rebellion that ever occurred in any age—a man who would have fastened the chains of slavery on the limbs of mil lions of his fellow-men forever. For such " greatness"--for these high endowments —you say: "Blessed be God that he has made us capable of transgressing the laws which he has writ ten on our being." "I acknowledge the goodness of God in making us capable of sinning. I might have added, in making us capable of sinning so GREATLY." Verily, the world owes a debt of gratitude to the Great and Benevolent Creator which has not yet been rendered to him. (2.) Your second principle in explaining the facts to which I referred, is, that God saves all that he can, and that, consequently, the fact that men are lost, if they are lost, is because God cannot save them. This idea you express in the following language: (p. 9.) "God tries to save all men from sinning. But he has not the ability to save any man without the help of that, man. Had He intended to retain such ability, He would not have 'created man imihis own image,' and invested him with fZ•ee agency, and the power to choose his character and destiny. When God made man so great as to will and to do' for himself, He made him too great to be saved by the direct and un aided power of even God himself. Men must work with God in accomplishing this salvation, or it cannot be accomplished." This is evidently a limitation of the potoer of God, and according to this, we are under an administration in which, whatever benevolent feelings there may be on the part of our Maker, there is no power or ability to carry them out, or to execute them. But, the omniscience of God is not yet denied, and the problem to be solved is: How would it be consistent with be nevolence, to bring creatures in great number into existence, wheii i lle who made them knew at the time, that they would fall into ruin, and that He, whatever might. be his benevolent feelings, could not help it? It is a problem of difficult solution how such a God could be honored; or how he could de serve to be adored. It is to be remembered, too, that, according to your theory on the point to which I have just refer red, God could not interpose in the case without vio lating their freedom, and that the very greatness and nobleness of their nature consists- in the fact that they were so made that God could not prevent it if they chose to sin. It is natural to ask, here, how far this view would tend to promote the " happiness" of mankind, or to prevent the feeling of gloom and sadness which you think spring out of-the system which I hold? The idea which you entertain, if I understand it, is, that God would save these sinners if he could, but that he has so made them.of design that he could not help them if they fell into this condition ; that they could of themselves easily reach a point when they would be beyond his power for good, and where they could bring the direst evils on themselves, in this world and the next, in spite of all that their Creator could do to prevent it:—for if their necessary freedom in volved this in the present life, the same necessary freedom would involve it in the life to come. Nay, the same idea would involve the want of all security even in heaven, focif it enters essentially into the idea offreedom,lt would apply to heaven as well as to earth or hell. How one could - find happiness in this idea, it is difficult to conceive. The idea is, God has made me ; he knew what' he made me not only that I was liable to fall into a hopeless condition, where not even he himself could save me, and that I would actually fall into this condition, and yet notwith standing this, he launched me upon this dark and tempestuous sea; he lost his power to save me the moment I chose to sin, and he has no means of re gaining that power over me ; and, although he may have a benevolent heart, he has no means whatever of accomplishing ,his benevolent desire. How far would such a view tend to promote the happiness of the world, or to calm down the troubled feelings of the human soul in its present condition? For one, I should not wish to live in such a world —a world in which, when God " made man so great as to will and to do for himself, He, at the same time, made him too great to be saved by the direct and unaided power of even God himself." But how, let incask, is it known that there are sinners so great that, God cannot save them? How do yon know that] he tries to save all that He can? How can it be known that to save a great sinner necessarily violates , his freedom? Are there any greater sinners now pn the earth than many of those were who have been saved? Are there now those whom it would be' m o re difficult to save than was Saul of Tarsus, or! Augustine, or John Bunyan, or John Newton? And was there any violation of the freedom of those Men in what God did to turn them from the errors of !their ways? Certainly those men never felt that " God had not the ability to save any man without the help of the man." Certainly, Saul of Tarsus never supposed that he "had been made too great to be saved/by the direct and unaided power of. God himself." .Certainly, if we may judge from their own recorded views of themselves, or from the freedom—the vol ntariness—the zeal—with which those men engage in the service of - God after their conversion, they never supposed that there had been any violation ofi liberty in the power which had been put forth "b>k God to turn them to himself. Why should that power, stop just where it has done, and not embrace e ther i great shipers also:? - (3.) YOur third soluqon is, that 'dealt is an ad vantage—a thing- not to be regretted or mourned over, but to be rejoiced in as an arrangement of be nevolence. This idea you halie expressed in the• following lan guage: " For several r:asons we should be, glad that men die, when their odies are worn out with old age. Amongst these rea sons are—let. This life has, then, become more of a burden than an enjoyment. 