am not able to look up; they are more than the hairs of my head; therefore my heart faileth me."

Now let us compare this with the testimony of John the beloved disciple, the bosom friend of our Lord and Master, 1 John 3: 20-22: "For if our heart condemn us, God is greater than our heart, and knoweth all things. Beloved, Beloved, if our heart condemn us not then have we confidence toward God. And whatsoever we ask we receive of Him, because we keep His commandments and do those things that are pleasing in His sight."

There is another kind of faith that might be called the lazy man's faith. It is a blind belief that accepts certain things to be true because others believe them to be true.

The possessor of such faith is either indifferent or lazy, perhaps both; he is willing to accept the ideas or testimony of others rather than put himself to the trouble of think ing or examining the evidence for himself. It is this kind of belief that fills the Christian churches of the day, or rather half fills them, for very few of them are ever even half filled except on certain special occasions. Episcopalians believe, or rather profess to believe, the thirtynine articles, the Athanasian creed, and other doctrines and dogmas taught them because their bishops and ministers declare their faith in them, and the laity think-and not without reason-that if these well educated, and better paid officials of the church, after having made a life-long study of religion, find satisfaction in believing and teaching these things, they ought to be good enough for those who have neither the time nor the inclination (speaking generally) to study for themselves. So with the Baptist, Methodist, Presbyterian, and other denominations, most of their adherents are in their own particular church because they were brought up from

childhood to that special brand of religion, or because they take special liking to some minister of that persuasion or perhaps have been induced by a friend to attend the same place of worship.

Though the Lord will excuse and even approve of such blind, unquestioning belief in a child,who naturally looks to his seniors for guidance, we learn from His Word that He will not justify those who have come to years of discretion and accountability before Him in accepting any man's person or putting their trust in the arm of flesh. "To the law and to the testimony," says Isaiah (chap. 8: 20), "if they speak not according to this word, it is because there is no light in them."

We are exhorted by Paul (Phil. 2: 12) to "work out your own salvation with fear and trembling,” and it is to shirk this grave responsibility that many accept blindly whatever their ministers tell them is right. Hence there are so many calling "Lord, Lord," but failing to do the things which He has commanded, and now that more light has come into the world, if they reject that light, their doom is sealed in the saying of the Master: "If the blind lead the blind, both shall fall into the ditch."

True worth is in being, not seeming.

Always say a kind word if you

can.

Doing nothing for others is the undoing of one's self.

Welcome the puny struggler strong in his weakness.

For the weariest day
May Christ be thy stay.

Take courage, for in good time God will relieve thee of thy burden.

Ingeborg Konig had embraced the Gospel in her native little town in Denmark, when a girl of seventeen years. Her lover, Ferdinand Caspersen, had been baptized a short time previous. Ferdinand was scarcely a year older than Ingeborg. A happier couple would be hard to find. Ferdinand had just got through with his four years' apprenticeship. Having learned the carpenter's trade, he had now begun to work for wages. The youngest one of the family, his brothers and sisters being married, he and his widowed mother heard and embraced the Gospel.

Ingeborg was an adopted child of well-to-do-people, and though she had been reared in some degree of luxury, she had always been compelled to work hard.

On becoming acquainted with the Gospel, she was quickly made to understand that she must either quit Mormonism or leave her home. She chose the latter, and made her home for a few days with Sister Caspersen, before taking her departure for the city of Copenhagen, whither she had decided to go to stay just long enough to earn sufficient means to take her to Zion.

Ferdinand remained at their old home, where he had fine prospects of remunerative work at his trade; hoping within a couple of years to be able to emigrate himself and his mother, and if necessary, also to aid Ingeborg.

Ah, for the fond messages that passed between the lovers! For the bright dream of home and future happiness in Zion! Both had the same purpose in view, and time passed quickly.

In the early spring of 1890, scarce

ly a year after Ingeborg's departure for Copenhagen, Ferdinand was rather startled with a message from his sweetheart: "I have already," she wrote, "saved fifty dollars, and a well-to-do emigrating brother has kindly offered to let me have what 1 am lacking. Now, as Brother V., who baptized us both, is going home at this time, the brethren think that I ought to accept. Brother V. lives in one of the largest towns in Utah, and he says I can make as much again there as I do here, get my debt paid,and even help you to come, dear Ferdinand." She then stated they would sail in three days, hoped he would come and see her off. Everything was "rush" with her, as he might know. Would not dare to come home if she'd had time, for fear that her foster parents would prevent her from leaving again.

a

So

Ferdinand was extremely busy at contract work. The time was short, and he might miss seeing her after all; besides, he knew the trip would cost at least twenty-five dollars, great consideration in his case. he hurriedly dispatched a letter, telling her the circumstances, and though much against his inclination, he would forego the pleasure of seeing her off, in the sure hope of meeting her in Zion in less than a year. And thus-well-no need of telling of the dreams of home and happiness depicted in that letter.

