When souls unite in marriage rite,
And love is inspiration true;
"What joy or bliss, can equal this?"

Each asks the question, old but new.

Life swells supreme, a more than dream,
How real, its fluttering silken wings;
Each morn is bright, the silent night,
As love in rapture, soars and sings.
To youth, to age, this glowing page,
Is as a taste of worlds above;
A world so fair, no soul would dare,
To doubt its sweet undying love!

In human range of startling change,
This blooming sprite, oft droops and dies,
A word, a pout, the glow dies out,
Beyond recall, this priceless prize.

Should patience wait, by open gate, Through which this treasure often flees; 'Tis doubtless true, indeed I know,

Full oft the truant we might seize! A word of cheer, from one held dear,

Will fan the flame, will make it glow; And oft a kiss, will keep the bliss, From nipping frost and drifting snow! Love, ever warm, to keep from harm,

Must sheltered be beyond a chill; Then it will dwell, if guarded well, In life or death; in triumph still.

If "God is Love," we best can prove, That kinship formed beyond the stars, For love's full sway, in time's rough day, The golden gate above unbars.

H. W. Naisbitt.

THE INDIAN MESSIAH. THE movement among the Indians is quite remarkable. The announcement made by Porcupine, an Indian of prominence among the Cheyennes, that he had received a visitation from the Messiah, who appeared to him and others at a place near Walker Lake, Nevada, has produced a great sensation.

Porcupine's story, stripped of the garnishings which newspaper reporters, Catholic priests, post traders, subaltern army officers, and others who have purposely misrepresented it, appears to be one of the utmost importance to the Indian race. He asserts that the burden of his heavenly visitor's message was to be peaceful; to look with faith to the coming of the Messiah, who would be the Indian's friend; to believe in the resurrection of the Indians and their regeneration; in the reign of millennial peace on the earth and the conversion of its surface and all its creatures to a condition that is heavenly. He was promised that other messengers should come to the Indians, having power to heal their sick and to work miracles among them.

Within a few months, belief in this and similar manifestations of a supernatural character has spread from tribe to tribe with wonderful rapidity. From British America to Mexico these tidings have been carried by swift footed messengers and a religious enthusiasm, never before witnessed among the Indians, has taken possession of them. The "ghost-dance," as it is called, is being celebrated in all the reservations and where permission is refused by the Government Agency officials, the Indians have withdrawn from the agencies that they might give expression in this dance to the awakened feelings, which they appear unable to control. Aside from the necessary violation of agency restrictions, where the latter are interposed to prevent the dance, no

been made by Indians professing the new faith. Not a word or intimation that they were to be marshaled for war with the whites has been given. On the contrary, it is asserted by the Indians that their heavenly visitors declared that their enemies were to be swept off by upheavals of nature, and that the Indians were not to shed their blood.

It is a most wonderful manifestation, breathing into the lives of these depraved people faith in the Lord, and the redemption of mankind; teaching them that Christ, who was crucified, still lives and is watchful of them as well as of the white man; impelling them to improve their lives and prepare for the coming among them of a Savior; in a word, doing a work of conversion in a few weeks which an army of Christian missionaries could not accomplish in a generation.

Its effect will be observed with great interest. It may demonstrate God's providence to be over the remnants of a fallen race, and His power to preserve and redeem them, by faith, from the low condition to which they have come.

Upon the question being asked one of the Elders what he thought of the manifestations among the Indians, he replied: "I haven't much faith in most of the things I have heard; for instance, a squaw out in North Dakota claims to be the Virgin Mary, but one thing that seems to me to command a good deal of respect, if not faith, is this: In New Mexico, it is said, among a tribe of the lowest and filthiest Indians in the territory, the new faith requires them to go into the river and bathe three times a day. As cleanliness is next to Godliness, it looks as though the inspiration must be divine.”

The autobiography of Apostle Parley P. Pratt has been so extensively circulated and read among our people, that we deem it unnecessary to break the narrative in the serial, "Life and Labors of Orson Pratt," to introduce a biography of his brother. The copy of the steel engraving, which we present as the frontispiece to the present number, is regarded as the

"A Boys Town," the accredited autobiography of the youth of William Dean Howells, Editor of Harper's magazine, is one of the cleverest books of its kind ever written. If you would live your boyhood over again, with the enthusiasm of youth, tempered only by the light shading which a few years of the best experience might give it-experience which has developed the man but has not destroyed the boy-just follow Mr. Howells through this charming volume,

The Youth's Companion for 1891 promises to maintain its great lead among the Juveniles. The first "map of circulation," that we remember to have seen, showed that about seventy copies were taken in Utah; now more than ten times that many are circulated here, and in the United States, it has over four hundred thousand subscribers. The most celebrated writers of the day, representing all ranks of life, regularly contribute to its pages.

