The

Sister Card while in Provo. mere details, of the work performed by her own hands or those of her pupils is but the shell, the crust. The life giving word, the subtle suggestion of purity, the constant enrichment of mind and character which was the result of her labors with the girls can only be hinted at here. To study art, to love the beautiful was interwoven with every leaf and flower traced by her own or her pupils' hands.

No one since has made this department the thing of life and glorious progress which it was when conducted by Sister Zina Young Williams Card; but this I do not say in condemnation; it is the simple truth.

It was in January of this, her first year in the Academy, that Sister Williams, as she was called then, was sent by President Taylor, in company with Sister Emeline B. Wells, to Washington, and while there, working in the interests of our women, she saw and conversed with the leaders of the nation. It was on this Washington mission that the picture was taken which accompanies this. It seemed appropriate to represent her here as she looked at the time of her labors in the Academy.

For five years Sister Zina labored in the Academy, her work growing in magnitude every day. At the time of the disastrous fire of 1884 the ladies' work department was occupying rooms built by the generosity of President A. O. Smoot especially for that purpose.

Soon after the fire Sister Z na moved to Logan, chiefly because her health was too precarious to allow her to continue her labors in the Academy. While in Provo she acted as President of the Stake Primary Association, a post she was singularly adapted for. Her house was open to rich and poor, sick and well. So hospitable was she that her own peace and comfort, even her health, were set entirely aside, while she waited upon friends and acquaintances night and day. Few who have known this dear girl have failed to avail themselves of her hearty invitation to partake of her hospitality. The very queen of entertainers, she made even the halfwelcome guest welcome, or rather the guests, who to others would have been unwelcome, she took them into her home and fed and cherished with the wide hospitality of eternity.

Some years ago she, in company with her husband, Brother Card, removed to Canada, where she has labored with unceasing vigilance to build up Zion in a new and distant land. The hundreds, nay the thousands, who have received succor and comfort at her hospitable hands in that far-away land can tell some of the heavy burdens of work and care borne by this true Saint. She has accepted the presidency of the Y. L. M. I. A., and works at her post with unwavering fidelity. What she is to the Saints in that foreign land I only know by intuition; but what she is to those who know her here

in Utah, and the constant void caused by her absence, the wide circle of her loving friends alone. can tell. There are those among us who can only reconcile ourselves that there is a God in Israel and that when He sees fit to recall her home she will return to those who know and appreciate her best.

I remind myself that in all this I have told none of the dear girl's faults. And has she then no faults? To be sure she has, my dear enquiring friend, and if you persist in knowing about them I will try to enumerate a few. In the first place, she is too bighearted for this

poor mundane

sphere. She loves everybody, good, bad and indifferent; and there are not wanting people who with sly nods and winks, assert that this is all put on. They know better, you see; they drag out their own pint measures and behold they find nothing in their tin cups to justify such a characteristic, so then, of course, no one else can possess such an unearthly trait. Then, again, this dear sister of mine lacks self-control, and the power to refuse favors. She positively will not control her hospitable instincts enough to keep her from running the gravest risks with her health to work for others. She will not control her love of doing good sufficiently to prevent her from committing slow suicide; and withal she is altogether too big-hearted and unselfish for such a poor sort of a world She has, however, a bit

as this.

THE

ORIGINAL WORK DEPARTMENT FOR GIRLS OF THE BRIGHAM YOUNG ACADEMY.

DEAR SISTER SUSA:--Sickness has prevented my answering the call made for a brief review of my labors in the beloved institution known as the Brigham Young Academy. As you and your dear mother were the ones to inspire me with a desire to attend this school, I know you can understand by your own feelings the purpose of mine on entering as a pupil, when somewhat advance in years, this fine school; but Brother Maeser, who had taught us when children, was the principal, so, reassured by the respect that I had always felt for him, I went forward with confidence that in him I had a friend, to me personally, and also to our father, so in the fall of '78 my life took a new turn. My little son, Sterling, soon became a pupil also. Tonnie was too young. Your own graphic description of this first. year tells my story better than I

re

could. In January, '79, in company with Sister E. B. Wells, I went to Washington to attend the Woman's Suffrage Convention held there. On my return sumed my studies, and the following year became a teacher of the Primary Department, and started a work class for the young ladies, two new fields of labor for me. I felt then I was not competent for either position, and so expressed myself when asked if I would assume these duties. “You can learn," was the answer of my beloved teacher, and that God-given inspiration that burned in his bosom seemed to lend a pair of wings to my halting decision. "I will do my best," I said, and I did. Each year made the young ladies' work class a more important feature of the institution, not only in teaching plain and fancy needle work, but in lectures that were suited to the needs of young girls away from home influences; in addition to that labor I assisted them in finding suitable boarding places, visited them when ill, and in fact was a mother to them. O the love and holy confidence that existed in our hearts for each other how our lives seemed to blend in a deep and ever-flowing fountain of intelligence! how sweet were the words of inspiration and encouragement given us by our honored teacher and principal!

One of the happiest days of my life was when through dear Pa Smoot's and Brother Harvey Cluff's generosity and energy the new portion was added to the old

building, and our work class was duly installed in the large and elegant upper room, built especially for it. With what pride

did the young ladies clean and admire our apartment. Here our

bazaar of materials could be displayed to the best advantage, and here we could hold our classes undisturbed, and not as formerly, wait till school was closed before a room was at liberty for us.

