"The latter part of our journey over the plains was a cold and dreary one, but the Lord was with us and protected us, and opened out our way before us. The snows fell on our right and left, before and behind, but we never encountered a snow storm until the last day. We arrived safe, however, and all is well.
"At Kanesville we were saluted with the firing of guns on our arrival, and the greatest manifestations of rejoicing, and parties, musical entertainments, etc., were gotten up. This has also been the case in St. Louis. Here the Saints have a magnificent hall and a splendid band and do things up in good style. * * * But these outward tokens of friendship are very little to me, when compared with the heart-felt joy, the kindly feeling, the sympathetic and warm-hearted brotherhood manifested by many of my old friends, hundreds of whom seem anxious in every possible way to promote my happiness, secure my company and have my blessing and friendship. On my arrival both here and in Kanesville the Saints flocked around me like bees; and the greatest trouble I have is that of not being able to fulfill the many engagements that have pressed themselves upon me.
"But,' say you, 'do you not think of us and home? and do you never think of me, and of me?' This is what I have been wanting to get at for some time, and this long, tedious preface has become wearisome to me--let me tell my feelings if I can. Home! Home! Home! What shall I say? can I tell it? No, a thousand times no! Your forms, your countenances, your bodies and your spirits are all portrayed before me as in living characters. You are with me in my imaginations, thoughts, dreams, feelings; true our bodies are separated, but there you live--you dwell in my bosom, in my heart and affections, and will remain there forever. Our covenants, our hopes, our joys are all eternal and will live when our bodies moulder in the dust. Oceans, seas, mountains, deserts and plains may separate us--but in my heart you dwell.
"Do I see an amiable, lovely woman--my feelings are not there, they fly to my home. Do I see a beautiful infant--hear the prattle of lovely innocents, or the symmetry and intelligence of those more advanced in years? My mind flies to my home--there I gaze upon my wives, there I fondle and kiss my children and revel for a time in this mental delight; but I awake from my reverie and find that it is but a dream, and that mountains, deserts and plains separate us! Do I murmur? No! Do you? I hope not--shall I not say for you, No?