impostor that had arisen since Mohammed, and invoked all the powers at its command for his destruction. Poverty, hardship, and the hatred of his fellowmen, dogged his footsteps through all his life. He was way-laid by assassins, beaten by mobs, cast into prisons, robbed of his property, worried with vexatious law suits, dragged before judges and betrayed by false brethren. He himself said, in speaking of his life: "I have waded in tribulation neck-deep, but every wave that has struck me has but wafted me nearer to Deity." Such were the circumstances under which he stood forth as a witness for God; brought forth new volumes of scripture; restored to the earth the Gospel of the Son of God, with authority to administer the ordinances thereof; organized the Church; set in order the quorums of the Priesthood, and defined their duties and powers; sent the Gospel into every state of the Union, into Canada and England; laid the foundation for the gathering of Israel; opened the door for the salvation of the dead; commenced the work of building up Zion; founded Kirtland, Far West and Nauvoo, with its magnificent temple-a work accomplished under circumstances which give him “a fame and name that cannot be slain,” but which will grow brighter as time on silent wheels rolls by. B. H. Roberts. THE SISTER'S CHARGE. The quaint old village, Oudrě by the sea, Curled in a bay's blue crescent, peaceful lies, Taking the year's slow greeting sleepily, Touched by the languorous spell of southern skies. Pepita lived here. The first golden haze Of youth enwrapt her,-childhood scarce had flown When Death's gray shadow fell across her days, Stealing all gladness that her life had known. The blow fell twice-both whom she owed her life, Passed-and the deep and bitter woe she felt Of those left friendless; for Fate's cruel knifeSevering in turn each cherished tie-had dealt One other blow, which left her life bereft Of love and gladness: Petro, whom her heart Had leaned on-more than two years since had left The Village,sea bound-and had ne'er returned. And Pepita had wished that she might fare On, too, toward that friendly land of death- A sister's tiny hands her cold ones clasped Her life's trust and fared with it willingly. Like the transfiguring halo of the dawn. And so her care for this young life-made bold The painful way her friendless steps must take. But with a wealth of courage in her heart. And yet ofttimes the toilsome way was hard The beaded trinkets which her fingers wrought At times could hardly keep the doorway barred From cold and hunger-with the all they brought. And so a year passed, bringing the new eve Of Christ's glad day. Pepita's heart was sore With memories-but one joy came to cleave With glimmering ray the gloom her spirit bore. For she had promised from her little hoard Saved for the landlord-to withdraw a mite Her day's work ended-on this errand bent street, When sudden-in her pathway-as if sent A beggar stood-'twas Mĕre Suzanne-well known To Pepita-from the same village bothShe oft had given pittance to the crone, Spite of her drunken life, and needless sloth. AUNT ESTHER'S SWEETHEART. "A little sou, Pepita—I am faint— 'Twas yesterday I ate my one last crust- Pepita turned, and sought the tiny room With weight of sadness straining at her heart, A loving touch upon her head was laid, And Meta's kisses rained upon her cheek, "Nothing my Meta-dearest-come and kneel That the good saints, who all our sorrows feel And bring to pretty Meta some good gift." Its plight-a story of strong seas and gales. In his sombrero's shadow-sudden drew 61 A wrinkled woman-'twas the Mere Suzanne, Once more to Pepita-but her strength gone- more!" A sudden joy leapt into the man's eyes. "What Pepita-my sweetheart, is it she You speak of-my Pepita-is she here?" "Aye, on the landing." "Then I yet shall see The maid I've loved, and hunted far and near." And Petro-for 'twas he-come from afar, To find his sweetheart wandered-none knew where Broke from the door the latch's slender bar, And found his way up o'er the crazy stair. A door was opened ere he reached the top, (Pepita from her window heard his voice,) 'Tis meet that now we let the curtain drop And leave them thus, together to rejoice. Petro was shipwrecked-and the old sad tale Of letters long unanswered wrought the woe Of doubt and sorrow-from whose long travail Such wealth of joy, as theirs was now, should flow. A pretty cottage stands beside the sea, And Pepita when telling o'er the tale Of the good gift which blessed that Christmas Vows with a faith which naught can e'er assail: Josephine Spencer. AUNT ESTHER'S SWEETHEART. “AUNTIE," said a beautiful young girl in an absent-minded sort of way, turning half round on the piano stool, and without raising her eyes from the floor, "I'm tired of this sort of thing, I want a change; can't we go somewhere, or give a party; can't you suggest some amusement to pass away the time? Why, I've not even had a letter for days, and tha stupid brother of mine is having a jolly time of it at Harvard, while I'm here at home, day after day going through the same dull routine; Oh, I'm weary, I'd even like to get married, if I could have an offer that suited me!" "Is that all Alice? Have you no other complaints to make?" said her selfpossessed aunt in reply. The girl looked a little crest-fallen, and without a word turned around and went on with her practicing. Her aunt who was a wise and thoughtful woman, continued her sowing as if nothing had been said; a long silence followed, though the truth was Aunt Esther didn't know exactly what answer to make; it was altogether new for her niece to burst forth so excitedly, and it took the quaint little lady by surprise. Alice sat playing a while longer, and