"Open what?

He despises the insidious smile of hypocrisy, and yet smiles back complacently upon the allurements of that hypocritical spirit which whispers in his ear the damning lie, "that there is no harm in the convivial glass." No harm in the

STRONG DRINK.

MAN naturally resents insult or injury. He would punish with a blow that enemy who makes him appear either wicked or ridiculous before his fellows; yet he will take into his mouth and swallow down his throat that, which overcoming his natural mind, may make him either a base knave or a poor fool. He makes laws to convict and punish thievery, yet, with relish, will deliberately place a thief within his mouth that steals away honor, virtue, manhood and intellect. He would repel the advance of an aggressive foe, who should aim a blow at the life or peace of his gentle wife or innocent children, yet with a smack of enjoyment he will pour into his stomach that soul destroying enemy, which slowly but sure

drunkard's wife, as she sits without light or food or fire, shivering and listening to the howling winds of winter, as she watches for the drunken husband's coming through the lone hours of night. Not her starved and ragged children, who feel the gnawing pangs of hunger, and the chill of the cruel blast, as it sweeps along on its remorseless journey. Not the widowed mother who sees her son, the stay of her declining years, turning into the path which led his father to death and dishonor. Not the orphaned children whom the monster rum has bereft of father, mother, friends and name. It is none of these who tell the world, "there is no harm in the social glass." It is the strong man, who in the youth or prime of life lifts the tempting glass to his lips, and spurns with contempt the thought that the day will ever come, when rum shall be his master. Secure in the strength of his manhood, he quaffs the bowl of temptation, while he looks upon the poor inebriate with pity or contempt.

O stop, strong man, and ask the degraded drunkard, in his filth and rags, if there was not once a period in his life's history, when he like you boasted in his strength, despised like you the weakness of the sot, and like you, thought there was no danger to him in the social glass. He will sadly answer, yes. He will tell you that to-day he might have been well clothed, well fed, and rich in the associations of kind friends and a happy family, if he had turned away while strong, and touched not, tasted not, handled not. And when you speak of reform, and hold up the possibility of yet regaining these best gifts of God, he will tell you in the sullenness of despair, that it is too late, that he has gone over the abyss that for

Then ye strong ones pause, and hear the cry of the drunkard's widow, see the helplessness of the drunkard's orphan

lost drunkard on his road to hell. Ask if it is not best to turn away once and forever from the allurements of the cursed wine cup. Nephi Pratt.

A river rose where darkened pines
Reared high their crowns in splendor;
And for the silent landscape round,
Made music sweet and tender.

With winds that played on timbered harps,
Its mellow tones were blended;

Thus in silence causing songs
Which, Time said, never ended.

Still passing down its winding way,

With many a dash it bounded,

And smiled to think from snow-capped peaks,
Its silver song resounded.

In passing through the meadow-lands,
The flow'rs yield sweet caresses;
While fields to it their perfumes bring,
As onward still it presses.

The children of the little town

Would from the school-room wander,
To watch the wavelets of the stream,
In beauteous course meander.

And sporting down its moss-clad banks, Forgetful of their duty,

Chased far, what seemed so near a thingThe rainbow's varied beauty.

Soon one would tire, when all would stop
And question of the river,
Why rainbows would not heed their cries,
And come to them forever?

The river, smiling, answer gave:
"'Tis here you make the blunder;
You grasp for rainbows in the sky,
An tread earth's flowers under.
"You seek the colors in the how,

Admire their hue and splendor,
Forgetting, leaves and grass and flow'rs
Have beauty no less tender."
The river fled, the children cried,
Oh, waters, stop and love us,
Tell us the truth. But they replied,
"Our love is far above us."

The children hast'ning to their homes,
These words would often ponder;

As often think how strange it was,

The river chose to wander.

And, meeting, they would oft remark,

"The waters do not love us,

Nor care for earth. We heard them say, 'Our love is far above us.'''

The river sang a song of love,

'Twas joined by many fountains;
And when the full-faced moon arose
O'er silver dells and mountains,
The song was tender, sweet and low;
Now, need the children ponder,
Nor think how strange it was to them
The river chose to wander!

The river wooed the full-faced moon;
It said, "Though high above
Look down and see your mirrored face,
Look down and say you love."
The moon the river's homage scorned;
Disdainful, on she wandered,
Not heeding the forsaken stream,
Which thus its love had squandered.
The moon had gilded every land,
And thought the stream's love perished,
But heard on her return, the song

The foolish stream still cherished.
Then ans'ring with a ray of light,

The moon said, with a wonder: "You seek for lovers in the sky,

Earth's ties you break asunder."
But still the stream its yearning sings,
And so may sing forever,

But never will the full-faced moon
Descend to love the river.

