And again, that so near the close of her life, she should be rewarded with the indescribable satisfaction of receiving the crowning glory of her womanhood and wifehood by becoming a mother, seems a most befitting termination of so perfect a life mission as that of Katie Eliza Hale Merrill. Faithful as daughter, sister, wife; Glad in young motherhood, so pure and sweet ; For her, had come, friends from the other side; LITERARY DEPARTMENT. MOTHER'S BUTTER. HOPE. DEAR Lulu has given us mother's bread And mother's bread calls for mother's butter, Now over the two seems a halo to spread, As over heart thoughts too deep to utter. For I'm thinking alas of the mother's hands, Severed far and wide in this world of strife. That will work no more the golden ball, Prepared by the dear hands that never tire. Oh! the strongest will long for the home of youth, In the warfare and struggles of earth; Yearn for the innocent home joys and truth, For they have learned their priceless worth. Yearn for the bread the butter and love, That made it so sweet to the taste; Yearn to return like the lone weary dove, To rest in that hallowed place. I have known these home offerings speed o'er the sea, The mountain, the desert, the plain, On the wings of true love untrammeled and free, Found the broken chains joined once again. As the brase Christmas box in triumph appears, And throbbing hearts gather around, Sweet visions of home arise through the tears, As each link in the chain is found. WORSE THAN DEATH. THE BISHOP'S CHILD. A NUMBER of years ago there lived in a certain ward of the city of a worthy bishop and his wife. Their names are immaterial, and they were both firm and faithful Latter-day Saints. They had had a number of children, but all of them but one were girls. The only son was a boy of five years old, and you may be sure he was not only the idol of his parents' hearts but was the pet and spoiled darling of the whole household. He was indeed a lovely child. His disposition was as sweet as his mind was bright, and no one could wonder at the devotion of his parents when they saw the intelligent face and sparkling eyes of the merry boy. One day he was stricken down with a strange disease. The doctors nowadays would call it meningitis; but there were no doctors then to call it anything, for our people were generally free from disease, and there was little need for a doctor in any town. So without at all knowing what ailed the child, except that he suffered terribly with headaches, and that he was dangerously sick, the parents saw him grow steadily worse and worse. The father and mother would not give up. But kneeling down on the floor beside the bed they commanded the child to live, by virtue of the holy Priesthood which they held. There was a mighty power in their loud-spoken prayer; everyone felt it who was present. But to some of those watchers it seemed to bear an almost impious strain of demand instead of resigned willingness to accept the will of Him who sent the child to tabernacle on this earth. Certainly there was a mighty power exerted, and the father was filled with an almost unearthly delight when he saw the life of his darling brought back visibly to the dead body of the child, and the breath which had ceased begin slowly to flutter across the cold and pale lips. He did not pray, as some do, "Father, if it be Thy will, spare Who could measure the joy of the life of my darling son. Nay, the parents to see the child slowly it was always "Give me the life but surely recover its health and of my child. By virtue of the strength! Of course it was very Priesthood which I hold, I com- slowly accomplished, SO severe mand him to live." Over and over was the hold the disease had taken upon the body of the boy. But he did recover. I cannot remember just how long it was before the mother began to notice something rather odd in the look of the boy. It was days after the time I have told you about. It seemed to her that the peculiar glassy look made in the eyes by the brain inflammation he had suffered was being supplanted by a very disagreeable and painful expression. She refrained from speaking of the matter, even to her husband, for she hoped it was only temporary, and that with returning health and strength the trouble, whatever its nature, would pass away. said nothing about it; So she neither answered in very deed. The life of the child had been spared, and he seemed after that to be utterly exempt from disease and sickness. Yes, exempt from bodily sickness and disease. But he had what was a thousand times worse, a disease of the mind. The shell of their beautiful son was left for them to mourn over in ever increasing sorrow. But the mind, the. lovely spirit of intelligence and beauty, the germ, the kernel was gone, flown forever. The months and years were but as added torture to their despairing souls. The one son, on whom they had lavished the love and pride of their hearts, he was a driveling idiot. Gibbering, mali did the father speak of his suspicious, and full of fiendish pranks cions to the mother, for he, too, hoped and felt that whatever ailed the child would depart with returning vigor and health. Thus weeks passed and tricks, they saw him yet live and grow in stature. To see him sick and know there was a chance of his death and release, would a boon from heaven! But alas, and alas! They dared not pray, for had they not prayed in their own wisdom and received the answer to their prayer? Now, it was left to them to bear as best they might the consequences of their demand of the Eternal Father. have been away, and the parents avoided each other's eyes whenever in the room with their boy. Neither spoke to the other of the horrible fear that was beginning to haunt their every waking thought. As for the child, he grew rapidly in his body, and had a remarkably healthy appetite, and soon began. to kick out his legs in increasing strength and