Zion and Jerusalem

816 IMPROVEMENT ERA also go forth. There will be no conflict, for each city shall be headquarters for the Redeemer of the world, and from each he shall send forth his proclamations as occasion may require. Jerusalem shall be the gathering place of Judah and his fellows of the house of Israel, and Zion shall be the gathering place of Ephraim and his fellows, upon whose heads shall be conferred "the richer blessings."

The Fruits of Good and Evil In all our lives how careful should we be To square our actions by the rule of right, To speak the language of sincerity, And shun the path that will not bear the light. Who can the hasty, bitter word unsay? Who can a single deed obliterate? A flood of tears will wash no act away, Nor grief the spoken thought annihilate. Our works on earth are like the seeds we sow, *

They pass from sight and fade from memory: But from them good or evil fruit shall grow, To multiply throughout eternity. No skill of man can make two kinds of fruit Grow from one seed, however rich the ground And ne'er on branches from an evil root, Shall buds of good and evil both be found.

Fruits "in their kind" from seeds prolific spring, In their own likeness they come forth again: And so our actions, right or wrong, shall bring To us a crop of good or evil grain. And fertile germs in their productions dwell, Each to perpetuate their species still. When shall they cease to spread? ah, who can tell? Who stop their increase by his feeble will? Do good to others; though ingratitude May often chill the warm and gen'rous heart, And though thy motives may be misconstrued, Still act a godlike, charitable part.

Hold not thine hand from doing worthy things, Thou-gh praised by none and known to God alone; Virtue shall be the glory of the kings Who share the splendor of the Father's throne. Oh! think not that the shades of darkest night Can hide the wickedness in secret done! With all its dire effects 'twill come to light, And blast with trembling shame the guilty one. Beware of doing wilful injury, Close not thine ear to mercy's pleading voice, For thine own measure shall come back to thee, To bring despair or make thy soul rejoice. London, 1866 Charles W. Penrose.

The Assignation By Elizabeth Cannon Porter

Dolores stood before the mirror and tried on one strand of beads after another. The coral were too garish against the bronze curve of her throat. Also she decided against the amethyst rosary, with its silver cross. She hesitated long over the gold beads, but it was the pearly necklace that she finally clasped around her neck. It matched well the pale green of her dress, and the narcissuses that snuggled like stars in the midnight of her hair. It was two o'clock in the morning when she raised her candle and took a final survey of herself. For a moment she pressed her hand against her heart which seemed to thump so loud that it must wake the sleeping inhabitants of the Ranch de los Sombras, (Ranch of the Shadows). Dolores cast a fearful look around the little room, as if she might not see it again. After the manner of the south-west, it was bare and cool. A crucified Christ hung on the white-washed wall, and the red flagstone floor was covered by a Corralitos blanket, dull blue and two inches thick. A very white bed and a dressing table draped in white swiss completed the appointments. Dolores threw a black reboaa over her head, then pushed back the glass door that opened on to the balcony. This overhung the patio, or inner garden, now abloom with hyacinths. She stole down the stairs, passed the kitchen and reached the open. Here she pulled the mantilla closer about her, as she feared she might be seen from the servants' quarters and conjecture arise as to what the Senorita Blair did in hurrying away from her father's hacienda in the small hours of the morning. Dolores had inherited her daring spirit from her American father, and her beauty from her Mexican mother. As the latter — was dead, she had been practically man-raised, alternately petted and disciplined. The big, black-bearded Blair had two passions: one was his daughter; the other was to ride out over his range, five thousand acres of it on the Mexican border, and look at his cattle. A month before, at the town of Las Cruces, Dolores had met Juan Lopez, the terror of the Mexican border, at a dance. He had swaggered in late when she was dancing the Tarantula, in red and yellow costume. When he first saw her, his. magnetic eyes had lighted up. After the manner of the south, love will spring into being in five minutes, and will not be forgotten in