The beautiful country between Lake Michigan, or old Fort Dearborn, and the Mississippi, or Rock Island, was once a broad prairie, a sea of flowers, birds, and bright insects. The buffaloes roamed over it in great herds, and the buffalo-birds followed them. The sun rose over it as over a sea, and the arched aurora rose red above it like some far gate of a land of fire. Here the Sacs and Foxes roamed free; the Iowas and the tribes of the North. It was one vast sunland, a breeze-swept brightness, almost without a dot or shadow.

Almost, but not quite. Here and there, like islands in a summer sea, rose dark groves of oak and vines. These spots of refreshment were called prairie islands, and in one of these islands, now gone, a pioneer colony made their homes, and built a meeting-house, which was also to be used as a school-house. Six or more of these families were from Germantown, Pennsylvania, and were Tunkers. The other families were from the New England States.

To this nameless village, long ago swept away by the prairie fires, went Jasper the Parable, with his cobbling-tools, his stories, and his gospel of universal love and good-will. The Tunkers welcomed him with delight, and the emigrants from New England looked upon him kindly as a good and well-meaning man. There were some fifteen or twenty children in the settlement, and here the peaceful disciple of Pestalozzi, and friend of Froebel, applied for a place to teach, and the school was by unanimous consent assigned to him.

So began the school at Prairie Island—a school where the first principles of education were perceived and taught, and that might furnish a model for many an ambitious institution of to-day.

"It is life that teaches," the Parable used to say, quoting Pestalozzi. "The first thing to do is to form the habits that lead to character; the next thing is to stamp the young mind with right views of life; then comes book-learning—words, figures, and maps—but stories that educate morally are the primer of life. Christ taught spiritual truths by parables. I teach formative ideas by parables. The teacher should be a story-teller. In my own country all children go through fairy-land. Here they teach the young figures first, as though all of life was a money-market. It is all unnatural and wrong. I must teach and preach by stories."

The school-house was a simple building of logs and prairie grass, with oiled paper for windows, and a door that opened out and afforded a view of the vast prairie-sea to the west. Jasper taught here five days in a week, and sang, prayed, and exhorted on Sunday afternoons, and led social meetings on Sunday evenings. The little community were united, peaceful, and happy. They were industrious, self-respecting people, who were governed by their moral sense, and their governing principle seemed to be the faith that, if a person desired and sought to follow the divine will, he would have a revelation of spiritual light, which would be like the opening of the gates of heaven to him. Nearly every man and woman had some special experience of the soul to tell; and if ever there was a community of simple faith and brotherhood, it was here.

Jasper's school began in the summer, when the sun was high, the cool shadows of the oaks grateful, and the bluebells filled the tall, wavy grasses, and the prairie plover swam in the air.

Jasper's first teaching was by the telling of stories that leave in the young mind right ideas and impressions.

"My children, listen," said the gracious old man, as he sat down to his rude desk, "and let me tell you some stories like those Pestalozzi used to tell. Still, now!"

He lifted his finger and his eyebrows, and sat a little while in silence.

"Hark!" he said. "Hear the birds sing in the trees! Nature is teaching us. When Nature is teaching I listen. Nature is a greater teacher than I, or any man."

The little school sat in silence and listened. They had never heard the birds sing in that way before. Presently there was a hush in the trees.

"Now I will begin," said he.

PESTALOZZI'S STORIES.

"Did you ever see a mushroom? Yes, there are mushrooms under the cool trees. Once, in the days when the plants and flowers and trees all talked—they talk now, but we have ceased to hear them, a little mushroom bowed in the winds, and said to the grass:

"'See how I grow! I came up in a single night. I am smart.'

"'Yes,' said the grass, waving gently.

"'But you,' said the smart little mushroom, 'it takes you a whole year to grow.'

"The grass was sorry that it took so long for it to grow, and hung its head, and thought, and thought.

"'But,' said the grass, 'you spring up in the night, and in a day or two you are gone. It takes me a year to grow, but I outlive a hundred crops of mushrooms. I will have patience and be content. Worth is of slow growth.'

"In a week the boastful little mushroom was gone, but the grass bloomed and bore seed, and left a lovely memory behind it. Hark! hear the breeze in the trees! Nature is teaching now. Listen!

"Now I will tell you another little story, such as I used to hear Pestalozzi relate. I am going to tell this story to myself, but you may listen. I have told a story to you, but now I will talk to myself.

