month before our next Conference, that they may be considered by the General Board before next meeting and the answers be ready for that meeting. Ann M. Cannon. Following the testimony meeting, held Tuesday morning, came the reception given by the two Boards of the M. I. A. to the visiting officers and guests. The reception was to have been held at the Bee Hive House, but the sudden illness of President Lorenzo Snow prevented. Mrs. Elizabeth C. McCune, with her characteristic whole-souled generosity, offered her home, the Gardo. House, to the committee, and it was gladly accepted. When the guests arrived, they were met at the door by members of the two Boards, welcomed and directed to the dressing rooms. Once down stairs, the scene that met their gaze was beautiful and dazzling in the extreme. The spacious rooms were profusely decorated with flowers and palms. The rich treasures of the McCune home, the statuary, rugs, pictures and bric-a-brac, were an education to many whose souls hunger after beauty and who rarely see it amplified in artistic creation. In the far corner of the long parlor suite, a delightful Japanese retreat was formed, and here was an inexhaustible well of iced lemonade served out by two lovely girls clad in gorgeous Japanese raiment. Out on the west lawn, a large floor was laid, waxed and smooth. Seats surrounded this floor, a fine band discoursed quadrilles and reels all the evening; seats were everywhere, on porches,under trees,beside the shrubbery, while over all there sparkled and flashed innumerable electric lights, making the scene like an il luminated fairy-land. Bunting and flags draped the pillars and swung from corner to corner. Over the door glittered an electric star, which paled and dulled the light of the moon, shedding warmth and welcome to all. The weather was perfect; the conditions were ideal. Elegant refreshments were served, with abundance and generosity. Best of all, the entertainment provided, was the exquisite singing of our home talent. The beautiful voice of Elder Ensign never sounded to better advantage; his is a generous, big soul, and the tender sympathy of his nature touches every chord in the heart, when his song vibrates with emotion. Brother Ashworth was also vigorously applauded for his charming rendition of one of his favorite ballads. The tasteful and chaste accompaniments of Prof. Daynes added much to the pleasure of all. The singing of our own Mutual girl, Arvilla Clark, was much enjoyed. Through the kindness of Director Ensign, she sang a solo during the Sunday afternoon. Let one thing be mentioned here, however, in connection with music It is worse than bad form, it is a musical crime, to ask a person to sing or play,and then to talk or move about. If people want to talk, they should go out of the room, or withdraw beyond the halls, so that the singer and listeners can enjoy the harmony in peace. People should respect art if they do not respect themselves. Over all the festivities on that memorable occasion there brooded a sweet, gentle, old-fashioned "Mormon" atmosphere. There was a welcome, warm and true, and no constraint, no style, no worldly formality was felt, but the genial, true spirit of the Gospel. It was the most beautiful, elegant and enjoyable occasion ever participated in by the present writer. May the M. I. A. have many such re-unions to strengthen the bond of love and fellowship in their ranks. The Conference was a memorable one, and we commend to all the girls the fine editorial on the subject in the July number (July 1st) of the Juvenile Instructor, written by Prest. George Q. Cannon. We are improving, and mutually benefiting each other. Roll on, thou little stone cut out of the mountain! A STORY FROM THE BOOK CALLED "LIFE." "Be as you used to be long, long ago, The voice of the man at the piano was vibrant with entreaty; in the visible profile of his face was the sentiment of the song. Katherine Curtis felt the hot blood rush to her face and her dark lashes seemed riveted to her cheeks. "Oh! if he would but stop," she thought. "Every one in the room must read his meaning." She felt like resenting it, and yet -ah, treacherous thrill of the tremulously beating heart-it was sweet. At last, after a valiant struggle, she found courage to raise her shy eyes, and-oh, relief! not a glare was directed to her. No one, then, had as yet detected the secret, the heartbreaking secret. The song was ended and the man took his position in the background where, unobserved, his eyes would rest on Katherine's fair, young face with hypnotic intensity of gaze. It was all so new, so absorbing, this romantic experience, to Katherine Curtis. She longed to be away and alone with her thoughts and her heart. She had met Percy Moore only a few short months ago, and suddenly became aware that a new life had begun for her with his coming. Though much older than she, he was a veritable Adonis in the eyes of the inexperienced girl, and he was so accomplished and charming, ah, so dangerously charming. His preference for her had been unmistakable from the first; she felt it in a thousand little signs, meaningless to the uninterested, but like a cipher code of the heart, full of thrilling messages when interpreted by the heart. And then? There had been a summary call to a home council of father and mother and Katherine. Father's eyes can be keen; how keen Katherine learned that day when she was told that Percy Moore was a man, unscrupulous and self-seeking, that he concealed habits under that fair exterior of his that, like skulking things of night, could not endure the clear searchlight of day. That, in