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required time to adjust his mind to the new world by which he was surrounded. But he was soon studying it systematically and thoroughly, visiting its great benevolent institutions, finding access to public men, enjoying the private hospitalities of many kind friends whom he found or made.
He pursued his journey to France and Switzerland, ENJOYING everything with a heartiness refreshing to his companions, and making notes in his journal, giving glimpses of his own character that will present him pleasingly to the reader. We will make a few extracts from his note-books which are before us, to the number of a dozen or more.
EXTRACTS FROM HIS JOURNALS-PARIS-MEETINGS WITH CHRISTIAN FRIENDS-SWITZERLAND-CHAMOUNI AND THE ALPS.
FROM MR RIGHTER'S JOURNAL.
SUNDAY, June 10, 1853.-In the afternoon we receive an invitation to attend a little prayer-meeting of Americans at the house of a good lady resident here, and we hail the opportunity with joy; we go, and find a delightful little gathering and union of Christian hearts there, and it indeed seems like the house of God and the gate of heaven to our souls. It is proposed, as the need is peculiarly felt by those present, to make an effort to establish an American Church in Paris, where service will be performed for their benefit especially; which shall be attrac tive to them, and will make them feel at home in their church in a strange land. It meets the approbation and earnest prayer of all present, and I trust may result through the effort and prayer of that little meeting in Rue d'Astorq. In the evening we hear Mr Bridel in his neat little evangelical chapel. The tones of his voice are very touching, and much effect is produced on the audience. The singing in French, by the congregation, is very delightful indeed to us who have been so long from heartfelt devotional worship.
MONDAY, June 11.-In the evening we attend another meeting to consult in reference to the expediency of establishing an American Church in Paris. The need is felt deeply by all present. Rev. Mr Bridel, the Protestant evangelical French minister in the city, gives an affecting account of the cases in which young men from America, entire strangers, have written to him in times of sickness, to come and visit them. And how far more grateful and useful to them, in such cases, would be an American Christian brother from their own native land! He would be the medium, also, between the Americans and French, the religious ambassador here. There are two hundred American families resident here, and five hundred or two thousand persons constantly here for business or pleasure. All these might be attracted to a house of God. I trust the movement will meet with a cordial response from America.
WEDNESDAY, July 27, 1853.-At length we arrive in the lovely vale of Chamouni, with the summit of Mont Blanc before us, and the mer de glace and mountain peaks around. It is a lovely spot in a clear summer evening, as the last rays of the setting sun are lingering on the monarch of mountains, rolled in clouds, with a diadem of snow circling his brow.
In the evening we go out to take a view around from the church steps near by, and here we fully realise the poetry, and yet the truthfulness of Coleridge's hymn written at Chamouni. The air is clear and cloudless now; a light is shining mid-way up the mountain-the fire of a party who are making the ascent, and have encamped there for the night; and Jupiter, bright and beautiful, is shining just above the summit. It is indeed a most sub
lime view. We gaze and admire for a time, then return to our hotel, engage our guides and mules, and make all our arrangements for the ascent of the Jardin on the
THURSDAY, July 28.—The morning breaks bright and clear. We rise at six and mount our mules, provided with guides, provisions, thick shoes, Alpine stock, green veils, spectacles, and thick coats, for the journey to the Jardin. We cross the green meadow, the Arve, and ascend the mountain side. A party of ladies are before us winding their way up the mountain side,—a picturesque view. We soon overtake and pass them. Then we have a party above, and these far below, in connexion with the valley beneath, the green mountains far above, the lofty range on the opposite side, the silver-threaded cascade winding adown it, the mer de glace, the swift running Arveiron at its base,—all form a panoramic view, the most sublime and beautiful. We cross frequent Alpine torrents, and pass fountains gushing from the mountain side. At one a company of Swiss girls tempt us with water and refreshments for sale. We take a hasty draught, and mount up, until at length in three hours we reach the Montanvert, the best point for viewing the mer de glace and the surrounding scenery. Here we take a little wine, leave our trusty mules, and commence the ascent to the Jardin on foot. We pass along the steep mountain side, clinging with our hands and pointing our pike, where a single slip would precipitate us hundreds of feet into the chasm below. Yet so great is our excitement and courage, for the moment, and, moreover, so faithful are our guides, that we have not the least sense of danger. Now we reach the mer de glace, a sea of frozen waves, with deep crevasses
and gorges, worn by the melting snow, and waterfalls rushing down the mountain side. This seems, indeed, frightful, accompanied with the roar of the water far below, the fall of the rocks, and the avalanches from the peaks on either side. Yet we advance, leaping the chasms, and guarding against the covert pitfalls, till we have crossed a portion of this frozen sea and reached an intermediate point of rocks and stones, borne down by the winter's avalanche. We look back, and are amazed at the dangers we have passed, yet there are still more before us. The view is now grand indeed: the summits around are covered with snow; numbers shoot up far into the sky of solid rock-massive, and of purple hue, while one just before us is clad with green grass and blooming flowers. We strengthen ourselves by a draught of cool ice-water, and advance over a still more dangerous path, till we reach the base of this peak, two hundred feet high. Here the sun shines in the rarified air with scorching heat. We put on our green veils and spectacles, and begin the toilsome ascent. So bracing and exhilarating has been the air thus far, that we scarcely feel fatigued; but we have now passed from winter to midsummer heat, and begin to feel quite exhausted, and we sit down here among the violets and Alpine roses, and refresh ourselves with the beautiful view of summer and winter, side by side, and rocky snowcapped grandeur all around—perhaps the most impressive of all, the sea of glaring ice spread out in front. We toil up this steep ascent, cross another belt of snow and ice, and at length reach the Jardin-a beautiful little oasis of green grass and flowers, amid a desert of rocks and snow around. A stream of cool water gushes from the rocks,