Every

the animal as well as his own. second seems an eternity. He raises the gun, aim. Alas! a heavy sea strikes the vessel, heels her over; the gun is lowered, but the whale is gone. They seem all to have disappeared now, not a puff to be seen. We stand and talk about the incident, and somebody suggests to go aft and "have a smoke;" when suddenly two whales are seen some distance off, now going side by side, now behind each other. The helm is turned, and we follow them in hot haste through wind and waves. Complete silence reigns on board during the pursuit, only now and then broken by the captain's short words of command, who stands calmly watching the animals. Now the vessel heels over-the whales are within range. "Stop," sounds in the engine room. But the speed was too great, and we shot past them. "Full speed ahead," sounds again. "Two men at the helm!" The vessel turns swiftly, and we separate the couple. The whales disappear. We follow the direction they are taking, and look! a little before us the sea becomes

emerald green. "Slow," again. The vessel moves slowly forward, and the whale reappears twenty yards off. “Stop” shouts the captain. The gun is turned, raised, and again lowered-not a sound is heard on board-the whale has puffed -the back is bending; the captain aims —and a thundering report rends the air, and makes the vessel tremble in every section. We have watched all this with every nerve strained, and hardly feel the icy foam of the sea which bedews the cheeks and benumbs the hands.

"Did you hit him?" we shout to the captain. "Don't know," is the laconic

answer. "Almost absurd to attempt it in such a sea; one risks losing the gear and frightening the whale."

In the meantime all the crew are busy clearing the line of the harpoon, and we are still in doubt whether we have hit him, but the suspense does not last long, as immediately a "Look out!" is shouted by the captain, and the line runs out with terrific speed and a great noise. "Full speed ahead," is shouted below; but the ship is running double her highest speed, such is the strength of the whale which has her in tow. The animal is fleeing at the top of its speed, and we follow right through the breaking seas. Ten minutes pass by-they seem ten hours when suddenly a blood-streaked column of water is seen on the horizon. It is our whale. Another moment, and a clear one is seen. It is his companion which follows her wounded mate. Both go down; the line does not run so fast; the wounded whale appears once or twice more, when he sinks. The whale is dead. After a while the hauling in begins very carefully, and finally the great body rises to the surface, the ship heeling over. After a few hours' hard work in securing the monster to the vessel with chains and ropes, the course is shaped for home.

"What do you think of it, captain?" I ask. "Not bad," he answers simply. "Steward, give the crew a drink all round, and let us have something to eat."

The whale measured more than eighty feet in length. Once more his widowed mate takes a turn round the ship, when she stands out to sea; while we, with our noble spoil in tow, slowly make for the whale station in South Varanger.

I PRESUME that in my mind the charms will never fade in the retrospection of that long waited for event; the visit to Utah. A visit only, for circumstances forbade our permanent removal. Our beautiful home was rented for a year, and preparations began in a delightfully

busy way, as to plans and works; but so very quietly that our general acquaintances had no intimation of our intentions. Long hours of happy dreams upon-not dreams of sleep, where changes shift about so wonderfully, so magically swift, that years of time and

time's works transpire quicker than waking thought could count them over; no, not that kind of dreams, but those in which everything comes out just as you wish it to, because, imagination has uncontrolled management. Then those waking dreams of grateful happiness, of hope and wondering anticipations passed swiftly, silently on into their vaguer counterpart that led the way sometimes into the atmosphere, almost, of a fairer world. Have the felicity of present bliss and its sweet composure ever won the way to the open gates and caught even a glimpse of beauty and a snatch of harmony, before the awakening?

Certainly I was wonderfully happy; yes, rich in joy and hope. Long had I been homesick for the land and faces I had never seen, but they were familiar to me by that bond which has its hold in the heart of every Latter-day Saint. There was a fascination about it all, and I doubt if even now, or ever again in this real life, could I invest unconsciously, or even by endeavor, any enterprise and interest with the pure and mystical charm that hallowed my thought and preparations for that journey. Mine had been almost a dream-life, tinged a little by affliction-partial blindness, but surrounded by music, flowers, books and guests, from almost every land and clime. Yet I shrank not from the exposure and severity of the slow journey by land, the travel in company with freight train of mule teams.

