unbelieving father's house, and have all that he possesses." Under the influence of a severe cold, she gradually wasted away, telling her children, from time to time, how she wanted them to live and conduct themselves, when they should become motherless, and pilgrims in a strange land. To her companions she would sometimes say, "I think you will have to give me up and let me go." As her little ones would often inquire at the door of the waggon, "how is ma'? is she any better?" she would turn to her husband, who sat by her side endeavouring to keep the severities of rain and cold from her: "oh, you dear little children, how I do hope you may fall into kind hands when I am gone!" A night or two before she died, she said to her husband, with unwonted animation, "A heavenly messenger has appeared to me to-night, and told me that I had done and suffered enough, and that he had now come to convey me to a mansion of gold." Soon after, she said she wished me to call the children and other friends to her bedside, that she might give them a parting kiss, which being done, she said to her companion, "I love _you_ more than ever, but you must let me go. I only want to live for your sake, and that of our children." When asked if she had anything to say to her father's family, she replied emphatically, "_Charge them to obey the gospel_." The rain continued so incessantly for many days and nights, that it was impossible to keep her bedding dry or comfortable; and, for the first time, she uttered the desire to be in a house. The request might have moved a heart of adamant. Immediately, a man of the name of Barnes, living not far from the camp, consented to have her brought to his house, where she died in peace, with a smile upon her countenance, and a cordial pressure of her husband's hand about an hour previous. Many tributes to her memory, from the Twelve, and other distinguished friends, expressive of her worth and the amiableness of her life, have been communicated to the writer, which conjugal relationship forbids _me_ to insert, but which are still a comfort to the bereaved in his pilgrimage through mortality. Though prepossessing in her manners, her confiding and generous mind always made permanent the friendship that she once obtained. Her unceasingly affectionate and dutiful bearing to her husband, and her matronly diligence in infusing the purest and loftiest virtues into the minds of her children, not only exemplified the beautiful order of heaven, but made the domestic circle the greatest paradise of earth. Said a member of the high council, after her death, who had often observed her in the temple of the Lord, where she loved to linger and feast on the joys of that holy place, "I never saw a countenance more inexpressibly serene and heavenly, than hers."