"Azrael, the Death Angel holds o'er all mankind

From lisping babyhood to mumbling age,
The pail of death."

THE year of our Lord 1869, found Pioche, Nevada, attracting attention from the miners of the great west. They had arrived in large numbers from Colorado and California. The Hale and Norcross mine, and other promising claims, were fast developing, and Pioche was on the high road to a booming mining camp.

There was one drawback, however, and that was a scarcity of water. The town lay in a gulch, high up among the hills. No streams flowed near it and the only water obtainable was from some springs, located four miles from the town. The water was hauled in and sold as milkmen sell milk. A drink of water cost the same as a drink of whiskey. Among the miners there was little water drunk, so long as the price of whiskey and water remained the same. The men who owned the springs made as much money as owners of the Hale and Norcross.

the

Six months previous to the opening of this narrative, on a rainy day towards the end of October, there appeared on the main street of Pioche, a wagon loaded with merchandise, and a carriage containing two men, a young woman and a baby.

And now on any day in the spring of "69 you might read on the principal street of Pioche, and, by the way, the town had but one street, the names: "Richie and Fisher, General Merchandise." If you stepped inside the store you would see and recognize, the men who rode in the carriage six months before. Jack Richie, the younger of the two, was a Kentuckian, who had been wandering several years in the Rocky Mountains in search of a "pay streak." Three years before, in Colorado, he became the partner of Lew Fisher, a graduate of Ann Arbor law school, and a man who loved the mountain air as he loved the strong life within him, and who had given up the law for a roving life in the hills. Jack had also taken another partner about the same time, and she now presided in the board shantie that he called home. It was a pleasant home to him, with all its imperfections in the way of comforts, and he was always eager to leave the store and hasten to wife and baby Alice. Ah! Jack's Baby Alice. She was the cutest, sweetest baby in the Territory of Nevada. Just learning to talk and so artful, lovable and clever! Anyway Jack thought so.

The store was in a flourishing condition, and the amount of money that rolled into the till was amazing. It was all gold and silver, no paper currency could be found in camp. The partners were well

counter, and poured out a cup of liquor, which the Mexican drank.

"Don't think I hold anything against you Joe," said Jack, "for that little trouble. If the mine turns out well, I'll do the handsome thing by you."

"All right, Mr. Richie, Estoy muy contento," and Joe turned away satisfied. At the door he met one of the miners who had witnessed his defeat at the hands of Jack.

"Hello, Joe," said he, "You might hev been in Jack's shoes if you'd stayed with that mine. But Jack's fists were too lively for you." And a good natured laugh rolled up from his chest.

Joe's face became livid. His defeat was a sore point. He was ready to forget it a moment since, but now he never would; and the liquor had stirred the

evil in him.

"I'll get even yit," he said, and with a sidelong glance of hate towards the counter he left the crowd.

The miner never forgot the words nor the look that accompanied them. Jack went home with a light heart that night. He had made everything right with the Mexican. His Alice had wor

ried over the matter a great deal of late, and he took pleasure in telling her that she could set her fears at rest. After supper, Alice had occasion to go over to a neighbor's. Before leaving she put the baby in Jack's arms. "Take good care of her," she said, "until I come back. She is ready for bed; and maybe you can get her to sleep." Alice started for the door. A premonition of evil swept over her. She shook it off; came back to where Jack stood, raised herself on her tip toes and kissed him. "Take good care of yourself and baby," she said, and hurried out.

*

Mexican Joe, after leaving the crowd, went to his cabin, which stood alone in an alley, just off the main street. From a rack he took down his rifle, oiled it carefully, loaded it, and placed it near the door. Then from a rough shelf he took the note Jack had sent him, sat down by the table and spelled out the contents over and over again.

117

When the dusk of evening stole over the gulch and crept noiselessly around the town, hiding from sight the barren brown earth, and the stars began their ceaseless vigil, peeping from amidst the the storm clouds. Joe still sat with the note in his clenched hand, brooding, but with a stern, set face that told of a fixed resolve. As the chill twilight deepened, and the ominous clouds hung low over, the mountains, and the tireless night wind scampered down the gulch, his breath came quicker and the blood surged hotly through his veins. His thoughts were in harmony with the night.

*

*

*

"Hello, the house!"

*

*