and in one place inclined somewhat to the mountainous. The ascent cost us a long walk for the relief of the horses, but we were well recompensed by the view from the summit. A landscape of undulating hills, extending far and wide, was terminated by the lofty and brilliant glaciers of the Alps; beneath, lay a deep and richly-cultivated vale, enlivened by a busy river, and several villages.

At the end of each stage, we had not only fresh horses, but a new driver, who never omitted, by a per culiar cracking of the whip, to convince those who had ears to hear, that he understood his business to perfection. These Swiss "cochers," are the most expert whipmen I have seen. During the whole journey from Bâle to Zurich, we had an almost perpetual roar of whip artillery; each crack resembled the report of a pistol, and on entering a town, we had a succession of batteries which were really astounding. At first we pitied the poor horses, but we learned it was a part of Swiss whipmanship, to frighten the animals by the startling crack, without even touching a hair of their hide. A clever result of science this, and a benevolence which the majority of your American drivers have yet to learn.

We were escorted the entire journey by a large dog, of the greyhound breed; and, certainly, he seemed to consider himself quite as important a personage as our conducteur. Arriving at the foot of a hill, where it was necessary the passengers should alight, he stood by the door of the diligence, as if demanding the expected act of charity for the horses; and planting his feet upon the steps, he looked narrowly into the vehicle, seemingly to satisfy himself whether all had dismounted. Finding all right, he resumed his station ahead, and when he had time from other duties, he paid his respects to cats and chickens, in no very complimentary manner. Many a poor grimal

kin had to fly in desperation, and nothing but a rapid ascent up the nearest tree, saved her from death, or broken bones. Water was always a luxury, and he never let the opportunity slip of cooling his feet in the stream; sometimes, when greatly in need of refreshment, he treated himself to a bath in the wateringtrough, at the tavern, and then proceeded at his usual rate. "It is easy," said a gentleman to me, after admiring the motions of this dog, " It is not easy, at all times, to draw the line between instinct and reason; the higher marks of instinct often go so far beyond the lower marks of reason, that it is frequently difficult to determine the distinction."

To-day, in our walks through the city, we met the same dog in one of the squares, not weary, apparently, with his journey, but just taking a stroll, and with the easy carelessness of one that had come from no arduous duty, but like one enjoying a holyday. This morning we left our rooms in full expectation of having our eyes feasted with the sublime and beautiful scenery, for which Zurich is famed; after which, we intended to return to Bâle; but, to our disappointment, a dense fog rested upon the entire scene. The indication of anything like its speedy removal was most unfavourable; and, at the best, we could but expect a hazy day. Our arrangements would not permit us to tarry till the next day, so the end of our journey was likely to be defeated.

St. Austin says: “He that carrieth his own temple about him, may go to prayer when he pleaseth." "How quickly," says another, "thought can fly,many thousands of miles in a minute; prayer can travel as rapidly as thought toward heaven.' An old divine compares prayer to the ring* which Queen

* A friend has suggested, that the story of this ring has been disputed by intelligent historians; the thought itself, however, is sanctified by the writer in question, and so improved. J. C.

Elizabeth gave the Earl of Essex, bidding him, if he were in any distresses, to send that ring to her, and she would help him; and God hath given us a ring. Ps. 1. 15. "The Bible," said a good man, some years ago, "is God's letter, wherein he opens his mind to man; and prayer is man's letter, wherein he opens his mind to God." An excellent remark; and had it not been for that part of my Lord's letter to me, "Be careful for nothing; but in everything, by prayer and supplication, let your request be made known unto God," Phil. iv. 6, it is likely I should not have ventured with sufficient faith to have put in my plea for the removal of the fog. The Christian may say of his faith, as Archimedes of the engine he had constructed: "Could I find where to fasten it, I would not doubt but to remove the whole earth by it." Surely, I thought, if faith can remove a mountain, according to the declaration of Christ, can it not have an influence upon this mist? But I must have a place whereon to plant my faith. I have found it. "Therefore, I say unto you, what things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them." Mark xi. 24.

After spending a short time in private prayer, we ascended to the promenade on the top of the Hotel. The fog was so thick, we could only see a few yards before us. Our conversation turned upon that beautiful passage, "The Lord God is a sun and shield; he will give grace and glory; and no good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly," Ps. lxxxiv. 11, which led to some philosophical reflections upon the natural sun; his influence upon the various objects of nature, not forgetting "fogs, clouds, and vapours." The luminary of day occupies, doubtless, his proper position in the heavens; and could he only shower down his rays upon this damp mist, unembarrassed by dense clouds in the higher regions of the atmosphere,

the annoyance would soon be removed, and the mist absorbed, and the magnificent scenery underneath would be revealed to our admiring vision. It is thus with the tempted believer, when the Sun of Righteousness arises upon his soul, with healing on his wings; then it is that all the clouds which obscured his spiritual vision disappear, and the heavenly land is unfolded to the eye of realizing faith, in all the grandeur that such a divine medium can afford.

From this, the conversation led to the nature and power of prayer: "No good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly." "God has not promised," said Mr. H., "to give us everything; only those things which are good; and what are really good, we must leave him to decide, who knows better than we do." A poet, I replied, has laid down our duty very scripturally in the following verse :

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"Still raise to God the supplicating voice,

And leave to heaven the measure and the choice;
Implore his aid, in his decisions rest,

Secure whate'er he gives, he gives the best."

Another poet," rejoined Mr. H., "has well expressed our sentiments :

'With patient mind, thy course of duty run,

God nothing does, nor suffers to be done,

But thou wouldst do thyself; if thou couldst see
The end of all events, as well as He.""

Just then I happened to look over my left shoulder, and saw a bright spot, the sun's rays acting on the fog; it seemed like a place worn into a thin transparent veil; but toward the earth it was as dense as ever. We had not an opportunity of judging how close an alliance obscurity has to grandeur; as is sometimes the case, when surrounding objects, and those especially in the distance, assume an unreal magnitude, as seen through the medium of a thin, misty

veil. The fog had indeed become white as the driven snow, and exquisitely soft and delicate; but so dense, and so impervious was it to the powers of vision, that curiosity, however intense, could obtain no satisfaction. The sun's rays at length burst through the thin part already referred to, and the vapours bestirred themselves. In about ten minutes, they began to move off, and objects, of whose existence we had no knowledge a moment or two before, were unfolded to our view. But it was not the gradual defining of outlines, and the variety of parts that we sometimes observe in American mists. Here, the retiring fog rolled itself up like a shriveled parchment, leaving the landscape glowing with light, and with a freshness of colouring, calculated to remind one how lively creation was in its youthful prime.

amusement.

The scene became enchantingly beautiful; and the progressive unfolding of the whole afforded us no small Exclamation succeeded to exclamation, as the city, with its streets and temples, gardens, waters, verdant slopes, and mountain sides, part after part was given to our view; the fog in the meantime furling itself upward, till it had spread like table cloths along the ribs of the mountains. There was scarcely a breath stirring, and yet the vapours, as if afraid of the rays of the sun, hurried away. Pieces of the mountains, in some places, as if hanging in mid-air, peeped through the white mists which surrounded them, and looked like parts of another landscape in the heavens. At length, the last shred of the veil disappeared from the highest Alpine peak, and a scene was spread before us, so fascinating, and so richly diversified with beauty, as rarely falls to the lot of the picturesque traveller to behold; an assemblage, in fact, of all those fine objects of nature, allowed to be the best adapted to delight the eye and excite the imagination; and which were highly calculated to impress the mind with