then came forward towards the fire, which was burning brightly, and seating herself comfortably in a low rocker in the corner, began to stir the coals with the poker; a custom many people have when perplexed; the equanimity of her aunt was too much for her; she wanted her to speak, say she had been rude, then she would have apologized; but to see her sit there so complacently, stitching away, taking no notice of her vexation was unaccountable to one so impulsive. Finally she burst out again. "Auntie, we are always going on in this humdrum way, for all the world like two old maids? You are not old if you are a widow, and I,-well I'm just twenty-two, and have never yet had a real beau; I want some attention, some companionship." "My dear," said her aunt, "how long is it since we came home from the sea shore, where you danced, and waltzed, and sang and took in all the gaieties of the season, until you were tired, and wanted to come home to the Wren's Nest, isn't that so?" and they were proud and arrogant, but they were also ill-bred, some of them at least; Oh, I learned some lessons in the ways of the world that I shall never forget; and I did not hesitate to tell one young lady, who carried on a flirtation under my very eyes, what my brother would have thought of her conduct, and she begged me to keep the matter a secret; But a truce to all this, we've talked of these things before, I am positively pining for some one to talk to; I know you're good company, and always amiable, but then there's no variety in our way of living. We've got lots of relatives, let's go and visit some of them, while Harry's in college; when he comes home everything will be different, he can take us out, and we shall have more society; it won't be near so lonely here then, he's always so lively." "Alice what about the country cousins, do you remember where we used to visit when you and they were children?' "Yes I recollect some of those quaint old places up among the New England hills, they're very nice in summer time, but what about winter, how would it be then?" "There's skating, and sleigh-riding, and winter pastimes of course; but you must choose, it is for your pleasure we shall go." "Aunt Esther are there any young people at these places you think of— would it be interesting in that way?" "In what way Alice?" "Why don't you understand, would there be any love making, or any chance of getting a good husband?" Alice, you astonish me, but just now you were deprecating the ways of those girls at the sea-shore, and now you are talking in much the same strain." "But I am in earnest, I am going to marry some great, big-hearted, honest, young fellow, that has never been in society, such as I had a glimpse of last season; and that reminds me Auntie, that you have had a kind of romance in your life, I've heard Polly say so; and you never say a word about it, nor your married life either, though for that matter I never asked you, never thought of it in "Yes Auntie, they were rich I suppose, fact until now; will you tell me the story "Yes Auntie, I did want to come home, thanks to your judicious training, because there was so much deception and hypocrisy there, and such "shilly shally" girls, and unprincipled young men, and old ones too for that matter, and mercenary, managing mammas, and all that; it was simply disgusting to sensible people." "And that was society, Alice, the best society, so we were informed, and certainly, if wealth and extravagance are the standards, by which the 'best society' is estimated, it must have been." AUNT ESTHER'S SWEETHEART. it must be interesting, a chapter out of your history?" Before Aunt Esther had time to reply to all this rapid questioning, a knock was heard at the parlor door and in came Polly with a handful of letters, and in the excitement Alice forgot what she had said to dear little Auntie, as she called her, and began examining the postmarks, a habit with women, it is said. "Here's such a queer stamp; I do wonder where this letter's from; some rich old uncle I hope, asking us to come for the holidays," exclaimed Alice. Then she took up the one she knew to be from her brother, and hurriedly broke the seal. While she sat reading it and tapping her dainty little feet on the carpet every now and then, a way she had when overjoyed. Aunt Esther was busy perusing a letter that looked even more foreign than, the one Alice had laid down In the midst of the reading, a carriage drove up and visitors were announced, Mr. and Mrs. Elmore and their two daughters, and the letters were put aside; and the two ladies busied themselves entertaining their guests duringthe remainder of the afternoon. The Elmores were neighbors of theirs, and very nice people indeed. The girls were near Alice's age and were both bright and clever; the afternoon sped swiftly away, and Alice had actually forgotten the letters, so absorbed was she with the conversation of their visitors. Aunt Esther urged their guests to stay and dine with them, waving ceremony, and they finally consented, so that it was nine o'clock or thereabouts, before they were alone again. The evening had been a pleasant one, and Alice was in the best of spirits, having thoroughly enjoyed the Society of these neighbors, who had so much to say that was worth listening to. One of the young ladies was a fine singer and was much admired by Harry, who was passionately fond of music, as indeed were both Aunt Esther and Alice. Miss Elmore had been singing, during the 63 Aunt Esther so calm and self-contented to all appearance, would have given almost anything to have been alone for a few minutes, that she might weep to relieve her pent-up feelings; but even when the guests had departed Alice was there, and she must not give