"There once was a king, who had been riding in the sun, and he saw afar a lime-tree, full of cool, green leaves. Oh, how refreshing it looked to him! So he rode up to the lime-tree, and rested in the shadow.

"The leaves all clung to the branches, and the winds whispered among them, but did not blow them away.

"Then the king loved the tree, and he said:

"'O tree, would that my people clung to me as thy leaves do to thy branches!'

"The tree was pleased, and spoke:

"'Would you learn from me wisdom to govern thy people?'

"'Yes, O lime-tree! Speak on.'

"'Would you know, then, what makes my leaves so cling to my branches?'

"'Yes, O Lime Tree! Speak on.'

"'I carry to them the sap that nourishes them. 'Tis he that gives himself to others that lives in others, and is safe and happy himself. Do that, and thy kingdom shall be a lime-tree.'"

A child brought into the room a bunch of harebells and laid them upon the teacher's desk.

"Look!" said Jasper, "Nature is teaching. Let us be quiet a little and hear what she has to say. The harebells bring us good-will from the sun and skies. There is goodness everywhere, and for all. Let us be grateful.

"Now I will give you another little Pestalozzian story, told in my own way, and you may tell it to your fathers and mothers and neighbors when you go home.

"There was once a man who had two little ponies. They were pretty creatures, and just alike. He sold one of them to a hard-hearted man, who kicked him and beat him; and the pony said:

"'The man is my enemy. I will be his, and become a cunning and vicious horse.'

"So the pony became cunning and vicious, and threw his rider and crippled him, and grew spavined and old, and every one was glad when he was dead.

"The man sold the other pony to a noble-hearted man, who treated him kindly and well. Then the pony said:

"'I am proud of my master. I will become a good horse, and my master's will shall be my own.'

"Like the master became the horse. He became strong and beautiful. They chose him for the battle, and he went through the wars, and the master slept by his side. He bore his master at last in a triumphal procession, and all the people were sorry when he came to die. Our minds here are one of the little colts.

"So we will all work together. The lesson is ended. You have all the impressions that you can bear for one day. Now we will go out and play."

But the play-ground was made a field of teaching.

"There are plays that form right ideas," said Jasper, "and plays that lead to an evil character. I teach no plays that lead to cruelty or deception. I would no sooner withhold amusements from my little ones than water, but my amusements, like the water, must be healthy and good."

There was one odd play that greatly delighted all the children of the Prairie Island school. The idea of it was evolved in the form of a popular song many years afterward. In it the children are supposed to ask an old German musician how many instruments of music he could play, and he acts out in pantomime all of the instruments he could blow or handle. We think it was this merriment that became known in America as the song of Johnnie Schmoker in the minstrel days.

Not the children only, but the parents also all delighted to see Jasper pretend to play all the instruments of the German band. Often at sunset, when the settlers came in from the corn-fields and rested under the great trees, Jasper would delight the islanders, as they called themselves, with this odd play.

"The purpose of education," Jasper used to repeat over and over to his friends in this sunny island of the prairie sea, "is not to teach the young how to make money or get wealth by a cunning brain, but how to live for the soul. The soul's best interests are in life's highest interest, and there is no poverty in the world that is like spiritual poverty. In the periods of poetry a nation is great; and when poetry fails, the birds cease to sing and the flowers to bloom, and divinities go away, and the heart turns to stone."

There was one story that he often repeated to his little school. The pupils liked it because there was action in it, as in the play-story of the German musician. He called it "Chink, Chink, Chink"—though we believe a somewhat similar story is told in Germany under the name of "The Stone-cold Heart."

He would clasp his hands together and strike them upon his knee, making a sound like the jingling of silver coin. Any one can produce this curious sound by the same action.

"Chink, chink, chink," he would say. "Do you hear it? Chink, chink, chink. Listen, as I strike my hands on my knees. Money? Now I will open my hands. There is no money in them; it was fool's gold, all.

"There lived in a great German forest a poor woodman. He was a giant, but he had a great heart and a willing arm, and he worked contentedly for many years.

"One day he chanced to go with some foresters into the city. It was a festival day. He heard the jingle of money, just like that" (striking his clasped hands on his knee). "He saw what money would buy. He thought it would buy happiness. He did not know that it was fool's gold, all.

