Her Place Is Empty

"HER PLACE IS EMPTY." BY JOHN HENRY EVANS, OF THE L. D. S. UNIVERSITY. Forgive our grief for one removed, Thy creature whom we found so fair. We trust she lives in Thee, and there We find her worthier to be loved. — Tennyson. Christine Johnson Hinckley, wife of Briant S. Hinckley, one of the presidency of Liberty Stake and a member of the General Board of the Improvement Associations, passed away from this life atProvo,Utah, her much-beloved native town, July 11, last, in the thirty-eighth year of her age. Besides a husband, she leaves eight children to morn her sudden and untimely demise. Sister Hinckley has joined the "great silent majority.'' For a time she dwelt among us, and we felt her presence — a flower that blooms for a day to throw its fragrance into the air. Now she is gone, leaving only a memory of her and the fruits of good deeds and a kindly influence. Her spirit has departed, not for that "narrov cell" where darkness reigns forever, but rather for that broad, free, active, though to us invisible, sphere where the righteous will find light and peace passing our poor understanding. Christine Johnson Hinckley.

"HER PLACE IS EMPTY. " 879 She was a friend, faithful and just. In the circle of her presence there was no chill, only warmth and trust and cheer. Genial and affectionate to a rare degree, she had the fine gift to make you feel at home with her. To stranger and familiar friend she was uniformly kind. Even the wayfarer, buffeted and unwelcome elsewhere, received at her door a kindly word, and, if need were, a cheerful meal. Hers was a sensitive soul, a harp of many cords, each answering to the most delicate touch. She was indeed one whom to know was to love. She was consistently a Latter-day Saint. Born and reared in the Church, her soul was vibrant with the truth of the great restoration. And she endeavored to imbue her children with a love for the gospel, the fear of God as the beginning of wisdom, and a desire to emulate the example of the worthy of all ages. Over her home hovered the white dove with the olive branch, and within it reigned love, gentleness, and forbearance. In ward and stake activities she had been as active as increasing family duties would permit. But she was also a wife and mother. Someone there ever is, who, when a great man dies, helps to perpetuate the unworthy phrase: "The world, after all, will go on just as it did!" Whether this be true of the great man, or of any man, is extremely doubtful. But it certainly is not true of any genuine woman, least of all is it true of her who bears this two-fold responsibility of the best womanhood. When a wife and mother passes away, the world does not go on just the same. There are differences deep as life. Her place is empty— not only now, but alv:ays— empty to him who felt her ennobling presence, not only round the hearthstone, but in the office, or schoolroom, or workshop: empty, too — and oh! how utterly empty, to those young hearts who depended so helplessly, so trustfully, on her for all that makes human life significant, whether in this or the other world! And Sister Hinckley was a wife and mother! She bore her full share of responsibility as help-meet to her husband, as guide to her children; and she did so cheerfully, uncomplainingly. Unsullied as the dawn, her day opened upon us, sending out, as it waxed, on all her world a kindliness, a warmth, a light, till suddenly, at high noon, her radiance was eclipsed to go down dark-