AN IRREVERENT COMPANY OF PASSENGERS—SICKNESS AND A HORROR OF LIFE FALL UPON ME—A "HELPFUL VISION"—"ONLY BE TRUE"—INVOKING THE NAME OF CHRIST—A JOLLY SINGER AND A JOLLY SONG—LANDING AT PORT LITTLETON—STRANGE RECOGNITION OF BROTHER NORDSTRAND—HIS DREAM CONCERNING ME.

On board the Wakatipu was a large company of worldly people, representing nearly all professions and stations in life. The majority of the people were extremely sociable, and very soon after we got out into the open water a number of passengers gathered in the cabin with musical instruments, to while away an hour and to banish sadness. They made a great medley of their pleasures; and some of them were decidedly irreverent. A portion of the party wished to dance, and the man who supplied the music claimed to know but one tune. This was:

"Sweeping through the gates of the New Jerusalem,
Washed in the blood of the Lamb."

And to this very strange "schottische" some of them danced a merry-go-round.

Notwithstanding the gaiety on board, the feeling of dread grew upon me. It seemed to possess my very soul. Probably I had given way too much to sadness in gazing upon the distant lights of Sydney, and now I could not banish the evil thoughts which thronged my mind.

All manner of gloomy forebodings oppressed me. While I remained in Sydney, I felt that there was some tie between myself and my companion; but now I felt that I had cut myself adrift even from him.

This was the first time in my life that ever I felt how completely alone a man can be when surrounded by joyous company. I tried to think of comfort and companionship at the end of my voyage; but the reflection proved to be an unfortunate one, because I knew no soul in all New Zealand. Death must actually be something to dread for any person to whom it will bring the appalling loneliness which possessed me at this hour.

I retired to my berth, as you may imagine, in no pleasant frame of mind. The next morning, Friday, I awoke and found myself in a raging fever. I was not sea-sick, and, though I am subject to this trouble, during this entire voyage I felt no touch of it. The fever increased during the day, until it seemed as if my whole body were being consumed in a furnace.

No one came to enquire for me, or to offer aid; for I was not only a total stranger, but a steerage passenger—two things which, united, shut me out from help or sympathy. On Saturday morning I was worse. My tongue was swollen until it filled my mouth; it was as dry as a piece of tinder. With the intense heat of my body my teeth crumbled at a touch.

On Sunday morning I was worse; though probably the fever had not increased in intensity, because it could not; but I was very much weaker. That afternoon a passenger came to the berth, and offered me a glass of water. I took it gratefully; and this was the sole attention I received during four days.

Naturally I felt dispirited. I had not even the advantage of delirium, which accompanies most serious fevers; I was constantly awake to the full appreciation of the torture which my mind and body were enduring. Tempted by the destroyer, I felt that death would have been a welcome release from my pain. The horror was almost unbearable.

On Sunday night, the entire company of passengers, with the exception of myself, gathered in the main cabin, upon invitation of a jolly doctor, who held what he called:

"A Saturday Night at Sea."

To every person who could sing or make a speech, some part was assigned for the general amusement. From my berth in the steerage—by drawing away the curtains, I could look out upon the festive scene, in which I could bear no part, for I was helpless and speechless.

The doctor had been a surgeon in the hospitals of England, and also in the Crimean War, and he opened the entertainment by a lecture upon the strange experiences of a British army surgeon and hospital physician. While he was talking upon this suggestive subject, my mind was led to a contemplation of death. I felt with a kind of listlessness that I would soon be beyond the reach of earthly physicians, unless something could speedily be done for my relief.

After a severe struggle I so far overcame the dreadful feeling with which the adversary had filled my heart that I was able to call upon the Lord in prayer. As I silently communed with Him, I gained power; my faith was restored, and my hope for life was quickened.

I asked Him in the name of the Lord Jesus to be merciful unto me; I felt then at perfect liberty to speak to Him as a son would talk with a good earthly father. I said that I had come into this distant region—not to fulfil my own worldly wish, but at the behest of His servants, to proclaim His gospel, and to build up His Kingdom. My companion was hundreds of miles distant from me, and I was beyond the reach of earthly help or earthly sympathy. It was my earnest desire to be restored to life, that I might fulfil the mission to which I had been assigned by His representatives on earth; and to this end I asked that some aid might be given me to rebuke the devil, and to banish the horrors which I felt would soon, if allowed to work their way, bring dissolution.

When my prayer was ended, I heard the doctor still talking; but under the sound of his voice I fell asleep.

I dreamed that I was back in Sydney, sick in bed. Brother May was at a table in the room, and we were conversing. Across the room, to the right of my bed, was an open door, which I could see without lifting my head from the pillow.

While I lay there listening to the words of Brother May, a personage clothed in a white robe entered the room. He appeared to be a young man, and had a very pleasing countenance. This personage passed around the bed and stood near the table. Brother May rose and offered the visitant a chair, and then withdrew. The young man seated himself at the table and opened a book. He said:

"Are you ready to report the Sydney Branch?"

