"A good many ties still clung to the rock upon which I had climbed; but the channels on both sides were filled with pitching, bumping timbers. I could not have crossed the swift-flowing stream, even had there been no danger from the floating ties.

"I clung to the rock for some time, hardly knowing where I was. Then I began to realize that I was in the middle of the river, with rushing waters all around me, and the sky darkening overhead. I forgot there were horses or Indians. What could I do? I found a comfortable position on the rock, out of reach of the water, so that I was in no danger of being washed off; but there I was. I could do nothing but sit and wait.

"But wait for what? I remember the plaintive song of a mourning dove from the hill, and it nearly made me cry. The shadows on the river were getting dark. I was a good distance from home, and the folks would never think of looking for me where I was would I have to sit on that rock all night?

"Well, what else could I do but sit and wait? The night grew darker. The day noises ceased, and the night noises were heard. I did not know before that there is such a difference between these noises. Every little sound startled me; that was because I was nervous. My feet were wet, and I became cold. And, oh, how hungry I was! I thought of the folks at home, and wondered whether I should ever see them again.

"I guess I cried a little, and then I said my prayers, not once as usual, but, I remember, I repeated them. I promised the Lord a good many things which I have tried to live up to.

"The hours went on, but they seemed like years to me, I tell you, boys, a good many things came to me--the mean things which I had done, and the good things which I had not done. I recollect the blackest thing that stood before me was that the day before I had permitted my mother to get the wood which she had asked me to bring. It was, perhaps, not such a great wrong, but it loomed up before me greater than all the rest.

"After awhile the moon arose. I watched the light grow behind the hills, and then a shining edge came to view. How big and bright that moon was when at last it sailed, full and round, into the sky! The water gleamed and sparkled in the moonlight, and the night lost its dreaded darkness. It was like the

coming of a dear friend, and I have always liked the moon from that night.

"Very few ties now floated by, but once in a while one would lodge for an instant by the rock on which I was sitting. Then it occurred to me that I might float on a tie down the river. There were risks, but anything was better than sitting all night on the rock. I received new life from the thought, and watching my chance, I slid off the rock and got onto a tie. I became wet through in doing so, but safely straddled a big tie, and in a moment I shot out into the stream.

"Under different circumstances this ride might have been great fun, but it wasn't that night. I pushed away the ties that came dangerously near. Sometimes I could feel the river bottom grate under my feet, but I dared not get off my float, because of the swiftness of the current. Then I got into a deep, eddying pool. I floated round and round, making no progress down the river. I have no idea how many times I went around that eddy. My legs being in the cold water became benumbed with cold. I might have slid off the tie and tried to swim to shore; but there was great danger in that; besides, I was now getting weak and worn out, with very little energy or ambition left.

"Then I felt myself getting drowsy. That was a bad sign, but I did not know it. I felt more comfortable than ever. Presently, in the still, night air, I heard some one singing. I awoke from stupor and listened. It was a girl's voice, and the song was one I knew-a Sunday school song. I thought I had never heard such a sweet voice-how sweet a human voice can be! And, by the way, I think that voice is yet the sweetest I ever hear.

"Just then I left the pool and again shot out into the stream. As I came around a bend in the river, I saw a bridge and a wagon going across it. I shouted as loud as I could, and the wagon stopped. As I neared the bridge the current became stronger, and I came with a big bump against the side of the bridge. I felt a pain in my leg, and then there was a confused blurr. Just as I lost consciousness it seemed to me that the cold water went over my head."

The bishop paused as though he was through with his story. He picked up the letter from the table, looked at it a moment,

folded it, and put it back in his pocket. The boys sat expectantly. The bishop's wife came into the room to put some coal on the fire, and he, reaching around, got hold of her arm and drew her up to his chair.

"Do you remember, my dear," he said, "that night when you and your brother Tom dragged me half dead from the Weber river?"

"I should think I do," she replied.

"Well, say, haven't we a pan of apples for the boys? The stove smoked terribly over in the meetinghouse-a habit equally bad in stoves as in boys-and we don't like smoke; but we like apples-the big, red, juicy ones, mother,"

In a few minutes a heaping pan of apples was on the table, and each one helped himself. They munched away in silence for a few minutes, and one of them asked:

"Did the Indians steal your horses?"

