menu_book Chapter 34

CHAPTER XXXIV. LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF POLYGAMY, MARRIAGE, AND BAPTISM FOR THE DEAD. My life was now one continued series of deceptions, as was also that of my husband, and we began habitually to wear the mask when in each other's presence. It cannot be otherwise in polygamy.

To avoid wounding the feelings of the first wife, the husband, if he cares for her, affects an indifference for the second wife, which he really does not feel. And the first wife is not deceived by it, for she knows he is only acting apart, and that as soon as her eyes are off him, he will be transformed into the most ardent lover. If affectionate before, and demonstrative in his love towards his wife and children,

he has to suppress it all now, lest he should arouse jealousy in the heart of the other wife, and be thought partial. He can never now manifest a husband's or a father's love. Hence his own nature becomes cramped, and the affections of his heart are dwarfed. His children grow up ignorant of what he really is, and although he is living in the same

house with them, it might truthfully be said that they do not know what it is to have a father. Consequently, their love for him is very limited, and they know nothing of those spontaneous effusions of tenderness which link the heart of the child to its parent. And themselves, in their own experience, ignorant of that domestic happiness in which childhood

is the charm of home, and in fact never knowing what a home should be, when they in their turn marry and have children of their own, they set up another of those cold and soulless homes with which polygamy is cursed. But let me lift the curtain and give an illustration from the family of Brigham Young himself. In that family I have seen the practical working of the plural wife system exemplified under

its most favorable aspect. I have conversed with Brigham's wives as a sister in the same faith, and I know how they feel. But I am compelled to confess that, notwithstanding all the order and system which characterizes the prophet's household, and the fact that his wives are, on account of his great wealth,

free from the troubles and inconveniences entailed by polygamy and poverty, and although they are taken collectively as amiable and good women as any in Utah, their lives are unhappy and they themselves are miserable. They have never known the meaning of domestic happiness, and though to the casual observer they may appear contented with their lot, secretly they mourn over the constant struggle

in their hearts between the system and their own womanly nature. Even the most favorite of them lead cold mechanical lives, joy and affection they have never known. Many of them have been cast off for years, and all are neglected except the favorite of the hour. The Mormon leaders teach that a woman's exaltation in heaven depends upon the number of her children,

and yet Brigham has wives who might be mothers of large families, but whom he has neglected for years. They are called the wives of Brigham Young, and they live under the same roof with him, but they have no real husband, and their children no father in the dear sense of that word as ordinary Christians understand it.

They know nothing of the sweet familiarity, the loving interchange of thought and feeling which belongs to true married life. Once a day they are honored by the presence of their Lord and Master at their table, and this privilege is, of course, only enjoyed by those who live in the same house with him. Those who live in other houses very seldom see him more frequently than once in two or

three months. They bask in the sunshine of his presence for about half an hour in the evening when the family assembles in the lion house for prayer. But in the theater, the tabernacle, and the ballroom, the majority of them only see and worship him at a distance.

They are but pensioners upon his bounty. All their individuality is destroyed, and they are completely lost in him. They have no position in society. He is the only person ever seen or talked of. People in Salt Lake City neither know nor care any more about Mrs. Young the first or

the nineteenth than they do about the wives of any other saint. In their home life they have to bear all the bitterness and heart burnings which, patient, pious women as they are, the silly and licentious favoritism of their husband for the last new wife, whoever she may be, always produces. I think that no man in Utah so recklessly wounds the feelings of his wives in this respect,

or acts as if he thought it was a woman's duty to crush every feeling and bring herself to submit without a question to her husband's will, as does Brigham Young. And yet his wives, whose withered and blighted existence is a reproach to humanity, are very good specimens of what the celestial order of matrimony can produce. What under less favorable conditions polygamy is, I leave the reader to imagine.

Let us look at the family life in some of the country settlements where the husband, without any order or system in his nature, and without the means or even the idea of providing for the comfort of his family, is seeking in his coarse way to imitate Brother Brigham and to work out his own idea of celestial marriage. There we shall find the same repression of all womanly feeling, the absence of any sanctifying

or refining influence, while at the same time the hard lot of wives is unrelieved by even the solitary recreations and personal comforts of Brigham Young's wives. This is the condition of many a poor, weary wife in Utah. These are the women who Brigham Young has said should be damned if they murmured or rebelled.

