The Two Roads

270 IMPRO VEMENT ERA . Joseph the Prophet and his Brother Hyrum were martyred; Brigham Young was persecuted, misrepresented, anathematized, imprisoned; John Taylor was exiled, while his brethren suffered imprisonment and untold humiliation; Wilford Woodruff was driven into hiding, and suffered inestimable agony because of the persecutions directed against him and his people; Lorenzo Snow did not escape the cursing of his opponents of the type of the ex-senator; and Joseph F. Smith has been cartooned, libeled, held up to ridicule, lied about, misrepresented, from the time he entered the position; and now the ex-senator has begun to add his little mite to show that the present leader and his associates are traitors, traducers, covenant-breakers, and every other mean thing that can be conjured up against them. It seems very strange that so good a people should remain good under such leaders, for, "as with the priests so with the people." If the truth be spoken about the people, and we believe he told the truth of them, the natural conclusion is that what is said of the leaders is not true. He may say, however, that the people are simple, uneducated, unsophisticated and easily misled; but with their missionary world-experience, they are not simple; with their facilities for education, they are not ignorant and deluded; and with their sterling views of right and wrong, they are not easily misled. We conclude that what is said about the leaders of the Church is false, and that instead of being traitors, conspirators, traducers, disloyal to their country, as charged from the beginning of the organization of the Church to the present time, they have ever cast their mighty influence with the forces which make their people strong, loyal, free, worthy and "fit to be loved." The ex-senator is wrong again, and "there's a reason;" besides, there is cause for suspicion that he himself is the traitor and all else with which he falsely charges the authorities of the Church. The Two Roads. Jean Paul Richter, the great German writer, tells this New Year's tale: It was New year's night. An aged man was standing at a

EDITOR'S TABLE. 271 window. He mournfully raised his eyes toward the deep, blue sky, where the stars were flashing: like white lilies on the surface of a clear, cold lake. Then he cast them on the earth, where few more helpless beings than himself were moving towards their inevitable goal— the tomb. Already he had passed sixty of the stages which lead to it, and he had brought from his journey nothing but errors and remorse. His health was destroyed, his mind unfurnished, his heart sorrowful. and his old age devoid of comfort. The days of his youth rose up in a vision before him, and he recalled the solemn moment when his father had placed him at the entrance of two roads, one leading into a peaceful, sunny land, covered with a fertile harvest, and resounding with soft, sweet songs; while the other conducted the wanderer into a deep, dark cave, whence there was no issue, where poison flowed instead of water, and where serpents hissed and crawled. He looked toward the sky, and cried out in his anguish: "0 youth return! 0 my father, place me once more at the crossway of life, that I may choose the better road!" But the days of his youth had passed away, and his parents were with the departed. He saw wandering lights float over dark marshes, and then disappear. "Such," he cried, "were the days of my wasted life!" He saw a star shoot from heaven and vanish in darkness athwart the churchyard. "Behold an emblem of myself!" he exclaimed; and the sharp arrows of unavailing remorse, struck him to the heart. Then he remembered his early companions, who had entered life with him, but who, having trod the paths of virtue and industry, were now happy and honored on this New Year's night. The clock in the high church-tower struck, and the sound, falling on his ear, recalled the many tokens of the love of his parents for him, their erring son; the lessons they had taught him; the prayers they had offered in his behalf. Overwhemled with shame and grief, he dared no longer look toward that heaven where they dwelt. His darkened eyes dropped tears, and, with one despairing effort, he cried aloud, "Come back, my early days, come back!" And his youth did return; for all this had been but a dream, visiting his slumbers on New Year's night. He was still young; his errors only were no dream. He thanked God fervently that time was still his own; that he had not yet entered the deep, dark