the
world that heart and hand, faith and works must go together. A religion
which withdraws itself apart from the common people into seclusions of
prayer and contemplation alone is of no value in this world. The
activities of this life and this world is the proper field for religion,
for it is here that we prepare for a future life. The "Mormon" minister
can plow, if he is a farmer, as well as preach. He digs canals, makes
roads through the wilderness, provides work and play for those who look
to him for guidance. Again, let me call your attention to something the
"_Mormon_" preacher does: he preaches for the love of the souls of men,
and not for a salary."

"You're a tramp," said the priest.

"Not exactly, my friend," replied the Elder, looking into the priest's
face. "I pay my way, from money earned at home on my farm. Most of the
people here know me, but some are strangers. Let me tell you, briefly,
my story."

"Go on," some one near the door shouted.

"I was born a few miles from here. My parents were very poor, but honest
and respectable. I had a longing to go to America, so by dint of long,
hard work and saving, I obtained the passage money. On the way I became
acquainted with the Mormons.' I knew they were the people of God, and I
went with them to the West, which was a new country then. I was a
pioneer. I took up wild, unbroken land, built me a cabin and made me a
farm. It was hard work, but, the exhilaration of working for one's self
gives courage and strength. Now I have a good farm, and a good house. I
am not rich in worldly wealth. We must still economize carefully.
Here--would you like to see my home in America?"

He took from his pocket a photograph and handed it to the nearest
person, who passed it on. "That house I built with my own hands, most of
it. Those trees I planted. I made the fence and dug the water ditch.
That's my wife standing by the gate--yes, the only one I have, or ever
had--that's my youngest child on the porch, the only one at home now.
The others have married and have homes of their own. Here, I remember, I
received a letter from my wife yesterday. Would you like to read it,
sir?" addressing the priest who was now preparing to leave.

"The letter will prove that I am not a tramp, sir. Read it aloud to
these people." The Elder held the letter in his extended hand.

"I'll have nothing further to do with you. I don't want to read your
letter," retorted the priest.

"Read it, read