more than one will heave a sigh when

we move out of it."

"Yes, Bert, when you come home again you will deliver your little speech thusly: My brothers and sisters, from the King's Cross station, you walked up the aristocratic Pentonville Road to a corner with a lot of tombstones on it. This was the beginning of Penton Street. Here you turned to the left, past a row of penny shops with picturesque awnings over them, and in two minutes were at 36. The house was a three-story brick of most preposessing appearance. Ahem! There was a basement, but we never abased ourselves. That was the landlady's domain. Then came the first floor. In one of the front windows was a brick-red bill stating that the Latter-day Saints did abide therein. The other window had a clean colored bill. It was quite a tasty arrangement. If both of those bills had been red, the effect would have been spoiled, but, having a variety of colors, it was heightened. Variety, my brothers and sisters, is the spice of life. Then you mounted some stone steps, and hammered at the iron knocker. Perhaps a smiling exponent of the Gospel would open the door for you and give you a hearty handshake. Perhaps the key would be dropped on your soft spot from an upstair window. Entrance gained, you found yourself in a narrow hall, with the stairs facing you and a door on the left. You passed through the door and found yourself in the front room-the one with the bills pasted in the windows. This was the office. There were a table and some chairs, a fireplace with a large looking-glass over, and a cupboard on each side of it. One of these cupboards was kept locked. It was the bank. It contained wealth untold-tracts and postage stamps and coppers. The other held the paste-pot, the old papers, and the string. Besides, there were a book

case and some pictures of missionaries. The door opening out of this room led into the meeting "hall." It was a larger, colder, more desolate place, with a platform at the farther end, having a pulpit on it, a mirror back of it, a piano (?) on the right of it, and a coal-hole on the left of it. Except during services, the coal-hole door stood artistically open. Then there were chairs and benches arranged in rows, with an aisle up the centre. In this room meetings were held on week nights, and once in awhile a sociable. Sometimes we took the benches out and made a long table down the side. That was when visitors were in town and we had banquets. Sometimes we gave impromptu concerts, during which a girl missionary would tell how a Polish boy jabbed himself with a pen-knife, and one of the men would warble 'Nancy Lee,' who had got pitched off the key, if my musical ear is anything to go by. But what jolly times those were! Then when we first began to climb those stairs we wished we had a candle, but, after three weeks we grew used to the darkness and went up and down without tripping more than every other step. The front door upstairs was our dining room. Here we ate mush, bread and butter and jam for breakfast, chops and potatoes, or beans and milk gravy for dinner, and bread and butter and jam for supper, putting our own knives into the butter and our own spoons into the jam, for three hundred and sixty-five days in the year. By the way, there was no reason why we shouldn't have an extra knife and spoon, but, instead of watching ourselves and trying to improve, we lapsed into bad habits. Each took his turn at being housekeeper and cook, and only the moon. who never tells, knows what exquisite pleasure, what deep, unspeakable bliss that was. The more missionaries present, the less often came the

turn. Then the boys grumbled. To have the blessed privilege of frying those chops postponed, even for a day, was more than they could stand. Now and again an ungrateful wretch would mutter that he had come on a mission to preach, not to cook, but his appetite did not suffer. On the whole, we got along fairly well. When it was bedtime, we showed any visiting Elders into the dreadful little place by the dining room and betook ourselves to the third story to sleep the sleep of the just, if the beds were not soft or well-aired. And in spite of it all, my brothers and sisters, my missionary days have been some of the brightest in my whole life. There is joy in doing good, there is rapture in carrying the Gospel to darkened souls, there is-oh, what else is there, Bertie? Or do you sit down there in a flush of glory?"

"They had better call you on a mission," answered Bert. "You could talk a lot, if you didn't say much."

"I'll write your sermons for you,' Miladi replied. "You can easily give them from memory and people will think you are quite a clever fellow."

"Thanks," he said.

"When I first came here," said a quiet young man in the corner, who hadn't spoken before, "I thought all you had to do was to open your mouth and the Lord would put words into it. So when I was called on, I opened my mouth and held it so. But the words didn't come and I sat down. I soon found out that you had to study before you could rely on that promise."

