Some Stumbling Stones. II

SOME STUMBLING STONES. BY EDWIN F. PARRY, SALT LAKE CITY.

II.

In this paper, it is the intention to consider the second question presented at the beginning of this discussion, which is: "If there is only one way to be saved, why does not the Lord tell everyone that way in plain, unmistakable language?" My answer is that the Lord does tell all who earnestly ask of him the way to be saved; and he tells them in plain, unmistakable language. Through the agency of the Holy Spirit this knowledge is conveyed to the inward soul of everyone who obeys the simple rules by which it is to be gained. Not only does the Lord do this, but he confirms that knowledge continually by repeated testimonies, as long as a person lives and continues to obey his laws. u But some may say, O that is uncertain evidence; it may be imaginary; we may be deceived by it; or we may deceive ourselves. Why cannot some stronger proof be given?" Those who have received this inward testimony imparted by the Holy Spirit know of no way whereby they might be better convinced. But to those who have not been thus convinced, it may appear that some other way would be more satisfactory. They may think that some evidence conveyed to their outer senses would give them stronger assurance. Let us enquire what is the manner in which we obtain knowledge of facts in general. Is it not by experience? What we know most positively is that which we have experienced in our own lives. When a child is told that it is possible for him to learn to read books, if he will follow the instructions of his teacher, he

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accepts the testimony of the one who informs him. He is not in possession knowledge that he can learn to read, but of actual having faith in what he has been told, he follows the teachings given, and, as he progresses step by step, he learns for himself that what had been told him is true; and after acquiring the art of reading, the accomplishment is no longer a matter of belief with him. He positively knows that he is able to read, and he also knows that others may learn in the same manner. Now, in what other way can a child get this knowledge? I

know of no other. No matter how many times he may be told that it is possible for him to learn this art, the telling will not convey to him knowledge. So the only way to gain knowledge is by personal effort — by practice or experience. It is developed

within us by earnest inquiry, study and research. We get it by seeking after it. If this is the way in which we obtain knowledge in general, is it not reasonable to conclude that the knowledge of religious truths is to be gained in a similar manner? If there is

only this one way in which secular knowledge can be secured, can we expect to get spiritual knowledge in an entirely different way? Should we expect to receive it without seeking for it, or without desiring it? Can we expect the Lord to bestow upon us anything which we would not appreciate if we had it, and which might be of more harm than good to us, if we did not prize it? One may ask, "Why does not the Lord manifest the truth of his message to mankind by the visitation of a heavenly being — an angel— or by his own appearance?" Some may even wonder way the Lord does not appear to them personally and tell them what they should do, that they might know positively that the message of salvation brought to them is true. Suppose an angel from heaven should appear to a man and tell him that the gospel of Jesus Christ as contained in the holy scriptures is the only plan by which he can gain salvation in the kingdom of God, do you think that would give him sufficient knowledge of the fact to save him? It might, for the time being, be a strong testimony to him that it is true, and it might lead him to acquire greater knowledge, but unless he obeyed the principles of the gospel, he could not say that he possessed the knowledge that it is the truth, any more consistently than could the child, who had been

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told that hemight learn to read, say he knew what had been told him is a fact, without putting the statement to the test. Notwithstanding the marvelous manifestation of an angel, the knowledge of the gospel necessary to insure one's salvation would have to be acquired by obedience to its rules. Then why be told by an angel of these truths? Why not accept the testimony of man, since the same process has to be followed in order to get the desired knowledge?Knowledge and obedience are what save a man, and without them any number of wonderful manifestations would be of no avail. Some people may have the idea that the Lord could, by some marvelous process, endow a person instantaneously with most positive knowledge of the plan of salvation. But let us ask ourselves, Would it be of any benefit to man to have knowledge thrust upon him in such a manner? Knowledge brings with it responsibility; and if a person, even at his own earnest request, should be endowed with knowledge in this manner, would it not bring him under immediate condemnation? If a sinful man were suddenly put in