What hope is there for them or for their children? Between the two extremes, polygamy as it exists in the prophet's household, and as it is in the homes of poor Mormons in the settlements, the celestial order of marriage can be found under all conceivable circumstances of poverty and wealth, ignorance and culture. It had been told us frequently and emphatically that the privilege of polygamy was reserved

for those who had demonstrated their purity by a life of goodness, and the idea that it was denied to the wicked and licentious was very reassuring to the minds of many. But we soon discovered that if only a man was obedient to the priesthood, his moral character had little or nothing to do with his obtaining more wives. Assassins and inebriates like Porter Rockwell, and even murderers like Bill Hickman and John

Dee Lee and other wretches had as many wives and even more than some of the best men in the community. It is, I believe, true that John Dee Lee had several wives sealed to him after it was known that he had taken such an atrocious part in the Mountain Meadows massacre. It is a fact that polygamy among the Mormons has been entered into by people of every kind

under all circumstances, and from every conceivable motive, from the basest to the purest. But its effect has invariably been to develop the weaker side of human nature. At the same time, like other institutions which, for religious purposes, have suppressed true manly and womanly instincts, it has in exceptional cases produced much that was noble and generous.

Many faithful first wives, seeing in the practice of the celestial order the prospective glory of their husbands, have borne the heavy burden of life patiently and uncomplainingly, and even while daily suffering that which was worse than death, have sought to be kind and loving to those very women who under a false belief have invaded the sanctuary of their rights and stolen from them that which they held most dear.

Many faithful first wives, seeing in the practice of the celestial order the prospective glory of their husbands, have borne the heavy burden of life patiently and uncomplainingly, and even while daily suffering that which was worse than death, have sought to be kind and loving to those very women who under a false belief have invaded the sanctuary of their rights and stolen from them that which they held most dear.

While I know of very many polygamic wives who have sacrificed themselves continually, receiving the most meager show of love and attention, hoping and striving to harmonize matters, on the other hand I could tell of many first wives who have urged their husbands into polygamy merely that the plural wives might become the household drudges while they themselves took their ease and pleasure.

Then again there are polygamic wives who have taken the power into their own hands, grasping every comfort and monopolizing every attention while the first wife pined away unnoticed and crushed with domestic cares. With men too there was the same variety. Some have delayed entering into polygamy for years and then they have taken every precaution

to avoid giving pain to their first wives, while others, on the contrary, have been perfectly indifferent as to what pain they caused their wives, relentlessly trampling under their feet every sentiment of delicacy and affection. In my own case my husband did all he could to spare my feelings as much as possible, but it was nevertheless a hard task for me to subdue my own heart, and I found that all

that I had anticipated in imagination was nothing compared with the realization. Feelings of degradation, disgust and humiliation filled my heart constantly and without ceasing. From the day of my husband's second marriage I could never look upon him with pleasure. He was no longer my husband and I now felt no desire to confide in him. Even the very sight of him filled my rebellious soul with the bitterest feelings, although

at the same time I knew and felt that he tried in every way to smooth my rugged pathway. Strange as it may first appear, had it been otherwise my burden would have been lighter, for if he had treated me with cruelty and neglect I should have withdrawn all affection from him and would have cast him out of my heart forever. It is a painful thing for a wife to think thus of the father of her children.

It may have been wrong perhaps, but I confess that for my husband's intended bride I felt such a detestation that I could not endure her presence, although I knew that she was not to blame. I believed that I should not have felt it so much if she had been a little older, but to have a mere child placed on a level with me and to be compelled to treat her with all

the respect due to a wife was so terribly humiliating to me that at times I thought that I could not endure it another day. She of course expected to be treated with all the consideration which is proper to a wife and to be consulted in everything by my husband as a wife should be. She was not, however, competent to undertake any household chores or wifely cares, and

was herself an additional responsibility to me. Young and inexperienced as she was, she had everything to learn, but at the same time she stood so much upon her dignity that it was anything but a pleasant task to teach her. It of course devolved upon me to instruct her in everything, and I found it anything

but a congenial task. I soon began to look upon her simply as a border and expected nothing more from her than I should if she really had been such. She took very kindly to this position and would spend her days in her own room reading and otherwise amusing herself, and of course was always pleasant and well dressed to receive

her husband. But this did not suit me. In fact I do not know what would have suited me at that time, for I was disposed to be displeased with everything. And yet a visitor to our house would, I have no doubt, have said how very pleasantly these

two wives get along together. This has been said of scores of women in Utah by casual observers, gentiles who thought they understood the system. How little do they know the aching void and the bitter hatred which exists in the hearts of those wives, the detestation which they have of one another.