"No one can draw money out of an empty till," said the president. "If you have a chance to study and you don't do it, the Lord isn't going to call out knowledge from you. He helps those that help themselves."

"I wonder where Doris is," said Miladi. "She slipped out so quiet

ly that I didn't miss her, but she ought to be back by now."

"She has gone to buy you that pin," said Fred. "Yes, really, she has. Doris has three precious gold pieces. She had scarcely landed before she asked me if you had fancied anything special that she could get you. Of course, I told her no, but when you mentioned that pin just now, her eyes sparkled. She slipped out a minute after." "Oh, why didn't you stop her," cried Miladi. "That three pounds is like a million to her. She was saving it when I was home to buy a set of Shakespeare. And now the sweet, unselfish thing will spend it all on me."

"If she will, she will," Fred said. "And you will hurt her to refuse."

"We are going to take you and Doris to Windsor tomorrow, Bert," June said. "You know the palace that the queen lives in is one of the sights. You can see the state apartments and the old dungeon where prisoners were wont to languish. It is as black as the days of Egyptian darkness, and there are iron rings in the stone where the poor fellows used to be chained down. The chairs and tables are usually kept covered, so that the place looks more like spring house cleaning was on than anything else, but there are some beautiful paintings. And St. George's chapel contains one of the most exquisite pieces of sculpture you ever saw. It is Queen Charlotte's monument. It represents the queen lying dead, covered by a drapery and her women weeping, also hidden by drapery thrown over their heads. Every figure is covered. These veiled figures are beautiful in the extreme. I stood before that marble till I almost turned to stone myself. It was so different from anything I had seen before, so delicately cut, so soulful, so wonderful. The Albert chapel is very beautiful too. Then we shall drive to

Some time ago, a letter was addressed to the three leading Church schools, asking for information in regard to:

First, the courses offered to girls. Second, what chances have poor girls to obtain a Church school education?

Third, what proportion of girls attend the schools?

Fourth, are the courses offered sufficiently flexible to protect the delicate or growing girl?

Fifth, is the so-called higher education of woman proving deleterious to the health of the young women graduated from our colleges?

Sixth, is mental culture, as obtained today, a means of increasing or decreasing the physical capacity of our girls to become strong, healthy wives and mothers?

In answer to these queries, the following communications have been received.

The first, from the Brigham Young Academy, was prepared by the matron of that institution, Mrs. C. D. Young.

The second answer is from the President of the L. D. S. College in Salt Lake Citv.

We commend them to the consideration of our readers.

Mrs. Susa Young Gates, Editor Young Woman's Journal:

In answer to your questions, the following is submitted:"

The educational system of the Academy presents a chain, every link of which is perfectly connected. The Kindergarten, where the little tot of from three to five takes his baby hold, is the first link, a silken loop of wisely directed play; the last the one that rings with the firm metal of mature manhood and wo

manhood, is found in the Collegiate department.

In these, and in all intervening departments, consisting of the eight primary grades, the Subfreshinen department, the High school, the Commercial College and Collegiate department, it is designed that both young men and young women shall work shoulder to shoulder, each striving to complete his chosen course within the time prescribed for it.

Since this article is written for the information of women and concerns chiefly their educational opportunities in the Brigham Young Academy, it will be of foremost importance to learn that interwoven. with this great co-educational chain, there exists a smaller one, designed for the girl's guidance in her own special sphere and office-that of the home and of motherhood.

Small and imperfect as the provisions for this purpose may be in comparison with is grand design, it forms, in connection with the other courses, a circle, almost perfect in its conception; for the profoundest sciences and philosophies are led back to the Kindergarten by an intermediary link, and begin their study with the child.

her little study in the Kindergarten; Here, then, the tiny girl begins from there she joins in the same courses offered to her growing brother. After she has reached her teens she finds courses in this institution in Domestic Arts, beginning with the elements of sewing, patching, darning, plain sewing, dressmaking, and finally, art-needlework in its most perfect development is offered her skillful fingers. From art in the home she goes to the Science of Cookery and the details of house