al advantages, owing to the undeveloped condition of the then partially subdued desert, yet inheriting from her illustrious father and noble, devoted mother a strong religious tendency and progressive mind, influenced her to unite herself with the young ladies' meetings soon after they were organized, being a member and subsequently a secretary, when a few of her girl friends, like herself, eager for higher development, met together in Sister M. I. Horne's parlor. Having grown up in the midst of a polygamous family, loving them with the same love she bore her own mother's children, being familiar from her earliest infancy with the unselfishness and devotion of her father's wives one toward the other, who were early left to guide their little flocks alone, through the martyrdom of the husband and father, she saw nothing in her own family to prejudice her against the holy order of celestial marriage, hence grew up a firm believer in that principle. She believes that just so far as the mothers overcome their natural selfishness and jealousy, they make it that much easier for their daughters to subdue and finally eradicate from their natures those evil propensities which make life in this or any other order of marriage hard to bear. This belief is demonstrated in her own life by the quiet and positive yet gentle and womanly dignity which has characterized all her associations in her family relations. She has mounted the higher plane, where principle instead of impulse has been the guiding star of her conduct. Her lady-like deportment under all circumstances evinces marked self con trol and that true consideration for others which springs only from the noble and cultivated soul. One instinctively breathes the air of refinement in her presence, and in few women are the virtues of a perfect wife and mother and the graces of an intel. lectual mind with a spiritual organization so harmoniously blended. She was married to Royal B. Young in 1872, and made the mistake that so many young wives make in thinking she no longer needed the instructions given in the Y. L. meetings, that she had reached the climax or taken the highest degree in mental and spiritual development, not realizing that her duty to herself, her God and her religion remained unchanged after her marriage equally with that of her husband, and through her all-absorbing devotion to husband and home she lost interest in M. I. Associations until, after becoming the mother of two children, she had her attention drawn to the necessity of renewing her interest in mutual improvement, became a member and soon after a counselor in the Eighth Ward association, and held that position until 1885, when she was elected president of that association. With the blessing of the Lord and the help of good counselors, she was able to discharge her duties to the general satisfaction of all and the marked improvement of the association. In December, 1888, she was called to hold the position of first counselor to President Mary A. Freeze, in the Salt Lake Stake. She During this time three other children were added to her family. was ever prompt and faithful in the discharge of her public duties, and it cannot be said truthfully that her home interests were ever neglected, on the contrary, they were more wisely de- man mind. Owing to her removal to Forest Dale in August, 1890, she resigned her sisters' meetings, through which she has formed friendship and congenial companionship that will last through life. She has learned to love her colaborers and members of associations as she does her own sisters, and has been blessed in every exertion made to attend meetings while raising her family. She urges her young married sisters as well as the girls to keep up their interest in mutual improvement, and the daughters of Zion who are asleep or uninterested, she exhorts to awake and seek for a testimony of this work, which will impress them with a sense of the responsibility they are under to attend their meetings, where they will her position as president of the 8th | learn to become more dutiful as daugh E Brings to his nostrils rich perfumes A single shot! a puff of smoke The hunter came with looks of pride And stood the fallen king beside. Oh sad, how sad that men should joy Such harmless creatures to destroy. He raised the monarch from the grass, I see him through the meadows pass. Butoh, my heart is filled with pain To gaze upon that crimson stain, And know 'tis right that even man Should thus mar lovely nature's plan, And calmly slaughter for his food The peaceful tenants of the wood. Within my heart I humbly pray LIGHTS AND SHADES. [CONTINUED FROM PAGE 214.] DWARD GRANGE was nailing a block of wood on to the side of his wagon, to tighten the brake and make it more secure, when Willie stepped up to him. He paused a moment and looked steadily at the young man, but failed to recognize him. "Dear old home, dear old friend," said Willie, extending his hand. His voice and the merry twinkle in his eyes caused Edward to recall to memory the active, energetic boy who had worked beside him many a day upon the same ground where they now stood. It also occurred to him that Jacob had told him he was expecting his nephew up before long. Throwing his ax into the wagon, he warmly grasped Willie's hands in his own and shook them heartily. "Come into the house, Will," he said, "I am so pleased to see you; how did you leave the folks?" "All doing first rate," answered Willie; "your little 'Nellie was a lady;' has married well and has a baby which they think beats anything else ever born in the south." "Is Walt married?" asked Edward. "Not yet, but likely will be before long; they will come to the city, I suppose. You didn't see Nellie when she was up to get married, did you?" Willie remarked. "No," answered Edward; "I was hunting stock and did not get home in time to see them. How is it you do not get married, Will; you always seemed to take well with the girls when you were younger?" "I can't tell," replied Will, "unless it is that I like them all so well I can't settle my mind on any of them." "And then," to turn the subject, he observed, "how natural every thing looks here; Chloe keeps house just as there were so many of us. mother used to; only nicer, of course; all your children, Edward?" Where are "We have not yet been blest with swered. And then it was his turn to any, I am sorry to say," Edward ancontinued, "You are wonderfully like want to change the subject, and he your uncle Jacob, Will; same size, living in the south has made you somesame voice and same complexion, only what darker. You