Stories of the mountain roads, difficult and dangerous, only enhanced to me their grandeur and sublimity, as God's creations; the parched and desert wastes where bones lay bleaching, glowed for me with rainbow hues of sunset splendor, and the long, still hours of travel by night to escape the heat by day, brought to my mind promise of a panorama of heavenly beauty of sky and moon and stars. How often had I been compelled to leave my star-gazing and return within the "four walls," all dissatisfied and uncaring for that sleep which I was assured was so needful. Now, I could watch the stars nearly all night. Weariness I did not think of. The bitter

springs that divided desert from desert, I did not dread; nor even questioned why the Father suffered them so to be when weary men and wearier beasts must drink their nauseating, almost poison waters. The Indians, retaliating and watchful, I did not fear; thought of them only added zest to the undertaking. With my little pocket Bible, notebook and pencil, I felt fairly equipped and ready for the road.

So, one bright morning we started, our spirits exhilerated and with no shade of regret. Watchful for specimens, I often alighted and walked until weary. I thought of the Moslem and his Mecca, and smiled. I, too, was making a pilgrimage to the city of my devotion. All that was important and desirable was before me; that which lay behind, was dear, but could be left without more than a passing sorrow. Moslem and Mormon! The visions of Mahomet paled before the more exalted and realistic promise to Joseph. I thought how they each in boyhood were called to a mission whose power would be felt through ages; each in simplicity and unlettered wisdom, had founded his church and kingdom; one already had stood the warfare of time, and still remained great, the other would endure the warfare of eter nity. Mahomet had worked by the spirit and gathered his few around him, his power increased and he conquered the infidel in one big sermon: "Embrace the faith of Islam, pay tribute or die." Conquest and the spoil of cities affected not his simplicity of character, or his integrity to the principles of the Koran. Joseph's, too, was a spiritual rule, yet needed not the sword to establish his authority.

Not the Moslem alone arose; I thought of the Prophets of old, barefoot upon the desert sands, their tents pitched in the shade of the rock from whence no stream flowed. How often came to me in the twilight as the long train stretched ahead until lost in indistinctness, the wanderings of the Israelites, and I felt, that I, too, could journey on thus for years in the sacred spell of the great mission. The tinkle of bells far ahead,

clear, and calling as it were-followfollow-this is the way, as they ascended some higher ridge, and again the fainter, softer sound, as the leaders turned some point or went down some sandy valley, brought back to me the caravans of old, with their Oriental trappings, the robed figures of the dusky men and veiled women; the eloquence of those teachings, the echoes of those matchless hymns. Moses, Aaron and Miriamwere we not one with them? Should we not meet them? Was not our mission the same? My heart swelled with gratitude that my lot had been cast in this dispensation to receive the message of ⚫ the Gospel of the Son of God. Yes, the desert and the blistered feet were part of the heritage of Israel. Did the weariness bring a change to me, a regret? No; the charm increased and there was a silent pleasure in such difficulties we had to meet. "This is for our religion, this is for Zion," was the inward consolation.

Did the skies answer my watching with radiant colors or holiest light and silence? Yes, every day and night they spread their ever changing pictures before me; the gentlest breath of wind that passed, whispered something that I could understand; the roughest, loudest wind that roared, and rocked our wagons at night, taught me better than I had ever felt before, the Power that goes with the storm and guides it as His steeds. "I will lie down in peace and safety." How often came to me that picture which I have never seen painted, and those words so glorious and mighty: "The chariots, the chariots, and the horsemen thereof!" In every gale I heard those hoof-beats and those whirling wheels. "Deluded?" Then delusion was happi

The four deserts were crossed and the Muddy river, then came the Rio Virgin Hill, the most dangerous descent we had yet encountered. Along this part of the road we found several discoveries that may yet be important to our people. So tortuous is the Rio Virgin River that we crossed its turbid, treacherous current forty-six times in three days. At Beaver Dam, for the first time in three weeks, the sight of green leaves greeted the eye, and we entered the shade of great branching trees, the cottonwoods.

It was a blessed sight, and the little brook was silvery clear. Once more birds sang above us, the early grass peeped around the roots of sheltering trees, the wild vines with last year's bird nests hanging in them were showing green buds; green moss was unlifting the dried remnants from the rocks; spring was revealing to us a glimpse of the canyon beyond. The high walls of the the canyon shut out the cool night wind when it rose, but we heard it in the cedars above like a whispered prayer. Later, toward midnight, in louder tones of power as though warding off sense of danger-"peace, be still."

