acres in extent, shut in on all sides by the wooded hills, the highest of which rose from its northern margin.  Here is my sanctuary, pulpit, choir, and altar.  A gigantic pine had fallen into the lake, and its larger branches served to keep the trunk above the water as it lay parallel with the shore.  Seated on its trunk, and shaded by some friendly willows that stretch their graceful branches above, the hours pass in a sort of subdued ecstasy of enjoyment.  It is peace, the peace of God.  No echo of the world’s discords reaches me.  The only sound I hear is the cooing of a turtledove away off in a distant gorge of the mountain.  It floats down to me on the Sabbath air with a pathos as if it voiced the pity of Heaven for the sorrows of a world of sin, and pain, and death.  The shadows of the pines are reflected in the pellucid depths, and ever and anon the faintest hint of a breeze sighs among their branches overhead.  The lake lies without a ripple below, except when from time to time a gleaming trout throws himself out of the water, and, falling with a splash, disturbs the glassy surface, the concentric circles showing where he went down.  Sport on, ye shiny denizens of the deep; no angler shall cast his deceitful hook into your quiet haunts this day.  Through the foliage of the overhanging boughs the blue sky is spread, a thin, fleecy cloud at times floating slowly along like a watching angel, and casting a momentary shadow upon the watery mirror below.  That sky, so deep and so solemn, woos me—­lifts my thought till it touches the Eternal.  What mysteries of being lie beyond that sapphire sea?  What wonders shall burst upon the vision when this mortal shall put on immortality?  I open the Book and read.  Isaiah’s burning song makes new music to my soul attuned.  David’s harp sounds a sweeter note.  The words of Jesus stir to diviner depths.  And when I read in the twenty-first chapter of Revelation the Apocalyptic promise of the new heavens and the new earth, and of the New Jerusalem coming down from God out of heaven, a new glory seems to rest upon sky, mountain forest, and lake, and my soul is flooded with a mighty joy.  I am swimming in the Infinite Ocean.  Not beyond that vast blue canopy is heaven; it is within my own ravished heart!  Thus the hours pass, but I keep no note of their flight, and the evening shadows are on the water before I come back to myself and the world.  O hallowed day!  O hallowed spot! foretaste and prophecy to the weary and burden-bowed soul of the new heavens and the new earth where its blessed ideal shall be a more blessed reality!

It is nearly dark when I get back to the hotel.  Supper is over, but I am not hungry—­I have feasted on the bread of angels.

“Did you know there was quite a quarrel about you this morning?” asks one of the guests.

The words jar.  In answer to my look of inquiry, he proceeds: 

“There was a dispute about your holding a religious service at the picnic grounds.  They made it a political matter—­one party threatened to leave if you did preach, the other threatened to leave if you did not preach.  There was quite an excitement about it until it was found that you were gone, and then everybody quieted down.”