2d. We trust that, at its termination, a higher life awaits us. 3d.. Our death makes room for others to live— for an endless succession of generations to have ex perience of earthly existence. In the distant future, when men shall Hie wisely here, earth-life will be far more precious thin it now is. Had the life of man extended to thoullinds of years, the inhabitants of the Garth would have Ibeen but a handful compared with aggregate souls or those unending generations. And in that case, there would have been not only compar atively few to know this life, but consequently, com paratively few to 'be translated from it to the nobler life. "But, perhaps,tyour lamentation is over premature deaths only. They, certainly, should not be charged upon God. They come not from His hand. When men shall have learned, as they yet will learn, the laws of life and health ; and shall, as they yet will, faithfully keep them, there' will not only be few or none of these premature ' deaths, but the ordinary length of this existence will, probably, be at least double its present three-score and ten years. We should be very careful not fo charge upon the Great and Good Father the evils, which come from the unnecessary ignorance and wilful sins of His children." It cannot be denied, I think, that a removal from earth—a removal from one world to another—may be desirable; that it may be a part of the bliss of the redeemed hereafter to pass from world to world; and that in the eternity before them they may have an abode in all these worlds which God has made, in order that they may learn in each one the peculiar manifestation of ,his glory there. The _universe, so vast, so grand; seems thus to have been made to give occupation to immortal minds, as it cannot be doubted that in each; world there is some peculiar manifestation of•the glory of an infinite God. But the question_ now' is, why should thispassage from earth to another world—from one world to another —be accompanied with pain, dread, and sorrow—the fearful pain, the 'dread, and the sorrow of death? Why is this necessary? Why is it adopted? What exact good comes out of it? Why might not men pass from this world to another as we may suppose the angels pass from world to world—from heaven to earth—without pain, or as Enoch and Elijah passed from earth to heaven " without seeing death ?" As suredly it is conceivable that God might have made men so ; assuredly it would have seemed probable that he wouid haik made them so. How much would it render a passage from world to world in the fu ture state, if it is to occur, a subject of dread and not of joyful anticipation, to be told that each and every such removal must be attend-d with the pain of dying, and that all those worlds must he constant ly and forever filled with dread, and sorrow, and pain—with sick-beds and graves , l I think, there fore, that there must be some other reason for death than the mere necessity that the inhabitants of earth should pass away to make room for others— lest there should be but "few comparatively to be translated from earth to the nobler life." It is to be remarked, also, that the question is not whether this life may not.be, in fact, so much more " a burden than an enjoyment ;" whether it may not be desirable to be removed from the infirmities of old age, when " these bodies are worn out :" whether death may not even be desirable as a relief from in tolerable suffering, but why the race is placed in such circumstances that death ever could be desirable; why these infirmities, pains, and sorrows have come upon the race; why, under the administration of a wise and benevolent God, the world is made full of suffer em, so that it would be desirable for them to die? This, and not the point which you have proposed, is the difficult one to be solved. Why are things al lowed to exist under God's government which would ever make death, with all its forms of pain, and hor ror, and dread, desirable? Suffer me to ask a few questions here : Grant that it may be benevolence that human beings should be removed to other worlds :—why is it done in this manner? Grant that it may be desirable that the sick, the infirm, the broken-down, should be removed, or that men may be actually in such a state as to make death desirable :—why should they be in that state at all ? Grant that this might be proper for hardened of fenders :—why should the righteous and the good leave the world in the manner in which they actual ly do—under slow torture ; torn by wild beasts ; burned at the stake; or under loathsome and pro tracted forms of disease? Grant that it may be proper for adults thus to die :—why should children who have not yet " done good or evil" leave the world under all forms of suf fering ? Grant that the arrangement is a good one in this world :—would it not be as good in any other world —in heaven—and why may it not then exist for ever ? Your explanation of the difficulty in regard• to• death does not therefore seem to me to meet. the case. Whatever it may do for you, it does not re lieve the perplexities of my mind. I have thus examined, at some length, a portion of your methods of solving the difficulty in regard to the existence of sin and suffering in this world and the world to come. I shall complete the examination. in my, next let ter. I am, with great respect, truly yours, ALBERT BARNES. A SUMMER'S DAY IN SWITZERLAND. RIDE TO GRINDLEWALD GLACIER [Front the Note Book of our European corres- pondlnt.] We parted in our last, just as we were leaving the torrent coming down from the region of the Jungfrau, and turning to the left into a wider