In a couple of days, Ferdinand received an answer: "By the time you receive this, I will be upon the bosom of the mighty waters. How disappointed I was not to see you! But, may our prayers and hopes come true, for else, what should I live for." She then told that she had attended a class in English all winter, that she

could almost converse in that language now, and promised to teach him English when he arrived in Zion, etc., etc.

She also sent her photograph. Sister Caspersen almost cried over it; she was afraid that Ingeborg had grown vain since living in the capital citv.

Ferdinand sat and stared at the picture for hours. Vain? Nonsense! He knew her too well. How handsome she had grown. had grown. True, she looked stylish, but then how lovingly she looked at him out of her large, clear eyes, and that smile on her lips! He knew it was meant for himself! How magnificently she had dressed her abundance of brown hair; her only attempt at ornamentation being a bunch of violets, which she knew he loved better than any other blossom. As he looked at the picture, a violent longing took possession of him. What would he not give to go with her, to guard her from every possible danger. Yet he said aloud: "When she had the chance to go, the wisest thing was to accept it." He knew she would ever be true to him.

One year passed quickly away. In one of the larger towns in Utah stood a handsome house-that of Mrs. Clearfield-who is the mother of the popular Dr. Clearfield. Everything about the place, without and within, tells of the owner's good taste, of luxury and elegance. In the parlor is Ingeborg-seemingly the only occupant of the house-practicing patiently on the grand piano. It is a commonplace chord to which she hums one of her native songs. Her great ambition is to play piano accompaniments for herself, when she is asked by the doctor or his mother to sing for them, which she very often is, as she has an exceptionally sweet voice.

Surely she is a very comely girl! How plump, and yet how erect! Almost stately, is she! How becomingly she carries her shapely head.

No one would consider her out of place in luxurious surroundings.

Presently she seems tired. Throwing herself in a low rocker, she covers her face with her hands. Recent events pass before her. She thanks her Heavenly Father for His kindness towards her. Only one short year before had she arrived here, unknown to anybody, except Brother V.-the missionary. He had soon after presented her to Mrs. Clearfield, who was in need of help. as both of her daughters were going off to attend school.

What a pleasant time she had enjoyed. She had quickly learned to converse with ease in the English language, and had enjoyed the utmost freedom in this lovely home. Indeed, she had never known such a degree of freedom in her own home. It was like the dreams of a future home with Ferdinand, which she had indulged in when she had fancied herself sitting by his side-he listening to her singing. Oh for the loving messages which had passed between them! When Ferdinand had written for the last time, stating that he and his mother would sail from the old country the next day, her joy seemed boundless! How she had bustled about, preparing for the arrival of the loved ones. She had rented a small house a couple of blocks down the road, telling her employer that it was for some quaintances of hers who were coming from the old country. She told of the dear old lady who had left so many of her children behind for the Gospel's sake; and her story had quickly drawn out kind-hearted Sister Clearfield's sympathy, as well as the sympathy of her son, the doctor. The good folk, having plenty of discarded furniture, and some for which they had no particular use. the little house had soon been comfortably furnished, thanks to these good people's generosity. Every day Ingeborg had walked over to the

ac

little cottage, arranging and rearranging, until she felt there could be no further improvements.

And then when the day of the arrival had dawned! What expectancy! What happy, exciting joy she had experienced. The doctor himself had driven her down to receive her friends, having arranged with the drayman to take the heavy trunks. When at last she felt herself clasped in Ferdinand's strong arms, she forgot all else but that her lover had come. But then! That bliss was but for a moment. Somehow she became startled and half ashamed when she saw the doctor looking at her, although he seemed so immensely pleased. After greetings were all over, the doctor drove them home, where Sister Clearfield had dinner all ready and waiting. Later in the afternoon, they went over to the little home, so thoughtfully prepared, well laden baskets accompanied them. She acted as interpreter, and through her excitement she had addressed the doctor in Danish and Ferdinand's mother in English.

All this was one short week ago. As she sat in her rocker, pondering upon these happenings, there were some things that she could not account for. When the doctor next morning asked when the wedding was to come off, congratulating her on her good taste, why had she declared so stoutly that she and Ferdinand were nothing to each other but mere friends; that the demonstration at the depot was because they had been so intimate as children, and they had embraced the Gospel at the same time?

