He began by stating that whilst on a visit to his native place in the neighborhood, he heard of the proposed meeting at La Lechevette, and had come thither without really knowing the exact point of meeting; but the singing of the hymn in the pine wood suddenly revealed this to him, and he now must say how happy he felt in finding himself here, in this assembly, amongst the Alps, beneath God's open heaven, and that he would avail himself of the occasion to address a few words to them from the depths of his heart. And with a powerful voice, full of ever-varying expression, and with arms outstretched, now towards the heights, now towards the assembly, he conjured his hearers “to think of the last hour, of the dark flood to which all must come, and to hold themselves in readiness for the last journey; because, as in the old time, no one could pass over Jordan who could not properly pronounce the word Shibboleth, so, on the day of judgment, no one could enter the kingdom of heaven who could not pronounce the name Jesus.” After which, a discourse followed, so rich in anecdote and narrative from England, Switzerland, Hindostan, Nova Zembla, Canada, the Cape, and, in. fact, from all parts of the world, of the miracles of Christianity, histories of conversion, of Christian death-beds, of souls saved out of mortal anguish, and all this interspersed with ardent prayers and beseechings to them “to reflect, to lay these things to heart, to come, come now at that moment to the Saviour,” and all poured forth in a rushing torrent of spiritual eloquence, so that, altogether, it was—wonderful.
Here was a popular preacher of the right sort; one
