and when the eyes open, they are moist with these memories.  The pioneer, the sailor, the soldier, the colonist may fight, and struggle and suffer, and proclaim his pride in his new home and possessions, but these are the love of a wife, of children, of friends; that other is the love, with its touch of adoration, that is not less nor more, but still different, that mysterious mingling of care for, and awe of, the one who brought you into the world.

“’This is the England, I take it, that makes one feel his duty to be his religion, and the England that every American comes to as to a shrine.  When this is sunk in the sea, or trampled over by a host of invading Germans, or mauled into bankruptcy by pandering politicians and sour socialists, one of the most delightful spots in the whole world will have been lost, and no artist ever be able to paint such a picture again, for nowhere else is there just this texture of canvas, just this quality if pigment, just these fifteen centuries of atmosphere.’  I think this sums it up nicely,” commented Elder Malby.

“Ireland is a pretty fine country, too,” said Chester, with far-away tone, still gazing out of the window.

Elder Malby laughed heartily, in which his companion joined.  Chester had told him his Irish experiences.

Ramsgate is a pretty town on the east coast.  It being Sunday, the shops were closed and the streets quiet.  After some enquiries and searching, the local elder was found in the outskirts of the town.  The two visitors were warmly received.  A good old-fashioned English dinner was served, after which the few Saints living in the vicinity gathered for meeting.  Never before had Chester Lawrence experienced the comforting Spirit of the Lord as in that service when he partook with those simple, open-minded people the sacrament, and listened to their testimonies, in which he mingled his own.

After the services, there was the usual lingering to shake hands and exchange good words.  In the midst of the confusion of voices and laughter, a large man appeared in the open doorway, and immediately there was a hush.  It was the parish priest, round and sleek, yet stern of countenance.  He looked about the room and found a good many of his neighbors present.

“Well, good people,” said he, “what are you doing here?”

The local elder explained civilly the purpose of the gathering.

“But these men who are holding these services are ‘Mormons,’ and I come to warn you that they are wolves in sheep’s clothing.  Beware of them, let them alone,” said the priest in rising accents.

The people stood about the room, quietly listening.  Elder Malby and Chester were yet by the table which had served as a pulpit, and to them the priest advanced.

“Are you the ‘Mormon’ elders?” he demanded.

“We have that honor,” serenely replied Elder Malby.

“You ought to be ashamed to come here to a Christian community with your vile doctrine.  I warn you to keep away.”