How little can they know when everything is so carefully hidden, even from their husbands. It is a shameful thing that women, faithful wives and mothers, should be placed in such a position. How many times during the day have I been compelled to leave everything and rush to my chamber, and there on my bended knees supplicate for strength to endure, thinking all the time

that God had given us a burden greater than we could bear. Then in the evening when we were assembled together in our cozy parlor, as we were wont to be, all traces that remained of the terrible struggle which I had endured were a sad countenance and perhaps the deepening lines upon my brow, which contrasted unpleasantly with the bright and cheerful face of the young wife, and made my husband feel that I was getting very sour

in my disposition, as indeed was probably the case. I was totally ashamed of these thoughts at times, and felt that it was very wrong of me to feel so unkindly towards this young girl, whose only offense against me was that she had acted up to the religious teachings that had been instilled into her mind from infancy.

I reminded myself that, for aught I knew, my own dear child might be placed in a similar position, and then how should I feel? How prophetic this fear proved eventually the reader will presently see. Such thoughts as these would soften my heart towards the younger wife, and although she probably never dreamed that I felt so unkindly towards her, yet to silence my conscience

I would strive in every possible way to show her some kind attention. I could but feel and know that she was a good but inexperienced girl, and I am bound to say that both she and my husband tried to conduct themselves in such a way as to give me as little offense as possible. Treated as I was, however, nothing escaped my observation, and I felt most keenly.

Had I been treated with the cruelty and neglect which has fallen to the lot of so many unfortunate women in Utah, I should probably have been in my grave today, or in that asylum which has been provided by the church, situated on a lonely hill at a sufficient distance from the city, so that the cries of the unhappy, ill-treated, insane women should not be heard. Things and actions which at another time I should have considered too trifling to notice

had now a painful significance to me. On one occasion not long after the wedding, my husband asked me to take a walk with him, and I consented. Among the Mormons it is accustomed to take their wives out together very frequently. Their object, I presume, is to display the jewels in their crowns before the eyes of

their less fortunate brethren. I had resolved that I would never submit to this. If my husband would not take me out alone, I would stay at home. On the occasion I mentioned when I came out of my room ready dressed, I found him and his wife, Belinda, waiting and chatting pleasantly together, and looking unutterable love at

each other. At least so I thought, and I felt greatly insulted and annoyed, and told them that I did not wish to go. I carefully avoided showing any outbursts of temper before the young lady which I thought would be undignified, for I desired at least that she should respect me, though I did not

want her love. If I had expected that they would urge me to accompany them, I should have been greatly mistaken, for my refusal appeared to be just what they wanted. They tripped off together as light-hearted and happy as children, while I remained rooted to the spot, tearing my pocket-handkerchief to pieces and wishing I could do the same

with them. I used to sometimes wonder whether it would be the same in the Mormon heaven, where this celestial order of marriage is expected to be carried out in all its fullness, and I felt troubled for myself. These dreadful feelings would, I believed, be the ruin of my soul, and I thought it was

impossible for me to obtain salvation until I had entirely subdued them, and that I had not the power yet to do. I had, however, so concealed what I felt that my husband believed that I was becoming used to this new life, which I am happy to say I never did. Sometimes I felt that it was useless for me to fight against the will of heaven if this

indeed was a divine law, and as yet I dared not take upon myself to say it was not, although in my secret heart I had at last begun sometimes to question in earnest. My poor benighted soul was looking anxiously at that time for a ray of light to guide my faltering footsteps. I did not wholly believe, but I dared not rebel, for fear of drawing down the wrath

of an offended God upon my innocent children and upon my husband, who I was firmly convinced was actuated by a sincere desire to do the will of heaven. There were, however, sometimes little things which did not quite harmonize in my mind. I remember once saying to my husband, when he was telling me that nothing but a firm belief in the divinity of the revelation would induce him to take another wife, and that

he would do so from principle alone, that I thought, if that were the case, an older and more plain-looking woman would do quite as well, and that he could dispense with so much courting. You are compelled to wear dresses, he replied, but you do not allow those dresses to occupy all your thoughts.

Nevertheless, you take some pleasure in selecting them, and you desire that they should be pretty and look well, so it is with men seeking wives. This mode of putting the case was, I have no doubt, very convincing to my husband's mind, and at the moment I could not answer him. But calmer thought would have told me that, while wearing and choosing dresses was, by

every right-minded person, considered perfectly legitimate, taking other wives was by no means regarded in that light. The wrong was not so much in the way the thing was done, as in the doing it at all, and under any circumstances. Logically speaking, the argument was good enough, but the premises were utterly unsound.

