ish such questions as these: What becomes of the tithing, anyway? Why have we any more authority than anyone else? Why is it not religion enough to be fair with your fellow men? From this condition he passes speedily to one of bitterness; and all because he imagines that he must learn the wicked ways of the world in order to be esteemed by his classmates. In truth, he has less backbone than many who have never been taught the perfect law of the gospel. Hundreds of young men at college neither smoke nor drink. They attend, very often, the "smokers" and "beernights," and conferences, and all the other forms of entertainment; but they stoutly refuse to form habits they have been taught to abhor.

Doubts that arise when the searchlight of modern criticism is turned upon our religion, are perhaps pardonable; but they need never be of long duration. In the course of our scriptural and religious interpretations, we have no doubt made mistakes; but they have arisen from the conditions of the people. Poor, oppressed, and untrained, they could do no better than they did; and they erred much less often than even learned men who work without divine assistance. A broad-minded scholar always makes allowance for the opportunities and the environments of the people he is studying. The young "Mormon" learns to do so, too, if he seeks honestly a constructive policy, and not a destructive one. However, the critical attitude will perhaps never leave him; and many people may think, therefore, that his testimony is weak. Yet, if he has struggled and overcome, his testimony may be built more firmly on a sure foundation than that of his friends.

There is, then, no moral nor social excuse for violating principles of the gospel, and thereby losing faith. There is no excuse for fallers-away, even if scholarly criticism be turned upon the gospel. Neither is there a reason why any man, learned or unlearned, trained or untrained, should allow himself to be lured away from the truth by some other man. Those who are truly instructed in our religion know that we are free, that our social life is pure, that our ideals are high, that the glory of God is our light. The boy who is influenced by the insidious remarks of others is he who is not free. He has not manly strength to stand by his convictions. If a student falters merely beause a teacher, who has

not the courage to speak openly, slurs religion, or speaks slightingly of it, he is surely too weak to be of use in the kingdom of God or of man. And such a teacher should be rebuked by his own pupils. Yet the influence is strong and widely felt, not only in far-away schools, but in some that are built in our very midst. Undoubtedly, then, it is not the fault of "Mormonism" that there are failers-away; nor is it the fault of education. The fault is with the apostates themselves. In this paper, I have named only some of the temptations that a "Mormon" boy has to overcome at college. There are many things that will help to build him up. There are religious and philanthropic societies of many kinds; there are Bible classes and temperance clubs; and there is the truth gleaned daily in his special study; but these we have not space to discuss here. The temptations are, after all, only those that exist at home. They, alone, should not deter any parent from sending his son to a good school. The boy's best preparation can be given him while he is at home-that is, thorough instruction in the principles of the gospel; and the development of honest, manly strength to resist temptation. If our boys were thus prepared, we should not be humiliated by having to confess that they lose their faith when they are educated.

Salt Lake City, Utah.

THE PRAYER.

(For the Improvement Era.)

From home, one night, I roamed away,
The starlit dome o'erhead,

The vast domain

Of mystic plain

As silent as the dead.

The bright stars glowed with wondrous light,

The constellations vast

Brought near to me

The history

Of all the mighty past.

I cast mine eyes toward the North,
To Orient my soul

From Merak's light

To Dubhe bright,

From Dubhe to the Pole.
I turned and saw the Pleiades,
Alcyone's vast sway;

I watched Orion sweeping by,
And viewed the Milky Way.

And then I thought of God who rules
This universe so grand,

And asked Him there

To heed my prayer,

And lead me by his hand.

And then his Comforter was thrown,

A mantle o'er my soul;

And, peacefully, my destiny
Moves onward to its goal.

O Prayer, what mighty power is thine,
Supreme throughout the years!
To God's own heart

Thou dost impart

Our sorrows, hopes and fears!
Where'er the penitent may be,

Though lonely and alone,

A tearful eye, or thought, or sigh,
God answers from his throne.

J L. TOWNSEND

Payson, Utah.

THE COURTSHIP OF KANOSH.

A PIONEER INDIAN LOVE STORY.

BY SUSA YOUNG GATES.

The few tins and coppers in Mrs. Mary's pioneer log cabin twinkled and flashed in the light of the blazing logs upon the great hearthstone, that chilly afternoon in September, 1848. Every article in that meagerly furnished room was clean and free from a housekeeper's reproach. The white chief's wife had gone across the fort with her baby, leaving the thirteen-year old Indian maiden, Sally, in full possession of the cozy log-cabin.

And lo, Sally had a lover! There he sat, on the door step, his great blanket folded about his arms and muffling his chin; his neck was sunk low in his drooping shoulders, and his attitude expressed either sadness or anger.

Sally paid no attention whatever to him. It was not that Kanosh lacked in rugged Indian manliness and strength, nor was he without a certain dark beauty, the beauty of primal nature, full and free. For his limbs were carved in heroic mold, and his dark, proud face was a model of Indian power and sagacity.

Kanosh had first seen Sally two months before, when he had visited the big white chief in company with Walker, Sowiette and a great band of Utah and Shoshone Indians.

The Indian chiefs had come in to the fort to learn what were the white men's intentions, and to make some sort of treaty for their own advantage, as well as to trade horses for food and fire

arms.

At the close of the long conference, in which Kanosh had ac

cepted old Sowiette's position of conciliation, the chiefs had been invited to break bread with the white chief, their friend and brother.

On entering the large room of the central log cabin in the fort, Kanosh, a little in advance of the others, saw a maiden of his own blood assisting in the service of their dinner. Her long hair still hung down her back, but it was neatly braided in two broad plaits, and although her plump form looked somewhat awkward in the "civilized" dress which replaced the Indian blanket, the dark eyes were very soft and bright, and the lips were full of love and laughter.

The girl saw Kanosh quite as soon as he saw her, but no answering flash sparkled in her brown eyes. Instead, she coolly set the dish of meat she was carrying upon the table, and walked back to the inner room with a gesture that would have been a toss of the head in a white maiden.

Poor young chieftain! Although he tried to listen to the important discussions which his fellow chiefs were carrying on with the white Father, through the interpreter-and although there was very much that was novel and startling in this first civilized meal of which he had partaken-he could not listen, he could not attend, he could not eat. Fate, the hag, had thrust out her time-worn hand and had seized his quivering heart between her relentless fingers.

With true Indian directness, he had at once sought the white Father, at the conclusion of the meal and its ceremonies, and had offered six ponies for Sally. He wanted her for his wife.

To his surprise and disgust, he was informed that Sally was not for sale. She formed one of the white chief's family, and as such she should follow the custom of the white maidens and choose her own husband, when and how she would.

Ten ponies, a whole band of them, with a cherished Spanish saddle thrown in, failed to move the white Father.

Then Kanosh learned the pitiful story of Sally; how she was one of a party of Bannock prisoners brought into the Valley eight months before by a roving band of Ute Indians. They had already slain two little girls, and were about to kill Sally, when a white man bought her and took her home to his sister. After two days trading and bantering, the Indians departed.