The suggestions for a water supply for all this good work are set forth as follows:

"Nature has provided Peru with a magnificent series of storage reservoirs that may be made available, it is true at a very high expense, but with results that would transform the character of the entire western slope of Peru. While the western slope is devoid of precipitation, there is an overabundance of it on the eastern slope toward Brazil and the Amazon. Nearly all the great waters of the Andes are drained in that direction, while in addition an overabundant rainfall takes place. But this natural inequality may be, to a certain extent, overcome by man. The form of the mountains is such in many places that the streams issuing from the eastern glaciers, may be, by circuitous routes, carried over passes so as to flow down the western slope. A vast amount of water may thus be provided for the irrigation of the higher plateaus as well as increase the flow that descends lower. It is a work the results and profits of which can be estimated with great accuracy, and so abundant will be the returns of enterprises of this nature, that their realization in the future may be looked upon as certain."

Concerning the best crops along the west coast, he states that "the cultivation of sugar cane and cotton is the most promising and productive enterprise," and that "the sugar industry of Peru already equals that of Mexico." About cotton growing Mr. Reinsch says that the conditions are very favorable, and that "the finest grades, the Sea Island, the Upland, and the Peruvian, can be raised." He mentions the fruits and says that the list "embraces practically every fruit known to mankind." (To be continued.)

Little Stories of the Children.

--Part IV.

(Illustrated by the editor.)

EFFLORESCENCE.

"Someone says, 'Boys will be boys'; he forgot to add 'Boys will be men.'"

The Indian chief wears paint and beads,

The rooster wears a crimson crest,

The peacock wears a spangly tail

That outdoes all the rest.

My sister wears a crimson sash,

And peacock feathers in her hat,

And strings of sparkling Indian beads,
And other things like that.

But boys don't wear a single thing

To make them spangly, gay or queer.

I guess I'll go and make a noise,

Or folks won't know I'm here.

-Catalina V. Páez.

A QUEER BOY.

He doesn't like to study, "it weakens his eyes,"
But the "right sort" of book will insure a surprise.
Let it be about Indians, pirates, or bears,

And he's lost for the day to all mundane affairs;
By sunlight or gaslight his vision is clear.
Now isn't that queer?

At thought of an errand he's "tired as a hound,"
Very weary of life, and of "tramping around."
But if there's a band or a circus in sight,

He will follow it gladly from morning till night.
The showman will capture him, some day, I fear,
For he is so queer.

If there's work in the garden, his head "aches to split,"
And his back is so lame that he "can't dig a bit."
But mention baseball, and he's cured very soon;
And he'll dig for a woodchuck the whole afternoon.
Do you think he "plays possum?" He seems quite sincere;
But isn't he queer?

"Oh, reapers of life's harvest," why sad your hearts to-day? The glorious sun is shining, and all should work who may. The golden grain is ripening and must be gathered in, Then why not go and labor and thrust your sickles in?

Oh,

see, the foe is raging, employing all his powers To turn the Saints from duty and waste the golden hours. Our Captain calls, oh answer, and work with heart and hand; For this is God's own hastening-ye Saints throughout the land.

Ye Saints of life's great harvest, you ask why sad our heart, And why among the reapers we have not wrought our part? You ask, What will you answer to duty's earnest call? And why our hands are idle when there is work for all?

You point to grain ..ow ripening, so precious to our Lord,
That must be reaped this harvest, as saith God's holy word.
You say that Satan rages to turn God's Saints away
From duty's call to labor in this God's hastening day.

Bring all your tithes and offerings, and consecrations too,
Into our Lord's own storehouse, for he has called to you.
If you would have us labor with heart and hand and might,
Sustain our loved ones needy, for this is just and right.

Bring in, bring in your tithing, and consecrations too,
Show to your Lord a willing heart, with purpose firm and true.
Then he will "ope" his windows, and pour his blessings down,
And gather all to Zion, and each with glory crown.

The

Mormon Girl.

By Paula Brown.

EDITOR'S NOTE.—The author of this story has spent practically all of her life in Salt Lake City, Utah. Her parents were for many years members of the dominant church in Utah, but later were converted and became members of the Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. She has had every opportunity to study and observe conditions in her native State. She vouches for the fact that all of the leading events in the story, incredible though some of them may seem, are based on actual occurrences.

CHAPTER I.-THE DANCE IN THE CHAPEL.

It was late in February, early in the '70s, and the snow lay like a sheet over street and housetop. The air was cool and bracing and the young moon cast but a feeble light, as two young men strolled out in search of recreation or amusement. Frank Thomas, the elder of the two, was a tall, lanky miner, very dark and rather good-looking. He had come down from a mining camp for a few days of business and recreation. The other, Wilbert Gray, was a large, well-built man, with dark curling hair and mustache, and a complexion that any lady might envy him. He was a civil mining engineer, and had been sent west by a New York company to oversee the erecting of a large mill on a mining property in Utah. He had stopped at Salt Lake City for a few days en route to the mining camp, which happened to be the same from which Frank Thomas had just come down. They met at the boarding house at Salt Lake City, where both happened to be stopping, and being strangers, upon learning each other's destination, they soon became fast friends.

They rambled around the streets for some time, when Wilbert suddenly stopped and said: "Hear the music! What is going on over there?" pointing to a building across the way that was brightly lighted.

"That is a ward chapel, or meetinghouse, as they call them here," answered his companion, as they started on again. "Must be services of some kind."

"Concert, maybe, but it must be a jolly one from the music,"