The president of the Mountain Lake Park Association, Rev. Dr. J. B. Van Meter, of Baltimore, made the salutatory address, Rev. C. W. Baldwin, of Cumberland, Md., offered a few words, and President Judd then made a brief but eloquent and suggestive address, concluding with the presentation of the Chautauqua diploma to the graduate, Mrs. A. C. Rodgers, of Baltimore. At a meeting of the circle on August 29, a unanimous vote of thanks was tendered to President Judd, “for the able and kindly manner in which he had presided over its sessions and in various ways furthered its interests.” The secretary was instructed to furnish a copy of his report to THE CHAUTAUQUAN for publication. The closing meeting of the Assembly was held at night, followed by a general illumination, camp-fire, corn-roast, stump speeches, and a general hand-shake good-bye. Rev. J. T. Judd was unanimously reëlected as president for the ensuing year, and Dr. Robert W. Armstrong, of Baltimore, was elected secretary, in place of Miss Jennie Jones, resigned. Between twenty and thirty new members were added to the circle. WORDS FROM CHAUTAUQUA. BY REV. J. H. VINCENT, D.D., Superintendent of Instruction. The season is over. The crowds have gone. The classic groves are again quiet. The silent lake lies by a silent shore, reflecting the lovely verdure of trees and terraces, and the deep blue of overarching heavens. The Temple, busy scene for all these weeks, is solitary now as a deserted abbey. The huge amphitheater with its capacious concave, its chairless orchestra and sealed up organ, seems awful in its vast emptiness, and sacred with haunting memories of eloquence and song, and of surging, enraptured, applauding multitudes. Palestine is deserted. Jerusalem is solitary. The waters of the Dead Sea have backed up until Jordan has far overflown its banks. The fountains have ceased their play, the electric light no more vies with moon and stars, the walks are well-nigh forsaken, and again in the primeval forest one walks alone, and undisturbed meditates in the temple of nature. One spot is doubly sacred since the crowds have gone. It is the Hall of Philosophy. In impressive majesty it crowns the hill. Its white columns present a fine contrast with the brown and gray trunks, and the now changing foliage of the trees in St. Paul’s Grove. The vesper song has ceased. The voices of query and counsel, raillery, jest and melody, are no more heard. The earnest souls who hither came with love and zeal, with hope and desire, have passed forth into a busy world, with memories not soon to be forgotten, joys never to be wholly extinguished, and resolutions which reach out towards the higher, larger plane of human aspiration, to find their end and crown in God.