"Yes, sir," I responded.

"Then proceed."

I gave him an account of all our doings in Sydney, beginning with our first effort of reorganizing, and closing with my last act previous to sailing—for all these things seemed plain to my mind. The recital seemed to occupy me several minutes, and I continued to speak freely. He wrote in the book rapidly, and never once interrupted me. I felt that he was taking every word I uttered. When I stopped, he asked:

"Have you anything more to say?"

"No, sir," I answered.

Then he turned the leaves back, and seemed to read from the beginning. He said:

"Very well. Now where are you going?"

"To New Zealand."

He recorded my answer in the book, and then signed his name—I could not see the words of his name, but I felt that he was writing his own signature. He closed the book and walked around to the right side of the bed, shook hands with me, and said:

"Good-by; I will be there before you."

He passed from the room, and then I saw the figure of a little child standing at the foot of the bed. I looked closely and recognized my little brother Teddy, who had been drowned nearly twenty years before. I seemed to know that he had come from the spirit world, and in my anxiety I sprang from the bed, and, resting one knee upon the floor, I gazed intently at him. He stepped near me, and I took one little arm in my hand. Although a spirit, he seemed palpable to my touch. I said:

"I think you are my little brother Teddy; but it is so long since I saw you that I had almost forgotten how you looked."

Then the thought came into my mind that I must ask him some question. I said:

"Teddy, have you seen our Heavenly Father yet?"

He answered in the sweet voice of a child:

"No—but I shall see Him."

I noticed that he was trembling, and that from his eyes there went a glance of fear to the open door. I asked again:

"Have you brought any message to me?"

To this question he answered, "Yes," shaking at the time more violently with fear; but he turned his glance from the door and his eyes looked straight into mine, and he came nestling into my arms. He lifted the fore finger of his right hand toward my face and said:

"Only be true!"

He turned his head, still with that frightened glance, at the open door, and this time I also looked. And I saw an evil spirit standing just outside and shaking its fist at the little one, and bearing on its face a demoniacal scowl. Its whole bearing and gesture implied the words, "Don't you dare to give that message!"

When I saw this, I said to Teddy:

"Have no fear—I know how to drive him away."

For even in my dream I seemed to understand what power the evil one possessed and how he could be rebuked. And I seemed now to have got back my faith and the power of my calling. I strode to the door and stood close to the wicked spirit. I raised my arm to the square, with my hand open and the palm extended toward him, saying at the same time:

"In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ of Nazareth, the Son of the living God, I command you to be gone."

He looked at me with a hateful glare, but slowly walked three or four steps down the stairway which was there. Then he stopped, folded his arms, and, looking at me defiantly, cried:

"I will not go! I will not go! I will not go!"

I said:

"You will go."

And then I followed him down, again standing close to him. Again I brought my arm to the square and repeated my solemn adjuration. He walked down the stairs and took refuge in a corner. This time he assumed a most resolute mien. His face expressed intense malice and hatred. He cried:

"I will not go—you shall not drive me away!"

For the last time I invoked that supreme name of our Lord Jesus, and then the demon—shaking his hands at me still in a threatening manner, fled with a look of baffled rage on his hideous countenance.

I returned to the room and found that Teddy was gone.

Weak and exhausted I climbed back into my bed and seemed to fall asleep; and at the very instant when I seemed to lapse into slumber I awoke with a start and heard the sound of a jolly song.

Instead of the dry parched feeling which had enveloped my whole being when I fell asleep, I was now in a delicious perspiration. From my face the sweat was rolling in little streams. This seemed as pleasant to me as a flood of water to a thirsty desert.

The singing came from the cabin. The man who was giving the song in a full, manly voice, was so near to my berth that I could have reached out and placed my hand upon his shoulder. The chorus of his song went to my heart; and I afterward learned that the young man had not been invited to sing, but had been seized with a sudden impulse, unaccountable even to himself. To this hour I have treasured in my recollection the comforting words of that chorus. They were:

"Never, boys, give way to sorrow,
   But be up and act like men!
Look with hope for joys to-morrow—
   Sunny days shall come again!"

When again I fell asleep I was comparatively happy. The following morning when I awoke I was well, except for great weakness.

Many hours subsequently, while I lay wide-awake and comfortable in my berth—lulled by the swirl of waters against the ship—I saw, standing on a step-ladder by the side of my berth and looking down upon me, a little old lady. She was short and stout, and pleasant-looking. Her eyes gleamed with kindness, and she smiled in a most friendly fashion. How she came there I knew not, but she seemed to feel perfectly at home.

When my eyes met hers, she began to nod at me. She continued her droll recognition for several moments, and then she spoke in a jolly tone:

"I know you; I know you! And you shall know me when we meet again."

Then she disappeared as suddenly as she had come. But her face and figure, her smile and twinkling eyes, and her good-natured voice remained long with me as a pleasant memory. Before I had been a very long time in New Zealand, I saw her again; but this next time her presence was more than a fleeting fancy.

