here again, you can send him adrift, and if he makes any disturbance I'll just simply cut him up in slices and lay him out to dry, for I've no love for him any how.' By way of explaining that significant remark of Tex, I will say that Mexicans and Texans used to prefer a knife before a revolver, because a knife made no noise.

Well it was only a day or two, and Jack came in one evening after work hours, and sat down by John to enquire what he expected to do in the way of busi

ness.

was

John told him that he working in the mine for four dollars a day, and calculated to stay with it. Jack continued his chat rather in a manner to provoke a row, and Tex, willing to help close out Jack, if needed, quietly gathered in his butcher knife, and took up a position a little to the rear of his intended victim. John saw it all, and felt free to talk, and told Jack he had done with him, that he was not a man of his word, and related the time and place where he had broken his word in a flagrant manner; and, furthermore, "I owe you nothing, you are not out a dollar on my account. Now, if you want anything, tell what it is."

John felt so very safe and independent, while Tex was apparently unconcerned in the background, that he gave vent to a strain of feeling so unusual to Jack that Jack felt a little timid and out of place, therefore, to get into his

own place, he arose and turned to go, saying as he did so, "I'll reach out and take you in before I leave this camp."

Not more than three or four weeks from that time the superintendent or foreman of the mine took John into his confidence, and made himself a real friend, or rather real friendly, as such men think they are because they take the inexperienced and unsophisticated right down into the depths of sin and infamy. It is a rather difficult thing to find in mining camps, about saloons and various other kinds of business places, men who stand above others and hold prominent positions, who have not come into such prominence through intrigue, craft, deceit, villainy and crime.

This foreman may have been a very sincere person of that class less steeped in sin, but certainly was well acquainted with the ways of evil men.

One evening he said to the young man he sought to befriend and show new sights, "Let's take a stroll and see what's going on down below." And down below it was; for they soon went into a kind of underground, a half-above and half-below dive, a gambling den, and a den where any evil wanted could be dug up.

They stood finally before a faro table, where betting was lively and money changing hands rapidly with a seemingly wonderful uncertainty. The foreman turned to John, saying, "Did you ever play?" "No," was the

answer. He handed him a quarter, saying, saying, "Try your luck." John took the money and pitched it on a card carelessly, and the card won. John took in one quarter and shoved the other back for another trial of luck. That won also, and so on until the foreman stepped on John's toes. and started off to the bar, where John must treat to brandy and cigars, and then went home. When John got in his cabin he counted over what he had won, and saw to his astonishment thirty dollars.

He turned into his bunk, but not to sleep. Visions of success haunted him until he felt sure that if he would go back to that table he could rake in the whole pile and soon be on his way home with money sufficient to buy half Springville. He rose and dressed, took all his illgotten gain and the wages he had just drawn for hard work, and started back to a-to a "simple game of chance," as the man unacquainted with the sharps and cappers, and, still worse, educated in sin and tricks, would think a game of "try your luck."

the

Oh how little did that foreman know of the results of his act of throwing down that quarter and "try your luck" remark!

It was the opening of the gate to nearly a lifetime of misspent and wasted energy, half a life of sin and wantonness.

Drinking, gambling, and the accompanying vices of saloon and gaming tables followed in quick

succession and reckless profusion, the intended act of confidence and friendship of that remark of "try. your luck."

Poor John returned to his cabin next morning about daylight, with not a penny in pocket, but a whole lot of bad whisky in store, which made him reckless and no wiser. From this time John locked arms with King Alcohol, and for nearly two years ran down the hill of destruction among the tangling vines. of game and drink; and although he may think and appearances indicate that he had little to do with any of the royal family previous to the time he tried his luck, I still am inclined to think that perhaps he had, when weary and lonely at night, sometimes laid his head upon the downy pillow of Princess Wine, not thinking of the tangling alliance thus formed.

At the end of six months the mine changed hands, which resulted in giving John full opportunity to indulge his propensity for gambling. Soon his clothes were old and shabby, not for lack of money, for gambling brought plenty, but for lack of care and consideration for his person, and was willing to risk all on a card, and seldom won but to lose again. When reduced at games, he took to mining and renewed his stock of cash, and the first place he visited was the game table, and seldom left it until he was helped to his bunk through the kindness (?) of the man who had fleeced

him or sold him whisky.

He had a regular mania for gambling, and sometimes he got hold of green hands and fleeced them, only to spend that money in drink and game.

Thus it went on month out and year out until he had no credit with merchants or shopkeepers, and when very dry and feeling bad he would call on some of his old pals, and finally they got tired of him, and then he was lost for resources, and concluded to move to another town about twenty miles distant across the mountains, but forty miles by the road.

So one morning, with a scanty breakfast he had begged of some campers-out at the edge of town, he started across the hills, with not a quarter in his pocket to treat himself with when he arrived, nor even a lunch to eat on the way.

Poor soul, his tramp across the hills and gulches must have been lonely. He had been fully a year with nothing to occupy his mind but to find a few quarters to start a game with, or get drunk. His brain was muddled as soon as he got into the mountains and canyons, with no drink to keep him up, no food to strengthen his jaded muscles.