The night of January 27th, 1884. will ever remain in my memory as a season of burning sacrifice, for my heart and hopes were centered so much in my labors of love for my young sisters that I felt like one who had planted a tree, watched and tended it till it had flowered and borne fruit, then the rude hand of the destroying element laid in ashes my fair dream, our beloved home, room and school house were things of the past.

After the fire I asked our honored teacher what could be the fate of the work class. Patting me on the head he exclaimed, "My conscience! it didn't burn you up, nor your pupils, so don't worry about that, Sister Williams." But the crowded and inconvenient condition of affairs interrupted to a great extent our labors. My health failed me, and reluctantly I yielded to a lingering and nearly fatal illness, which compelled me to cease teaching. I have referred but once to my position as primary teacher, but my heart goes out in love and gratitude to my dear children, for they live in my memory almost as

if they had been my own. For over five years we studied together. In all trying places and under all circumstances Brother Maeser was my guide, instructor and friend. "God bless him," cries my heart, when I think of the army of young people who will turn to him and say, even as I say, "I was wandering in ignorance and you led me to the light; I longed to grow in knowledge and intelligence, you gave my soul wings; I wanted to know how to be a better Saint, you gave me that key that enabled me to swing wide the door of eternal progression, and learn the lesson of the value of time."

My labors ceased in the beloved Academy in 1884, and my mission now is in a foreign land.. But my interest will ever live for the advancement of these glorious schools. May the way continue to be enlarged for their development, and to all the sisters who fill the position of teachers in the ladies' work class I extend my friendship and good wishes for the further development of these departments. Let every effort be made in their behalf, that they may keep pace with the rapid progress made in other branches of our God-given Church schools.

Zina Young Card.

LAKE ANNETTE.

AMONG high summits dim defined

Midst floating cloud banks-silvery pale

Marking the mountain bars that bind

The limit of a fertile vale.

The idle rills have gathered where
The shelter of a lofty steep

Conceals a purple there

In which the mingled waters sleep,

And while, from circling mountains thrown,
Like lightest mantle o'er its breast-
The shadows fall-and high, and lone
A storm seared giant guards its rest.

The lake, safe slumbering beneath

In dreams a restless ripple shakes,

Or, wind-stirred, bears its breast to breathe The pine scent that the breeze awakes. But never owns the fiercest spell

Of storm-cloud brooding o'er the peaks Nor answers to the tempest swell

That through the winding canyon shrieks.
Josephine Spencer.

AUNT RUTH'S STORY. (CONTINUED FROM PAGE 15.)

CHAPTER IV.

"WE are awfully late I know!" panted Julia, as she and her sister came bouncing into the room where Aunt Ruth and the girls sat waiting one Saturday evening. "But you know ma never lets us go anywhere on Saturdays till we have prepared all our clean clothing for Sunday morning, and it has kept Suse and me sewing pretty lively I can tell you. here we are at last, anxious to hear more," and the two girls nestled down among the rest and pinched their neighbors' arms.

But

"At about the time when Clara's baby was a year old her husband introduced her to a young Gentile family, consisting of man and wife, who had lately come to live at our place, and with whom Mrs. Brown at once became very intimate. Although Clara did not fancy Mrs. O'Brien, who was Irish, she was obliged to receive her kindly into her home, it being her husband's wish.

"Mrs. O'Brien was a tall, muscular woman, with large features, and-well, in fact everything about her was large and loud. Her eyes were large, black and snapping; her coarse, long hair, of which she was very proud, was also very dark; her voice was high and shrill; her laughter loud; her dress gaudy, and she always wore a profusion of slate pencil crimps directly over her eyebrows. She was not attractive as far as I could see, but she was very popular with a certain class of men. Clara had ever been a modest girl, and was always rather timid in the company of men, to whom she was generally at a loss what to say, as she herself expressed it. Not so with Mrs. O'Brien, who could fling her words about right and left, regardless of the effect they might have. And often when they were in company together, and Clara saw the men crowd around her and laugh at her vulgar wit, and wink at each other, she wondered with burning cheeks how her

husband could find anything to admire in such a woman. But so it seemed to be. Mr. Brown never tired of lauding her to the skies, and slowly, very slowly, the green-eyed monster crept into Clara's unguarded heart and made its presence felt with sharp, piercing pangs, that she at first was unable to account for.

"One evening she ventured to say to her husband that she could not see what men found in that coarse, loud-voiced, bold woman to admire."

"Oh,' he said carelessly, 'bright, witty women like she most always take well. Men generally tire of these shy, retiring creatures, that melt into tears at the least word that does not please them.'

"The sharp, sudden pain at her heart made Clara put her hand quickly to her left side, and a cry rose to her lips, but she checked it and merely bit her lip, and after having collected herself a little she said almost under her breath:

"And do you admire her? '

"Well, Clara, I don't profess to be any better than most men. Where I see a pretty woman I of course admire her; that's plain.'

"He laughed carelessly as he tossed the match with which he had lit his cigar into the open fireplace, and began to stroll up and down the floor.

"In spite of her effort Clara's voice shook when she retorted:

"Most men? I know that my father never cast his eyes on