ords spoken on the shores of Galilee, and
on the mountains over-looking Galilee, are the hope of the world. They
are the final words of our all-loving Father to his children. Times may
change, but these words will never be exceeded or superseded; nothing
can ever go beyond these teachings of the brotherhood of man, and the
way that the heart may find God, and become conscious of the presence of
God, and know its immortality, and the everlasting truth. What did the
great Teacher say on Galilee?"

The Parable began to repeat from memory the Sermon on the Mount and the
Galilean teachings. The birds came and sang in the trees during the long
recitations, and the people sank down on the grass. Once or twice Aunt
Olive's corn-field bonnet rose up, and out of it came a shout of
"Glory!" One enthusiastic brother shouted, at one point of the
quotations: "That's right, elder; pitch into 'em, and give it 'em--they
need it. We're all sinners here; a good field to improve upon! Go on!"

It was past high noon when Jasper finished his quotations from the
Gospels. He then paused, and said:

"Do you want to know who I am, and why I am here, and what has sent me
forth among the speckled birds of the forest? I will tell you. A true
life has no secrets--it needs none; it is open to all like the
revelations of the skies, and the sea, and the heart of Nature--what is
concealed in the heart is what should not be.

"I had a teacher. He is living now--an old, broken man--a name that will
sound strange to your ears. He gave up his life to teach the orphans
made by the war. He studied with them, learned with them, ate with them;
he saw with their eyes and felt with their hearts. He taught after the
school of Nature; as Nature teaches the child within, so he taught,
using outward objects.

"He once said to me:

"'For thirty years my life has been a struggle against poverty. For
thirty years I have had to forego many of the barest necessities of
life, and have had to shun the society of my fellow-men for want of
decent clothes. Many and many times I have gone without a dinner, and
eaten in bitterness a dry crust of bread on the road, at a time when
even the poorest were seated around a table. All this I have suffered,
and am suffering still to-day, and with no other object than to realize
my plan for helping the poor.'

"When I heard him say that, I loved him. It made me ashamed of my
selfish life. Then I heard the Dunkards preach, and tell