possession of a full conviction and understanding of the way of salvation, would he not be sinning against light and knowledge? Even if he had a desire to live a righteous life, he would be unable to do so, through lack of practice: for it requires practice as well as knowledge to live righteously, as it takes practice and knowledge to become accomplished in any other pursuit. A person with a bright mind may learn the rudiments of music in a few hours or a few days, but in order to perform creditably upon a musical instrument it requires months and years of regular practice. Knowledge of the gospel, without training, would be more of an evil than a blessing. It might be contended that the Lord, being all powerful, could confer upon a man both knowledge of the plan of life and ability to live it. Granting that to be true, then what? Man would be robbed of his agency, and would have nothing to do but submit to the inevitable. In the twinkling of an eye re would be transformed into a holy being —an angel or a god. He would have nothing to learn, nothing to overcome, nothing to strive for, nothing to live for. This life of trial, of schooling, of development, would be needless. You can see at once that it is useless to reason further on this line.

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At the beginning of this chapter it was stated that the knowledge of the plan of s tlvation came through the ministra tion of the Holy Spirit, and in the argument following I have endeavored to show that spiritual knowledge, like secular knowledge, is gained by study and experience. Let us see if we understand this matter clearly. To get a full knowledge of the gospel, one must learn and put into practice its doctrines, and by so doing the Spirit of the Lord brings to him conviction that he is in possession of the truth. Yes, and it might be added that it requires the Spirit of the Lord to confirm the knowledge that we acquire of secular truths. It is this same Spirit that enlightens our minds and gives us understanding of all things which we learn. In other words, it is by this Spirit operating upon our minds that wp are enabled to get learning of any kind. But it requires our efforts in connec- how can we expect the tion with the operations of the Spirit, for Spirit of the Lord to operate upon our minds, if we have nothing in our minds for it to operate upon? Many people fail to recognize that it is the Spirit of the Lord that enables them, in connection with their own studies, to gain the ordinary intelligence that is common to mankind, and on this account they are slow to acknowledge that it is through the inspiration of this Spirit that men are able to grasp and understand higher truths. It is difficult for

some to ' believe that the Lord reveals truths to man, either by personally appearing to him, or through the Holy Ghost. Because such a thing is miraculous in its nature, and is beyond their ability to explain, they refuse to believe that it is true. But there are many things which we are conscious of, and yet unable to explain. Life itself is a miracle which we do not pretend to understand, though we cannot deny its existence. How is it that men make such wonderful discoveries in physics, mechanics, and other sciences that were before unknown to mankind? We must admit that it is by some power not possessed, or at least not exercised, by the ordinary masses of humanity, that they are enabled to bring to light these hidden truths of nature. It might be suggested that it is

through study and experiment that the discoveries are made. That may be true enough, but what prompts them to make the — study and experiment? A thought an idea you answer. Yes, — but what marvelous power awakened that thought or suggested

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that idea that resulted in the discovery of a truth before unknown and unheard of? Look upon it as we may, we cannot deny that there is something we cannot explain about the origin of a new thought or idea, only on the hypothesis that it is an inspiration from a source of superior knowledge to that possessed by man. If we can believe it possible that men are inspired to make

new discoveries in the physical world for the benefit of humanity, is it too much to go a step further and believe that it is also pos-

sible for them to receive inspiration that will be a blessing to man-

kind spiritually? Mankind are slow to believe divine revelation of a spiritual character, because only a comparatively few claim to receive such intelligence. This, however, is no proof that those who claim to receive divine revelation are deceivers or are deceived themselves. It only goes to show how very few seek such knowledge. And this is not so very strange, from the fact that only a comparatively few ever seek deeply for the truths revealed in the natural world. Ever since the advent of mankind upon the earth, the book of nature has been open to them. Indirectly, it reveals to all who will peruse its wonderful pages that there is a Divine Creator — a Supreme Being. Yet how few of the many millions of earth's inhabitants ever take the trouble to read the marvelous revelations that nature presents! But shall we deny their existence because so few are inspired to read them? Here, for instance, is one of nature's beautiful revelations conveyed by a simple flower, and yet it contains truths unknown to millions who have daily opportunities to become acquainted with them:

THE LIFE OP A PRIMROSE.