At ten o'clock on Tuesday morning we sighted New Zealand. At eight o'clock that night we arrived at the port of Wellington. It was in the ordinary time of the steamer that we should leave at four o'clock the next morning on the voyage across Cook's Strait to Littleton, my destination—175 miles distant.

Instead, however, of our getting away Wednesday morning at four o'clock, at that hour a furious gale was coming up the strait. So terrific was its power that the captain could not entertain the thought of going out of port; so we remained over twenty-six hours, and left Wellington at six o'clock on Thursday morning.

On Friday morning, about six o'clock, we reached Port Littleton, from which place I had learned that a train started for Christchurch, on the way to Rangiora, an hour later. It was my intention to go on shore with my luggage and take a seat in this train before seven o'clock.

But, as I was about to set foot upon the gangway, I felt a sudden prompting, as distinct as if it were a voice, speaking to me:

"Don't go ashore now. You must wait for a time."

I learned that another train would leave during the morning, and then I went back into the cabin with my luggage and remained nearly an hour. While waiting I seemed to hear a voice as of someone speaking behind me:

"Now is your time to go ashore."

I took all my luggage on my shoulders and in my hands, and walked across the deck and gangway, and was just setting foot on the quay, when a man rushed up to me and said:

"Excuse me, sir; but do you know of anyone by the name of Shreeve on board this vessel?"

I dropped my luggage, reached out my hand, and said:

"You are Brother Nordstrand!"

He replied:

"Yes; and you are Brother Shreeve! Allow me to welcome you to New Zealand."

I did not know at the time why I said "Brother Nordstrand." Of course I had never seen the man before, and the only possible acquaintance I could have had with his name, was, that I had glanced once or twice, some weeks previous, at a report which contained the names of the New Zealand Saints. Paying but little attention to this matter at the time, I did not remember that Nordstrand was among these names, even if I saw it. I had no idea that any person would come to meet me. And yet I spoke his name and reached out my hand to him with as much confidence as if we had been old acquaintances, only separated for a year or two.

If this experience on my own part seemed marvelous to me, upon reflection, I was still more surprised when Brother Nordstrand related the events which caused him to meet the Wakatipu at Port Littleton. He said:

"I live at Styx. This morning in a dream, a personage—a young man of pleasing appearance, clothed in a white robe—visited me and instructed me to go to Port Littleton this morning and meet the steamer Wakatipu, and find among her passengers a man named Shreeve, who was a "Mormon" Elder coming to visit the Saints in New Zealand. The vision was so vivid that I was roused from my sleep; and, when it was ended, I sprang out of bed and looked at the clock. I found the hour to be 4 A. M. Two hours later I saddled my horse and rode to Christchurch, a distance of six or seven miles. There I took train for Port Littleton, nine miles away, and arrived here to meet you."

The sole information and instruction upon which Brother Nordstrand acted was that conveyed to him in this dream. In a later conversation I learned that in the same vision he had been shown all the consequences which would attend upon my ministration in New Zealand. The event proved that this dream to Brother Nordstrand was one of the greatest blessings of my life. I encountered much tribulation in New Zealand; no more from the bigotry of the world than from the perfidy of my own brethren. But through all the trouble Brother Nordstrand was my devoted friend. He had never a moment of doubt, because all which happened had been by him foreseen.

REASON FOR MY SUDDEN CALL TO LEAVE SYDNEY—THE LITTLE OLD LADY OF THE "WAKATIPU"—SHE HAD WAITED A GENERATION TO RENEW HER COVENANTS—ANOTHER "HELPFUL VISION"—A MYSTERIOUS HALF-SOVEREIGN—SAVED FROM DEATH IN A SWIFT RIVER.

Elders William McLachlan, Thomas Steed, Charles Hurst and Fred. Hurst had been the last Utah Elders to labor in the New Zealand missionary field previous to the date of my landing there. They had rendered good service to the cause, and I discovered that the foundation which they had laid was broad and deep, and cemented in gospel truth.

After a few days visit with Brother Nordstrand at Styx, I went to Southbrook, where I found Elder James Burnett Jr., the young man who had been left in charge of the mission by the brethren about a year before.

With him and with others I labored up and down the country in that locality, and in the ensuing three months twenty-five souls were brought into the Church in the Canterbury Province.

One of my first meetings was held at Prebbleton. While speaking there, I felt led to detail the strange succession of circumstances attendant upon my coming so early to that field. When I sat down a good sister named Mortensen arose and said:

"Brother Shreeve, I can tell you why you received the command to come to New Zealand immediately. It was in answer to our fervent prayer. For more than three months previous to your arrival here we had been anxiously supplicating the Lord to send us an Elder from Utah."

About two months after I landed in New Zealand I was traveling in company with Brother John Walker, when he said to me:

"There is a woman living in this neighborhood, who, I understand, once belonged to the Church. I am acquainted with her husband. Let us go over and see her."