valley than the gorge we had just travesed. We crossed the stream on a wooden bridge on which stood an old blind beggar who held' out his for lorn old hat in the direction whence the sound of our carriage wheels came. It was a pity, we thought, that among such glorious scenery, men should become old and blind and poor. We were now following another stream, a branch of the one we had just left. It was a ra pid noisy torrent, its waters, like:all these Alpine torrents, not clear and sparkling, but of a clouded white color. As we followed it all day clear up to its source, we noticed that each little branch, coming in from the snow patches and , smaller glaciers, high up the mountain, came in white and clouded, and that the main stream itself, when we found it issuing from underneath the Grind lewald Glacier, instead of running pure and clear, had the same clouded appearance. We had fol lowed the upper Rhone for forty or ',fifty miles from the little town of Breigg, to where it had become a large river and emptied itself into the grand expanse of Lake •Geneva, and. it had the . same clouded appearance all' the way. I judged it to be owing to the large amount of debris car ried down by the rapid stream, and the proba bility that under the glaciers there lie t eds of white limestone soft and chalky, such as appear in various places along the mountain passes and at the roadsides. This valley is opening grandly as we ride along —the road is gradually ascending—on either hand are little Swiss farms in a high state of Cul tivation. The chalets look thrifty and neat. The bedding is out to air,on the little verandahs. The flax hangs on the militig to dry. Bundles of herbs of various kinds also hang close up to the projecting roof. A child or two sits in the door way to look at the passers-by. Goats crop the herbage of the roadside, and from the hay fields, the women with their red handkerchiefs tied about their heads, stop to gaze as we pass. Here a woman in full Swiss dress, neat peasant waist, heavy skirt and heavier shoes and stock ings, approaches us with a smile. The driver slackens his pace, and she hands into. the car riage two or, three boxes containing each a pretty little Swiss chalet, made with great care and nicety. You lift from the, box the delicate struc ture. On a flat board a little longer than your hand, sits the chalet about four inches square. It has its verandahs surrounding the first and second floors—glass windows, green blinds; the outside stairways leading to the lower balcony; in the yard the pump or spring stock and water trough; and at the other end of the little board a tiny barn or stable or perhaps the bake oven. Around the, edge of the board, is a pretty little fence, probably half an inch high enclosing the Swiss home. This is all cut out of soft pine wood and neatly joined with glue and pegs—and fits nicely in the box with sliding lid. "We must certainly take one of these pretty things home with us. It will be a nice parlor ornament. What is the price ?" "Zwei Francs," she ans wers holding up two finuers. Can it be that she asks but forty cents ? Why, in our country no one would make it for less than two or three dol lars! So we buy them amongst us and with smiles and a courtesy she turns back and we pass on ex amining our treasures. In the long winter even ings these thrifty Swiss peasants make them, and their wives and daughters turn them into money when the tourists come round. Presently a little child not three years old comes trotting out from a house to the roadside. She holds up a single flower, and with her eye now on us and then pick ing her way among the stones and bushes, she gets so close to the carriage that we fear she may be run over. She does not smile nor say a word, but does what she has been taught to do, mutely looks at us, holding up the flower. We throw out a few pennies without stopping. So she trots back to her home ' having accomplished her er rand. We could but despise the thrifty-looking mother standing in the cottage door, waiting the return of the little one she was thus early teach ing to be a beggar. Our feelings were less wrought upon, however, when we had become almost wea ried with fifteen or twenty similar applications in the course of an hour or two from children of all ages as we passed along. Larger girls, ten or twelve years old, came out, often, from comfortable looking homes and, without anything to sell or to pretend to sell, held out their hands to beg. We were fi nally obliged to say to them as the driver had told us, "Mir hab keine Grelt," (I have no money,) which they understood instantly. We had taken the precaution to take with us small Swiss coins, as we'had been told we shotdd want them on the way—for such purposes as these; but a shot-bag full would scarce have sufficed. The small Swiss coins are made of nickel. There are five, ten, fifteen, twenty, and fifty centime pieces. One hundred centimes make a franc, which is a silver coin worth twenty cents, bearing the impress of of Liberty in a sitting position; not unlike the sitting Liberty on our own silver coinage; and the word HELVETIA above her head. One hand rests upon a shield, bearing a large cross, the national emblem of the Swiss, while her other arm is extended pointing to a range of the Alps in the distance. The smaller nickels have the shield and cross on one side and large figures within a wreath on the other, denoting their number of cen times. They have no copper coinage, and in this point are in advance of England, France, Italy and Germany. Nothing is more unhandy in the tra veller's pocket than the ugly bulk of penny pieces which so soon accumulate while in England or France. In Italy and Austria they have innum erable little copper coins, the one centime piece, (1. of