short, she must not permit his attentions, she must permit nothing but the merest civility from Percy Moore. Thus the parental fiat! With the result of a girl-heart sorely troubled, and a man perplexed but doubly determined. The young life of Katherine Curtis had grown and expanded in a home atmosphere of gentleness, of tender affection and unquestioning confidence. The experience of eighteen summers had taught her that "father's" judgment seldom erred and "father" trusted her as he would himself, this only daughter of his, the pride of his eye. The young people continued to meet as usual, for both were favorites in the same social circle. Was it a wonder that the girl's fealty was sorely tried? Those who know the tempter's ways may answer. And when young love, strange, and new. and sweet, pleads that tempter's cause for love, 'tis said, is blindpity the heart that must needs fight such a foe. As the social evening that first introduced us to Katherine and Percy Moore grew late, the air in the parlors, for it was summer, became oppressive. Katherine longed to escape, and as soon as the opportunity came, slipped out to the veranda, all unobserved, as she thought. How delightful the cool breath of night on her hot cheeks! The stars twinkled so peacefully and blinked at her as if to reassure her of their vigilant care. How unmeasurably grand the spangled dome above! The veranda that ran the length of the whole facade of the building was fairly hidden in vines. Katherine was thankful to be alone, and stealing to the dark far end of the porch, she rested her head against a pillar, letting the cool leaves caress her face like soothing hands. And in her heart echoed the tender appeal of the song: "Ah! though my eyes can see you have changed so, Be as you used to be long, long ago." However had he found her out? For there beside her stood Percy Moore. There was no escape, she must give him speech now. It is needless to repeat their conversation here, only a fragment will suffice for the thread of our story. "Yes or no, Katherine? I must know tonight. I can bear the suspense no longer." "Oh, hush, you must not ask me this, Mr. Moore." "Why not? Ah, why not, sweetheart? When I can't live without you, love. You surely don't mean to make me wretched forever. Katie, darling, what is it that has come between us?" Her voice, in answer, sounded strange and cold, as she told him of her father's command, and now, as she repeated those words they seemed hard and cruel, and her father suddenly appeared to her like an unjust tvrant beside the man who pleaded so ardently for her love. There was a long silence, as if the man's pride was too deeply stung for words. Had she given the death blow to his regard of her and hers? At last he spoke, and the very subtlety of the tempter was in his speech. "That it is then that has made you so cold of late?" And his voice sounded unsteady with suppressed passion. "But, Katherine," taking her hand between both of his, "you don't, you can't believe this true of me? Answer me, has there ever been anything in my conduct that would justify your father's prejudice? What have I done that people should take pains to slander me so, for it is slander, I declare it, unscrupulous as it is unjust." He seemed so hurt, so grieved, she longed to say something to comfort him, and her hand pressed his ever so lightly, just to show her sympathy. "Kate, you love me! I know it, I feel it! My heart then spoke me truly when it pointed to you, my North star, as its one affinity! Ah, Kate, and shall a cruel prejudice part us forever? to wander unhappy and alone through this world? And I would die for you, my own." She was still silent, but he felt his words thrill her to the very fingertips. "Surely," her inexperienced heart argued, "this, this is love, the all conquering, divine passion, for just so had she read it in books. And it was sacrilege to reject its divine call." "Ah, Kate, my own, how little fathers and mothers remember that they, too, once were young, that they ever loved. Their life has become one of calculations and cold logic, and do you mean that we must lose our only hope of happiness because of this prejudice and sordidness?" "Father will never consent." "And if he doesn't, aren't you woman enough to be true to the voice of your heart? Then I have been mistaken in you, Kate. I know you better, you will marry me, won't you, even though your parents refuse to consent?" At this moment others came out to the veranda in search of coolness, laughing and chattering gaily as they came. "What has become of Katherine? Kate!" someone called. The truant came forward quickly with an air of unconcern, but whispered quickly before she went, "Tomorrow evening, come to our gate, I will give you an answer then." "Sister Curtis, how do you do! You precious little soul, how are you anyway? I declare I got that hungry to see you I just had to drop everything and me that busy, I been fairly standing on my head all morning. with puttin' up fruit and washin' and Jamie having his toe stubbed. But I just had to come and have a right good chat. And here's Katherine, too, you sweet, sweet girl, I declare, you're getting prettier every day, come and give me a right good kiss!" And gushing little Mrs. Robbins stopped for breath, and sank into a chair on the porch where Mrs. Curtis and Katherine sat sewing busily. They hastened to make their visitor comfortable in a way that left no doubt as to her welcome, for Mrs. Robbins was a girlhood friend of Mrs. Curtis'. Though somewhat eccentric and given to jumping at conclusions, whose logic was past finding