I doubt not our Lord appreciated the beauties of Galilee. Its scenery is as picturesque as that of any lake in the Alps, and its loveliness changes every hour of the day. I saw the sun set last night. The clouds hung heavy over the hills to the east of the Jordan and the sun gilded the top of the Mount of the Beatitudes as it went down in the west. A little before that these waters were a glorious yellow which faded away into a rich copper bronze. At the same time the heavens were burnished copper, cloud piled upon cloud, and the whole was mirrored in the glassy surface beneath. The Sea of Galilee has always been noted for its wonderful beauty. It was a pleasure resort at the time of Herod Antipas, and the palaces of Tiberias and Capernaum were famous all over the East. Later on I had still another view of the lake. It was moonlight on the Sea of Galilee. The great round queen of the heavens, her golden face at its full, shone out of a mass of dark blue with black clouds behind it. The rays of the moon striking the sea obliquely painted a wide path of silver running from the hills of Gadara across the waters to Tiberias. I gazed at the scene from the window of my hotel over the minarets of a Mohammedan mosque. It reminded me of Lake Como and of some Scottish lakes. As we ride up the lake to-day I watch closely the fishermen handling our craft. We are in a skiff about thirty feet long and four feet wide. It has a white leg-of-mutton sail which is filled by the wind from the south, and we are speeding over the water. Our boat leaves a pathway of diamonds dropped there by the sun. I reach over the side of the boat and let my hand trail in the water. It is cool. I dip up some in my palm and taste it. It is quite brackish. Now the fishermen have laid their oars across the sides of the boat. They are depending on the wind to carry us onward. Some are asleep, among them one at the prow who lies with bare legs outspread, his bronzed face in the full glare of the sun. He is snoring. At the right is a man mending a net, while on the other side of the boat two are chatting. The scene might have been one on this same lake nineteen centuries ago, when Christ called men like these from their boats to be “fishers of men.”