I assented to his proposition and went to the house designated. When we entered we saw a little old woman sitting by the stove, smoking a pipe. She arose with some embarrassment at receiving visitors. But the moment she fully confronted me, I saw that she was the little old woman who had visited me in imagination on board the Wakatipu, while sailing across Cook's Straits.

I learned that her name was Sister Emmas, and in conversation she stated to me that she had become a member of the Church a generation before, in the town of Bristol in England. It was there that the miracle of restoration of sight was performed under the administration of Elder John Hackwell, upon the eyes of the children of William and Elizabeth Bounsell. Sister Emmas had been an eye witness to this miracle. She was then firm in the faith; but the young man whom she married—being anxious to get her away from the influence of the hated "Mormons" had carried her to this remote nook in New Zealand, thinking that he had separated her from the Church forever.

She had often prayed to be visited by members of the Church and to be united with her people. Some years before I met her a man had worked for her husband for a brief time, and then departed. After he was gone she learned that he was a "Mormon." He had interested her greatly while he labored for her husband, and she had been unable to account for the interest she took in him. After he was gone the matter was explained to her satisfaction; and she looked anxiously for his return—but in vain, for she never saw him after that hour.

In later conversations I spoke to her of her appearance to me on board the Wakatipu, and by comparison of dates I learned that on or about the very day when she appeared to me, she had been praying most earnestly that the Lord would bless her with a visit from a "Mormon" Elder. She had often sat by her window and looked out with straining eyes and anxious heart for someone to come to her, and bring a renewal of the glad tidings which she had heard thirty years before in England.

While I remained in that region Sister Emmas was very kind to me. She frequently helped me with money, and I was always a welcome visitor at her house.

She loved to talk about the things of the gospel, but I found that she was but a child. She had heard nothing of the teachings of the Church except those earliest taught in England, and the sublime doctrines of baptism for the dead, and other things revealed to the Saints later than her day in the Church were entirely new and strange to her. Often when I was talking she would clasp her hands, and look at me with the utmost surprise, saying:

"Well, well! Now, they didn't teach that when I joined the Church—I didn't understand it that way."

But she seemed always willing to learn, and was indeed a faithful soul. Her husband, however, continued bitterly opposed, and after some time both she and I agreed that for the sake of her peace it would be better if my visits to their house ceased. But before we finally parted the good old lady said to me:

"You will know when I am dead—I will let you know; and then, if there is anything which you can do for my eternal blessing, I pray you to do it."

On the 27th of February, 1879, I went to the North Island, in the hope to do some successful labor there. At Wellington I stopped at a hotel kept by a Mr. Daville, a relative of Brother C. W. Carter of Salt Lake. On the night of my arrival I retired to my room, wet and cold. I was wearied, but wakeful, because of my anxiety. I knew that several efforts had been made in times past to open the work in this region; but they seemed all to have been unsuccessful, and I doubted my own ability to accomplish any good. I felt prayerful, but still despondent.

While I lay, wide awake, in my bed I suddenly saw a hand and arm, clothed in a white sleeve which extended down midway between the elbow and the wrist, and holding a torch in its hand—thrust out from the side of a dark fireplace which was in the room.

At first there was but a spark of light at the top of the torch, but gradually the flame grew greater and the light stronger, until it filled the whole room; and then from out the darkness behind the arm and torch stepped the figure of a little girl.

I recognized it instantly as that of my young sister Sophia, who had died six years before in England, while I was in Utah. At the time of her death she was eight and a half years old, and had but recently been baptized into the Church. She came toward the bed, and I saw that she was dressed in beautiful white raiment. From her whole person a pleasing light seemed to emanate. She approached the bed and leaned over it, placing her arms around my neck and kissing me upon the lips. Then, still with her hands clasped, she leaned back and looked intently into my face, saying at the same time:

"Tom, don't be afraid! Whenever you are in danger I will come to warn you."

She bent forward and kissed me again; afterward leaning back to take another look at my face. Repeating the same words as before, once more she kissed me; and then slowly withdrew her arms and moved back from the bed. She approached the arm, which still held the torch, and as she did so I saw that the light of the torch paled before the greater glory which surrounded her person. When she neared the fireplace the arm stretched out around her, and she stepped back into the darkness. She waved her hand three times with a farewell gesture toward me. Soon she was enveloped in the darkness of the fireplace, and the light of the torch grew for a moment brighter; then suddenly it vanished and I found myself leaning upon my elbow in the bed and gazing fixedly at the blank darkness where the glorious presence and the light torch had disappeared. So real and certain had been the presence of my sister that after she was gone I still felt the pressure of her warm arms around my neck.

I remained in that region for a time, but could not find any opening; and therefore concluded to return to the South Island. At the time I greatly regretted the necessity for this step, for it seemed like a desertion of the field; but I was later led to thank God for the guidance of the Spirit for taking me away from the North Island.