Presently he came to a very deep and steep, rocky canyon. He had been following but a dim trail, and when he got among the rocks could see none. Once at the bottom of that canyon, which was of precipitous sides and nar

row at the bottom, he could not tell where to get up the opposite. bank; so, to save climbing, he went down the canyon. That was the easiest road out, he thought, and then it ran a little in the direction he wanted to go.

see.

That canyon was a fair type of his whole life, as the reader will He went down, down easily until he came to a cliff or precipice of three or four feet solid rock. He could slide over that without danger, and over he went. By and by he came to another, five or six feet deep, but not so steep, and over he went down the smooth rocks that a thousand floods had worn to a polish. Soon another a little deeper, and next was a perpendicular fall of fifty or sixty feet. Here his down-hill journey must end. Το return up the canyon he was satisfied was impossible, for the sides were very steep, the bottom was not more than ten feet wide; jump-offs were slick as glass; could not get around nor climb them.

Night was coming on; he was hungry, and thirst drove him almost mad. He sat down or laid down at the head of that precipice of fifty feet and concluded to spend the night. He was afraid to die of starvation, and knew too well the suicider's doom to throw himself down the rocks. All that cold night he watched and prayed. At daybreak he saw more vividly his terrible condition. If he died there his bones probably would never be found. He thought of

his folks at home, and the loving pleadings of his dear father the morning he left a land of peace, plenty and morality. He was thoroughly humbled, and in his humility he bowed down before the loving God, as he had oft knelt in his father's house, and prayed as he had never prayed before. A prayer at that time could be only with the whole heart, and when he rose from his knees he seemed to feel no disturbance in mind, nor did he suffer from fear of death by confinement in that place, and with assurance he started back, noticing little of the surroundings until he saw a long, slanting mark up the side. of the rocks in the direction he

wanted to go. He intuitively started up that mark, which was not a trail, nor a crack in the wall of the canyon, nor a ridge, but a mark of some kind where he could climb and crawl with hard struggling.

He finally reached the top, faint and exhausted to that degree that he fell to the ground as soon as he had reached a place of safety. To this day he can't tell what kind of a mark he climbed up, but he knows that some power helped him besides his own strength. He reached his intended town of destination, where he behaved very well for a time; then went down to the lowest level on the plain of degradation.

Again he started out to find a place where he was not known, and after he had reached where

several roads met he was at a loss to know which road to take. So he resolved to cast lots for a road. He took a stick, stood it on end till it was center poise and took his finger off. It fell. and the road it indicated he went, and it led on until he came to a very much traveled road, and a station house, where the hired hand that tended it had lately gone off and let the house unattended. John secured his place at seventy dollars a month.

Located many miles from any town, table or saloon, he passed seven months and did not spend a dollar at his old sins. At the end of this time he drew his wages and started for home, not stopping at any of his old haunts until he reached a place called Panamint, a town among the terrible deserts in the south, and among exceedingly rich mines. Here he thought he would "take a drop." That drop made him dry. More, it dragged him right back to the gambling table.

In a few days John was without a dollar again. He was getting older, and pretty well worn out with excesses and dissipation. He began to yearn for a home of civilization as he used to feel it, especially while living with his grandfather, who trained him in ways he never forgot during his long absence from the home of the Saints. While in his boyhood he suffered at one time with severe illness, upon which occasion the Elders of the Church were sent for, who anointed him

a

with oil and prayed for him as the scriptures direct, and he was healed, with such a certainty, by the power of the gospel ordinances that he always retained that testimony, not even doubting in his heart while wandering in the paths of sin.

When again he returned to Springville he was welcomed by his aged father, who was bowed with toil and the load of years. John tried home a short time; but times had changed, John had changed, father had changed, Springville had changed, but there was one fact unchanged, and that was, "There is no place like home."

The associations of the Saints made the whole land home, and although he was among the Saints he was not practically a Saint himself. He had enjoyed the pleasures of wandering among new and strange scenes and peoples for a season, until the old familiar ways and people of Utah had a newness and attraction more enjoyable now than the far-off land.

The seven years he had passed in California had brought him from boyhood to manhood, to that period of life when young men have a natural desire to pass into mature manhood by the agreeable aids that a family affords.

His attention was affectionately drawn to a very young widow, and whether he felt more zeal in "visiting the widow and the fatherless," as the gospel com

mands, and providing her a home, or following the plain path. of human nature, it is not important for us to know; but it is plain that he accomplished both these objects by a solemn vow and by fulfilling the same.

O. B. Huntington.

(TO BE CONCluded.)

THE GOLDEN RULE.

Of all the precious kernels of wisdom, the priceless gem, which dropped as words from the lips of the Master, none, methink, will cirumscribe more admirable qualities, nor wield a more potent influence for good, should they be observed, than that one little sentence, appropriately termed "The Golden Rule.."

Let us for a moment reflect upon it, analyze it, and consider. its several parts. We discover that its prime factor is the divine. principle of justice, a quality which forms one of the corner stones of the character of the Godhead, without which God would not be God, "the Mighty Avenger," "the Powerful to Save." He who is the same yesterday, today, and forever, the God of the scriptures and of this last dispensation, is a Being of equity and love, though we have met persons professing Christianity. who believe that that Being, so full of mercy and justice, will condemn to endless misery countless millions of His children who have not been privileged to hear of and believe on the name of