Day after day my rebellious soul was agitated by the same troubled feelings. There was no rest for me, nothing upon which I could stay my mind. My husband was painfully aware that there was a coldness and restraint existing between his young wife and myself, and I know that he was grieved by it, for he had tried in every way to create a friendly feeling between us.

I felt, however, that it was utterly impossible that I could ever be affectionate towards his other wife, much as I might strive. I would do my duty, but I could not love her, or in fact him either, for that matter, when he was associated with her. I regret to be obliged to confess such a truth, but from that time, and as long as I remained

a Mormon, the sentiment that was uppermost in my mind was an utter detestation of the whole system. I despised myself for being the abject slave that I was. Why could I not have the moral courage to set everything at defiance, revelation and all, and free myself from the bondage that enthralled me?

I know this day scores of women in Utah who think and feel exactly as I did then, who suffer wrongs against which their hearts daily and hourly rebel, but who, like me, dread to cast aside the yoke of the oppressor. At that time, in respect to pecuniary matters, we were very comfortably off. Almost immediately after our arrival in Utah, Mr. Stenhouse had found employment on the

staff of the Deseret News. Before long he obtained his appointment of postmaster for Salt Lake City, and before his marriage with Miss Pratt, he had started The Telegraph, the first daily paper that was ever published in Utah. From the beginning it had been remarkably successful, for Brigham had counseled the

people to sustain it, knowing very well that he himself would in return be supported by my husband. Brigham had no more devoted follower than Mr. Stenhouse was then, for the scales had not yet fallen from his eyes, and he believed the Prophet really was what he claimed to be, a faithful servant of God.

True we had frequently talked together of his very mean actions, but my too generous or perhaps too credulous husband had attributed all that to the weakness of his human nature, and would not believe that it affected his priesthood. He therefore sustained him strongly and consistently before the public. Not for gain, for he had given too many instances of his devotion to be suspected of that,

but I may say from pure attachment, for I know too well that at that time he was almost ready to lay down his life for the sake of his religion. The Telegraph soon became the leading journal in Utah, and in a little while we were surrounded by every comfort and luxury which at that time could be procured in Salt Lake City. No family in the territory was better provided for than was ours, not excepting Brigham Young's.

I had always believed that if my husband were left alone, untrammeled by the church, to make his own way, he would do so successfully. In this I was not mistaken. We now owned a fine dwelling house, a valuable city lot and house where the paper was printed, and also another very desirable lot near to Brigham Young's residence.

This last lot was my own. It was very beautifully situated, and we expended it upon upwards of three thousand dollars. Everything that my husband undertook at that time seemed to prosper, not excepting his love affairs. Most than a great deal was whispered privately about certain murders which had been committed,

all knowledge of which was strenuously denied by the authorities. When any case was so notorious that it could not possibly be altogether hushed up, we were told that the murdered persons were dangerous people, and had been killed in self-defense by those whom they in the first instance had attacked. My husband, like hundreds of others, was never in the confidence of the church authorities

in these matters. He believed firmly in the divine mission of Joseph Smith, and shut his eyes to the actions of Brigham Young, thinking that he alone would be responsible to the Lord for his misdeeds. When I drew his attention to the inconsistency of Brigham's conduct, as on more than one occasion I did, he said we had enough to do to look at home and see that we ourselves

did what was right. This of course was true, but I thought nevertheless that a little more consistency on Brigham's part would not be amiss. I recollect a gentleman named Cook for whose memory I entertain the most sincere respect, wishing my husband to take a contract to furnish grain for the Overland Mail Company,

and how he urged him to do so for the benefit of his family. Not long before that, however, Brigham had denounced in the tabernacle all those who took contracts or who had any dealings with the Gentiles in any way whatsoever. One merchant in particular he singled out, and before the whole congregation showered upon him all his wrath, going so far as to call him a thief and saying that he would

apostatize and go to hell. Yet, Brigham today is associated in business with that same man. Another gentleman, a Mr. Street, who constructed the first telegraph line from California to Salt Lake City, acted a very friendly part towards my husband and wished to advance his interests.