could easily pass for with you both." him with those not well acquainted "Yes," said Will, mother some times calls me Jacob half the time, for days together; she says uncle will never have a son more like him than I am." Then Will looked into Chloe's mirror, combed his dark, handsome whiskers with his fingers; told Edward they were to go to his aunt's for dinner, and it was time for them to go. Six weeks passed rapidly away, and Will wrote to his mother that visiting among their old friends and leaving hard work alone had brought back his appetite; he had felt real well, but was beginning to get home sick, and might come home before the holidays. He did not show his letter to his uncle, nor to Gwyn; it was not written in their house. He had dated it at his "old home," and when it was finished, it was Chloe to whom he handed it for criticism before folding it up. Edward was in the canyon, and would not be home until the following evening. You may look into Chloe's neat little dining and sitting room, girls, and see how things are going on there, in the absence of the master of the house. Will has just finished his letter to the dear ones at home; he need not rise to hand it to Chloe, for she sits close by him, stitching on a shirt for Edward; so close that he slips his arm about her neck in handing her the letter, and allows it to remain there while she reads. At the close of the letter, she looks at Will and says pleadingly, "You do not mean to leave us so soon, Willie ? I don't want you to go home!" "If you don't, some one else does," answered Will. "Oh, well!" says Chloe, "you need not mind what Edward thinks about it; he should not be so foolish." "Perhaps it's myself that's foolish, and not him," Will says, with a certain look which betrays a slight twinge of conscience. "No, indeed, Willie, don't you blame yourself in the least; you have never done one thing that should cause Edward to feel the hardness of heart towards you that he manifests." As Chloe utters this sentence, she arises to her feet, places her sewing upon the table and stepping to the stove in the next room, puts in a stick of wood and pokes the ashes from the grate. For a moment Will buries his face in his hands. A great struggle goes on in his heart; but when Chloe takes up the basket and starts to bring in more wood, he hears it, and is at her side in an instant. Gently taking the basket from her hand, and smiling upon her, although his countenance shows that his inward peace is greatly disturbed, he soon brings the wood she was going for, and places it beside the stove. And now Chloe continues, "If Edward is so afraid that I shall think too much of you, as he appears to be, why don't he take lessons from what he sees in you that pleases me, and treat me better himself? He never brings in a stick of wood, or a pail of water." (Will has now taken the pail in his hand to go to the spring for water), "and it isn't once a month that he ever offers to kiss me, or that he speaks to me as though I was anything to him more than a woman hired to do his work. Oh! Willie, if he only would be more like you, and try to foster my love for him instead of killing it; but he will not; he isn't the kind of a man that a woman like me should have mar ried. Father and mother knew it at first, but I could not believe that they were right." "Which shows," remarks Will, "that young people do best when they listen to the counsel of their seniors, especially their parents. But I wish Edward would be better to you Chloe; I'd give anything in the world if I could only convince him that my waiting upon you is but showing the respect which I consider due to any woman from any man, and not that I want to win your affections away from him." "But he won't believe it; he doesn't want any one else to show me the least attention, no matter how he neglects me," says Chloe. “Oh! I never should have married a jealous man. I, who love every body that wants to be good, and cannot be happy without the love and sympathy of those around me, should not be bound by a jealous and selfish husband, who wants to control my every word and action. Your sympathy, Willie, has done me so much good since you have been here; I wish you could always be near me." Willie's answer is again the same, strangely sorrowful, and he steps quickly away towards the spring. Only six weeks had passed since his return to F., after an absence of nine years. Yet, what a wonderful change had come over him in those short weeks. He had, indeed, been benefitted in bodily health by the change, but he was so harassed and bewildered in mind, that he felt tempted to return home at once, and yet he seemed spell bound and could not get away. On the afternoon of his arrival and for some time after Edward had been most lavish in his expressions of brotherly feelings toward Will; had assured him over and over again, that he was just as welcome in his old home as he ever had been when his father owned it; and had urged him to spend all the time there that he could during hisstay in F. But within a month Edward had become savagely, and Will and Chloe thought causelessly jealous of them, which changed matters materially. Will was distinctly forbidden to speak to or notice Chloe in any way; and was ordered out of the old home, and told never to enter it again. Chloe was accused of unfaithfulness, and treated like one actually suspected of a horrible crime. It was no one instance that had so maddened Edward, but a chain of circumstances which he linked together, making much out out of little, misinterpreting motives, and managing, as people of jealous natures will do, to render himself most wretched, his wife completely non-plussed. desperate and his young, unwary friend As Willie Hillon stood beside the spring of pure, sparkling water, that bright November afternoon, his thoughts reverted to another time when he had stood there one summer's day, nearly a dozen years ago. That first day of July, when he had found his uncle Jacob and little Gwyn there. He recalled to mind the hand. ful of flowers which Gwyn had gathered as an offering of friendship for his uncle, because he was twenty-one that day. And then, the lesson in honesty and chivalry which his uncle had taught him over a bird's nest that morning; and how it was impressed sion to remind his uncle of it, when he upon his memory by his having occawould have playfully taken the flowers from little Gwyn by force, because he was larger and stronger than she. Will hurriedly reviewed his life since in that secret criticism there was no that time, and felt gratified that even |