Only one day more and we should enter the white settlements. We first reached the Indian farm upon the Santa Clara stream, and a number of the men stood around their newly planted fields, seemingly very proud to acknowledge their habits of industry and proprietorship. As though to welcome us, one tall Indian, with his hair elaborately dressed, stood with his gun and his little dog by his side, its ears being very tightly tied on top of its head with red flannel ribbon. It was a pity that no artist was there. But a few appreciative persons reached out to the smiling representative of the colony, their tributary offerings, a few dimes, smoking tobacco, bread, etc. We praised their farm and left them; reaching Santa Clara settlement before dark.

We were met by old friends from San Bernardino, living in a large red rock house, owned by Jacob Hamblin. There entered two of his daughters, fair flowers of the wilderness, faces that an artist might

another in Cedar and a third in Beaver, then we started on again for the "city." At Beaver Ma engaged as driver for our traveling carriage, a young man named John Ames, leaving our larger team to follow more slowly. About this time some Indians around Fillmore and northward, were manifesting a hostile disposition, and it was stated that the Superintendent of Indian affairs, President Brigham Young and interpreters, were to meet the chiefs and make peace with them; so we were somewhat prepared and on the lookout.

We had a companion traveler (in his own conveyance) who was an M. D. He had a very professional appearance, I thought; rather like a third-rate opera singer that might have been dropped by the way as superfluous, and somehow drifted into Utah. He had been waiting for a chance to travel in company for safety, and now joined our party: a lady, two daughters and the driver. He mournfully explained to Ma that he was a widower, and his two distant dear ones needed a mother. He had some idea of "joining the Church." He thought he could be useful among our people, in fact, did not see how he could be dispensed with, as he was not only a doctor, but a "regular eye occulist." I wondered .if he were not also an ear aurist, but did not inquire. I doubt if any other single object visible to the naked eye in all Utah, could so effectually have gained Ma's dislike as this same gifted individual, but the road was free.

He was quite a spectacle as he sat upon the front seat beside the driver, entirely covered by a linen duster that in walking tangled between his heels; a large, green bareze vail, closely covering his golden locks and straw colored Victor Emanuel mustache, and green goggles to protect his eyes. As it was difficult for him to keep up a conversation backward over his left shoulder and above the noise of the wheels, for he received no replies; he decided to ride close behind us. This plan worked rather unfavorable from the start. Much to his mortification the dust caused him such a violent attack of sneezing, that

his too valued teeth dropped out of sight in the dust beneath the horses' heels. In an altered voice he frantically implored the driver to stop and assist him in his search. He informed us that evening that he had had his own teeth extracted for the benefit of science, by the experiment of a new anaesthetic. He did not expect humanity to be grateful for his philanthropic act. They would never hear of it in his name. also, with wounded dignity informed us that our four animals raised a tremendous dust and he might be compelled to part company with us for the space of a few rods, until evening.

He

When evening came the Doctor made a faint attempt at gallantry in a very domestic matter. We had camped beside a stream swift and clear as water could be, with a very sloping edge. The Doctor had just completed his toilet, when my sister, after waiting as long as she had patience to, approached the water. The Doctor hastily retired, gracefully waving his hand toward his own toilet articles in the mast gracious manner possible. My indignant sister moved them with her foot, precariously near the edge, and proceeded to remove the dust of the ride from her own fair face and hands. Upon her return the Doctor obsequiously inquired where his property was. "I don't know where they are now, the last I saw of them they were going down stream." A frantic rush, a brief absence and a triumphant return, except that a rent showed in his duster. "Miss Nellie, I forgive you, upon conditions." "You needn't, I detest hypocrites." That evening Ma said: "Let us get up early and run away and leave the Doctor." John was posted and we succeeded.

We left Fillmore early one morning, while he was probably yet sleeping. Late that afternoon we met a most ferocious looking Indian, heavily armed. As our team passed him, he turned his horse and sternly regarded us. My mind quickly reverted to an incident of the morning. I had opened the little pocket Bible, which my great-grandfather had carried for years, and marked