to-day, they saw it rushing and roaring that morning, only there were no green trees and mosses and shrubbery' to enhance its beauty. A grander sight awaited them. As they went on, the sound of falling water grew more and more distinct, and as they made a sudden turn they saw what had caused it.

Down over the precipice the water fell, making a scene of unrivaled grandeur. The mists were rising from it just as they have been doing ever since.

Again they fell upon their knees and Nephi's voice rose in mighty prayer and thanksgiving to God for his loving care and miraculous protection over them, for his thoughtfulness for them, his unworthy children, when his own son was suffering death and disgrace. It showed the All-father love to care for them as well as to care for his own child, the Christ.

Thus it was that Niagara the Beautiful came to be. It has gladdened all lovers of beauty who have gazed upon it ever since, and we hope will ever continue to do so. It was like the Master in its resurrection. He awoke to greater beauty and greater power. So it was with the river. It also awoke to greater beauty and greater power; may it be so with us when we awake on the resurrection morn, when all things shall be finished.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF ELDER J. C. CLAPP.-PART 3. EXPERIENCE: OF AN "APOSTATE:" LEAVING UTAH; THE

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DESTROYING ANGELS.

E FINALLY arrived at Carson Valley, and there I left the train. In those days going to California was "Going to hell," but I felt under no obligations to go back to Utah with Bill Smith, for he had refused to pay me my wages, although I had done my full duty, and now I was going to California, hell or no hell. In fact I had intended it all the time. This was a scheme to get out of Utah. I came to a little station called Guroah, in the Carson Valley, and hired to work for a man by the name of Thornton, who was known as "Lucky Bill," whom I found to be a hard case, as the common phrase is. (This Lucky Bill and a man by the name of Gray were soon after this hung near where Carson City, Nevada, is now located.) left Mr. Thornton and hired to burn a coal pit for a man by the name of Warren Smith, whom I knew in Nauvoo, and after I got through with the coal pit I started for California over the "Big Tree," across the Sierra Nevadas, a road that had just been laid out or blazed out, but had not been traveled, except by a few pack teams, and there were no settlers on the road until we got to Murphy's Camp in California, about one thousand miles. I started out on foot and alone to cross the Sierras, and on the way lost the little cash I had. I think it was stolen from me.

I

There was a good wagon road for about twelve or fifteen miles, and just before I got to where the trail that I was to take turned off, I saw a finger-board pointing to a little trail and bearing the inscription, "Hope Valley Copper Mines nine miles," and as I was already quite tired, and had begun to rue my bargain, I turned off on the trail to the copper mines, where I arrived just at dusk, fully convinced that it was a long nine miles. I found that they wanted a man to work, and I soon struck a bargain at eighty dollars a month and board, which finally turned out to be board, for I found that the company was not good.

I

Mr. Smith did not pay me anything, and the little I got for burning the coal pit I had used or lost, and while I was anxious to pursue my journey, I did not feel like starting out again without a little something, for one day's experience was enough for me. worked on, hoping that the head boss would come, and then I might be able to get a little money. The head boss or proprietor was a man by the name of Rodgers, familiarly known as "Uncle Billy Rodgers," a noted gambler of San Francisco. I worked on and hoped on, but in vain. The boss at the mine was an overbearing man by the name of Pat In those days hardly any man was known by his proper name. It was Kentuck, Tennessee, or Pete. I was dubbed Salt Lake, and there was a good deal of fun poked at me on account of my being from Salt Lake, which I tried to endure without murmuring. But sometime after I had been working more than a month, some one brought a small keg of whisky to the camp, which turned the camp into a pandemonium, and my boss and his right hand man became very abusive and ordered me around, seemingly to see how very humble they could make me, but I finally became rebellious, and most decidedly so when Mr. Pat went to the head of his bunk and got a big knife, and he and his right hand man were going to devour me. I did what I thought for the moment the best, and I left the two ruffians behaving themselves quite well, and I took a notion to leave the camp at once, money or no money, and I started.

