For the Home Journal. THE CASTLE OF CHILLON. BY REV. DANIEL GARVER, W Calvin, and neglects to sail over HO visits Geneva, the city of John its enchanting lake, deprives himself of one of the richest treats in European travel. The day most remarkable in the six weeks I have been on the continent, has been the 21st of July, which I spent on the bosom of Lake Geneva, the Lacus Lemanus of the Romans. This lake has nearly the shape of a half-moon, its horns being turned towards the south. It is the largest lake in Switzerland, being fifty-five miles long, measured close to its northern shore, and about forty miles along the southern; it is six miles wide at the broadest part, and its greatest depth is nine hundred feet. This lake is perfectly clear, although it is fed by the muddy waters of the Rhone that come rushing down from the summits of the Alps. "Mon lac est le premier," (my lake is the first,) are the words in which Voltaire, who lived in Ferney, near its shore, has vaunted the beauties of the Lake of Geneva. Although it may be surpassed by the sunny softness of the Italian lakes, yet it has high claims to admiration. The vine-covered slopes of Vaud contrast well with the abrupt, rocky precipices of Savoy. Near Geneva the hills subside, admitting an exquisite view of Mont Blanc, whose snowy summit, though sixty miles distant, is often reflected in its waters. "Lake Leman woos me with its crystal face, The mirror where the stars and mountains view The stillness of their aspect in each trace Its clear depth yields of their far height and hue." At its eastern extremity, it extends to the very base of the high Alps, which, by their nearness, give its scenery a character of indescribable magnificence. A new world seemed to open before my wondering eyes. Am I still on earth? Is all this real, or am I dreaming? Surely, I am now enjoying that I have long desired! Strange to tell, along this glorious little sea, this jewel in the ring of the world, "Clear, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake, But I must not dwell upon the Lake, or I shall never get to the Castle, of which I set out to tell you. the "Bateau a vapeur," Aigle, at five Leaving Geneva in o'clock in the morning, we reached Villeneuve, at the other extremity of the lake, at eleven, having halted at the principal towns and villages along the northern shore. As we neared the end of the lake, a very large, peculiar white building rose up before us. It was the Castle of Chillon, rendered famous in its old age by the poems of Byron. As I had some three hours before the boat would return to Geneva, I immediately directed my steps thither. It is about half an hour's walk from Villeneuve. The castle stands on an isolated rock nearly surrounded by deep water, but within a stone's throw of the shore and of the road, with which it communicates by a wooden bridge. "It was built in 1238, by Amedeus IV., of Savoy, and was long used as a state prison, where among other victims, many of the early Reformers were immured. When Byron, in the Prisoner of Chillon, described the sufferings of an imaginary captive, he was not acquainted with the history of the real prisoner, Bonivard, prior of St. Victor, who, having rendered himself obnoxious to the Duke of Savoy by his exertions to free the Genevese from the Savoyard yoke, was seized by the Duke's emissaries, and | demned passed the last night before his secretly carried off to this castle. For six execution. There is the rough bed, quarlong years he was buried in its deepest ried out of the solid rock, on which he was dungeon, on a level with the surface of the compelled to lie! Next we come into the lake." dungeon of Bonivard, which is "airy and spacious, consisting of two aisles, almost like the crypt of a church; its floor and one side are formed out of the living rock, and it is lighted by several windows, through which the sun's light passes by reflection from the surface of the lake up to the roof, transmitting partly, also, the color of the waters. Formerly it was subdivided into two small cells by partition walls between the pillars," of which there are seven in number. On the third of these pillars Byron inscribed his name. His example has been followed by Dickens and a multitude of others. Attached to the fifth pillar is still remaining the ring to which Bonivard is said to have been fastened, and the stone floor at its base is worn by his constant pacing to and fro. His chain allowed him to walk back and forth about four feet, within one foot of the pillar. To sleep he must sit upon the floor and lean his head against the solid pillar, and thus for six years. Byron afterwards wrote the sonnet on Bonivard, in which he says:- On my way to the castle I fell in with a number of others who were also going thither. On our arrival, we were conducted through the massive gateway into this strange building, which, if walls had tongues, might tell some wondrous tales. Our course was first into the monstrous kitchen and dining-room of the Duke. Thence into the hall of justice (injustice); and then into what was once the magnificent drawing-room, and through a number of the private chambers. But now we come to a sight! Here is an oubliette, an opening in the floor, under which was a pit eighty feet deep. At the top are three steps, but no more. Hither prisoners were brought, and, in the dark, required to walk down those three steps, and, as may be imagined, those prisoners gave no further trouble. As more than three hundred years have passed since the castle was wrested from the Duke of Savoy, this "cachot" has been partially filled up in the progress of centuries. We were next taken to see the chapel, yes, that devilish prince even had a chapel, in which he pretended to worship the "Prince of And thy sad floor an altar; for 'twas trod Until his very steps