"He went back to his little hut in the forest feeling very unhappy. His wife kissed him on his return, and his children gathered around him to hear him tell the adventures of the day, but his downcast spirit made them all sad.

"'What has happened?' asked his wife. 'You always seemed happy until to-night.'

"'And I was always happy until to-day. But I have seen the world to-day, and now I want that which will buy everything.'

"'And what is that?' asked his wife.

"'Listen! It sounds like that,' and he struck his clasped hands on his knee—chink, chink, chink. 'If I had that, I would bring to you and the little ones the fine things I saw in the city, and you would be happy. You are contented now because you do not know.'

"'But I would rather that you would bring to me a happy face and loving heart,' said his wife. 'You know that the Book says that "a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth." Love makes happiness, and gold is in the heart.'

"The forester continued to be sad. He would sit outside of his door at early evening and pound his hands upon his knees so—chink, chink, chink—and think of the gay city. Then he would strike his hands on his knees again. He did not know that it was fool's gold, all.

"He grew more and more discontented with his simple lot. One day he went out into the forest alone to cut wood. When he had become tired he sat down by a running stream to hear the birds sing and to strike his hands on his knees.

"A shadow came gliding across the mosses of the stream. It was like the form of a dark man. Slowly it came on, and as it did so the flowers on the banks of the stream withered. The woodman looked up, and a black giant stood before him.

"'You look unhappy to-day,' said the black giant. 'You did not use to look that way. What is wanting?'

"The woodman looked down, clasped his hands, and struck them on his knees—chink, chink, chink.

"'Ah, I see—money! The world all wants money. Selfishness could not thrive without money. I will give you all the money that you want, on one condition.'

"'Name it.'

"'That you will exchange your heart.'

"'What will you give me for my heart?'

"'Your heart is a human heart, a very simple human heart. I will put in its place a heart of stone, and then all your wishes shall turn to gold. Whatever you wish you shall have.'

"'Shall I be happy?'

"'Happy! Ha, ha, ha! are not people happy who have their wishes?'

"'Some are, and some are happy who give up their wishes and wills and desires."

"The woodman leaned his face upon his hands for a while, seemed in great doubt and distress. He thought of his wife, who used to say that contentment was happiness, and that one could be rich by having a few wants. Then he thought of the city. The vision rose before him like a Vanity Fair. He clasped his hands again, and struck them on his knees—chink, chink, chink—and said, 'I will do it.'

"Suddenly he felt a heart within him as cold as stone. He looked up to the giant, and saw that he held his own good, true heart in his hands.

"'I will put it away in a glass jar in my house,' he said, 'where I keep the hearts of the rich. Now, listen. You have only to strike your locked hands on your knees three times—chink, chink, chink—whenever you want for gold, and wish, and you will find your pockets full of money.'

"The woodman struck his palms on his knees and wished, then felt in his pockets. Sure enough, his pockets were full of gold.

"He thought of his wife, but his thought was a cold one; he did not love her any more. He thought of his little ones, but his thoughts were frozen; he did not care to meet them any more. He thought of his parents, but he only wished to meet them to excite their envy. The stream no longer charmed him, nor the flowers, nor the birds, nor anything.

"'I will dissemble,' he said. He hurried home. His wife met him at the door. He kissed her. She started back, and said:

"'Your lips are cold as death! What has happened?'

"His children kissed him, but they said:

"'Father, your cheeks are cold.'

"He tried to pray at the meal, but his sense of God was gone; he did not love God, or his wife, or his children, or anything any more—he had a stone-cold heart.

"After the evening meal he told his wife the events of the day. She listened with horror.

"'In parting with your heart you have parted with everything that makes life worth having,' said she. But he answered:

"'I do not care. I do not care for anything but gold now. I have a stone-cold heart.'

"'But will gold make you happy?' she asked.

"He started. He went forth to work the next day, but he was not happy. So day by day passed. His gold did not make his family happy, or his friends, or any one, but he would not have cared for all these, for he had a stone-cold heart. Had it made him happy? He saw the world all happy around him, and heavier and heavier grew his heart, and at last he could endure it no longer.

"One day he was sitting in the same place in the woods as before, when he saw the shadowy figure stealing along the mosses of the stream again. He looked up and beheld the giant, and exclaimed:

"'Give me back my heart!'"

"Have you learned the lesson?"