When a seed falls into the ground, so long as the earth is cold and dry, it lies like a person in a trance, as if it were dead; but as soon as the warm, damp spring comes, and the busy little sun-waves pierce down into the earth, they wake up the plantlet, and make it bestir itself. They agitate to and fro the particles of matter in this tiny body, and cause them to seek out for other particles to seize and join to themselves. But these new particles cannot come in at the roots, for the seed has none; nor through the leaves, for they have not yet grown up; and so the plantlet begins by helping itself to the store of food laid up in

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the thick seed-leaves in which it is buried. Here it finds starch, oils, sugar, and substances called albuminoids, — the sticky matter which you notice in wheat-grains when you chew them is one of the albuminoids. This food is all ready for the plantlet to use, and it sucks it in, and works itself into a young plant with tiny roots at one end, and a growing shoot, with leaves, at the other. If you take the skin off a piece of orange, you will see inside a number of long-shaped transparent bags, full of juice. These we call cells, and the flesh of all plants and animals is made up of cells like

these, only of various shapes. In the orange pulp these cells contain only sweet juice, but in other parts of the orange tree or any other plant they contain a sticky substance with little grains in it. This substance is called "protoplasm," or the first form of life, for it is alive and active, and under a microscope you may see in a living plant streams of the little grains moving about in the cells. Now we are prepared to explain how our plant grows. Imagine the tiny primrose plantlet to be made up of cells filled with active living protoplasm, which drinks in starch and other food from the seedleaves. In this way each cell will grow too full for its skin, and then the protoplasm divides two parts and builds up a wall between into them, and so one cell Each of these two cells again becomes two. breaks up into two more, and so the plant grows larger and larger, till by the time it has used up all the food in the seed-leaves, it has sent roots covered with fine hairs downwards into the earth, and a shoot with beginnings of leaves up into the air. And now the plant can no longer afford to be idle and live on prepared food. It must work for itself. Until now it has been taking in the same kind of food that you and I do; for we, too, find many seeds

very pleasant to eat and useful to nourish us. But now this store is exhausted. The plant, as soon as it has roots and leaves, begins to make living matter out of matter that has never been alive. Through all the little hairs of its roots it sucks in water, and in this water are dissolved more

or less of the salts of ammonia, phosphorus, sulphur, iron, lime, magnesia, and even silica, or flint. In all kinds of earth there is some iron,

and we shall see presently that this is very important to the plant. Suppose, then, that our primrose has begun to drink in water at its roots. How is it to get this water up into the stem and leaves, seeing that the whole plant is made up of closed bags or cells? It does it in a

very curious way, which you can prove for yourselves. Whenever two

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fluids, one thicker than the other, such as treacle and water for example, are only separated by a skin or any porous substance, they will always mix, the thinner one oozing through the skin into the thicker one. If

you tie a piece of bladder over a glass tube, fill the tube half-full of treacle,and then let the covered end rest in a bottle of water, in a few hours the water will get into the treacle and the mixtve will rise up in the tube till it flows over the top. Now, the saps erd juices of plants are thicker than water, so, directly the water er'ers the cells at the

root it oozes up into the cells above, and mixes with the sap. Then the matter in those cells becomes thinner than in the cells above, so it too oozes up, and in this way cell by cell the water is pumped up into the leaves. When it gets there it finds our old friends the sunbeams hard at work. you have ever tried to grow a plant in a cellar, you will If

know that in the dark its leaves remain white and sickly. It is only in the sunlight that a beautiful, delicate green tint is given to them, and you will remember that this green tint shows that the leaf has used all he sun-waves except those which make you see green; but why should t do this only when it has grown up in the sunshine? The reason is this: when the sunbeam darts into the leaf and sets all its particles quivering, it divides the protoplasm into two kinds, col-

