Twenty miles out of London. The sun is shining, and the train glides
along by green fields, hedges of hawthorn, and blossoming trees. England
looks to be the huge, well-cared-for farm of a very rich man. This may
be explained by the fact that England is an old country, having been
plowed and planted and harrowed for close on to a thousand years before
America was discovered. This long period of cultivation gives the
country-side a mellowness and well-groomed look. The vaporous sunlight
softens all the outlines, hides the harsh features, and gives the
landscape its dreamy, far-away, misty loveliness. There seems to be no
angles in the scene; field melts into field, and hedge into hedge, with
here and there a ribbon of a road which seems to join them rather than
to separate them. The houses are of brick or of stone, many partly
hidden under the climbing ivy or roses.
Chester Lawrence is accompanying Elder Malby eastward from London
through Kent to Margate and Ramsgate on the coast. Elder Malby is to
attend to some Church duties, and Chester, by invitation, was glad to
accompany him. It was the young man's policy to keep in touch as much as
possible with the elders and their work, and he was getting somewhat of
the missionary spirit himself. He was greatly enjoying this ride
through the beautiful country.
"It's really wonderful," said Chester, looking out of the car window,
"this coming from London into the country. Where are all the people? Are
they all in town? Some cows are browsing in the pastures, and sheep
scurry about as the train flies by, but where are the people who have
made this great garden?"
"You must remember," explained Chester's companion, "all this has not
been done hurriedly by many people within a short time. What the
Englishman doesn't do today he can do tomorrow; and so centuries of work
by a few men has produced what we see."
"Well, I do occasionally see a few slow-moving men and women, somberly
clad in grays and browns. These, I suppose, are the sturdy supporters of
their country."
"Here is something I clipped from an American magazine," said Elder
Malby, "which impressed me with its peculiar truth." He read:
"'England is London says one, England is Parliament says another,
England is the Empire says still another; but if I be not much mistaken,
this stretch of green fields, these hills and valleys, these hedges and
fruit trees, this soft landscape, is the England men love. In India and
Canada, in their ships at sea, in their knots of soldiery all over the
world, Englishmen must close their eyes at times, and when they do, they
see these fields green and brown, these hedges dusted with the soft
snow of blossoms, these houses hung with roses and ivy, and when the
eyes open, they are moist with these memories. The pioneer, the sailor,
the soldier, the colonist may fight, and struggle and suffer, and
proclaim his pride in his new home and possessions, but these are the
love of a wife, of children, of friends; that other is the love, with
its touch of adoration, that is not less nor more, but still different,
that mysterious mingling of care for, and awe of, the one who brought
you into the world.
"'This is the England, I take it, that makes one feel his duty to be his
religion, and the England that every American comes to as to a shrine.
When this is sunk in the sea, or trampled over by a host of invading
Germans, or mauled into bankruptcy by pandering politicians and sour
socialists, one of the most delightful spots in the whole world will
have been lost, and no artist ever be able to paint such a picture
again, for nowhere else is there just this texture of canvas, just this
quality if pigment, just these fifteen centuries of atmosphere.' I think
this sums it up nicely," commented Elder Malby.
"Ireland is a pretty fine country, too," said Chester, with far-away
tone, still gazing out of the window.
Elder Malby laughed heartily, in which his companion joined. Chester had
told him his Irish experiences.
Ramsgate is a pretty town on the east coast. It being Sunday, the shops
were closed and the streets quiet. After some enquiries and searching,
the local elder was found in the outskirts of the town. The two visitors
were warmly received. A good old-fashioned English dinner was served,
after which the few Saints living in the vicinity gathered for meeting.
Never before had Chester Lawrence experienced the comforting Spirit of
the Lord as in that service when he partook with those simple,
open-minded people the sacrament, and listened to their testimonies, in
which he mingled his own.
After the services, there was the usual lingering to shake hands and
exchange good words. In the midst of the confusion of voices and
laughter, a large man appeared in the open doorway, and immediately
there was a hush. It was the parish priest, round and sleek, yet stern
of countenance. He looked about the room and found a good many of his
neighbors present.
"Well, good people," said he, "what are you doing here?"
The local elder explained civilly the purpose of the gathering.
"But these men who are holding these services are 'Mormons,' and I come
to warn you that they are wolves in sheep's clothing. Beware of them,
let them alone," said the priest in rising accents.
The people stood about the room, quietly listening. Elder Malby and
Chester were yet by the table which had served as a pulpit, and to them
the priest advanced.
"Are you the 'Mormon' elders?" he demanded.
"We have that honor," serenely replied Elder Malby.
"You ought to be ashamed to come here to a Christian community with your
vile doctrine. I warn you to keep away."