And children chase the rainbow yet,
And so may chase forever,
But wiser is the child who hears,

The counsel of the river.
For as an ocean's mighty waves,
Break into spray on landing;
So break the hopes of all whose love
Aspires beyond their standing.

Edward H. Anderson.

"O Liberty! 'tis of thee I sing." WE young people of Zion, live in a time when the people of the outside world are greatly exercised in regard to us. We hear of careful provision being recommended in all the legislation designed against our people, for the legitimatizing and enfranchisement of their innocent offspring. Back to the time of President Grant, we recollect his annual messages were always encumbered with some such philanthropic provisos.

The Christian ministers, government officials, teachers and editors who come to our country to care for the disaffected widows, draw salaries, and to educate the "Mormon" children, profess great concern for the welfare of the latter, especially in the matter of their liberation from the "intolerant bondage in which they are held by the Priesthood," etc. We have met the importunities of these over-zealous missionaries frequently, and have listened to their appeal, the burden of which is this: "O leave these awful, deluded people; be anything you will, Episcopal, Methodist, Presbyterian, or nothing at all, only, for the sake of being a respectable member of society, leave the 'Mormons.' We will educate you, we will introduce you to nice people, and help to make your way pleasant, only don't be a horrid 'Mormon.' ""

Because such broad, liberal entreaties do not deceive nor allure the young "Mormons," they are pronounced enslaved in the thralldom of priestly influence. Suggest to these gentlemen that education, nice people, and pleasant

the pale of Mormonism, and do not at all conflict with our religion, and they at once lose all patience with us, are swelled up with holy indignation at our stupidity and hurriedly pronounce our doom: slavery and destruction.

What they apparently want is for us to blind our eyes to the immediate blessings we enjoy, turn with scorn upon the parents who have reared us, and fall down before them as our delivefers, our protectors, our friends; value them as the heroic philanthropists, who take their lives in their hands, and dare all to rescue us from the very teeth and jaws of our voracious fathers and mothers, the wickedest men and women the sun ever shone upon.

One would naturally suppose when men, claiming to be Christians, kind, generous and unselfish in their interest for the objects of their solicitude, recommend the latter to such a revolt from their traditions, homes and institutions of childhood, that they would produce good and sufficient reasons for their advice. Such counsel ought to be supported by the most solemn and convincing reasons, if it is founded in justice, mercy or philanthropy. What are the facts? These pious Utah reformers, who wish to teach young "Mormons" liberty, fail to bring forth anything in the way of argument or reason. They cannot point out a single advantage that would ensue, if their instructions were followed.

They cannot name a good thing, that will ennoble, improve, or add to the material happiness of man, that we do not already possess; hence, latterly, with the most shameless and brazen effrontery, they have thrown aside the mask hiding their foul and corrupt hearts, and boldly avow that it were better for young "Mormons" to cast themselves into the vortex of passion and lasciviousness than to adhere to the principles of virtue that bind them to the doctrines of "Mormonism," conveying the impression that through a life of wanton license, the staid precepts and examples of virtue, piety and honor they have been such slaves as to regard in their fathers, might be suffi

ciently overcome as to qualify them for the glorious life of freemen and the associations of "respectable society."

The mistake these pious pretenders make is in denominating their society respectable. It may be the best they are permitted to enjoy, or that they know about. Yet they must have heard of social circles in which virtue was esteemed of some worth, and honor had a meaning. For them to presume to teach or influence young "Mormons" by the sophistry and buncombe they attempt to palm off under the sacred name of Liberty, is foolishness. There are no young "Mormons" made of such "poor stuff" that they cannot see through the transparent tissue of cant and hypocrisy, of which such are made. When men, failing to point out a better way, in their unholy zeal to destroy the confidence and peace that abound in our homes, resort to opening the floodgates of sin and passion, hoping thereby to effect their object, the dissolution of a chaste people, they manifest their feebleness, show their utter inability to cope with the problem they wish to solve, and sink into such insignificance that their efforts forevermore will have not the slightest effect. They may as well be relieved from duty and others, whose records are not so well known, assigned to the noble work in their stead.

The freedom the young "Mormons"

219

| want, God Almighty has vouchsafed to them, without consulting the ministers, statesmen, so called philanthropists or social philosophers of the world. He has preserved to them, through the faithfulness of their fathers, the sacred, pure and virtuous principles of life, which He has revealed from heaven. These, applied as their rule of conduct from their childhood up, are producing a race of men and women who are strangers to vice, and whose characters are founded in principles of truth, honor and virtue. They know how to value the latter, and the knowledge qualifies them to perfectly understand the weakness and despair of those whose prejudices would wage a warfare against them. Vice, corruption, rottenness in which the world is deluged is solving the problem for them. While the opposite to these, just so far as adhered to, is working out the grandest triumph for young "Mormons" that the world has ever seen.