lected into different cells. One of these remains white, but the other kind, near the surface, is altered by the sunlight and by the help of the iron brought in by the water. This particular kind of protoplasm, which is called "chlorophyll," will have nothing to do with the green waves and throws them back, so that every little grain of this protoplasm looks green and gives the leaf its green color. It is these little green cells that by the help of the sun-waves digest the food of the plant and turn the water and gasses into useful sap and juices. When we breathe in air, we use up the oxygen in it and send back out of our mouths carbonic acid, which is a gas made of oxygen and carbon. Now, every living thing wants carbon to feed upon, but plants cannot take it in by itself, because carbon is solid (the blacklead in your pencils is pure carbon), and a plant cannot eat, it can only drink in fluids and gases. Here the little green cells help it out of its difficulty. They take in or absorb out of the air the carbonic acid gas which we have

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given out of our mouths, and then by the help of the sun-waves they tear the carbon and oxygen apart. Most of the oxygen they throw Is-k into the air for us to use, but the carbon they keep.

Bat meanwhile, how is new protoplasm to be formed? for without.

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this active substance none of the work can go on. Here comes into use a lazj gas called nitrogen. So far as we know, plants cannot take up nitrogen out of the air, but they can get it out of the ammonia which the water brings in at their roots. Ammonia, you will remember, is a strong-smelling gas, made of hydrogen and nitrogen. Out of this ammonia the plant takes the nitrogen and works it up with the three elements, carbon, oxygen, and hydrogen, to make the substances called albuminoids, which form a large part of the food of the plant, and it is these albuminoids which go to make protoplasm. You will notice that while the starch and other substances are only made of three elements, the active protoplasm is made of these three added to a fourth, nitrogen, and it also contains phosphorus and sulphur. And so hour after hour and day after day our primrose goes on pumping up water and ammonia from its roots to its leaves, drinking in corbonic acid from the air, and using the sun-waves to work them all

up into food to be sent to all parts of its body. In this way these leaves act, you see, as the stomach of the plant, and digest its food. Sometimes more water is drawn up into the leaves than can be used, and then the leaf opens thousands of little mouths in the skin of its under surface, which let the drops out just as drops of perspiration ooze through our skin when we are over-heated. These little mouths, which are called stomates, are made of two flattened cells, fitting against each other. When the air is damp and the plant has too much water, these lie open and let it out, but when the air is dry, and the plant wants to keep as much water as it can, then they are closely shut. There are as many as a hundred thousand of these mouths under one apple leaf, so you may imagine how small they often are. Plants which only live one year, such as mignonette, the sweet pea, and the poppy, take in just enough food to supply their daily wants and to make the seeds we shall speak of presently. Then, as soon as their seeds are ripe their roots begin to shrivel, and water is no longer carried up. The green cells can no longer get food to digest, and they themselves are broken up by the sunbeams and turn yellow, and the plant * * * * * dies.

We have now seen how a plant springs up, feeds itself, grows, stores up food, withers, and dies; but we have said nothing yet about its beautiful flowers or how it forms it seeds. If we look down close to the bot-

tom of the leaves in a primrose root in spring-time, we shall always find among the leaves, and day by three or four little green buds nestling in day we may see the stalk of these buds lengthening till they reach up

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into the open sunshine, and then the flower opens and shows its beautiful pale-yellow crown. We all know that seeds are formed in the flower, and that the seeds are necessary to grow into new plants. But do we know the history of how they are formed, or what is the use of the different parts of the bud? Remember that the seed is the one important thing, and then notice how the flower protects it. First, look at the outside, green covering, which we call the calyx. See how closely it fits in the bud, so that no insect can creep in to gnaw the flower, nor any harm come to it from cold or blight. Then, when the calyx opens, notice that the yellow leaves which form the crown, or corolla, are each alternate with one of the calyx leaves, so that anything which got past the first covering would be stopped by the second. Lastly, when the delicate corolla has opened out, look at those curious yellow bags just at the top of the tube. What is their use? Now for the use of these yellow bags, which are called the anthers of the stamens, the stalk on which they grow being called the filament or thread. If you can manage to split them open you will find that they

