than by the Lutherans. The prayer comprehended much under few words, and its quiet, earnest feeling, went to the heart.
A restless night succeeded, for me, to the quiet, holy evening; for the extreme cold prevented my sleeping. Fortunately, the weather changed during the night. The fog was transformed to frost-crystals, and the morning arose beaming over a snow-covered landscape. The sun shone gloriously, from a lofty blue sky. It was delightful to go forth upon the pure snow, and gather small, dark-blue gentians, which came forth as the snow melted before the heat of the sun. There were neither trees, shrubs, nor birds to be seen. The Furca valley lies 7,419 feet above the level of the sea, and is scarcely ever free from snow. Snow-clad Alps close it in on every side, so that there is no open view. Finster-Aarhorn and St. Gothard, the highest Alpine heights, which can be seen far beyond the others, rise on the opposite sides of the narrow valley.
It was Sunday, and all was quiet in the little inn. We also had determined to remain quiet during the early hours of the forenoon, and whilst the sun removed the frosty vail of night from the grassy sward of the valley, and the little hills, we read A. Monod's sermon on “le plan de Dieu” It is a good thing to place the futileness of human plans in opposition to the plan of God. But, do we really know so little of God's plan, in its chief features, as this preacher represents? Has not He told us something about it? Has not He written it in Divine characters on the earth? And can we really understand so little,
