Julianashaab is not at any time a particularly lively place, but there is sufficient activity during six days of the week to make the silence of the seventh very marked. Solemnly silent it was to me, as I landed on the beach, and then, beside the stream which flows through the town, made my way towards the temple dedicated to God among the majestic hills. The people, savage and civilized alike, had rested from their labors—the fishermen from their lines and nets; the hunters from their search after game in the valleys; the sound of the cooper’s hammer, and the ring of the blacksmith’s anvil were no longer heard; even the voices of the inhabitants seemed to be hushed, as if awed by the presence of that divinely ordained day which, it is commanded, shall be remembered and kept holy. It was delightfully calm; the sun gave a pleasant autumnal warmth to the atmosphere; and altogether it was one of those peaceful Sunday mornings which one enjoys so much at home in the country, when the mind instinctively dwells upon the wonders of nature, and the very soul goes out to the great universal Father whose dwelling-place is everywhere, and whose presence is nowhere felt more strongly than amidst the solemn grandeur of the cloud-piercing hills. As I approached the church, the only sounds that greeted me were those made by the tumbling waters of the brook until I came very near, when the sweet music of an organ rose above the voice of the glad stream. It was a most agreeable surprise; for I had hardly expected to find here in Greenland any such artificial means of inspiring religious feeling. How far this circumstance may have had an influence with me I can not say; but certain it is, I would not exchange the memory of the notes of that little organ of the small Julianashaab church, as I first caught them there on that peaceful Sunday morning in that Greenland dell, for those of any other church-organ that I ever heard. Afterwards, when I had taken my seat among the congregation, the effect was not the less pleasing as I listened to the voices of the choir, and reflected that they were the voices of God’s children, who, through the instrumentality of Christian love, had been reclaimed from barbarism. As sometimes happens elsewhere, a large majority of the worshippers were women. They generally appeared to be inspired with a devout feeling, which even the presence of strangers could not disturb, and they sang the hymns in a manner peculiarly agreeable. The Esquimaux language is by no means lacking in euphonious sounds, and, as pronounced by a native, is often music itself. Mr. Anthon had caught the accent and pronunciation perfectly, and the entire service, sermon included, was in the common tongue—a language peculiar to the Esquimaux, and the same with all the tribes.