have left a trace Peace!" Before we leave we must go Woru, as if the cold pavement were a sod, down into the lower regions, into the dun- By Bonivard! May none those marks efface! geon of Bonivard. We first pass through For they appeal from tyranny to God." a room for the servants, and thence into But the dark night did not continue the place of execution, where is the beam, always. The morning at length dawned, black with age, extended across one of the and with it came joy and rejoicing. "In dark vaults, to which the condemned were 1536, the Swiss wrested the Pays de Vaud formerly hung. On the opposite side are from the hand of Charles V., of Savoy. traces of an opening through the wall Chillon was the last place which held out where the bodies were pitched out into the for him; but an army of seven thousand lake, which is said to be eight hundred Bernese besieged it by land, while the galfeet deep along side the castle. Imme- leys of the Genevese assaulted it by water, diately above the place of execution is the soon compelled it to surrender, and Boni"Hall of Justice." (?) These places were vard, with other captives, was set free," very intimately related, and there was a and lived many years thereafter. Great passage from one to the other. We now and astounding were the changes which pass on through another doorway, and had occurred during the time of his imcome into the dark place where the con-prisonment. He almost realized the legend "Chillon thy prison is a holy place, of the seven sleepers. He had left Geneva a Roman Catholic state, and dependent on the Duke of Savoy; he found her free, and a republic, openly professing the Reformed faith. The castle has, of late, been converted into a magazine for military stores. "It is by this castle that Rousseau has fixed the catastrophe of his Heloïse, in the rescue of one of her children by Julie from the water; the shock of which, and the illness produced by the immersion, is the cause of her death." The infamous Duke of Savoy has long since gone "to his own place," but his castle still stands a witness of his cruelty. Basel, Switzerland, August 15th, 1857. IS IT TRUE? S it true that there are in the world 670 000,000 of our fellow creatures who are still bowing down to stocks and stones, ignorant of the living and true God; and all this in a time emphatically called “The age of missions ?" Is it true that in our own land the Sabbath is openly, legally desecrated by liquor and other traffic, open railway and excur sion parties, with many other habitual customs? Is it true that there are every year at least 8,000,000 of quarters of grain used in making spirituous liquors, the bane and curse of the people? Is it true that the issues of the infidel and immoral press are far above the religious; and that while the land is flooded with worthless and immoral publications, sound religious papers are comparatively rarely met with? And finally, is it true that by far the greater portion of professing Christians never effectually aid in the work of evangelization, save by an occasional subscription or temporary effort? Reader, what are you doing for Christ? You have now entered upon another year. Is it not well to call yourself to account for the manner in which you have spent the last? Have you lived for yourself or your Saviour? Have you got nearer to heaven or nearer to hell than you were at the beginning of the year? Answer to God and your own conscience, in view of the judgment seat of Christ. THINGS THAT I LIKE "POWERFULLY."I like to hear candidates for office agree in politics with every man they converse with -it looks so much like principle. I like to see a parcel of young men stand before a church door, at the close of service, and stare every female full in the face as she passes out-it looks so much like good breeding. FORGET not in all your plans and operations that there are two worlds. REMINISCENCES OF A PASTOR. IT BY REV. M. J. STOVER. T was in the village of W, State of New York, in the fall of 1844, that the Miller excitement, (as it was called) was at its height. The time being set for the coming of Christ, and the destruction of the world; the subjects of that delusion became very zealous in propagating their peculiar views. In their zeal they came to the village of W- and in the absence of the Pastor, they applied to the Church Council for the use of the Lutheran Church, to hold forth their views. As the Pastor was expected to be at home in the evening, and to occupy the pulpit himself, (it being his regular weekly evening lecture,) they gained their consent conditionally, provided their Pastor had no objections. The Pastor, of course, could consent to no such thing. The consequence was, that the Church and Pastor, received a liberal share of denunciation and abuse. The following week was the appointed time for the descent of Christ. On the Sabbath previous to the time appointed, the Pastor announced from the pulpit, that in the evening he would preach on the subject of Christ's second advent, and show the dangerous tendencies of those views. In the evening a large crowd assembled. Infidels were there. The friends and enemies of the gospel were there. The believer, full of faith and hope, fathers and mothers in Israel were there. Fervent prayers ascended to the Master of Assemblies, that He also would be there. After the preliminary services, the Pastor announced his text. "And I, if I be lifted up, will draw all men unto me." The theme from the text was, Christ and his cross the only hope of a lost world. From the scriptures, and from history, he showed, that the views of these modern disciples of Miller were antagonistic to the doctrines of the cross, and always injurious. In that audience was an intelligent infidel, Mr. L-whose daughter was a teacher in the Sabbath-school, and a member of