vitality. Flesh came upon his bones, and his body was muscular and sturdy. Never was seen a finer physical specimen of growing boyhood. Alas, and alas! The body was all right, and the prayer of the parents had been Oh, you can go in peace and love to the quiet graves of your innocent little ones and there weep the soft and silent tears that purify and rest the heart with heavenly rest, you cannot know what suffering fell to the lot of that proud father and that tender. mother to visit day by day the grave, the healthy living grave of their dead son's bright spirit. The spirit dead and the body living! Who can measure the depth of their daily woe? That mother felt as if she could never wear aught but deepest black because of her own foolishness, and because of the consequences of that foolishness! No wonder that she wore nothing else but black for twelve years. I never marveled that she did. She could go to no meeting; nor could she shock the delicate minds of over-sensitive people by appearing at picnics, neither directly after her bereavement nor for long years thereafter. Oh no. She stayed very decently at home, and with sharpened eyes, watched the constantly busy hands of her silly son, lest he should set the house on fire, or should kill or maim his sisters in some of his tantrums. I am sure people would have thought her deportment very proper and deserving of sympathy, for she spent all her time when not watching him or working, in the bitterest of lamentings and wept without restraint. The father was equally proper and dutiful to the wishes of Madam Grundy. Indeed the poor man had no other choice. His grief was so real and so constant that he had dared to use his power in evident opposition to the will of the God who gave him that power as well as bestowing on him the child whose life he had demanded, that he never undertook to offend anybody by smiling or appearing to enjoy himself in mere innocent but worldly pastimes. He was utterly crushed by his own impious hand. And together the unhappy parents bore with what patience and fortitude they might the blow which had for them no surcease nor no mollifying thought. I am sure, too, their constant tears and cries would have won the sympathy of some peculiar Saints who can only sympathize with those who show their grief upon the surface. As for these poor people their grief was not only on the surface, but it swelled up to the surface right from the depths of their deeply wretched hearts. It was small wonder that the surface was constantly rippled with the bubbles of moans and tears, for they had ever before them in a horrible shape the form of the beloved one who should have long ago been given to the friendly earth to rest for a season. The spirit, they knew not where it If that was the spirit of their son which now inhabited his body, they dared not think of what their prayer might have accomplished. was. For nine long long years those parents watched, tended and cared for the imbecile boy which had once been their beautiful, intelligent son. Then one sadly happy day, they saw the malicious spirit that had tormented them so long in the helpless body of their boy, loose its hold, and soon death came mercifully to him and closed the staring, vacant eyes, and stilled the mischievous. hands. With a throb of what they dared not call joy, and yet there was so much of relief in it that it might almost be termed joy, they two silently closed the eyes of their dead child, and with little fuss and less outward show, they quietly carried him away to his long sleep among the silent homes of the dead! And then. Well, then I am afraid that if the mother had followed out her own inclination she would have shocked more than one public censor; for she felt as if her burden was SO happily lifted from her shoulders that she could shout aloud for joy and gladness. As it was, she never failed in every place, and at every time, to implore every mother whom she saw in danger of losing a child, to let Father have it if He wanted it, not to cling to it for one moment. And to everyone so afflicted she would solemnly say, a "Oh, my dear, be comforted, be comforted, weep, weep in peaceful, quiet way, my dear, but, oh, there are sorrows far worse than death, indeed there are!" "How true are your words!" echoed the lady of the house as she arose to usher the whole company in to the elegant dinner prepared. The conversation was continued even at the table, and the lady called the attention of the husband to the subject of their talk. He, too, re-echoed the words of his wife. "Do you see the white hairs of my beloved wife? Do you know what has caused them? Well, I can tell you. None of you are aware perhaps that she has felt all her life an inordinate longing for children. She has wept and prayed about it for years; until she has at last given up all hope. I have heard her say many times that she would gladly have children and lose them all in their infancy, rather than to live as she does without the least of the exquisite joy of motherhood. Those who are blessed with children can never know the sorrow of a childless woman." "You are right, my husband," replied the lady, "and if I were to try to name over a thousand things that were worse than death, I should then have more to name. It is the sorrows that we cause ourselves which give us the most pain; the woes sent by our wise and kind Heavenly Father are easy to bear, for accompanying them, if we will ask for it, is a spirit of heavenly peace and resignation. Those troubles which we bring upon our own heads are the ones that should cause us to go in mourning. And even some that our Father sends are far harder to bear than death, kindly restful, silent death. Homespun. LIFE is made up, not of great sacrifices or duties, but of little things in which smiles and kindness, and small obligations given habitually, are what win and preserve the heart and secure comfort. |