have a yellow powder in them, called pollen, the same as the powder which sticks to your nose when you put it into a lily; and if you look with a magnifying glass at the little green knob in the center of the flower you will probably see some of this yellow dust sticking on it. We will leave it there for a time, and examine the body called the pistil, to which the knob belongs. Pull off the yellow corolla (which will come off quite easily), and turn back the green leaves. You will then see that the knob stands on the top of a column, and at the bottom of this column there is a round ball, which is a vessel for holding the seeds. In the middle of the ball, in a cluster, there are a number of round, transparent little bodies, looking something like round, green orangecells full of juice. They are really cells full of protoplasm, with one little dark spot in each of them, which by-and-by is to make our little

plantlet that we found in the seed. "These, then, are seeds," you will say. Not yet; they are only ovules, or little bodies which may become seeds. If they were left as they are they would all wither and die. But those little yellow grains of pollen, which we saw sticking to the knob at the top, are coming down to help them. As soon as these yellow grains touch the sticky knob or stigma, as it is called, they throw out tubes, which grow down the column until they reach the ovules. In each one of these they find a tiny hole, and into this they creep, and then they pour into the ovule all the proto-

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plasm from the pollen-grain which is sticking above, and this enables it to grow into a real seed, with a tiny plantlet inside. But why should the primrose have such golden crowns? plain green ones would protect the seed quite as well. Ah! now we come to a secret well worth knowing. Look at a withered primrose, and see how it holds its head down, and after a little while the yellow crown falls off. It is just about as it

is falling that the anthers or bags of the stamens burst open, and then they are dragged over the knob and some of the grains stick there. But in one form of primrose, when the flower falls off, the stamens do not come near the knob, so it has no chance of getting any pollen; and while the primrose is upright the tube is so narrow that the dust does

not easily fall. But, as I have said, neither kind gets it very easily, nor is it good for them if they do. The seeds are much stronger and better if the dust or pollen of one flower is carried away and left on the knob or stigma of another flower; and the only way this can be done is by insects flying from one flower to another and carrying the dust on their legs and bodies. If you suck the end of the tube of the primrose flower you will find it tastes sweet, because a drop of honey has been lying there. When the insects go in to get this honey, they brush themselves against the yellow dust-bags, and some of the dust sticks to them, and then when they go to the next flower they rub it off on to its sticky knob.

Therefore, we can see clearly that it is good for the primrose that bees and other insects should come to it, and anything it can do to entice them will be useful. Now, do you not think that when an insect once knew that the pale-yellow crown showed where honey was to be found, he would soon spy these crowns out as he flew along? or if they were behind a hedge, and he could not see them, would not the sweet scent tell him where to come and look for them? And so we see that the pretty sweet-scented corolla is not only delightful for us to look at and to smell, but it is really very useful in helping the primrose to make strong healthy seeds out of which the young plants are to grow next year. And so we come back to a primrose seed, the point from which we started; and we have a history of our primrose from its birth to the day when its leaves and flowers wither away and it dies down for the winter. We have seen that it was by the help of the sunbeams that the green granules were made, and the water, carbonic acid, and nitrogen worked up into the living plant. And in doing this work the sun- wave a

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were caught and their strenght used up, so that they could no longer quiver back into space. But are they gone for ever? So long as the leaves or the stem or the root of the plant remain they are gone, but when those are destroyed we can get them back again. Take a handful of dry withered plants and light them with a match, then as the leaves burn and are turned back again to carbonic acid, nitrogen, and water, our sunbeams come back again in the flame and heat. And the life of the plant? What is it, and whyis this protoplasm always active and busy? I cannot tell you. Study as we may, the life of the tiny plant is as much a mystery as your life and mine. It came

from the bosom of the Great Father, but we cannot tell like all things,

how it came nor what it is. We can see the active grains moving under the microscope, but we cannot see the power that moves them. We only know it is a power given to the plant, as to you and to me, to enable it to live its life, and to do its useful work in the world.*