It was late in the afternoon, and I struck across the country in a direction to strike the trail that crossed the mountains on the Big Tree route, the trail that I had left when I turned off to go to the mines. There was a fellow at the mines by the name of Sanburn, and he made up his mind to go with me, and we left the camp without any preparation, not a bite of grub, nor even a match, and we traveled on till after dark, and in those high mountains and among those high trees when it is dark it is dark indeed. As the way was rough and traveling very difficult, we stopped under a little fir-tree on as open a place as we could find, and began the long and tedious night. But soon we began to hear cougars and lynx screeching, and Sanbourn was scared almost out of his wits, for he was a notorious coward. He began to climb the little tree, and succeeded in getting up about fifteen feet when a happy thought struck me; to kindle a fire at the root of the tree and smoke him down. I had to kindle a fire Indian fashion, for we had no matches, and I only had just the chamber of my revolver filled and no other

ammunition, and could not make fire with my gun; but I finally succeeded in getting a fire, making the fire Indian fashion, by a temporary bow and a stick of wood, as I had often done before; but what I started as a joke, turned out to be rather serious, for the pitch or rosin had run down the tree, and it caught fire and went flaming and roaring up to Mr. Sanburn, who began to beg and make more noise than the lynx did. He came sliding down the tree, tearing his clothes on the knots and limbs, and was all

ablaze with burning pitch, and I blistered my hands in putting out the fire from him. We had quite an interesting time; but it had the effect of keeping Mr. Sanburn down out of the tree.

After spending a wretched night, and suffering on account of cold (for in the mountains it gets cold towards morning, even in mid-summer) morning came at last, and as soon as we could see to travel we started out, and to our surprise found that a dog had followed us from the camp. He too had been disgusted with the camp, and wanted to go away. The dog belonged to a man that we knew by the name of Ben, from New Jersey. Ben had been down Guroah way and indulged in too much whisky, and had died while on his way to the camp. His dog had stayed with him for about a week and then on account of hunger had gone to the camp, a mere skeleton. When he got something to eat he started back to his dead master, and we followed him and found the unfortunate man with two quart bottles that had contained whisky, but now mostly empty. We buried Ben, and his dog "Boy" took up with us.

MRS. NANCY CLAPP.

Mother of Elder J. C. Clapp.

"I determined to save my money, for I had in mind to return to Utah and bring my mother and her children away from there."

Boy was an agreeable addition to our crowd, and a very profitable one, as the sequel will show. Boy was an extraordinary animal, but we did not understand "dogology" well enough to appreciate it at that time. He struck a poor crowd so far as grub was concerned, for we had nothing for ourselves or the dog either. About ten, o'clock in the day I shot a ground squirrel and gave it to the dog for his dinner. Hunger began to make us a little desperate, and we were on the outlook for almost anything that we could get. There was plenty of game such as grouse, but they were always too far away for the range of my little pistol. I now had only four loads in the gun, and I would not shoot unless I felt that I had a pretty sure thing. I finally shot a pine