He one day came to me and said, Mrs. Stenhouse, let me beg of you to use all your influence with your husband and, if necessary, even insist upon his taking this contract which I have offered him. He is doing wrong to his family for refusing, for he would make twenty thousand dollars with very little trouble.

I have urged him until I am tired, and unless you insist he will refuse from fear of doing wrong, after all that Brigham Young has said upon that subject, though I told him that Brigham would take it himself and jump at it if I were to offer it to him. I had urged my husband before, and I felt certain that he would not listen to my counsel. The contract was offered to Brigham Young, and he did jump at it, and made his thousands

out of it. And at that time I could not see why it would be a sin for my husband to make the money, any more than for Brigham to do so. But this inconsistency was observable in everything. Many of the farmer's wives have frequently told me that their husbands had been called

to account severely for taking their provisions to Camp Douglas to sell to the Gentiles, while at the same time they had seen many of Brigham's own teams there with produce. I felt it my duty to keep such things always before my husband's eyes. But he was what is vulgarly called a hard-shelled Mormon, and it took a great many raps to crack that shell and let in a little light.

He of course would deny this, but wives, I think, are not generally mistaken in such matters. I never neglected any opportunity, and when once I perceived the slightest signs of weakness, I went to work with the well, until I got him to admit frankly that he was dissatisfied with many things.

But for all that he still held to the belief that Mormonism was true, whatever Brigham might be. To get him to admit that Brigham was not right was a great deal, and it gave me hope for the future. I tried hard to enlighten his understanding, but made very little progress.

The difficulty, I believe, was that Mormonism possesses charms for the men that it never has for the women. I firmly believed that they willingly close their eyes to that which it does not suit them to see. However that may be, notwithstanding all my efforts, my husband still continued to sustain

Brigham, and worse still, before long he began to evince an earnest desire to sustain one of Brigham's daughters also, of which I shall say more presently. My talkative friend called one day to speak of a very serious subject. "'I have come, Sister Stenhouse,' she said, "'to talk to you about a matter of great importance, but I don't want to offend you, and you must promise beforehand to forgive me.'

I readily promised, and she added, "'I thought I should find you very unhappy, Sister Stenhouse, about poor dear Carrie Grant, and I think if you are so you deserve it. But I don't like you to be miserable, and so I came to comfort you.' "'But Sister Anne,' I said, "'I don't want to be comforted in the way you seem to mean. I have been very sad indeed at losing Carrie, but you know I did everything I could for

her, poor girl, and I have nothing to blame myself for.' "'Nothing to blame yourself for?' she exclaimed. "'Why, Sister Stenhouse, you have everything to blame yourself for. If poor Carrie has less glory, it is all your fault.' "'How so?' I said.

"'Why,' she answered. "'If you had not held back and expressed your dislike Carrie would have married your husband, and would most likely have been alive now. She would have had her family, and would have added to your husband's glory, while now, although she is your husband's wife, she has no children, and of course must have less

glory in the kingdom.' "'Well, Sister Anne,' I said, "'I never thought of it in that light. I loved Carrie very much, and I tried to make her love me. It was not until almost the last that I knew of her love for my husband. But if I had known before, I am sure my own heart would have rebelled against my husband

taking another wife. I did, however, ask him to marry her, and after she was dead I was married to him for her.' "'That's all very well, Sister Stenhouse,' she replied. "'But for all that I think you have committed a great wrong against that poor orphan girl.

You ought to be thankful that at last you were able to repair a little of the mischief which you did. I don't want to vex you, but I am really sorry that you had such an antipathy to your husband having Carrie. However, I suppose now he has really got another wife.

You are not so much set against polygamy. You must find it quite a blessing to have Miss Pratt—a big pardon, I mean, Mrs. Stenhouse, number two—with you now.' I did not answer her, for I had my own opinion about the matter. She went on without hesitation.

"'Well, you must not be vexed with me, dear,' I say it all, for you're good, you know, but I do wish you felt a little more as I do about these matters. Why do you know I have been trying to show you my faith and zeal in every possible way, ever since we came to Utah? It was only last week I was baptized for Queen Anne.'

"'Queen Anne,' I exclaimed. What can you possibly mean?' "'Exactly what I say, Sister Stenhouse. I was baptized for Queen Anne, and if you like I'll tell you all about it. It is only just what everyone else has been doing, only they were baptized for other people.

I don't think you've ever thought much of this, and so I'll explain myself. You see, Sister Stenhouse, the elders teach us that the whole world is lying in darkness and sin, and has been so ever since the apostolic gifts were lost ages ago. Now there is no salvation outside the church, and you may remember that Christ Himself went and preached to the miserable souls in Paradise.'

