LITMIR.BIZ

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are swings and boweries prepared for your enjoyment; here are most beautiful groves, meandering streams, and lovely sheets of water, amid the towering peaks of the Wasatch mountains. Here are the stupendous works of the God of Nature, though all do not appreciate His wisdom, manifested in His works, but are tempted to recklessness through the buoyant feelings of youth and health, and without caution, are liable to run into danger.

      "Some, if they had the power, would be on the other side of those loftly peaks in ten minutes, instead of calmly meditating upon the wonderful works of God, and His kind providence that has watched over us and provided for us, more especially in the last fifteen years of our history. I could sit here for a month and reflect on the mercies of our God, and humble myself in thankfulness because of His favors to myself as an individual, and to all this great people.

      "What do you think the Prophet Joseph Smith and his brother Hyrum, the Patriarch, would have given to have seen this day in the flesh, and to have been here instead of being taken to Carthage, like lambs to their slaughter, and butchered by their enemies? We are hid up in the Lord's secret chambers, according to His promise, where none can molest us, or make us afraid."

      Diantha's whole body shivered in an inner resistance as the President uttered this joyful challenge to fate. But she listened attentively as the further quiet words fell from his lips:

      "Here is a good floor which we have prepared expressly for your enjoyment, there are two other boweries for the mothers and their children, and here are three bands of musicians, together with our Nauvoo Brass Band and Brother Huntington's Martial Band. The Springville band and the Ogden band will both assist Professor Ballo who has charge of the great orchestra provided for dancing. Before we have our evening prayers, Professor Ballo will favor us with one of his classical selections, – 'what do you call it, Brother Ballo?'" asked the President calmly, across the pavilion, and the musician flushed slightly as he responded from the opposite platform:

      "It is the Overture to Tancreda," profusely bowing in his embarrassment.

      And with that the band struck up the exquisite strains of that tuneful offering to youth and courage, while the people listened with well placed musical sympathy, to this unusual burst of melody, in the virgin solitudes of this sylvan vale. The very hills took up the theme of that lovely opera by Rosinni, and echoed and re-echoed the fine harmony with all the Silver Lake's famous echo.

      As the massive form of the President's Counselor, Heber C. Kimball, stepped out to offer the evening prayer for that happy camp, sweet Ellen's soul sang and sang the words of the prayer into the straining melody of the Overture to Tancreda, but alas, Ellen's music was hidden in her soul and had not been taught to find expression on her lips, or from her finger-tips.

      After prayers, the people dispersed to their tents to finish preparations for rest, or to join in dance and song around camp fires or in the great boweries.

      At the Winthrop tent, Rachel was completing her camp arrangements.

      "Just see 'Enry B'yle 'ang 'round Di," muttered Dian's brother Harvey to his chums as they carried bundles and boxes from the wagons to the tents, "He is too fine to chop and dig; he leaves that to John and father."

      "I'm going to tell mother to set him to work, said Lucy, who at once ran to put her threat into execution.

      "Miss Diantha, what can I do to help you?" asked the gallant young man, on receiving the hint from frank Rachel Willis. Thereupon he took bundles and parcels from the girl, she laughing again and again at his awkward attempts to be useful around a camp fire.

      The camp-fires, now began to shoot steady flames into the darkening sky; the squeak, squeak of the fiddles was answered by the toot of the brass horns, and martial and stringed bands united their forces in loud, triumphant invitations to "dance."

      And how they danced! Old and young, short and tall, fat and slim – the temporary floor groaning and shivering beneath the hundreds of merry, flying, stamping feet.

      Huge camp fires, all over the valley, flung dancing flames and sparks high into the fleecy evening clouds, while at each corner of the pavilion, great pine trees, brought from the hills and set upright for the purpose, burned a spicy, fragrant glowing radiance into every crevice and corner of the bowered halls.

      "Are you going to dance with me?" drawled John Stevens, through his long beard, as he suddenly appeared at Diantha's side. She stood in the brilliant light of the burning pine tree, near the bowery, her tall, graceful figure melting into divine curves under the simple, white frock she wore, her arms uncovered to the elbow and her lovely neck just bared to show the proud lines which dipped in smooth beauty from ear-tips to shoulders. Her columned throat pulsated with bounding life under the snowy skin, as she moved her pretty head from side to side, while the crown of her yellow hair which was coronaded in heavy braids around and around the shapely head, broke into tiny curls on her temples and at the white nape of the neck, and was a glittering mass of spun gold in the dancing flames which heightened both color and quality of that mass of silken charm.

      "Why, of course, I am, if you ask me to," Dian replied frankly.

      She knew John was not much of a dancer, being very tall, and not very fond of gyrating around as rapidly as the swift music demanded. However, she took his arm and they walked out upon the floor; a waltz was called, and then the girl looked up in her companion's face with a dismayed glance, and he gazed at her with a quizzical response to her misgiving. Of all dances, he was least at home in a waltz.

      Once, – twice, – they tried to turn around but without much success. They stumbled over other couples on the floor. In spite of Dian's heroic efforts to keep her giant upright and in time with the step, he stopped suddenly and exclaimed: "I think we shall have to call that a failure."

      She looked up quickly to see if there was not a shade of disappointment on his face, and she rejoiced with a wicked joy, when dapper young Henry Boyle came up immediately and carried her off to dance, with all the grace and rhythm that was so necessary a part of a perfect waltz.

      They passed John once or twice, as he stood under the blazing pine, stroking his beard and watching the dancers with an inscrutable expression.

      Diantha forgot him by and by, and did not again think of him, for her time was so filled with calls for dances that she had no time to think of anybody or anything but her own excited self.

      After a few hours of dancing, the girl accepted Henry Boyle's invitation to walk out around camp awhile, and together they traversed the small valley. As they passed their own camp-fire, where sat her sister-in-law, Rachel Winthrop, chatting with Aunt Clara, she suddenly wondered where John Stevens had been all the evening.

      "Have you seen John, this evening?" she asked Rachel.

      "Yes, he has been here, once or twice, getting some cakes and milk for himself and partner, I guess, for he took two plates."

      "I thought I was his partner up here," said Diantha, in a somewhat injured tone.

      "Haven't you seen him this evening?" queried Aunt Clara Tyler.

      "Oh, yes, but I have been dancing so hard, I forgot all about him."

      "You may find some day, Dian, that two can play at the forgetting game," said Aunt Clara, with a tenderness that robbed the speech of any bitterness.

      "I wish they would," answered the girl indifferently.

      Nevertheless her vanity was touched, a few moments after, when she and her companion passed a rustic bower of boughs, twined and twisted into a lovely green retreat, where there was a small camp-fire smouldering in front, and a low couch inside, covered with softest buffalo robes, whereon sat her dearest friend, Ellen Tyler; and stretched out with his long legs to the fire, his arm supporting his head, and his face turned very intently to the young girl near him, was that recreant, John Stevens, who ought just now to be suffering all the torments of a discarded lover.

      It was annoying to say the least. Dian acted as if she did not see them at all, and whispered with much animation to her companion, as they passed the light of the fire.

      She hurried at once to the bowery and none were more sprightly and gay until the ten o'clock bugle sounded throughout the valley, and then she allowed Henry Boyle to accompany

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