way. The reading of the letters was resumed, and for a while silence reigned. What a pretty picture the two ladies made in that elegant room. Alice was tall and slender in figure, a perfect blonde in complexion, and this evening she wore a dress of soft pale blue merino, trimmed with dainty lace, and as she sat reading, one might have gazed in admiration, "and turned and come again to take his fill," of her rare beauty; every now and then she spoke to Auntie and her countenance would lighten to a glow, as she repeated some of Harry's witty and shrewd comments upon his college life. Aunt Esther was one of those peculiar types of women so difficult to describe, that we term them "a perfect study;" small in figure, dark almost olive complexion, purplish or blue black hair, large gray eyes; many people considered her plain, but she was attractive, possessed that indescribable charm, which for want of a better term we call magnetic. This evening she wore a gray dress, of some soft material, trimmed with scarlet velvet and bending over her letters she looked as much a picture, as the young girl who sat opposite; and Alice chancing to notice it, astonished her by saying; "Aunt Esther you look so charming tonight, your very soul seems to be looking forth out of your eyes. I wish you had a sweetheart, its such a lonely life to live; how long since uncle Herbert died?" "Ten years and over,” replied the little woman, without once lifting her eyes; somehow her voice sounded strangely to evening, ,one of Aunt Esther's old favorites Alice, and as she looked she saw tears that had carried her back in memory to her girlhood days, and these words of song, kept ringing in her ears: the fall upon the letter her aunt had been reading, but which seemed to have dropped from her hand. Alice knew her aunt was undemonstrative, and would not inquire what made her sad, but thought it was her ill-timed allusion to her uncle's death; little she knew the chord she had touched, that made such discord in the heart of this staid and demure little woman. The letters were finished and both ladies drew nearer to the fire and resumed conversation, as all do who love each other, just before separating for the night. "Alice, my [dear, was your unknown letter from some rich uncle-an invitation for the holidays?" "No aunt, it was from old Mr. Brown, whom we met at the seaside last summer, and funniest of all (for you remember how I snubbed him) contained an offer of marriage, the first one I ever had (audacious fellow!) tells me he loves me, and that he's worth half a million, all in one paragraph. I wouldn't marry him if he were worth three millions; he's a scoundrel, been in society thirty years or more, and divorced his wife. Marry old Brown, I'd rather be an old maid and stay with you all my days Auntie; you'll never marry again I don't suppose, though you're much more fascinating than most young girls, and know a great deal more. Is that the reason they call widows dangerous I wonder? I've often heard the expression, and couldn't imagine why it was used, for you are the only young widow I have ever really been acquainted with, and I'm sure you are the most inoffensive and reserved, and the very best little auntie in all the world." As she finished her remark she rose and threw her arms around Aunt Esther's neck and deluged her with kisses. When Polly came in to inquire what orders her mistress had to give, before retiring, Mrs. Danforth replied, "Nothing, to-night, but we are going away in a day or two, so all our plans will be changed, and we can dispense with some of the help for the present; and Polly, would you like to go anywhere on a visit?" "No, Mrs. Danforth, I will stay and take care of the house while you're absent, and Ben, of course you'll retain him for outside work, we two can do very well, and it will save some expense." "All right Polly, it's very kind of you to be so careful on my account; then I think we shall pack up to-morrow, and go away the next morning, good night Polly." "Alice" said her aunt when they were alone again, "I think I shall go to my sister's in M. Do you remember the famous, rambling, old country house with the great wide pastures? It was called "The Meadows." "You mean Aunt Jane's, I remember it a little, we used to play under the great elm trees. Was'nt there a lot of children?" "Seven, I believe, and they are none of them married, you will not be lonely with all these young people; at any rate we'll try it; I have not been there for many years, never since my widowhood." And Aunt Esther paused for a moment, the word seemed to stick in her throat. "It's a long way off, and we need not wait to send them word, I am sure of a welcome, for your uncle William is one of the most hospitable men I have ever known." "Then Auntie that's settled, and I want you to tell me that romantic story of your own life, Polly knows something about it, so of course there is a story." "What nonsense has Polly been filling your foolish little head with, some servant's gossip I suppose.” "Oh, no, Aunt Esther this is quite different, and if you don't promise to tell me I shall ask Polly before we go to Aunt Jane's, because one day she said to me long ago: 'Alice, you're a lovely girl, but not so attractive as your Aunt Esther was; she has a history;' and I wonder Auntie that I never have teased you to tell me the story." "Do you see," said her aunt, pointing to the clock on the mantel, "it is after midnight, and we shall have a great deal to do to-morrow, you really must go to bed now, and forget all this foolishness about your Auntie. It is quite enough for you to know me as I am now and to judge me upon my real merits, and not listen to Polly's insinuations, she's over fond o |