and hearkened calmly to the voice of wisdom, when their pain and grief were almost insupportable. The soldiery on the Temple square heard, but felt that there was no adequate victim for vengeance in the county, or even in the destruction of the whole State. Some, least tender in their hearts, found relief in tears. In the houses of the Saints, aside from the soldiery, females, less competent to bear the news than husbands and fathers, in some instances lost their sanity of mind for a season; but as the sun arose and the people congregated on the green, after being exhorted to give their enemies into the hands of Him that judgeth righteously, tranquillity and order ensued. But not so with the mob. During all the bloody night their houses were hastily deserted by men, women, and children. So great was the consternation and so precipitate the flight, that even females fled in their nightclothes, almost naked, and continued their flight amid imprecations and shrieks for the distance of even fifty miles, where, exhausted and frightened, they alarmed villages, and the city of Quincy to the ringing of bells, and the speedy gathering of every person that could bear arms for their defence; but no man pursued, though "the wicked fled." DEATH OF THE AUTHOR'S WIFE. Catherine Curtis Spencer died on the 12th of March, 1846, at Indian Creek, near Keosaqua, Iowa territory, at the age of thirty-five years, wanting nine days. In one month from the time of her departure from Illinois to the wilderness, she fell a victim to the cares and hardships of persecution. The youngest daughter of a numerous family, brought up in affluence and nurtured with fondness and peculiar care as the favourite of her father's house; her slender, though healthy frame, could not endure the privation of sleep and rest, and the inclemency of the winter season (the thermometer below Zero for ten days). The change from the warm rooms of brick and plaistered walls, to that of mere canvass ceiling and roof, floored with snow and icy earth, was too much for her fragile form to endure. When, through unforseen hindrances in travelling, there was no place where sleep could visit, or food suited to the demands of nature could be administered to her or her six little children (from the age of thirteen and under), she would cheer her little innocents with the songs of Zion. The melody of her rare voice, like the harmony and confluence of many virtues in her mind, contributed on that memorable epoch of the church, to render her the glory of her husband, and the solace and joy of her children. When asked if she would go to her distant friends that were not in the church, who had proffered comfort and abundance to her and her children, she replied, "no, if they will withhold from me the supplies they readily grant to my other sisters and brothers, because I adhere to the Saints, let them. I would rather abide with the church, in poverty, even in the wilderness, without their aid, than go to my