On arriving at Kanesville, we were saluted with shoutings, firing of cannon, songs of rejoicing, and other demonstrations of welcome. During the few days of our stay, we experienced universal kindness from the Saints. I shall never forget the parting with President Hyde, and the deep interest he manifested for myself and mission as he gave an affectionate farewell, and in the fulness of his soul implored the powers of heaven to protect me from evil in that stronghold of superstition, dark and benighted Italy. I passed through Mount Pisgah and Garden Grove. At both places I much enjoyed the society of my old acquaintances. I proceeded to Nauvoo--I gazed upon its ruins--the direful work of mobocracy. My heart sickened as I contemplated that once beautiful city, filled with the songs of rejoicing, and all that was good and virtuous; where the voice of the Prophet had sounded forth upon the ears of thousands the deep and heavenly mysteries that had been concealed for ages. There we had met together, oft relating the sad tale of our past woes, the bitter cup of persecution of which we had taken such abundant draughts; there the old and the young had rejoiced together in the New and Everlasting Covenant. But now, O how sad the change! The moss was growing upon the buildings, which were fast crumbling down; the windows were broken in, the doors were shaking to and fro by the wind, as they played upon their rusty, creaking hinges. The lovely Temple of our God--once the admiration and astonishment of the world and the hope of the Saints, was burned, and its blackened walls were falling upon each other! Ever and anon a human head would be thrust through windows to gaze upon the traveler; but these people were not Saints--they who were dwelling in those houses, who walked those streets, believed not in Jesus, the Son of God--they were professed infidels. Shortly after leaving Nauvoo, I visited another place of painful interest in the history of the Saints. If, on ordinary occasions, words are too weak to convey the feelings of the soul, where shall I find language to portray the thoughts that agitated my mind as I entered Carthage? There, but a few years before, was a scene over which my breast alternately glows and chills with horror and indignation. There an infamous mob were imbruing their hands in the blood of our beloved Prophet and Patriarch, Joseph and Hyrum. O Earth! Then flowed on thy cold bosom the blood of thy noblest and best. Who were those MARTYRED ONES? Ask the ministering angels from on high! Ask the demons of the dark abyss! Ask the mighty throng whom they have guided to peace, knowledge, wisdom and power! And who are they? My friends--the friends of millions, the friends of UNIVERSAL MAN.