"I believe there is not a man or woman in Orderville who would, upon reflection, do a sinful act; but all are tempted, and in a thoughtless moment good people sometimes fall. Sin brings us under bondage. Purity is perpetuated only by eternal vigilance. In the beautiful morning of life guide your feet far from the paths of wantonness, and keep the lamp of prudence burning in your heart; so shall you end your days in peace." On Thursday, November 22nd, we walked twelve miles to John Hatt's, Chalcutt Hill, Wilts. The walk was made disagreeable by heavy showers of rain, and terrific gales of wind. Sister Hatt is a tall, healthy-looking woman, fifty-four years of age, and the mother of fourteen living children. On November 23rd, I received from Sister M. A. Tippitts, a view of Swanage, Isle of Purbeck. On the back of the card I wrote the following lines, then sent it to my wife Albina: "This beautiful isle, the isle of Purbeck, To look on the map, is but a mere speck, But once reach the shore, set foot on the land, You'll find it as large as the palm of your hand. And the surface as green--as green-sward can be, From the crown of the hill to the shore of the sea-- While cottage and palace erected by man. Add beauty and polish to nature's first plan. How grand and sublime are the works of our God, From mountain and dale, to flower and sod! The streams of pure water, the bird in the air, The life and the light we see everywhere! The heart must be happy--how can it be sad? When the beast and the bird, and all things are glad? And I too, am happy--yet thinking of thee I wish I could walk on the waves of the sea, Or fly through the air with the speed of a dove, To my home in the west, to the friends that I love. Though our clay hills are naked, and valleys are bare, Yet the spirit of freedom is hovering there; While here the strong hand of oppression is seen Clouding the glory of Nature's bright scenes-- Then blest be the day, and happy the hour When I can return to Freedom's fair bower." November 24th, we visited Sister Mary Hatt, who has been suffering for twenty-seven years with rheumatism. Her hands and feet are sadly deformed, her legs doubled up, and her arms crooked; for three years she has been bedfast, and not able to feed herself. She is eighty-seven years old, yet retains all the powers of her mind. She knows fifty Latter-day Saint hymns by heart, and can repeat many chapters of the Book of Mormon. She never murmurs, but rather is cheerful and happy, waiting for death to set her free. We had a pleasant talk with her, blessed her, and returned to our lodgings feeling well paid for our six mile walk.