“Good-b’ye,” said I. “And much obliged.” And I offered him my hand. He gave me his left. “Good-b’ye,” said Vachel. “Most interesting.” And he offered him his hand. The guide gave him his left also. “A left-handed shake,” said Vachel, meditatively, as we went down the steps. “You know what that means.” “No?” “That means--Go to Hell!” * * * * * WE were much intrigued by all this, and found out that Adam is God to the Mormons, and Christ only one of a series which culminated in Brigham Young. Mormonism is the story of a passionate sensual man with a fake religion, a leader, however, of men and women, capable of starting a church, murdered and then succeeded by the great Brigham. The Mormon community, persecuted ever, loathed and detested yet not destroyed, plunged ever westward through the deserts with new revelations all the way, always, however, being overtaken by the tide of other pioneers and chased again. They were secret, and wanted to be secret. But the United States always overtook them. Now they have compromised in many ways and are not persecuted, and they multiply and spread and propagandise. They are disciplined. In politics they all vote one way--as ordered. They begin to be proud of America. Vachel and I went up to the Temple at night. It looked like a place produced by enchantment--the highest thing on the highest eminence of the widespread but low-built city of Cardston. Clouds hid the top of it. There was no one near but ourselves, apparently not even a watchman. The massive gates were locked and barred, and above them gleamed electric lanterns in large and graceful M’s. We have learned an elementary lesson about them. “Remember that, Vachel,” said I. “M for Mormon.” “The guide said a true word,” said the poet. “God sent us into the world that we might have an experience.” * * * * * WITH that our tramping ended. We left our pine-staffs leaning against a Cardston wall. We slept in beds again and bought our coffee at a shop. Gathering prose invaded the clear blue of our poetry. Some sadness, like a shadow, settled on us. And it was good-b’ye to the mountains. [Illustration] _Thy Kingdom come, O Lord, As once it came, May it come again! For once it came upon the mountains, It came upon the wings of the morning Amid the flowers and adown the streams. It came into our eyes, It came into our hearts. Thy Kingdom come, O Lord, As once it came, May it come again!_ [Illustration: THE WORLD IS MY PARISH] XXXVIII. BLOOM FOR EVER, O REPUBLIC!