"'In Paradise,' I said. Why, I thought that was a happy place.' "'Oh no, Sister Stenhouse,' she said, not very happy. The souls of those who have not heard the Gospel and have not been baptized go there, and it's a sort of prison for them until they are brought out again through the kindness

of some believer.' The thief on the cross went there, and Christ went there and preached to the spirits in prison, and when the elders die they go on mission to Paradise and preach to them also. All your people and my people, our fathers and mothers and grandfathers and so on, right up to the apostolic times, are waiting in Paradise with millions and millions of souls

to be released and be admitted into the Celestial Kingdom. All the good brethren and sisters have been doing their best to get out their relations and friends, and I know many of them who have sent over to England and have spent large sums of money in tracing their pedigrees and genealogies in order to find out the right names, and to be baptized as proxies for the dead who owned those names.

I have been baptized for a good many of my own relations, and I mean to be baptized for scores more, and many of the brethren too have been married as proxies for their own friends and for distinguished people besides, so that they might be admitted into the Celestial Kingdom and raise up patriarchal families of their own. The poor souls, if they were released from Paradise by a proxy baptism, could not of

course have been married in Heaven, as there is no giving in marriage there, so someone was married for them as proxy to someone else, and now they can begin to establish their own Celestial Kingdoms. And have you been proxy in this way, Sister Anne? I asked.

No, and yes, she replied. I haven't yet been proxy in marriage for anyone, but I was proxy in baptism. When we were children, I remember we used to have some rhymes about Queen Anne, and As it was my own name, I always thought a great deal of her. It seemed to me that it would be very nice, and at the same time very charitable, if I

were to help her out of Paradise. And it quite struck my fancy, for it was no small thing to have a real Queen thankful to you for so much. So I went and was baptized for her, and now she is out of Paradise and has entered the Celestial Kingdom.

But that isn't all. There was my old friend, George Wilford, who heard all about the matter, for I see him frequently, and he at once said that he would be baptized for Prince George of Denmark, Queen Anne's husband, and he means to do so, and after that we'll be married by proxy for them here on earth, and then they'll both be happy.

Why Sister Anne, what a droll idea, I said. She replied quite seriously. It's very wrong of you to talk so. Some of the best saints have stood proxy in this way. There was one lady who stood proxy for the Empress Josephine, and her son stood for Napoleon,

and someone else for Washington. Queen Elizabeth, too, has been baptized by proxy, and now Napoleon and Washington are both Mormon elders, and I suppose someone will be married for Queen Elizabeth, and she'll enter into polygamy. Do you know, Sister Stenhouse, there was one brother who out of pure kindness said he would

be baptized for the thief on the cross, for he supposed that no one else would take pity on him, and a sister who was present said she would be baptized for his wife, if Brother Brigham thought he ever had one. I've been persuading my Henry to be baptized for Henry VIII, for I'm sure he needed baptism for the remission of sins, and he, I mean my Henry, has promised to do so, but he says

that he means to ask Brother Brigham first, before he is married for him, if he ever is, as King Henry was almost a polygamist in his way, and my husband thinks there is not much need to be married for him at all. I can't help being amused, I said. Of course I have often heard of being baptized for the dead, and I know the elders say that

St. Paul spoke of it in one of his epistles, but I never thought of it in that light. I always thought that we should have to wait till the temple was finished. That's true, Sister Stenhouse, she replied. All the marriages of the saints, of every one, in fact, on the face of the earth, ought to be solemnized in the temple here in Salt Lake City, and everyone ought to receive their

endowments in it. But as it is not yet finished, the Lord permits us to be married, and everything else, in the endowment house. But you know yourself that there's a record kept, and that when the temple is finished, the ceremony will be all gone through with again.

I've heard it said that many of the elders and their wives will live there, and that day and night perpetually the ceremonies will be going on. You ought to be baptized, however, now, for as many relations as you can think of. I think I shall wait, Sister Anne, I said, until I can find a Queen Fanny, and then I'll be baptized for her.

She did not like me saying this, for she evidently thought I was jesting. I was not jesting, however, but I felt greatly amused, for this peculiar doctrine of the saints had never struck me in such an odd light before. Sister Anne was shocked at the way in which I viewed her strange stories, but— I'll come again in the course of a day or two, Sister Stinhaus," she said,

and put you all straight.