ward of loyalty to the unswerving law of Love."

This prospective Eden at present consisted of an old red farm-house, a
dilapidated barn, many acres of meadow-land, and a grove. Ten ancient
apple-trees were all the "chaste supply" which the place offered as yet;
but, in the firm belief that plenteous orchards were soon to be evoked
from their inner consciousness, these sanguine founders had christened
their domain Fruitlands.

Here Timon Lion intended to found a colony of Latter Day Saints, who,
under his patriarchal sway, should regenerate the world and glorify his
name for ever. Here Abel Lamb, with the devoutest faith in the high
ideal which was to him a living truth, desired to plant a Paradise,
where Beauty, Virtue, Justice, and Love might live happily together,
without the possibility of a serpent entering in. And here his wife,
unconverted but faithful to the end, hoped, after many wanderings over
the face of the earth, to find rest for herself and a home for her
children.

"There is our new abode," anounced the enthusiast, smiling with the
satisfaction quite undamped by the drops dripping from his hat-brim, as
they turned at length into a cart-path that wound along a steep hillside
into a barren-looking valley.

"A little difficult of access," observed his practical wife, as she
endeavored to keep her various household gods from going overboard with
every lurch of the laden ark.

"Like all good things. But those who earnestly desire and patiently seek
will soon find us," placidly responded the philosopher from the mud,
through which he was now endeavoring to pilot the much-enduring horse.

"Truth lies at the bottom of a well, Sister Hope," said Brother Timon,
pausing to detach his small comrade from a gate, whereon she was perched
for a clearer gaze into futurity.

"That's the reason we so seldom get at it, I suppose," replied Mrs.
Hope, making a vain clutch at the mirror, which a sudden jolt sent
flying out of her hands.

"We want no false reflections here," said Timon, with a grim smile, as
he crunched the fragments under foot in his onward march.

Sister Hope held her peace, and looked wistfully through the mist at her
promised home. The old red house with a hospitable glimmer at its
windows cheered her eyes; and, considering the weather, was a fitter
refuge than the sylvan bowers some of the more ardent souls might have
preferred.

The new-comers were welcomed by one of the elect precious,--a reg