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the distance like a fortress. We visited it next morning and found it nothing more formidable than a large woolen factory, not yet in operation. It is to run 270 spindles, and make a .variety of cloths. The superintendent proved to be a nephew of the Brothers Kelly, of Kellyville, in Pennsylvania, and I felt as if he were quite an old acquaintance in this outlandish corner of the world, though I only know his relatives' Mills by sight when I am at home.
We left Provo that afternoon, in spite of President Young's evident indisposition. I asked a lady of the party whether some one would not urge his staying a day longer to recruit his strength.
"No," she replied, stiffly; "he will be inspired to do right. If he ought to go, we will know it by his going; if not, he will be inspired to stay. He is guided by the spirit in every action of his life."
Payson was our next stage from Provo. The very pretty daughter of our host here was the child of an only wife. He admitted his singleblessedness with the half-shamefaced laugh that in our country might have followed the announcement that a lady was his third spouse. Third, vertically, I mean, as L. M. used to say of Bishop H.'s matrimonial series. I did not think that Mrs. Angus seemed likely to urge a
second wife upon her lord; since, for anything that I could see, he throve financially as well as if he had fulfilled all the conditions of saintship. He was one of the few Irish Mormons whom I met (indeed, Scotch-lnsh. at that). His house was a large adobe which had grown with his prosperity, for it had been added to three times, and included a flourishing millinery establishment conducted by Mrs. Angus. It had two well-furnished parlors; one in particular with a conspicuously costly carpet. Fires were blazing in both; but I think quite as comfortable a room was a long kitchen where we ate our meals. Like all Mormon living-rooms, it was virtuously clean and well-aired. Trailing plants climbed round the windows, and as the sunshine poured in, a canary tried to outsing the tones of Brigham Young's grace. He held his own, however; and would not have its cage covered, maintaining that the bird's effusion of thankfulness might be as acceptable to the Creator as his own.
At every one of the places we stayed on this journey, we had prayers immediately after the dinner-supper,, and prayers again before breakfast . No one was excused; wives, daughters, hired men and women, all shuffled in. The Mormons do not read from the Bible, but kneel at once, while the head of the household or an honored guest prays aloud, beginning, as I noticed on this occasion, instead of ending, "In the name of Thy Son, our Saviour Jesus Christ, Father, we ask," etc. I do not think they as often say, "If it be Thy Will," as we do, but simply pray for the blessings they want, expecting they will be given or withheld, as God knows best. Though I do remember Brigham Young's . once praying for the restoration and healing of the sick "if not appointed unto death." They spend very little time in ascriptions, but ask for what they need and thank Him for what He has given—with surprising fluency and detail.
It interested me and my children, too, though they could scarcely repress a start and titter, when they and their absent, brother and sister were alluded to by name. At home, when, for no greater audience than my children, I venture to extemporize the prayer at family worship, I am sometimes puzzled whether to introduce the names of individuals, or to adhere prudently to generalities. But the Mormons take it for granted that God knows our familiar names and titles, and will ask a blessing on "Thy servant, Colonel Jonathan P. Hitchcock, jr.," where I would spend a minute or two in devising a periphrasis. I liked this when I became used to it, and could join in with some knowledge of the circumstances of those we prayed for; particularly as the year drew on, and the whole people were in suspense awaiting the action of Congress affecting them. *
After leaving Payson we rounded the head of Utah Lake, and climbed slowly up the gentle ascent between its basin and Juab Valley. The ground over which we traveled was strewn with cobble-stones, with here and there a deep pool of clear water. Such pools abound in this part of Utah, and many of them are considerably larger than they appear to the passer-by. The margin is overgrown by a coarse, strong grass, whose roots mat together and gradually encroach upon the surface, forming, in time, a floating edge, strong enough to bear a man. Cattle, however, coming down to drink, overweight it, and falling in, are frequently drowned. My attention was called to three particularly, stated by a sworn accuser of the Mormons to have been selected by him for conducting certain choice noyades ordered by Brigham Young. To believe the story, the dead thrown into these pools rose to the surface of the water, and rolled round and round for weeks!
My husband assured me that the Juab Valley was a charming green plain in summer, and pointed out that even now in December it was dotted with herds of cattle among the sage-brush. But I could not imagine its possible loveliness at any season.
At a doleful-looking ranch, Banyan Springs, where we paused to let our horses drink, a group of teamsters had kindled a fire, and stood warming themselves over it. Among them was our servant, his natural ebony turned clay-color by the icy wind that came rushing down from Mount Nebo's 12,000 feet of altitude. One of my boys who is of a poetic turn, pointed it out to John, meaning to say, "Grand I." "Yes, indeed," shivered John, " Dreadful!" The snowy peaks of this glorious mountain glistened on our horizon day after day, until we crossed the Rim of the Basin.
At another watering-place, Santaquin", I think, somewhat above the general level of the plain, we saw quite a number of white-topped wagons slowly toiling along the dusty track below us. Some lighter ones turned aside, as we ourselves frequently did, to drive through the aromatic sage-brush. It scarcely afforded more obstruction to the wheels than grass would have done. But while we were standing at a wateringtrough, up rolled one of the coaches of the Gilmore Stage line. I noticed the half-tipsy mirth on the countenances of the driver and of the two red-faced passengers, who were leaning out of the window watching his movements. By a skilfully-given pull of the reins, he steered his heavy wagon right against the hub of our front