SUNDAY READING.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1610, 7 January 1903, Page 79 (Supplement)

SUNDAY READING.

■ Glergymen. and all interested in relL •' feious work are invited to send news items and other contributions suitable ' r for publication in this column, to •V "Mizpah,? care of Editor “New Zealand Mail.” Wellington.

SOME RANKS.

(By a Banker, for the “N.Z. Mail."’)

There are numerous varieties of banks in this wood d. There is the bank wfoere.on the' wild thyme grows; there is the Bank of England, there are private and joint stock banks; there are sand banks, as the Goodwin sands, whereon so many a gallant ship has perished, and sunk with all hands, deeper and deeper into the yielding sandy sepulchre; and there are the so-called hanks of the gaming hells of the continent, where so many make shipwrecks of all they possess—prosperous when they enter those fatal portals, ruined paupers Avhen they quit them. “ v

But it is to pone of these to which it is now proposed to refer: but to that alarming peril of the seas, the fog bank, which so often bars the mariner’s course and hinders his voyage. And when this impenetrable veil of misty darkness descends upon one of those greyhounds of the sea at the time when it has reached that region of the Atlantic where it is known that icebergs may be 1 expected, the experienced sea captain fears fnore for the safety of his vessel than in any storm, however severe.

The engines are slowed down, the brazen mouthed siren blows out its hideous notes —than which perhaps no sound so weirdly monstrous Inis perhaps ever been invented, except perhaps the artificial roar of the wooden tiger devouring the Englishman, which we took from Tippo Sahib’s palace—the temperature . of both air and water has materially fallen, indicating the near presence of the floating bergs; and the imagination fancies that even the sound of the. waves beating against the icy mountain can be distinctly heard. The good ship now crawls along at funeral pace, for should she crash into one of these Arctic castaways, no human help could save her front/ going straight down to that watery plain of the dead whereon lie so many whitened bones, sunk down, uncoffined and unatleled’. But suddenly the fog has lifted and quickly disappears from view; the ’ bright sun shines brilliantly in an azure, cloudless sky; and there, within

perhaps a few hundred yards, float majestically those mighty icy monarchs of the deep, vast masses of gleaming crystal, shimmering in a dazzling transplendence of sapphire and vivid emerald. The great clefts in their sides glitter in those lovely hues in even intenser degree; while the brilliant whiteness of the snow-capped hoary summits adds to the sublime beauty of the grand spectacle. And as the vessel passes through a very labyrinth:, of the floating masses, some towering high far above the good ship’s topmast, some partly melted, and only a few feet above the water, and some, pinnacled and turreted as though a cathedral or embrasured fortress were floating on the deep, a feeling of the profoundest gratitude at the escape from such deadly peril must pervade those on board.

And, too, the thought must cross the minds of many that if the bank of fog had not so opportunely lifted, the whole of those on board would in a few seconds, of time have been divided into two classes—the righteous, whose sins had been atoned for by the Redeemer, ushered into the realms of gTory: those who had forgotten their Creator, shut out, and plunged into a dread remorse. For there is no half-way place.

THOSE HURTLING ROCKS

(By a Banker, for the “N.Z. Mail.”)

Looking towards the beautiful lake of Zug, in thevßernese Oberland, the attention of the traveller is directed to an adjacent sloping mountain, which presents a great contrast to the verdure- , clothed hills and tree-covered cliffs, and prominences bordering the lake. The lake itself is stretched out towards the declining sun, its blue waters agitated by the rising Fohn—a mountain wind ! cradled in the higher fastnesses and j chasms of those monarchs of the snows, j which sometimes breaks forth from i those icy chambers of the wind and des- I cends with extraordinary fury upon the j lake beneath—and are already tossed j by the sudden gusts into foam and curl- | ing surf-topped rollers. .And as gradually the, glory of the stormy sunset gives place to the darker tints of the coming storm, the surface of the water \ assumes an inky indigo hue which con- { farasts still more with the whiteness of | the wind-driven spray. On the slopes of the mountains are numerous bright green pasturages on which browse many cattle; and whence, were it not for the roar of the mountain blasts, would probably have been j heard the harmonious notes of the

“Ivuhreihe,” th&„ striking Swiss national mountain melody, which adds such a distinctive charm to a walk through the upper pathways of those hilly meadow lands. Above the more moderate elevations of the mountains which border the lakes, tower the peaks and barren rocky pinnacles, the snow-clad domes and spjurs, and the black frowning precipices of the mighty giants of the Alps, now one after the other, shut in and hidden from view by the rolling masses of black cloud now rapidly gathering.

But on the nether side of the lake, extended down to the water’s edge, is upreared a lofty rocky hill, barren and desolate as though Nature, shocked at the desolation and ruin of which it was the scene, refused to spread over it the veil of herbage and leafage which would have concealed from view the record of the great catastrophe. For here, at the commencement of the last century, hundreds of human beings and thousands of cattle were immolated by the mountain itself, a considerable section of which, almost without warning, loosened from the strong foundations of the towering mass, slid down the sloping sides, and with deafening roar, as

though a thousand detonating peals of thunder were rending the air, carried all before it in one hideous and appalling ruin. Vast masses of detached rock, bounding down from the dizzy heights .with ever accelerating speed, crush into powder every habitation, with all it contained, which happens to be in its destroying path: great boulders, shot, as it were, from some Titanic engine, veritable projectiles discharged from Nature’s mountain artillery, hurtle hither and thither, the air thick with the mighty missiles; while the very ground itself, and all thereon, slides down the mountain side carrying devastation and annihilation in its path. And when all is over, the smiling landscape is hut a wilderness and the prosperous homesteads lie entombed in a rocky sepulchre. And a Great Day wall come when some, who have forgotten their God, will call upon the rocks to cover them and hide them from His face. But those who have served and loved Him who suffered as their Substitute wall welcome that Day w r ith joy. For they know’ that their redemption draweth nigh.