marten, and we again made a fire in the Indian fashion, and broiled and ate the marten, but it was only sufficient to aggravate our appetites. Then night came on; we were weary and hungry, with no apparent chance of getting anything to eat. We camped as best we could, and spent another uncomfortable night. About nine or ten o'clock we heard some whooping and yelling on ahead of us, and again my partner was badly scared; for although it was a very poor imitation of an Indian war-whoop, Sanburn thought it was the genuine article and said he just knew we would be scalped before morning. I was not alarmed, for I had heard too many war-whoops to be deceived by a counterfeit. Our dog began to bark a little and Sanburn wanted to kill him to keep him from making a noise. As soon as it was light enough in the morning to travel, we started on, and in less than a mile we came to a camp. An old man by the name of Fillison had a few mules packed with merchandise, on his way to the new gold mines lately discovered on Walker River, and was trying the new trail. He had two hard looking fellows with him, and I soon learned that instead of the whooping being an Indian whoop, it was the result of bad whisky, the effects of which they had not fully recovered from. I soon got into conversation with the old man and learned that he was from Western Kentucky and was well acquainted with my grandfather, and by the way he talked they were great friends. I was soon on the very best of terms with Fillison and could have anything in his camp, even to his whisky, of which he seemed to have a good supply. We soon filled up on bacon, hardtack, and coffee, and felt much refreshed. Fillison did not break camp till about ten o'clock, and he had many things to tell me about my grandfather, much of which I doubted, but I did not tell him so, for I felt it good policy to keep on the sunny side of the old man, and this was a case demanding diplomacy, for we were not nearly through the mountains, and we were neither of us good walkers. I was lame yet from the effects of the wound in my leg that I had received in the first part of my journey. When we broke camp Fillison gave us bacon, hardtack, and matches to our hearts' content, and we were well fixed for the balance of our journey. In either four or five days from the time we left the copper mines we landed in Murphy's camp in the gold mines of California, in Calaveras County.

My destination was San Jose, where my oldest brother was,Sanburn's destiny was just any place, or where mine was. I could have gotten work at Murphy's camp, but I had been cheated out of everything I had earned since I left home, and I was anxious to get to my brother's place, which was many miles away. I had no money, but just about the time we were ready to start, a man took a fancy to our dog and offered us a hundred dollars for him, and we immediately sold out, and both of us were well pleased at the sale; but we soon found out that our dog was worth much more, but we did not understand dogology well enough to know that Boy was a very fine thoroughbred, and would have sold at that time for one thousand dollars as well as one hundred dollars.

Such stock was very scarce, and money was plenty in those early times. The man that bought him said as soon as he took possession of him that he would not take a thousand dollars for him. This man was the sheriff of Calaveras County, by the name of David Mulford. The old man was killed by the street-cars in Los Angeles last winter. We next went and took a bath, made some improvement in our underwear, and started out in good shape.

In going down from Stockton to San Francisco on an old rickety steamer we came near getting wrecked. There was a very strong wind putting in from the Golden Gate, and our steamer seemed doomed to go to the bottom, and when I saw some putting on life preservers I began to think that maybe salt water navigation was not my gift; but we finally landed in San Francisco, and later on San Jose, where I found my brother a prosperous farmer.

I immediately went to work for my brother for good wages, and determined to save my money, for I had in view to go back to . Utah and bring my mother and her children away from there. Sanburn also began working for my brother, but worked only a short time, and I have never heard of him since, but in about a month I was surprised by a neighbor of my brother's presenting a note with my name attached to it for thirty-five dollars. Mr. Sanburn had forged the note and cashed it with our neighbor. I paid the note rather than let the folks know what kind of company I had been keeping, and said nothing about it, excepting to my brother.

I worked for my brother and saved my money till I got quite a little pile of cash; for we got along with our work so well that I made considerable on the outside while my time was still going on with my brother. My brother let me have a team free, and I plowed for other parties at five or six dollars per day, and this was a rich harvest for me, for what work I had done for other parties before I came to California was for very small wages, and I did not succeed in collecting that.

Although I had pretty well gone back on the Utah church, I could not bear to hear anything said against it or the people. There was a man by the name of Jones working for my brother who was very loud in his denunciation of the people of Utah, and on one occasion he spoke in such a way about the women of Salt Lake that it resulted in an altercation in which I took an important part. I told my brother that he ought not to allow such talk in his house, for his mother and father were there in Utah, and I told him his ranch was not big enough for me and Mr. Jones both. The result was, Mr. Jones left and I stayed.

In the fall of 1857 I left my brother and made my way back to Utah. I came as far as Hang Town, now called Placerville, and met with my old friend, Lot Huntington. He was the mail conductor or stage driver, but was not to take charge of the business till we got to Carson City, Nevada. So we rode over the Sierras with the world-renowned stage driver, Hank Munk, the man who gave Horace Greeley that reckless ride that has become so notorious