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.