the Lutheran Church. He was a decided opposer of the gospel. And from his intelligence, Christians generally avoided contact with him. He had for sometime been denouncing Christian ministers, for not exposing the Millerites. When he heard that the Lutheran minister was going to preach on that subject, he resolved to go and hear him. In the following winter, in the month of January the Pastor received a message that Mr. L― was sick, and a wish expressed that he would come and see him. It was the request of a friend, not of Mr. L. The minister called to see him, in fear and trembling, not knowing what reception he might meet. The usual salutations being passed, the Pastor inquired particularly about his health, and his hopes of recovery. Mr. L said frankly that he did not expect to get well. What then, said the Pastor, are your feelings in view of your situation? How does death appear to you? What are your hopes of the future? What are your views on these subjects? Mr. Lwas silent. He was deeply moved. But whether it was anger, or other emotions, the Pastor could not divine. But lifting up his heart to God in silent prayer, that he would direct and bless the interview, he silently awaited an answer. The silence was broken by Mr. L- in the declaration; "I believe that Christ and his cross is the only hope of a lost world." He wept, the Pastor wept with him. Becoming more calm, he said, "the evening that you preached in the Lutheran Church, and exposed the views of the Millerites, I was there, a boasting infidel, but opposed to the Millerites. In hope of gathering arguments to refute them, I went to the Church. I was glad that you had taken your position, and announced your subject. I respected you for it. I wished, and I confidently expected that you would fully meet the expectations of the audience. It was in my judgment a successful effort, and appreciated by the commuuity. But one thing made an impression on my mind, it was the announcement of your theme, Christ | L's own request. In another visit and his cross the only hope of a lost world. made by the Pastor he found him in deep O, sir! I cannot describe my feelings, when distress, on the borders of despair. "I you made that declaration. It seemed to fear," said he, "that I have sinned against pierce my inmost soul, I cannot forget the Holy Ghost. I never was an infidel it, and since my sickness it is continually from conviction, but from inclination. I in my mind. And now, sir, as I look for- hated God and Christ. My conscience ward to the spirit world, the cross of Christ and the example of a pious mother, conas the sinner's only hope, looms up in the tinually reproved me. Yet I persisted. distance. But is their hope for one so vile, O, said he, I have sinned against great for so great a sinner as I am? I have had light." pious parents. I was carefully instructed by a pious mother; but as I grew up in life, my associations were unfortunate. I became an Infidel. I have ridiculed the church, Christians, and ministers. I have thrown every obstacle in the way of my own children, that hellish malice could invent. And now I must die. My infidel friends cannot help me. Their comfort is mockery. It affords me no comfort now, for them to tell me that Jesus was an impostor, that the apostles' were deluded, or knaves. Now it appears to me that infidelity can do no more for me in the world, than to rob me of the last ray of hope." 66 'Infidelity," said the pastor, "involves its disciples in inextricable difficulties in life, and deserts them in death. The picture that you have given, is a true picture of multitudes, who have been similarly deluded. But Christianity never deserts the believer in the dying hour; yea, more, its promises of grace and mercy, are unto the eleventh hour, to great sinners. Whosoever will, may partake of the waters of life freely. The broken heart and contrite spirit will never be despised. It is the office of the Spirit to convince the world of sin and righteousness and a judgment to come. It is by the influence of that Spirit, I trust, that you have been led to see and feel your sinfulness. If that Spirit be not grieved, and you are truly contrite, broken hearted, then look to the cross of Christ in the prayer of the publican, "God, be merciful to me a sinner." After reading a portion of the scriptures, the Pastor commended him to God in prayer." Subsequent visits were made at Mr. "But suppose," said the Pastor, "that God should not hear your prayer, and you should finally be lost. Would God be just, to leave you to perish, to punish you forever, for your sins?" "Yes, God would be just. Justice I cannot bear. It demands my death. I plead for mercy. Is there hope?" "I cam e, s Jesus, not to call the righteous, but sinners to.epentance; the broken hearted, contrite, humble suppliant Jesus came to save. Look to him and live," said the Pastor. [To be Continued.] LOVE, though the sweetener of life, cannot constitute its business. In whatever relation we may stand to society, we are bound to the performance of certain active duties, inconsistent with a life of contemplative indulgence. The world is our creditor, and a hard one, for it will relax nothing of its claims. A life devoted to love, though one of the staple fictions of poets and romance writers, is incompatible both with the natural character of man and his social relations. Our bodies and our minds are alike framed for action, and he who could merge all his duties, in the indulgence even of the purest passion, would, in so doing, prove himself to be an object, not of love, but of contempt. SINCE the days that are past are gone forever, and those that are to come may not come to thee, it behooveth thee, O man, to employ the present time, without regretting the loss of that which is past, or too much depending on that which is to come. |