"Will you be seated, sir?" asked Elder Malby, who took charge of the
situation. A number of people, who had evidently followed the priest to
see the "fun," came in and gathered round.
"I'll not sit down. I'll deliver my message to you all," he declared as
he turned to the people. "You may not believe what I say about these
men, that they are not what they pretend; but let me read to you from an
American paper--printed in their own land. Listen:
"'So fully apparent is the pernicious activity of "Mormonism" of late,
that a general campaign of opposition is being urged against them in
various parts of the country. It has been conclusively shown, by
students of the question, that the "Mormon" Church is simply a great
secret society, engaging in criminal practices under the cloak of their
religion--"
There was a hum of protest in the room. Elder Malby raised a hand of
warning to let the intruder proceed.
"'The attitude of "Mormonism" towards moral questions and its disregard
for the laws, have been shown again and again. "Mormon" missionaries are
now making a systematic canvas of every state in the Union, as well as
in Great Britain and other foreign countries. Every home, especially of
the poor and uneducated is to be visited. It would therefore be the part
of wisdom to give a timely word of warning. This is a time to cry aloud
and spare not, lest many be led astray by these pernicious teachings.'"
The minister followed up this reading by a stream of personal abuse
against "Mormons" in general and Elder Malby--whose name he knew--in
particular. Chester watched with keen interest the proceedings. Elder
Malby's face was a study. The angry priest paused, then stopped.
"Are you through, sir?" asked Elder Malby quietly. There was no reply,
so he continued. "If you are, I wish to say a word. You are entirely
mistaken, my dear sir. I have not come here to mislead or to teach any
such doctrine as you claim. True, I am now an American citizen, but I
was born an Englishman. This is my native country, and I have as much
right to be here as you have; and, thank God, this country provides for
free speech and allows every man to worship God according to the
dictates of his conscience. I love this, my native land--I love these,
my people. That's why I am here to preach to them the gospel of Jesus
Christ."
"You're a farmer, and not a minister," sneered the priest.
"Peter was a fisherman and Paul was a tent-maker," replied the Elder
calmly. "I suppose, sir, that if either of these men came here to
preach, you would look upon their occupation as a reproach."
There was no reply, so the "Mormon" continued. "It is true I am a
farmer. Some of my friends here know that, because sometimes I assist
them in the fields. And I have given them some helpful American hints
too, have I not, Brother Naylor?"
"Aye, that you have."
"Religion is not a thing apart from daily life," said Elder Malby,
speaking more to the listening people than to the priest. "A truly
religious person works with hands and brains as well as prays with lips
and heart. Let me tell you, good people, the 'Mormons' have shown to 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 it," came from a number; but the priest, unheedingly
passed out of the door and down the path. The gate clicked.
"I'll read it," volunteered a man, one of the strangers who had come in
later. He took the letter, and read so that all might hear, which was
not difficult in that quieted room:
"'Dear George: By this time I suppose you are in Old England again, and
have fairly started in your missionary work. We received your card from
Chicago and your letter from New York. I hope you had a pleasant voyage
across the ocean, and were not seasick.
"'We are all well at home, only a bit lonesome, of course. Janie misses
you very much. She hardly knows what to do with herself in the evening.
I was over to George's last night, and when I came in the door the baby
cried "grandpa" before she saw who it was. The little thing looks all
around and can't understand why you don't come. Lizzie's baby has the
measles, but is getting along nicely.
"I drove around by the field from meeting last Sunday. The wheat is
growing fine. The Bishop said it was the finest stand he had ever seen.
George and Henry are now working on the ditch, and they said they'd work
out your assessment while they were about it. We have had a good deal of
rain lately.
"'I spoke to Brother Jenson about those two steers. He said prices were
low at present and advised me to wait a little while before selling
them. If you need the money very soon, of course I'll tell him to take
them next time he calls. My eggs and butter help us out wonderfully, as
we two don't require much. The Sunday eggs, you know, go towards the
meeting house fund, and Janie claims the "Saturday crop." She needs a
new school dress which Lizzie has promised to make.
"'Now, that's about all the news. I hope your health will continue good
and that you are enjoying your mission. Don't worry about us. The Lord
will provide. We want to do our part in sending the gospel to those who
have it not. Our faith and prayers are always with you.
"'Your loving wife,
"'JANE MALBY.
"'P.S. I forgot to tell you that the Jersey cow you bought from Brother
Jones has had twin calves, both heifers. Isn't that fine? J.M.'"
The reader folded the letter and handed it back to its owner. The
postscript saved the situation, for the wet eyes found relief in the
merry laugh which it brought forth.