I repeat that in the above story of the primrose is one revelation out of a thousand equally wonderful which nature presents to all who will read them. And while but few of earth's inhabitants manifest sufficient interest in the book of nature to become acquainted with its contents, people generally are willing to accept the interpretation given by those few who do study its pages. Should a person question the truths of the message revealed by these students of nature, the students would be ready to convince him that they were telling the truth, and in order to do so they would invite him to make a personal study and investigation. They would ask him to make the same inquiry and research as they had made; and by so doing he would arrive at the same conclusion. He would share the same knowledge with them. He would receive the same revelations. Now, if nature's book of revelation is always open to all mankind, and only awaits their inclination to read it, is it not possible, and even probable, that the book of spiritual revelation is also ever open, and only awaits a reader? Why should we not accept the spiritual revelations presented to us by those who have communed with nature's God as readily as we do those from men who have communed with nature? The skeptic will reply that

*The Fairy-Land of Science, by Arabella B. Buckley.

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nature's revelations can be demonstrated as facts. One can pursue the study of nature and read her wonderful revelations for himself, while he has to accept the word of others for assurance that spiritual revelations are true. But not so. Spiritual revelations will bear the same test as will the truths of nature. The true interpreter of spiritual revelations can invite the inquirer, who is seeking evidence of his declarations, to follow him in his researches with as much assurance as can be given by the student of nature; and everyone who will make the investigation personally will be rewarded with as certain knowledge as is possible for one to have of the truth of any fact of natural science.

III.

The third question that appeared at the beginning of this paper was this: "If a person lives a good, moral life, what need is there for him to conform to religious ordinances?" To begin with, I will say, there is no difference, in my mind, between moral duty and religious obligation. A religion that does not embrace all the principles of morality (by which I mean the common duties of mankind to each other) is imperfect. On the other hand, a code of ethics that does not include all the requirements of true religion is incomplete. I am aware that it is not

generally considered that the meaning of the terms morality and religion are so strictly synonymous as is here implied; and yet true morality is identical with true religion in every respect. Every requirement of the latter is necessary for the perfection of the former. Wuile it is conceded that honesty, truthfulness, kindness and kindred virtues, are common to both moral and religious law, it is believed that religion includes requirements that are not a

part of the moral law — that a person can live a moral life and not be religious. Prayer, for example, according to this interpretation would be regarded wholly as a religious obligation, and as having no connection with a strictly moral duty. Let us see if this is a correct conclusion. It is a moral duty to do to others as

we would have them do to us — to be honest, truthful, virtuous. The object of prayer is to gain wisdom that we might the better know how to treat others as we would have them treat us, and is

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a means to obtain strength necessary to be honest, truthful and virtuous under all circumstances. It might be added, also, that

through prayer one expresses his gratitude to his Heavenly Father, and gratitude itself is a moral duty. Prayer, therefore, is as much a moral obligation as honesty. What are generally regarded as the rules of moral conduct are nothing more nor less than a number of the principles of revealed religion. Why certain principles of religion should be accepted as a guide for human conduct, while others equally important are ignored, is hard to understand. And why religious ceremonies, which are the most effective aids to proper conduct, should be disregarded by people who desire to live what is termed a moral life, is also difficult to comprehend. What would be thought of a mariner who should attempt to make a voyage across the ocean without compass or rudder to his vessel? It would be a matter of chance, if he ever succeeded in his attempt. One who seeks to reach a high moral standard and rejects the means best calculated to aid him to that end, should not expect anything but indifferent success. A person who desires proficiency in any calling brings to his aid everything that will help him to attain that end; and it is regarded as a good policy in business to adopt every precaution that is offered for one's financial safety; then why should not these principles be applied to spiritual matters? —why should not everyone who wishes to reach a high degree of moral perfection accept every means that will assist him in the attainment of that object? The purpose of the Church organization and of religious ordinances is to aid mankind to reach the highest possible standard of moral conduct. They are the means ordained of God for this purpose, and are therefore the most suitable that can be devised. If a young man is seeking to live a moral, virtuous life, he should not object to unite with the Church, and take an active part in it, and thereby avail himself of every safeguard that the Church affords. Life's course may be likened to a long and perilous journey. When people have a long distance to travel, and the road is beset with dangers, it is always preferable to travel in a large body for self- protection, for the help and encouragement that one can give

