I was disappointed, and sorry in finding the scenery less beautiful at Huntingdon than at any of the former points on the Juniata. The village presented an unattractive appearance. The house in which our brother[1] met his final hour was pointed out to me. It seemed a very gloomy and unlovely abode. As I passed the spot I felt the deep fountains of sensibility moved in my soul: I thought, that it was here, far away from the sympathy of his people, that this man of God lay down in the agonies of death. It was here that his eye was sealed for ever on earthly scenes--and his liberated spirit mounted up to God! Though to mortal eyes the circumstances of his death seemed most undesirable, yet we know that he went quickly up to tread the streets of the heavenly city, and to stand where he could gaze everlastingly on the unveiled face of Jesus, his crucified and risen Lord. O who that looks to the end of the glorious consummation will not long to depart and "be with Christ which is far better!" FOOTNOTES: [1] The individual above referred to was the Rev. John W. James, assistant minister of Christ Church, Philadelphia. Mr. J. was travelling with his family on a summer excursion in 1836, when he was suddenly arrested with disease, and called from the scenes of his labors to "the rest which remaineth for the people of God." He was a faithful minister of Jesus Christ, and his memory is still most sacredly cherished by many, who feel that he was to them the messenger of salvation. CHAPTER III. GLIMPSES OF WESTERN PENNSYLVANIA. Source of the Juniata--Ascent of the Alleghanies--The summit--The Great Mississippi Valley--Skepticism--Rank growth of religious error--Dunkards--Valley of the Conemaugh--Moonlight--Singular conversation--Infidel sneers. _Saturday morning, June 17, 1837._ WE reached Hollidaysburg, a little village on the Juniata, where the Alleghany Portage Rail Road commences, yesterday morning, June 16th, about eight o'clock. Our way from this point was up the mountain by successive inclined planes. I never saw more strikingly illustrated the triumph of art over the obstacles of nature. In our progress up the mountain, we at length left the Juniata, at a point so near its source that we saw the two little rills which, by their confluence, constituted the commencement of that river, pouring down the precipitous side of the same hill, and which, separately, were so small that one might step over them with perfect ease. We traced these mountain brooks with our eye as they swept along over the washed and worn pebbles--saw them unite, and then followed them in imagination till they swelled along the banks of the Juniata, mingled their waters with the Susquehanna, poured into the Chesapeake, and finally were lost in the ocean.