It had been my purpose to obtain an opening among the Maories, and proclaim to them the gospel; but two weeks after my return to the South Island serious trouble broke out between the government and the Maori tribes which I had intended to visit on the west coast. This trouble continued for a considerable time, and during it, whenever my mind recurred to the subject, I thanked the Lord that I had been led away from that locality; because the people of that region would have been only too glad to attribute the Maori uprising to the "incendiary presence" of a Mormon Elder.

One day after my return, myself and a companion had been baptizing at Alfred Forest and it was our desire to reach Templeton as speedily as possible. We were very tired, having walked thirty-two miles that day, and we concluded to ride from Rakaia to Templeton, provided we had enough money for the purpose. We emptied all our pockets very carefully. I took especial care to feel in every corner of my clothing, and I gave all I had to my companion, who said that with his little stock this was barely sufficient to purchase the tickets. When we arrived at Templeton we learned that Brother Walker was quite ill at his home in a little town two or three miles distant.

When I arose to dress the next morning, I happened to put my hand in my vest pocket; and to my amazement I drew forth a half-sovereign in gold. How it came there I know not to this day: I was possessed of such a coin so infrequently in those days that I had certainly not placed it in my pocket and forgotten it; besides only the night previous at Rakaia I had searched my pockets carefully and had given every penny possessed to my fellow-laborer.

At the request of my companion, who was too weary to attempt the journey, I trudged down that morning to Brother Walker's house—although I myself had been so tired that I thought I could not walk a furlong. When I reached the house I found Brother Walker was indeed very sick; and that, owing to the confinement occasioned by his sickness, his business had been neglected, and his folks had been unable to leave him while they made collections of money due him, and they were for the moment in a very needy state, not having a penny in the house.

When I found the situation in which they were placed I said to Sister Walker:

"I have found a half-sovereign this morning, which came to me in some unknown way for some unknown purpose; and now I shall be glad to let you have it for your needs."

She thanked me, and told me that she would be grateful if I would hitch up their horse and drive over to Christchurch and purchase some bread and medicine. I did as she requested. I hitched up the horse and went immediately to Christchurch, a distance of three or four miles.

Arrived there I went to the baker's shop and asked for two shillings and sixpence worth of bread, giving the baker in payment my half-sovereign, or ten shilling piece. He gave me the proper change I am sure, because I watched it carefully. I placed this change of silver in the empty purse which I had in my hand, and then went to the chemist's shop. Here I purchased medicine to the amount of two shillings, and took that much money from the purse and paid the chemist.

Then I hastened back to Brother Walker's, and when I entered the house I gave the folks the bread and the medicine, and tossed the purse, containing as I supposed, five shillings and sixpence in change, to Sister Walker. She emptied the money into her lap, counted it, and then said:

"You did not pay for the bread and medicine which you got at Christchurch."

I replied that I had paid for them, certainly; because, being unknown to the baker and chemist, they would not have trusted me.

"But," she replied, "you have brought back ten shillings and four pence—which is more than you carried away with you."

I answered that I could not help that—I had certainly paid for the bread and the medicine and had received my exact change from the baker, who broke the money for me.

But whatever I might say, there was the money—four pence more than I had carried away, although I had spent four shillings and sixpence.

Some time afterward I was requested by Jeppe C. Jeppeson to go to Alfred Forest to perform for him and his family the ordinance of baptism. I was then at Prebbleton, and Alfred Forest was more than seventy miles away.

The second day of my journey I had thirty-two miles to travel on foot from the Rakaia River to Alfred Forest. My way lay for ten miles along the bank of the Rakaia; and thence along a level stretch for twenty miles, to the North Ashburton River. This I would be obliged to cross, and from the crossing to travel for two miles to the residence of Mr. Jeppeson. The Rakaia is a broad river flowing between high and steep banks.

The day was extremely hot, with a north-west wind blowing. This "north-wester" as it is called in that region is something like the desert simoon—it dries the sap out of everything. It is intensely hot and parching in its nature, and quickly enervates any person exposed to its influence. Especially is this the case with a person unaccustomed to the climate.

Whenever I wanted to moisten my lips I had considerable difficulty in descending to the stream and reascending the steep and high bank. But I was soon spared this annoyance; because when I began to cross the plain I found no water whatever. There was not a drop to be found for a stretch of nearly fifteen miles. Several times during this painful journey I lay down, feeling utterly exhausted; and once or twice I felt that death would be a relief.

About a mile before I reached the north fork of the Ashburton, I saw a stick about six feet long and two inches thick, lying across my path. I passed it by, but could not help feeling greatly surprised at seeing it there; because I had not, during the whole time that I was walking across this plain seen any tree or shrub or even a willow of any kind. After I had gone some distance, I felt an impression that I ought to turn back and get the stick. I endeavored to put this idea from my mind, but without avail; and so I returned and picked up the stick and carried it with me.