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to or receive from another, as occasion may require. No one of good judgment who has regard for his own safety would, of his own choice, travel alone, if he knew of the dangers of the journey. We know that life's course is beset with many perils; then why should we not unite for mutual protection and comfort and happiness on this great journey? The statement is sometimes made by young people that they cannot see how any religious ceremony or ordinance can benefit them, and they express the belief that religion interferes with the freedom they desire to enjoy. But are not these mistaken ideas? Is is not because they do not understand the purpose and benefit of religious observances? Bridges built over dangerous streams or rivers are provided with side railings. A thoughtless person, upon observing these protections in the daytime, might wonder what they are for, as to him they may appear to serve no purpose. But if it were explained to him that the railings were for the protection and guidance of those who crossed the bridge in the darkness, he, of course, would at once appreciate their value. A fire-escape on a tall building may appear to be a useless appendage, when there are staircases and elevators within; but in case of an emergency, when the usual exits to the building are filled with flame, the benefit of the ladder on the outside of the building is

at once apparent. May we not, upon closer observation, discover that the ordinances of the gospel are for some wise purpose? At ordinary times we may not see how it can be a benefit to comply with them, but when dangers are apparent their purpose is made more clear.

One of the ordinances of the gospel is baptism. In complying with this ceremony a person formally accepts the gospel, and covenants to obey its precepts— to live a life of righteousness. It may be asked, cannot a person live a pure life without complying with such an ordinance? While he may do so to a certain extent without being baptized, he is better able to do so through such a compliance with this regulation of the gospel. By making this covenant he is placed upon his honor to live a new life. Is it not

clearly to be seen that by feeling honor-bound to do a thing one becomes more determined to do it? And does not this determination assist him in doing it? It is the same with other covenants

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that Church members make; each one is calculated to assist them in living pure, moral lives. The gospel demands that we live temperate lives— that we keep in subjection our bodily appetites. It should require no argument to convince anyone who believes in being morally pure that this is a consistent requirement. Unless one holds in subjection his physical appetites, he cannot say how long he will be able to live a moral life, for without a proper control of self, a man is

not his own master, and therefore cannot expect to continue in a course of rectitude. One great object of life is to overcome

selfishness, and the sacrifices that true demands are the religion means best adapted to accomplish this end. As long as selfishness has a place in one's heart, there is danger of him being overcome with evil. His moral standing is insecure, for selfish desires in some form are what lead to every wilfully-committed evil. Therefore, the only way to be safe from evil temptations is to overcome selfish desires. But what about the freedom of which some people think religion deprives them? Is it not that freedom which only leads to

destruction? True religion does not deprive anyone of legitimate liberty. It only prescribes the bounds of freedom sufficient to keep people from those extremes that cause their downfall. It

does not interfere with their onward progress any more than the side railings on a foot bridge interfere with one crossing a river — (

both serve as a protection from inevitable destruction. What should appeal to us as the best of reasons for conforming to the ordinances of the gospel is the fact that the Lord has commanded us to do so. It is who offers us salvation the Lord and the blessings of eternal life. He promises them on condition of obedience to the laws upon which they are predicated, and we have no good reason for expecting to receive these blessings, unless we comply with the conditions he has given. It is true that obedience to moral principles brings its own

reward, but the only complete code of morals is the gospel of Christ, and its ordinances are the only means through which a perfect moral life can be reached. (the end.)