_Wednesday, 28_.--The morning was wet. We started about eight o'clock, and arrived at Mr. Stevenson's tavern, in Rushville, at three in the afternoon, about twenty miles. Brother William's wife, who was sick, went with us, accompanied by Sister Durphy, who went with us from Nauvoo to take care of her. I spent a part of the evening with Mr. Uriah Brown and family and a part of my company. In conversation respecting the repeal of charters, I told them that to touch the Nauvoo Charter was no better than highway robbery; and that I never would consent to lowering our charter, but they might bring other chapters up to it. On my return to the tavern, the brethren took my height, which was six feet, and my Brother Hyrum's the same. _Thursday, 29_.--Started early; crossed the Illinois river at eleven, and arrived at Captain Dutche's before five in the evening, about thirty-two miles: the weather extremely cold. General Law asked why the sun was called by a {211} masculine name and the moon by a feminine one. I replied that the root of masculine is stronger, and of feminine weaker. The sun is a governing planet to certain planets, while the moon borrows her light from the sun, and is less or weaker. Let the government of Missouri redress the wrongs she has done to the Saints, or let the curse follow them from generation to generation until they do. [Sidenote: A Missouri Reminiscence.] When I was going up to Missouri, in company with Elder Rigdon and our families, on an extreme cold day, to go forward was fourteen miles to a house, and backward nearly as far. We applied to all the taverns for admission in vain: we were "Mormons," and could not be received. Such was the extreme cold that in one hour we must have perished. We pleaded for our women and children in vain. We counseled together, and the brethren agreed to stand by me, and we concluded that we might as well die fighting as to freeze to death. I went into a tavern and pleaded our cause to get admission. The landlord said he could not keep us for love or money. I told him we must and would stay, let the consequence be what it might; for we must stay or perish. The landlord replied, "We have heard the Mormons are very bad people; and the inhabitants of Paris have combined not to have anything to do with them, or you might stay." I said to him, "We will stay; but no thanks to you. I have men enough to take the town; and if we must freeze, we will freeze by the burning of these houses." The taverns were then opened, and we were accommodated, and received many apologies in the morning from the inhabitants for their abusive treatment. [Sidenote: The Prophet Meets Justin Butterfield _et al_.]