is more than a quarter of a mile across, and is one of the most imposing sights of its kind in the whole of Switzerland. The great body of the glacier, of course, is above it, and cannot be seen except by those who scale the surrounding mountain-sides. But what is a glacier? it may be possible that some one is asking. Well, if my readers will be satisfied with a rough and general explanation, I shall attempt to give one. A glacier, then, may be popularly described as a river of ice coming down from the loftier mountain regions into the lower valleys, where it melts and forms the source of ever-flowing streams. It is formed by the softening and gliding down of the snow on the heights, the thawing which goes on all day in summer being followed by a new freezing at night, so that in the valleys between the peaks it swells into a compact, yet flexible, mass, always sliding down by its own weight, but always fed from above by the falling and half-melting snow. And year after year, age after age, this process goes on, the waste in the warm valleys at the lower end being always supplied as the accumulations above press the ponderous mass slowly but steadily downward. The road, at one of its turns, skirts a cliff overlooking the "Fall" of the Rhone glacier, and long we sat on the edge of that cliff gazing on the wonderful sight, and looking round on the stupendous mountainpiles that pierced the clouds above us. We could not but feel now the force of Byron's often-quoted but powerful lines describing his impressions in presence of such scenes of mountain majesty : "Above me are the Alps, The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls All that expands the spirit, yet appals, How earth may pierce to heaven, yet leave vain man below." The lower end of the glacier, which spreads itself out like the foam of a cataract after plunging over the fall, reaches almost to the hotel, standing full in view as a welcome refuge in this otherwise solitary wilderness. On the way down we found the beautiful red Alpine roseone of the "flowers that skirt the eternal frost," as Coleridge has expressed it-blooming in great profusion not many yards from the ice. Darkness came on, and rain began to fall, ere we entered the hotel door, and secured accommodation. It was Saturday night, and we were anxious to know what prospects we had of spending a profitable Sabbath in that desolate region. After supper we got into conversation with a smart young Englishman, who turned out to be the clergyman deputed by the Church of England Colonial and Foreign Mission Society to conduct service at this point for a part of the tourist season. We were very glad to know of the arrangement. But one thing puzzled us a little. Finding that we were ministers, and therefore interested in such work as he had come to discharge, our young clerical friend expressed a wish to have some assistance from us in the service. It wasn't to read the prayers nor the Scripture lesson; it wasn't to preach the sermon; for, not having had a bishop's hands laid upon us, in the strictly Episcopal sense, we could not presume to take any such duties upon us. It wasn't even to lead the singing, though there seemed to be some uncertainty as to how that was to be accomplished. What was it, then ? It was to go round with the plate in hand, and take in the collection! Well, we were willing to do anything in the circumstances, and promised to undertake the duty. Next morning at eleven, eighteen persons, all English-speaking, of course, assembled for worship in a hall of the inn set apart for the purpose. Our friend officiated in his white surplice, and proved decidedly High Church in his tendencies. The prayers were rather lifelessly and monotonously read, still we tried to lift up our hearts to God notwithstanding. We hoped the sermon would bring with it a little more life and reality; but no; it was altogether cold and conventional, pitched in the high-and-dry style, and after exactly nine minutes by the watch, it came to a very neat and very tame conclusion. We now began to think of our part of the morning's engagements. I could see the bronze plate from where I was sitting; but just at the proper moment when, according to Anglican usage, the clergyman lifted it up, and one of us was about to advance and take it from him, another young cleric in canonical coat and collar, betokening his full ordination at Episcopal hands, promptly forestalled us. A new arrangement apparently had been made since the previous evening; an accredited member of the true Church had been found to perform the task which had been entrusted to us; and the precious plate, accordingly, was saved from being defiled by our unconsecrated hands. We expected to be allowed to wait and partake of the Lord's Supper, which was to be observed at the close of the service; but after he had poured out the wine and made all the arrangements, our friend very pointedly gave us the hint that we might now retire; and so, like two heathen men and publicans, who had no right to share in the privileges of the saints, we made our way to the door, with all the eyes of the little congregation upon us. It was wet and drizzling outside; still we felt as if there was more of God in the bare rocks, the overhanging clouds, the towering peaks, the dripping ice-caverns of the glacier, and the grand rush of the Rhone flowing full-born from the glacier's foot, than in all the priestly pomp and ceremony of that very select assembly we had left behind us. And even though surrounded with the stupendous handiworks of the Almighty, the solemn and impressive signs of His infinite majesty and power, we could yet think of the love and tenderness which have been revealed in the sacrifice of the Cross; and we could remember that the God who laid the foundations of the earth and piled up the mountains, is also the Father of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ; and that though He is the high and lofty One who inhabits eternity, and whose name is Holy, He yet dwells "with him also who is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones.” THE LATE SIR GEORGE HARVEY. It is not long since our brethren in Edinburgh had to mourn, in the death of Mr Adam Black, the loss of one of their most marked and eminent men; and now in Sir George Harvey, President of the Royal Scottish Academy, another distinguished member of their circle has passed away. After a long illness, which latterly assumed an apoplectic form, he expired on the evening of Saturday the 22d January, having lain in an almost unconscious condition for several days. It was as a painter, of course, that Sir George Harvey was chiefly known, and his name occupies a most illustrious place on the roll of British artists. He was peculiarly happy and powerful in dealing with scenes and incidents connected with our Scottish religious history. Most of us have seen his “Quitting the Manse" on the walls of the National Gallery. But the three illustrations of Covenanting times, the “Covenanters' Preaching,” the “Covenanters' Baptism,” and the “Covenanters' Communion," with which we are all more or less familiar through engravings, have perhaps given him his strongest hold on the national heart. But great as were his fame and eminence as a painter, it is rather as a Christian and an adherent of our denominational principles that we are here naturally called upon to regard him. Of Congregationalism, he was a valuable supporter and a consistent representative. His first public profession of religion was made in connection with our church in Leith, and soon after he began to take part in the work of the Sabbath school, and to apply himself to various forms of Christian usefulness. Ultimately, he became a member of Dr Alexander's church in Edinburgh, where for many years he held the office of deacon, and won for himself great confidence and esteem. It was not to the neighbourhood of Edinburgh, however, that he originally belonged. He was a native of St Ninians, near Stirling, where he was born in 1806. In Stirling, whither his father removed soon after his birth, he spent his boyhood and early youth. He was at first apprenticed to a bookseller, but his inborn love of art soon dis played itself, and in 1823 he came to Edinburgh to enter on a course of artistic training in one of the schools there. Ere many years had passed, his pictures began to attract attention. Like many other artists, he had little encouragement at the outset ; but he was self-denying, Godfearing, high principled, and remarkably industrious, and gradually the superior character and tone of his works gained for him an honourable and wide-spread reputation. He took an active part in establishing the Scottish Academy; and in 1864, after he had given many proofs of his power and genius as a painter, he was elected president of that institution, and the honour of knighthood was, a year or two subsequently, conferred upon him. No better estimate of his character, both as a man and as an artist, could be given than that which was supplied by Dr Alexander in the sermon which he preached on the occasion of his death. "A peculiar excellence," he said, "attaching to the productions of Sir George Harvey's pencil was their high moral character. Of his historical paintings every one depicted some scene of deep spiritual interest, and illustrated and enforced some great moral or religious lesson; and when he ceased to occupy himself with such subjects, it was to nature in her serener aspects that he turned, and in the homes and occupations of the dwellers in quiet pastoral regions that he sought the objects of his art. In scenes of calm, natural beauty, amidst the solemn silence of the everlasting hills, he delighted to roam, and such scenes he especially sought to transfer to his canvas. They lifted up his own soul to God, and he sought by his art to make them the means of producing the same effect on others. He delighted also to depict scenes in the common life of men, scenes which had powerfully touched that cord of human sympathy which so strongly vibrated in his own soul. With a deep sense of humour, and with an eye for the ludicrous, both in form and action, he never stooped to cater for the mere amusement of the public, nor did he ever use his skill in such a way as to offend the sensibilities of the most refined. Nothing mean, nothing trivial, nothing fantastic engaged his pencil. In all he did, a high moral purpose was discernible, and his works, if they secured for him the reputation of a great artist, no less commended him as a great moral teacher. This was wholly in keeping with his general character. Endowed with genius and keen susceptibilities, he was at the same time a man of high principle, of simple and natural tastes, of broad sympathies, of warm affections, and a kindly and genial spirit." "Now that he is gone, he will be greatly missed. In the circle of his profession, of which he was an ornament and the head; in the family circle, of which he was the revered and radiating centre; in the wide circle of friendly associations within which he delighted to move, and where his kindly and generous sympathy found congenial scope; in the church of which he was a member and an office-bearer, and to which he rendered so many valuable services; and in the general society of this city, where his name has so long been a word of pride and honour, his removal has caused a blank which will be long and painfully felt by all, and which to those most closely connected with him can never be repaired." HINTS TO CHURCH MEMBERS. TO YOUNG CHURCH MEMBERS. G. M'H. In a former paper I threw out some hints to newly admitted members. I make a distinction between them and young persons who are members of the church. All newly admitted members are not young persons; and all young persons in the church are not newly admitted. Doubtless many whom I now address were included in my former paper, but I now speak to them as occupying a somewhat different position. First of all, let me say to you, dear young brethren, that you occupy a more responsible position than you are apt to imagine. What the churches to which you now belong will be a dozen or twenty years hence depends very much on what you make them. I say this deliberately. By you chiefly the character of the churches will have to be maintained and the work of the churches carried on. Those who have formerly borne the burden and heat of the day are gradually falling, and by and by the burden will fall on your shoulders. An important work is therefore before you. Churches founded on our principles have a high mission to fulfil on earth. We have no manner of doubt that we have, on the whole, caught the Apostolic idea of fellowship and government, but though we have cause for thankfulness that we have been enabled to do some important work in the land, yet we all acknowledge that our principles might have been wrought with higher efficiency; and we all admit that in the present day our churches need to be quickened into a higher state of spirituality. To effect this must be one of the chief aims of your life-and you must keep it constantly before you-your influence and your responsibility are increasing year by year. You will soon be the leaders in the churches, and others will be influenced by your example and counsel. It is evident, therefore, if you are to fill your place worthily, you must make the most of your present advantages in order to form and perfect your own character and promote your efficiency for your work. And now a word about your work. The Master has work for all of you, and if any of you are "standing idle," let me entreat you to find out at once the kind of work you are fitted for, and to set about it cheerfully. Do not be impatient for the highest kind of work at first. It is no uncommon thing for Christian young men, under the fervour of their first love, to long for the ministry either at home or abroad. I would not discourage this desire-would that it more frequently took a |