d on Mount Hermon, his body
sometimes in the Jordan valley, at other times on the mountains of
Ephraim; and one night when it rained, he found his feet in the Dead
Sea.

In the early days of Chautauqua a tree was standing near Palestine Park,
which invited the attention of every child, and many grown folks. It was
called "the spouting tree." Dr. Wythe found a tree with one branch bent
over near the ground and hollow. He placed a water-pipe in the branch
and sent a current of fresh water through it, so that the tree seemed to
be pouring forth water. At all times a troop of children might be seen
around it. At least one little girl made her father walk down every day
to the wonder, to the neglect of other walks on the Assembly ground.
Afterward at home from an extended tour, they asked her what was the
most wonderful thing that she had seen in her journey. They expected her
to say, "Niagara Falls," but without hesitation she answered, "The tree
that spouted water at Chautauqua." The standards of greatness in the
eyes of childhood differ from those of the grown-up folks.

The true Chautauqua, aided as it was by the features of mirth and
entertainment and repartee, was in the daily program followed diligently
by the assembled thousands. Here is in part the schedule, taken from the
printed report. It was opened on Tuesday evening, August 4, 1874, in the
out-of-doors auditorium, now Miller Park, beginning with a brief
responsive service of Scripture and song, prepared by Dr. Vincent.
Chautauqua clings to ancient customs; and that same service, word for
word, has been rendered every year on the first Tuesday evening in
August, at what is known as "Old First Night."

[Illustration: Old Steamer "Jamestown"]

[Illustration: Oriental House; Museum]

Bishop Vincent afterward wrote of that memorable first meeting:

The stars were out, and looked down through
trembling leaves upon a goodly well-wrapped
company, who sat in the grove, filled with wonder
and hope. No electric light brought platform and
people face to face that night. The old-fashioned
pine fires on rude four-legged stands covered with
earth, burned with unsteady, flickering flame, now
and then breaking into brilliancy by the contact
of a resinous stick of the rustic fireman, who
knew how to snuff candles and how to turn light on
the crowd of campers-out.