The bishop smiled. "That's right, George," he said to the boy, "never lose sight of the main point. No; the Indians did not steal our horses-at least, not for keeps. They were found standing at the corral bars the next morning, apparently having come home of their own accord-something they had never been known to do before."

Salt Lake City, Utah.

ADVICE ON HOW TO SUCCEED.

Here are some good sentiments for the young man who wishes to get on. We found them pinned on the wall in a successful business house, and printed in large type so that all who passed could read:

If you would get ahead, stop looking behind.

Nobody cares what you have done, but what you are doing.

The man who does things makes mistakes, but he never makes the biggest mistake of all-doing nothing.

Talk happiness. The world is sad enough without your woes.

Don't duck when responsibility comes your way, except to get a firmer grip

on it-you must throw it, or it will throw you.

SOCIABILITY.

BY AN AUSTRALIAN SISTER.

[The writer, in giving her name, in a note to the editor, says: "I write and send the inclosed on account of continually attending Sunday school and church meetings for eleven weeks, and not above three people recognized the presence of a stranger (myself) in their midst. One of these who did speak, noticed I was a stranger, and out of sympathy for loneliness spoke and admitted having attended this same meetinghouse for fourteen months and not having formed any acquaintances. I am not doing this in the spirit of fault-finding,

but believe that the only reason for this reluctance at welcoming strangers, is that the youth of Zion don't stay to think, or realize our position.'

In the ERA for October, 1904, Vol. 7, No. 12, President Joseph F. Smith, under the title "Social Duties," treats of this same subject in an editorial which should be read by every Latter-day Saint, once each year. It ought to be read from the pulpit of every meetinghouse as often.—EDITORS].

I am a Latter-day Saint lately arrived in Zion from a far off land. Since my arrival, many thoughts have arisen in my mind that I feel I would like to convey to my brothers and sisters over here. It puzzled me how to do so; then the idea came to me, why not try the IMPROVEMENT ERA, and hence answer a two-fold purpose? With its wide circulation, not only will the Saints in Zion read and gain an impression of how a new arrival feels, but the Saints in the world may also be benefited by the thoughts and experiences of others.

Out in the world, when the gospel in its fulness is brought to our homes, and we are led to see the truthfulness of it, and accept it, we feel that we have indeed been favored with a priceless treasure. We grow to love those that bring this message to our homes, and also our newly found brothers and sisters of the city we live in. The fact of our being Latter-day Saints makes us

conspicuous and an object for slurs, ridicule, etc., by our old associates, who turn their backs on us in the majority of cases. This causes us to unite and form strong, loving friendships, in our church branches, a love we hardly knew could be possible between people who, until joining with them, were unknown to us and complete strangers.

Reader, perhaps you have a brother, or, maybe, a parent in some far off land, called to fill a mission. Wherever he is laboring, he is greatly loved by the Saints of that place. They feel that they cannot do enough for him in return for the great blessing which has been brought to their home-the everlasting gospel. This missionary has left home and friends, all that he loved, to enter a strange land, with customs all new to him. He has made a sacrifice for the sake of the gospel, and will meet much unkindness and harsh treatment in the opposing world. The Saints know this, and do everything in their power to make him feel at home, and not let his mind dwell too much on all he has left behind. We who embrace the gospel almost simultaneously feel a desire to gather, not that we hear gathering preached, but it seems to come to one and all, by inspiration. Every effort is put forth to accomplish this purpose. Before we start for Zion, we are warned of existing evils, or failings, in that land, so that we may not come expecting perfection and be disappointed. We also make a sacrifice to come here. We part with our loved ones, home and friends, and come to a land of new customs and ways. Our parting may be for years or even for a life-time. It is not limited to from two to five years, like that of the missionary, but is indefinite. Many of our people are not in favor of our movement, or of "Mormonism." When we arrive, we feel that it is to be amongst brothers and sisters, and we look for a recognition as such. We are reminded of the hymn in the psalmody, "Think not when you gather to Zion," etc., and we do not look for great attention or entertainment, but for an occasional word of recognition, or a smile, which costs the giver nothing, and makes the receiver feel welcome and at home.

We know that the people in Zion have temporal duties devolving upon them that take up a great part of their time. In that, we resemble them when at home; we have our livelihoods to