Our liberties, thank God, are not in the grasp of our would be benefactors. The liberty of license, the liberty of unbridled passion, we can afford to leave to them. It is the rock upon which they will be wrecked and utterly lost. But the liberty God has given us, in preserving our lives pure from the contaminations of sin, we rejoice in. It is our strength, with which we shall not only conquer self but the world.

THERE is nothing so difficult to endure as monotony. Whether it be monotony of sound or monotony of silence; whether it be manifest to the sight, the hearing, smelling, tasting, feeling, or to all the five senses together, it makes but little difference. There is nothing more true than that variety is the spice, which seasons life's feast and renders it palatable, and nothing more wise and beneficent than that law which causes the continual and manifold changes in the midst of life and nature. Everything is made appreciable to the human sense by con

trast, and were it not for experiencing opposites, man could never properly distinguish good from evil, joy from sorrow, or even light from darkness. I might now close this writing with the consciousness of having said about all I have to say upon this topic, but it suits my mind to go a little further, even at the risk of furnishing the reader with an apposite illustration of my subject, and enlarge upon some of the axiomatic statements given above. Monotony is caused by too much of one thing at a time. To exemplify all its various forms and manifesta

tions, would require more space than the editor could allow, more time than the reader could give, and more ability than the writer possesses. A few examples, such as may present themselves as we proceed, must therefore suffice the present purpose.

Considered as an entirety, life can scarcely be said to have such a thing as monotony. Nature is one grand, harmonious system of variety from beginning to end, and though in some or all of her departments, considered severally, she may, at times, present appearances of sameness, it is because the beholder has ceased to contemplate the magnificent compass and economy as the whole, and confined his vision to the boundaries and workings of a single section or domain. One can only justly complain of life's monotony who is compelled to survey one face of the many-sided problem, or be subjected for too long a period to any one of its multifarious operations. This, however, is often the case, or man thinks it is, which amounts to much the same thing.

Looking around upon animate or inanimate nature, we cannot but perceive how wisely and carefully the great Creator has guarded against monotony in all His works. Where will we find two faces or two forms exactly the same? Where may two sticks or stones be picked up that will present no difference of aspect? Nature has not formed them. Even the cunning hand of Art, if employed to fashion a number of objects into similarity, though it establish a sort of resemblance between them, will fall short of producing identity of appearance. The edict, "Thus far but no farther," is in force, and as surely as Nature has ordained that everything of every kind shall bear some distinguishing features by which it may be known from all others, so surely is it impossible for man to set aside or violate the decree. The counterfeit may be made to resemble its original,to resemble it closely, even to an extent that will deceive the finite senses, but after all a difference will remain, which will be found just as impossible to remove, as it would be to cause two par

ticles of matter to occupy the same space simultaneously. It is well that this is so. Suppose all men or all women were alike. A world of beauty or of ugliness, as the case might be. How unutterably "stale, flat and unprofitable" such a world would be. Everybody mistaking everybody else for himself, and himself for everybody else. The only good thing I can imagine would result from such a condition, is that each one could, without half trying, love his neighbor as himself, and see himself as others see him. But seriously. How stupid and intolerable existence would be if we could not meet, associate, and exchange ideas with persons who looked, acted, and thought differently from ourselves. The disgust

with which we contemplate the efforts of any one who strives to appear like another, is a slight evidence of how a person would feel under such circumstances.

We instinctively dislike sameness, especially if attempted by imitation. Common sense, reason demands that every intelligent soul shall be an individual, manifesting his individuality by being himself and consequently different from everybody else. In domestic life is found ample evidence of mankind's inherent taste for variety. Married people as a rule, are not only dissimilar in appearance but in disposition. Lovers and companions nearly always cherish predilections for a cast of temperament and character opposite to their own. Instance the dark choosing the light, the light the dark, the tall the short, the short the tall, etc. Persons of fierce temper or strong passions naturally love those of gentler disposition, and the mild and amiable incline to those of passionate and vehement natures. Ask the dark complexioned man or woman for a description of his or her ideal in the other sex; either will very likely picture you a being with fair hair and blue eyes. Turn to a blonde with the same question, and you are quite as apt to receive a painting exactly the reverse; eyes whose black brilliance outshine the polished jet, with hair as dark and glossy as the raven's plume. I have heard some persons declare differently; but my own