Dr. Vincent, he didn't like the speech I made last night. He told me this morning before all these fellers that it was too eloquent, and he said, "Mr. Beard, when you are eloquent you take the shine off from me, and these other men, and you mustn't do it. If there is any eloquence needed, I will do it myself, and you mustn't interfere with the regular program." Then he went on, in his usual way, using some of the dear old jokes that some of us had heard at Chautauqua, but polished up for a new constituency. Everybody saw that he was guying the doctor, but there was a group of us present who knew just how Frank was twisting the breakfast talk of the Superintendent of Instruction. On the shore of Round Lake, near the Assembly ground, a copy of Palestine Park had been constructed, and daily lectures were given there. It was just a few feet larger than the Park at Chautauqua, as we were informed by the President. Let me correct the report that a big Methodist bishop arriving late one night, and enquiring the way to the hotel, fell into the clutches of the most mischievous small boy in the region, who told him: "The gates are all shut and you'll have to climb the fence yonder." He did so, according to the story, and fell from the top of the fence into the Dead Sea, which at once swelled its waters and washed away the city of Jericho. The eminent divine, it is said, drenched with water and spattered with mud, walked up the Jordan Valley and over the mountains of Ephraim, destroying the cities and obliterating sundry holy places; one foot caught in Jacob's Well, and his head bumped on Mount Gerizim. He reached the hotel at last, but the next morning showed the land of Palestine in worse ruin than had been wrought by Nebuchadnezzar's army. All this I, myself, read in a New York newspaper that is said to contain "All the news that is fit to print"; but I here and now declare solemnly that there is not a shred of truth in the story, for I saw the Bishop, and I saw the Park! The Round Lake meetings are held to this day, courses of lectures are given, and classes are held. But the Park of Palestine, which was to surpass Chautauqua's Park, is no more. It was built on swampy ground, after a few years sank under the encroaching waters of the lake, and was never restored.