my chamber, and the room was almost instantly filled with smoke. Almost as soon as I reached the church on Sunday evening, the doors and windows being open for the admission of air, I perceived the church was filled with a cloud of smoke. Surely Pittsburg is a _smoky city_. I ask the pardon of its inhabitants for this doleful description. The town certainly bears marks of great thrift and prosperity, and its inhabitants do not lack in sterling excellencies of character. I should be very ungrateful if I did not here record the acknowledgement of the many acts of kindness and hospitality that were extended to me during my temporary stay. In the manner in which the people regarded the unpleasant appendage connected with Pittsburg to which I have just adverted, I saw another evidence of the benevolence and wisdom of the Creator in constituting us with capabilities of adapting ourselves to whatever is around us. The smoky atmosphere, so far from being an annoyance to the citizens of Pittsburg, is constantly spoken of by them as its beauty and glory, and seems associated in their minds with all the delights and interest of _home_. I have visited the environs of the city, and clambered to the summit of some of the hills out of which the coal is dug. The views from these elevations up the Alleghany and the Monongahela are beautiful. The scenery in every direction around Pittsburg, viewed from these eminences, would be magnificent, were it not for that unchanging cloud of smoke that covers the city as a canopy of darkness. From many a point on the lofty range of hills that encircle the city, you have a view at the same glance of the Alleghany and the Monongahela, wending their way from different points through their own distinct beautiful valleys, and hastening on like two ardent lovers to meet and mingle into one; and still farther on you see these two blended rivers moving off in one united stream--THE BEAUTIFUL OHIO, which winds its serpentine way through _its_ own rich valley, to meet the waters of the mighty Mississippi--a thousand miles from this spot. _Pittsburg, Sabbath Morning, June 18th, 1837._ The church-going bell calling worshippers to the house of prayer, emits sounds that fall sweetly on the Christian's ear. How delightful is the thought, that go where we may in this happy land, we find some who love the Saviour and are glad when it is said--"_Let us go up to the house of the Lord._"