She had acted strangely all the following week. Ferdinand had worked for the doctor the past few days, sawing wood and digging in the garden. He had been glad to do so, as there was little chance of getting work at the carpenter's trade immediately. And every morning when she had walked out with the

doctor to give Ferdinand his instructions for the day, how she had wished he could have appeared a little more like the doctor. How awkward he had seemed compared with the dapper young physician. Why did he not comb up his hair in style; and why?-Yes, she had won、 dered, why he did not shave!

The girl turned her head and looked out at the neat little house down the road. She had wished at times she could have a house like that of her own, and some day be the happy wife of Ferdinand. How insignificant it looked today. And she glanced about the elegant room. she sat in. Just then the clock struck four.

The girl jumped from the chair. "Mercy, I must have been dreaming," she exclaimed. "The folks might be home any minute." was at work in an instant.

She

The next morning while at breakfast Dr. Clearfield was telling of the great play that was to be presented at the opera house that evening, when he turned and asked his mother if she would like to go and see it.

"I think I shall not care to go," the good lady answered: "What is to hinder you and Ingeborg from going alone?"

"I hardly dare to ask her since her sweetheart came, unless you, dear mother, will go with us. I fancy the young man is inclined to regard me jealously at times."

"Henry, I think we'd better talk about something else," kind, sympathetic Sister Clearfield remarked to her son, as she noticed Ingeborg was looking rather uncomfortable.

"All right, mother! Let's get it settled, then. Ingeborg, will you please go with me tonight?"

"I will, with pleasure," the girl answered, trying to smile at the young man.

"I want to say, though," the doctor continued, "that I think Brother Caspersen is all right, and a good

looking chap, when he gets brushed up a bit. Do you know, Ingeborg? I am going to have him put up a new picket fence all around our lot. It will give him a chance to show us what he is able to do, and if he puts good work on it, it will serve to advertise him, and then after a while when I get a wife, I shall want him to build me a house on yonder corner."

Ingeborg, acting on the impulse, flew over to Sister Clearfield and embraced her, exclaiming as she did so: "I never, never shall be able to repay you and the doctor for all your kindness and love," and then the girl ran into the kitchen, half ashamed of herself.

The following Sunday, Ingeborg went home from meeting with Fer dinand and his mother to spend the evening with them. They had a lovely time. Just like they used to have in the old country. How they chatted about mutual friends left so far behind! They sang the dear old hymns together. Ingeborg would teach her friends English words; how merrily they laughed at failures to get the proper pronunciation. Dear old Sister Caspersen declared that people did not know what they were talking about when speaking English.

Yes, they had had a lovely time; only the girl felt a certain uneasiness creep over her now and then, and when she finally had to go, Ferdinand prepared to accompany her. "Don't, please," she said. "I can run these two blocks in a minute.” "Yes, but I can run with you, then."

"Ingeborg, why is it that you keep me at such a distance all the time now?" the young man asked after they had emerged from the house, and he had taken her arm.

"I think you're quite close now, Ferdinand," the girl said jestingly.

"Ingeborg, please don't speak so lightly," he pleaded. "You know

You know that

how earnest I am. I love you a thousand times better than any other being on this earth. You know I expected to make you my wife when I arrived here, and this is almost the first time I've had a chance to speak a word to you. You are changed. Have you ceased to care for your lover?"

He spoke hastily and in almost despairing tones.

"Ferdinand, don't talk so foolishly. Have I not shown that I care for you?" the girl asked.

"Bless you, girl! You've done too much. Mother blesses both you and Sister Clearfield and the doctor all the time; but you know, I don't mean that. You seem hardly more than a friend. I hear, too, that you go out with Dr. Clearfield."

"I do. I have gone out with him and his mother a number of times the past winter. You certainly won't try to prevent me from doing that, so long as I stay with them?" "No, but now, Ingeborg, when are we to be married? I am getting plenty of work. I could support a little wife now."

"Ferdinand, I refuse to discuss that question with you tonight. Would you have me leave Sister Clearfield now after all she has done

for us?"

"Good night, Ingeborg!" the young man said, as he turned and left the girl, who was almost startled at his sudden departure. Slowly she entered the house.

A few weeks passed along. Ferdinand had built a most handsome fence. Anybody could see that he had learned his trade well, and as the doctor had said, it served to advertise the young man. In fact, he had more work than he could attend to. To all human appearances he was now on the road to prosperity. He had been in the habit, ever since embracing the Gospel, of paying his tithing; a principle to which he still adhered most faithfully, and Inge