a cent;) being no larger than a grain of corn and very unhandy. But not only in her coinage is this little re public of Switzerland in advance of the surroun& ing nations,.as we shall see. A turn of the road brings to, sight quite a pretty little village nestled in the valley,and we ask the driver, what is that large wooden building. Its neat appearance and bright look had attracted' our attention. It was painted something the color of our Pictou stone, while most of the houses we had seen during the morning had no paint at all, and in fact most of the cottages throughout Switzerland are brown from the action of the weather, no attempt to paint or whitewash them being made. "It is a school of the Canton," ansitered the driver. "And who goes to the Canton school?" we asked. "All the children;" he replied. "It is supported by the Canton, and the poores.t child can go." We found after a good deal of questioning that a por don of it was a school of high grade, students be ing fitted for the University at •the public ex pense. The details of the system we ceulid gather from our driver, but we at once saw how far ahead of England, France, or Italy, the little republic stood, in the vastly important matter of the education of her children. Here is another woman with something to sell. What is it? Little ornaments in carved wood, the handiwork of these ingenious people. How neat this match box. The carving, represents a dead chamois hanging by one leg; beside it, the hunter's game bag, with the mouth hanging open, thus making , it a receptacle for matches. It.is beautifully carved, and with fine proportions. "What is the price?" "Zwei Francs" again— and " how much for this little carved basket ?" It was hanging against a background of ivy leaves. The basket just large enough for a nice match holder, and the whole, affair like the other, one, scarce larger than your hand. "Fan franc," she replies, (one franc). We buy them both and think how nicely they will look 'hanging on the wall of our chamber and sitting room at home, every time we Strike a light reminding us of this ride, to Grindlewald. A large trade is carried on in this carved wood-work. In luterlachen and other • towns near by,,there are establishments of considefable size, where the Work is collected and sold for shipment to this country and different parts of Europe. Inkstands, clocks, fancy pieces representing dead game of all, kinds, and every variety of ornamental work is cut in the most ac curate proportion and beautiful accuracy. The more ingenious workmen are constantly em ployed at it, and attain great perfection. We did not see one single animal or group of any kind that showed bad proportion or bungling work. It is for sale in the windows of every fancy store in Switzerland. I suppose we met twenty or thirty women along the road during the morning, of fering this carved work of the little chalets for sale. The valley is divided into small farms in high cultivation. The land rolls considerably, so as to be quite hilly at times. The stream keeps the south side of the valley, while our road runs along the north side. The •hill rises rapidly to our left and soon is covered with pines, being too steep for cultivation. The valley opens wider and we see on the opposite side apparently a half mile or so away (but really five or six miles from us), the landscape is walled in by a range of three high mountains. That one opposite, is the Grand Eiger. 'lts rocky wall is almost perpen dicular and narrows up to a jagged point. That point is certainly very high above ns ; the wall of rock seems certainly to be 2,000 feet high, per haps more. We refer to our guide book and find that the Eiger rises 12,240 feet above the level of the sea and the land on which, we are riding is 3,507 feet above the same level. It seems to tally impossible that that mountain is towering 8,733 feet above us, but it is really so. More than a mile and a half of perpendicular travel to bring us to that summit, and the base is just over there, apparently four or five squares,from - us! Well, how about, that next mountain further along; the Mettenberg that appears almost as high as the Eiger. What says the guide book about it? It is covered with snow for a long way be low the top. Its highest point stands 6,300 feet above us ! The third mountain yonder, the Wetterhorn, appears to have no ve..etation ; a large part of it shows one bare surface of rock rising almost perpendicularly above the valley, and amongst its jagged corners and cavities, wherever snow can lodge, then it is, in its silver whiteness glittering in the sun, with here and there a sparkling rivulet trickling down over the crags; —the rivulets rising in those glaciers, far up there, which the sun is 'trying to melt. How high does the Wetterhorn tower above us ? 11,535 feet above the sea-8,028 feet higher than where we are riding along ! There is no more sublime sight probably in all this Alpine country, than these three mountain monarchs, standing side by side along this pretty valley, all filled with green fields and smiling orchards and dotted with villages; while the precipitous moun tain walls rise up for thousands of feet, showing I their bald rocky sides, with pines clinging to them where they caught a foothold in the lower portions, but above the pines, not a spear of grass or a tuft of moss, all crags and rocks and snow, while back between the mountains, nothing is seen but crag after crag, peak atter peak—with all the recesses and hollows filled in with eternal beds of snow and the peaks covered with snow to the summits, white, brilliant, glittering in the blazing July sun. But. I must not weary you. In my next I hope We will reach the Glacier itself. G. W. M.
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