out, she was, nevertheless, bright in her way and warmhearted withal. But the kindness and forbearance of the Curtis family toward Mrs. Robbins had its cause in something more worthy than pleasure in her company; that was sympathy, for Mrs Robbins was one of those unfortunates whose life is wretched out of its natural channel. By nature and inclination destined, seemingly, to be a loved wife and proud mother of a large family, she discovered early that she had builded her structure of happiness on a sandy foundation, which did not even wait for the storm and the rain to come, before it toppled to the ground. She had an unworthy husband, devoid of the capacity for that higher love that alone sanctifies marriage; and this she bore for several years, vainly clinging to the disfigured fragments of her home temple, after it lay shattered and crumbling at her feet. Then came partial desertion. recalled him to the deathbed of their child, and when all was over, she besought him in her agony and her great woman's need to come home for the sake of their remaining child. Yes, even on her knees she besought him. Ah, the pity of it! that women's hearts can be made to suffer so that pride flees, and abject humility pleads for the hope that is life and a crumb wherewith to keep the heart from starving. She He had looked down at her in her misery and degradation and shut the door upon her there, leaving her to battle with her agony, her bitterness and despair, till pride came and helped her through. When morning dawned she faced it, another being. The self of the days that were past had died with the night,the future stretched before her like a strange desert, barren and dark and chill. That was many years ago and time, the healer and conqueror, had also conquered the desert of her life. It had made many a bright oasis with sunshine and perfume, bird song and gladness, with shady places where even other weary wayfarers found succor and rest. But alas! Mrs. Robbins was far from being a heroine; she was rotund of figure and florid of face, garrulous, impulsive, recklessly jolly and desperately despondent in quick succession. In all of her moods she was willing to let most people share, but from Mrs. Curtis she hadn't the shadow of a secret thought. The afternoon had worn into early evening. Katherine had prepared a dainty repast, and now they were lingering over their cups, for it must be confessed that two or three cups of good coffee were indispensable to a perfect flow of Mrs. Robbins' soul. Katherine's coffee must have been exceptionally fine that afternoon, for Mrs. Robbins' soul flowed out in an almost uninterrupted stream from its innermost recesses. What would I have done but for his loving care these many years? I tell you, a better father never lived." "But he should have guarded you against deception," persisted Mrs Curtis, wondering to herself at the shortsightedness of some parents. "Ah, but he did his best; but when he saw I was determined, he gave in. You see, the scoundrel, the oily rascal, he got possession of my heart to that extent that I would have done most anything he wanted me to. I would have run away, but what I'd have married him. I used to meet him clandestine-like all along, and when father found it out, he was near distracted. But he just talked to me in his kind way, saying he didn't trust the fellow, and that he'd have given his life if I only hadn't set my heart on him." "How well I remember one night when dear old father sat at my bedside all the night long. How he talked to me, reasoning and coaxing by turns. trving to persuade me that 'twould be just-well, just as it turned out to be. "Ah, but it's a hard life, Sister Curtis, a hard old life for a poor woman to be left to go its length alone. Why is it now, can you tell me, that an innocent, confiding girl should have her life wrecked by a scoundrel? Can you see the justice in it? You have your dear, kind husband, and of course can't know what it means to live without love and companionship and the dignity of a natural protector. I sometimes wonder if "Lands! "Twas no use, not a bit. in some former existence I haven't I was determined, and have him I deprived some other poor soul of its would. He had won my love, you rightful share of affection, and this see, and what can a poor girl do, is my punishment. If 'tain't that, Sister Curtis, when a fellow gets a I declare I think God ain't just." girl's affections to that extent so that she's deaf and blind to reason? I say, what can a poor girl do?" "Obey!" "Poor dear Mrs. Robbins!" sympathized Mrs. Curtis. "Do you know, I never could understand how you came to marry that scamp, and your father and mother both alive and sensible people." "Well, you see, he managed to win my affections, coming around me in his smooth tongued way till I began to think the sun rose and set in him. I was that bewitched. I was but a child, anyway, and what could I know of the wicked world and its ways." "But didn't your father warn you, Mrs. Robbins?" "Didn't he? Ah, dear old father! Oh, Sister Curtis, was there ever Was it a voice that spoke the word in that clarion tone? Katherine, who had been a silent. listener, looked around for the speaker, but there was no one. It was but the voice of something within her that indignantly and with thunder force proclaimed the word. Ah fool and blind! This woman, couldn't she see that her own folly lay at the foundation of her unhappy life? Her sin of wilful disobedience to her loving father, this was her folly! Katherine's brain burned with a such a dear of father as mine? desire to tell her, but what right had |