ss of fortune is not to be reckoned
among his calamities, because it was no calamity to him. He ended by
finding a richer treasure than any that he had set out to obtain; and I
remember that he said to me once, not long before his end, that
whatever others might feel about their own lives, he could not for a
moment doubt that his own had been an education of a deliberate and
loving kind, and that the day when he realised that, when he saw that
there was not a single incident in his life that had not a deep and an
intentional value for him, was one of the happiest days of his whole
existence. I do not know that he expected anything or speculated on
what might await him hereafter; he put his future, just as he put his
past and his present, in the hands of God, to Whom he committed himself
"as unto a faithful Creator."

THE ALTAR FIRE

September 8, 1888.

We came back yesterday, after a very prosperous time at Zermatt; we
have been there two entire months. Yes, it was certainly prosperous! We
had delicious weather, and I have seen a number of pleasant people. I
have done a great deal of walking, I have read a lot of novels and old
poetry, I have sate about a good deal in the open air; but I do not
really like Switzerland; there are of course an abundance of noble
wide-hung views, but there are few vignettes, little on which the mind
and heart dwell with an intimate and familiar satisfaction. Those airy
pinnacles of toppling rocks, those sheets of slanted snow, those
ice-bound crags--there is a sense of fear and mystery about them! One
does not know what is going on there, what they are waiting for; they
have no human meaning. They do not seem to have any relation to
humanity at all. Sunday after Sunday one used to have sermons in that
hot, trim little wooden church--some from quite famous preachers--about
the need of rest, the advantage of letting the mind and eye dwell in
awe upon the wonderful works of God. Of course the mountains are
wonderful enough; but they make me feel that humanity plays a very
trifling part in the mind and purpose of God. I do not think that if I
were a preacher of the Gospel, and had a speculative turn, I should
care to take a holiday among the mountains. I should be beset by a
dreary wonder whether the welfare of humanity was a thing very dear to
God at all. I should feel very strongly what the Psalmist said, "What
is man that Thou art mindful of him?" It would take the wind out of my