When I reached the river I expected to find someone there to meet me; because Mr. Jeppeson had promised that his son would await me on the north side of the river with a horse, and help me across. But I found no one there.

The sun had long gone down, and darkness was swiftly descending upon the earth. The river was rapidly rising for the north-wester was the warning of a storm which had been raging in the mountains. This branch of the Ashburton was about a furlong in width, and was naturally a rapid though not deep stream. Its fall was so great that an immense quantity of water could be carried with a shallow depth. As with many other New Zealand rivers, for a single person to cross on foot was a dangerous experiment, because the water flows so rapidly that one is easily lifted off his feet; and once down he could never get up again.

I was debating in my mind whether I should pass the night on the north bank of the river, or run the risk of death in crossing, when I saw a rift like a triangle open in the clouded sky to the south. From this rift sufficient light came to enable me to see the surface of the stream. I looked from the roadway and saw that at various points in the river were shifting sand bars, which I could detect by the rippling over them of the rising waters.

I knelt down and prayed for guidance from my Heavenly Father, and when I arose it was with a determination to cross the stream. I descended into the water, but some influence immediately forced me back to shore. This influence was so powerful that it lifted me back to the bank like a cork.

Then I bent over and looked at the stream, and by the aid of the light from the open space in the sky I saw that where I intended to enter the river was a deep, dark current. Higher up I could see that the light shone on a line of ripples, betokening sand bars, extending almost entirely across the stream. I ascended to a favorable point and saw that here the light shone at its brightest; and I took this line for my ford.

I had the stick which I had providentially picked up, and this I put into the water down stream from me, and grounded it on the bottom, and then I entered without fear. I leaned up stream as far as I could without falling, and, although the stream was only up to my knees, the pressure of the swift current against my body threw it as high as my waist. As soon as I could gain a firm footing upon the bottom, I moved my stick from point to point; and in this way progressed safely to the first bar. Then I stepped into a hole with my right foot, and caught myself just as I was going down.

A cold sweat broke out on me, because, while I had not had much experience with New Zealand rivers, I knew perfectly well that to lose my footing was to die. I stood a moment to breathe and to recover my composure, and then I started on.

Guided by the light, and supported by my stick, I was able to zig zag from one bar to another, until I was within twenty yards of the south bank. Then again I missed my footing, and was whirled around and nearly cast down. The stick once more saved me, and in a few minutes I was safely landed on the shore.

Wet, exhausted with the long battle in crossing the river, my shoes full of sand and my feet raw; I sank down upon the ground, wearied but joyful. I thanked God for the preservation of my life through the struggle with the fierce river.

When I rose from my knees I looked up at the sky, and saw that the providential light (which had undoubtedly been the means of saving my life) had disappeared. I felt convinced from this that there were no more streams; and the result proved the correctness of that idea.

I walked on two miles and found the house of Mr. Jeppeson; but it was closed up, all the people having retired to bed. When I found that they had preferred to retire, rather than to fulfill their engagement with me, I went to the house of Brother Olsen, who kindly gave me supper and a bed.

A few days later, Mr. Jeppeson came to me with profuse apologies, and at his request I baptized him and his family.

SOME OLD MEMBERS OF THE CHURCH—THE SPIRIT PROMPTS PROMISES TO THEM WHICH ARE LITERALLY FULFILLED—HELP FROM A CATHOLIC WHO IS SUDDENLY CONVERTED AND WHO AS SUDDENLY APOSTATIZES—A SPONTANEOUS PROPHECY—THE JOURNEY HOME—A CAREFUL OBSERVER—SAFE IN ZION.

One day while visiting at a little village called Greytown, I met a lady whose name was Mrs. Reid. She had belonged to the Church fifteen or sixteen years before, when she was a girl in England. She had been quite a devoted member of the Church, and some of the Elders promised her that through her faithfulness and her kindness she should be enabled to gather to Zion with the Saints. This was the dearest wish of her heart, and she fondly anticipated the time. But she was courted by a man whom she subsequently married, and he came into the Church for the purpose of gaining her hand. The time was almost set for her departure to the Valley; but he insisted that they should be married in England. The Elders advised her to wait until she and her affianced could reach Zion; but she was persuaded by the pleadings of Mr. Reid, and married him in England. No sooner were they united than he took her to another part of the country, and later he carried her to New Zealand. He had not been sincere in his protestations of faith, but had merely joined the Church for the purpose of gaining her hand.

She had repented bitterly this error of her life, and when I saw her she was a most lonely and miserable creature. Her mother and sisters were in Utah, but she had no hope of ever seeing them. Her husband was a besotted wretch who made her life one continued agony.

She unfolded to me all the troubles of her life. She recalled clearly all that had been promised to her by the Elders, and she wept when she thought of how she had robbed this sacred promise of its fulfillment by her own lack of fidelity. She blamed no one but herself, but she said to me very sorrowfully before we parted:

"I know that my husband will not permit me to be rebaptized. He is angry because you come here; for he thinks that the "Mormons" have again hunted me out. But before you go away I want you to bless me and my children."

