SEGO-LILIES

The death of Ellen Tyler cast a heavy gloom over the whole community. The terrible circumstances surrounding it gave an added cause of enmity between the people and the army.

The funeral, which was held in the ward school house, was attended by nearly every one in the city. The people assembled in the quiet and undemonstrative fashion usual on such occasions; and long before ten o'clock, the time set for the services, the house was filled to overflowing. The windows were raised, and temporary benches arranged outside, so that as many as possible could hear the sermon.

The simple cortege made its way down the street. As the mourners entered the hall, no one wondered to see John Stevens assist the foster-mother of the girl as she leaned heavily on his arm. Aunt Clara's face was very pale, for her heart was well-nigh broken; and yet her eyes were lifted and clear while all who glanced at her saint-like, controled face, felt calmed and quieted. Diantha was among the chief mourners, but she was not as tearless and as calm as Aunt Clara; her convulsed face betrayed her mute agony.

The whole awful story had swept from mouth to mouth, and some of the men who sat watching the sad procession file in felt the hot blood of revenge pour from heart to temple, and there were few present who would not gladly have taken up the ghastly burden of swift revenge in behalf of the dead girl.

The coffin was placed upon the table just below the pulpit. Its plain, mountain wood was unrelieved by ornament or trimming. Within, the girl lay, peaceful and silent, her sweet face just touched by the creamy, heavy petals of the sego-lilies which her small hands clasped. Those lilies were like her own life, beautiful and white, yet at the heart just purpled with the shadows.

President Young lastly passed in, and the congregation waited with anxious longing to hear his words upon this unhappy occasion. After a brief hymn, the President arose, and with slow, impressive sentences he pictured the sheltered life of such girls as the one before him. He touched upon the affectionate nature of woman, and told the Elders of Israel that to them in part was due the blame of such awful scenes as this. There was enough of love, plenty of safe, sheltered retreats for all good women in the hearts and homes of the men of Zion. Women should have as ample opportunity to select their partners as men, and if they showed a preference for a good man, why should he not consider her right to claim his affection, as carefully as he would expect her to consider a like claim from him? He spoke in strong, powerful terms of the wickedness of men who cared nothing for the virtue of womankind, and who respected nothing on earth or in heaven.

His words stirred the already excited hearts to a fiery pitch of indignation. As if he saw the unnecessary anger, he said in quiet tones: "It may prove useless to try to keep our girls and boys from running after sin, for if they have not the integrity to stand, they will fall. Now, this young girl has had good teachings, good examples, and she has been surrounded by love and kindness; she has not been neglected. In her weakness she loved too well the admiration of men, and she has herself sought and found her sin and its punishment. We must stand or fall for ourselves, and while we are responsible in a measure for the words we speak and the example we set, yet each must answer for himself or herself at the bar of Justice."

At his words, so solemnly spoken, Diantha felt her very heart stand still.

"Will this fair daughter of Zion never receive salvation?" asked the speaker. "Yes, she certainly will. She will learn her lesson. She will repent of her sin; and after suffering the necessary punishment will be reunited with her parents and friends, and with them share the blessings and privileges of the priesthood. She has already partly paid the penalty of her sin with her life. She will be saved eventually in the Kingdom of Heaven. I do not want the family to grieve too much, for this poor child is far better off than she could possibly be upon earth now; and her last words were words of repentance and affection. Some of these spirits, though weak in the flesh, are very choice and lovely. We love them and mourn deeply if they fall into error or are snatched away by death.

"If this be a grievous sin for a tender and delicate girl, what must be said of men who lead women to destruction? I would say that no pit is deep enough for them. I do not wish to excite any undue rage towards the vile wretch and his paramour whose work this is; for God will avenge the innocent on their enemies. But to you Elders of Israel, I say, beware how you treat the fair daughters of Zion! Man should protect and preserve innocent, pure womanhood. No woman can sin as deeply as a man, for she does not bear the same responsibility. If men expect to stand at the head of their families, let them see to it that they are without sin of speech or action. That which is a sin in a woman, becomes a crime in a man. Teach your sons to protect their virtue as they would their lives, and then there need be no fear of their assailing any woman. God loves these weak ones as well as we do, and He will overrule all things for the best to such as are sinned against and are thereby brought down into sin. Only let the parents so conduct themselves that their children will receive the benefit of their lives of purity and holiness, and all their tears of grief will be turned into joy in the hereafter."

Diantha felt the whole weight of this terrible lesson pressing upon her own sad heart, and it nearly crushed her with a double burden of grief. She wondered how she could ever for one moment have looked lightly upon her past actions and words, wherein she had said and thought it no wrong to turn away from the Gospel and marry out of the Church. She asked herself bitterly whether a part of Ellen's guilt did not lie at her own door, for had she not given some measure of idle encouragement to this same soldier, and had she not said many foolish things and thought many vain, silly thoughts? She felt how inadequate were the theories of the world regarding love and its proper place in our lives, and she saw how foolish ideals and romantic poems and plays had rendered her conception of love fevered and unreal. She saw, while sitting near the dead body of her friend with its pitiful lesson, that love—that is, the romantic, unreasoning passion which is so often called love—is nothing but a base counterfeit. She felt that if love ruled the world, it must be the love of God and that love which is founded on respect and built in unselfishness. She could see that abase, vile passion which has for its only object the gratification of bodily desire, was a thing to fear and shun.

Diantha had filled the cold, lifeless hands of her dear friend with the sego-lilies, wreathing them about the neck, thus to hide the story told by the bandaged throat; but she saw how useless in eternity would be the least attempt to hide away the sins and shame of mankind.

"Oh, that I could tear away the lilies, and show to every girl in Zion the awful consequences of disobedience and vanity," she thought, as the strong, vivid words of President Young showed her the darkness of the abyss into which her own eyes had for one moment looked with fascinated gaze.

"Oh, that I could set this poor, desecrated body before every young woman in Israel, and let it preach its own heartrending sermon! And I, too, am I not saved as by fire? Oh, my gracious Father, forgive me and let a lifetime of repentance and faithfulness prove to Thee how humble and how dependent I am!" So prayed Diantha, as the benediction was being pronounced by the Bishop in charge. While the pale sego-lilies, with their purple stains, drooped and died on the breast of the dead girl!