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Rh The Stranger enters a massive carved stone mansion, and saith unto the dwellers therein, “Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” But they understand not his saying.

These are believers of different sects, and of no sect; some, so-called Christian Scientists in sheep's clothing; and all “drunken without wine.” They have small conceptions of spiritual riches, few cravings for the immortal, but are puffed up with the applause of the world: they have plenty of pelf, and fear not to fall upon the Stranger, seize his pearls, throw them away, and afterwards try to kill him.

Somewhat disheartened, he patiently seeks another dwelling, — only to find its inmates asleep at noontide! Robust forms, with manly brow nodding on cushioned chairs, their feet resting on footstools, or, flat on their backs, lie stretched on the floor, dreaming away the hours. Balancing on one foot, with eyes half open, the porter starts up in blank amazement and looks at the Stranger, calls out, rubs his eyes, — amazed beyond measure that anybody is animated with a purpose, and seen working for it!

They in this house are those that “provoke Him in the wilderness, and grieve Him in the desert.” Away from this charnel-house of the so-called living, the Stranger turns quickly, and wipes off the dust from his feet as a testimony against sensualism in its myriad forms. As he departs, he sees robbers finding ready ingress to that dwelling of sleepers in the midst of murderous hordes, without watchers and the doors unbarred!

Next he enters a place of worship, and saith unto them, “Go ye into all the world; preach the gospel, heal the