I complied with her request, and when my hands were on her head I felt led to promise her, in the name of the Lord, that she should be released from her trouble, and that very shortly. A few months later I learned that she was dead. I did not understand the full significance of the promise which I gave, at the time. I only spoke the words in obedience to the inspiration of the Spirit; but I am satisfied that this was the only relief which could come to this poor, oppressed woman, and God sent it in answer to her humble and faithful prayer, and her reliance on the promise which was made by an Elder of Christ. A similar experience occurred to me at Koroira, at which village I found an old man named Eagles. Years before he had lived in Salt Lake with his family; but his wife and children grew dissatisfied, and, in fact, apostatized. They departed for New Zealand, and the old brother followed them away from Salt Lake in the hope to bring them back into the Church, and induce them to return to Zion. But his effort had been in vain; and now he was old and fast failing and was the object of their contempt and persecution. They refused to permit him to observe, even in the simplest matters, the religion to which he was honestly and irrevocably devoted. I had heard that there was such a man in the neighborhood, though I had not seen him, and one day when I was passing along the road I met him. I knew that it was he at once. I called him by name, and then explained that I was a "Mormon" Elder from Utah. Brother Eagles expressed great gladness and soon told me his troubles. I asked:

"You came away without any counsel?"

He responded that he had left Utah without counsel; although he had made two or three vain efforts to get a conference with President Young. But he confessed that he had been in too great a hurry; and that it had been a bitter misfortune for him that he had ever left Utah without having counseled with the proper authorities and learned the right thing for him to do.

"I was a Sunday school teacher in Huntsville, and I labored on the Temple Block in Salt Lake; and there among the Saints I was well respected—but here I am treated like a dog. I am very sorrowful and unhappy."

I saw that he was wearied and despondent, and I said to him:

"Never mind, Brother Eagles. Do not feel bad about your troubles. The Lord is looking down upon you in mercy. He sees your afflictions, and He will soon release you. I am very sorry that you came without counsel; but you will be rewarded for the faith that you have had and the labors you have performed."

He answered me that he really hoped the Lord would soon release him, for his burden was very heavy.

We parted and I walked away; and after traveling a short distance I felt a sudden regret that I had spoken to the old gentleman in this way. I thought to myself that he would feel bad, and my words might increase his despondency. I turned around to look for him, and I saw that he had mounted nearly to the crest of a hill, and that he had stopped by the roadside and was leaning upon his stick. The loneliness and the unhappiness of the old man came fully to my mind. I thought to go back and recall what I had said; but the moment I started towards him the voice of the Spirit came to me distinctly, saying:

"Proceed with your journey. Let the old man alone."

I went to Alfred Forest, but returned a few days later; and on my return to Christchurch I called at the post office. The first letter I received was from a friend at Koroira. He stated that on the Monday following my conversation with Brother Eagles the old man had taken to his bed. He had not seemed to suffer any bodily pain, nor to be afflicted in mind. He quietly sank away, apparently in perfect peace and contentment, until the following Saturday, when he died.

After nearly two years of labor in New Zealand, I was preparing to return home. My release was expected every mail. I had not the money with which to pay my fare from Christchurch even to Auckland; but I knew that the way would open and I trusted the Lord implicitly. I had been directed to proceed northward and perform my final labors in the region of Wellington and Hawkes Bay, and I needed the means with which to perform this labor. The Saints in the vicinity of Christchurch were poor. Besides, they had just assisted one missionary with the means to carry him home, and I could neither ask anything, nor were they in a position to give.

The last Sunday but one before I was to start northward, I preached in Christchurch on the restoration of the gospel. One listener was a man named Brownrigg, who was not a member of the Church. He was a man of considerable means and a Catholic.

A day or two later I went up the country a short distance to bid the folks farewell, and then returned to Christchurch. I found that in the meantime Mr. Brownrigg had become Brother Brownrigg, having requested and received baptism at the hands of the Elders during my absence.

On the last Sunday of my stay in that region I again preached in Christchurch and bore my testimony to the assembled Saints. Brother Brownrigg was there—an attentive listener. The next day he called me into his business establishment and told me that he had been converted by the sermon which I had preached on the restoration of the gospel. He enquired what my means were, and when I answered that I was without money, he said:

"You cannot travel without means. Here are five pounds for you. This amount will help you some."

On the following Friday (the day before I was to start away) he again called me into his store, and this time presented me with an additional sum of three pounds—making a total of eight pounds, or $40, which he had given me within a week.

This circumstance impressed me very seriously. There was not a Saint in that mission who was able to give me the money needed for my journey until Brownrigg became a member of the Church; and he was so quick and generous with his gift that I was enabled to sail on the day appointed, without any further trouble or annoyance. But if I were impressed at this time, imagine my feeling when I learned shortly after that no sooner was I gone than Mr. Brownrigg apostatized, and called the whole system of the gospel "a pack of nonsense!" I then felt ready to admit that I had converted Mr. Brownrigg by the sermon on the restoration of the gospel; because if the Lord had converted him, he would not have been so ready to deny the truth. I do not like to call such a sordid matter as this a miracle, and yet it seems little short of miraculous that this man should have come into the Church, have given me the money necessary for the fulfillment of the Lord's direction to me—and then have apostatized. He was a Catholic and would not have given me the money without joining the Church.

I reached Auckland in due time; and on the last Sunday in June, 1880, I preached in Orange Hall, in Newton, Auckland, my farewell sermon in the Australasian Mission. I was greatly moved in delivering this final message of truth; and in the course of my address I bore a sincere testimony to the truth of the gospel, and then the spirit prompted me to give to the people assembled a solemn warning. I said:

"Other Elders will come to you; but you shall reject their testimony as you now reject mine. But after that, and before six years shall pass away other testimonies will be sent by the Almighty, which you can neither reject nor gainsay. These testimonies will be the testimonies of earthquakes and famines and pestilence; and they will continue to afflict you until but few of you shall live."

While uttering these words I felt so strongly impressed, so confident of their truth, that I told the people to write my utterance down, and watch for its fulfillment. But when I had finished and the Spirit had left me to my own thoughts, I felt almost horrified at the nature of the prophecy which I had almost unconsciously made. I felt my humility and my weakness most vividly, and I also felt almost ashamed, and certainly very fearful concerning the fulfillment of what I had said. That feeling of doubt and almost anger with myself came upon me during the years following, whenever the subject recurred to my mind.

In June, 1886, I received a visit from a brother who had recently come from New Zealand. We were talking about the experiences of my mission, and I said to him:

"It is now just six years since I left Auckland on my return."

No sooner were the words uttered than there flashed through my mind a recollection of the strange prediction which the Spirit had uttered through my lips in Orange Hall; and I thought to myself: "I must have been misled. I have watched the papers carefully, and there is no sign of any such disaster as that which I predicted. If those people did as I requested—if they wrote down the prophecy as it was uttered, some of them now will say, 'There is a falsehood which a Mormon Elder told.'"

This thing worried me for a week, but before ten days had elapsed I saw by the newspapers that a few days before the term of six years had expired a mighty and destructive earthquake occurred at Lake Rotomahana. The effects of this earthquake had been to sink the famous pink terraces of Lake Rotomahana; to substitute for the lake itself a mud volcano and five or six vomiting volcanoes sending forth streams of mud, dust, hot water and other debris which covered the country round about for miles in every direction to a prodigious depth; to destroy lives and to extinguish one village with most of its inhabitants.

I sailed from Auckland on the steamer Zealandia, on the 28th day of June, 1880. On this ship I had the pleasure of rejoining my dear friend and companion Elder May, from whom I had been so long separated. He was on his way home from Australia bringing with him a family of Saints.

On board the Zealandia were three members of the new South Wales commission, who were going to England on political business. They were, Hon. Alexander Campbell, Captain St. John and another whose name I did not obtain. Mr. Campbell was a gentleman of great suavity of demeanor, fine appearance and wonderful intelligence and information. As soon as he found that "Mormons" were on board he became deeply interested in them. In conversation with us he said:

"I have given some study to your question for the last thirty years. I have watched the course of your people; and I am satisfied that you are working out great social problems. To grapple with these problems successfully has been puzzling to the wisest of statesmen for centuries. I am not one of those who look with contempt upon people who profess strange beliefs. I understand that your community is largely composed of the Anglo-Saxon race; and I know that you cannot find a place on the face of the earth where an enduring community of this kind has been built up for the purposes of lust. Your enemies say that this is your motive, but I am convinced to the contrary. The Anglo-Saxons never descend to that. When they unite in great movements they have a grand object in view."

A few days later when we were crossing the line he came from the cabin with a newspaper in his hand, sat down alongside of me, and said:

"Mr. Shreeve, I understand from your jubilee report that you have about 50,000 children enrolled in your Sabbath School Union?"

I answered, "Yes sir—I believe that is about the number."

He said, then, "Do you know if these children are trained aright that you have growing up in your mountain community a power which the world has not seen since Adam stepped out of the Garden of Eden? I assure you that it is so. These children have not the tradition of ages to combat, but their minds are unhampered and pure, and you can mould them to the fulfillment of a great purpose. I repeat it, you have growing up with these children a power which the world has not seen since father Adam stepped out of the Garden of Eden."

Mr. Campbell stopped a brief time in San Francisco; and had intended to make a lengthy stay in order to be in Salt Lake on the occasion of the grand celebration to be given there on Pioneer's Day. He succeeded in reaching our beloved city in time, and he was an admiring witness of the exercises in which thousands of the young Saints participated. Mr. Campbell watched with sparkling eyes, and he drew a long breath as he said to a companion: "My friend, the half of this people's greatness has not been told."