And right here we have a vivid illustration of the operation of prejudice or jealousy, so called. In 1839, the Saints, under the guidance of their Prophet leader, came to Commerce, Ill., and purchased a tract of land, principally wild woods and swamps, and on that account, very unhealthful. In five years' time, without capital, by faith and intelligent labor, the swamps had been drained, much of the forest removed, and a thousand comfortable homes had been erected. The walls of a magnificent temple adorned the central part of the new-born city; and the master spirits, who brought about the mighty change, were loved, as men are seldom loved, by the builders of those happy homes. But the dwellers round about were filled with jealousy and rage; and, aided by a few apostate members of the Church, waged a cruel war, until Joseph and Hyrum were slain, and the Saints were driven from the homes their industry had created. In 1904 my home was at Fruitland, New Mexico. One day Mr. Butler, editor of the "Aztec Enterprise," invited me to write for his paper my recollections of our people's leaving Nauvoo. I complied, and from memory wrote the following narrative which I wish to place on record as a gift to my children: How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood; How I love to cherish, and con them o'er, The cottage, the Temple, the river and wildwood! All sweetly remembered, though seen no more. With malice to none, With charity to all." I turn the wheels of memory back to the home of my childhood. Of this terrible episode in the history of our people, others have written better than I can hope to write; nevertheless, through the eyes of a boy of nine, let me look out once more upon the tragic fate of Nauvoo, the city beautiful. It is the month of February, 1846. The sun is shining brightly, yet the air is keen and cutting. The wheels ring as we drive over the frozen snow. In our home since early morning, all has been hurry and bustle; two wagons stand in our front yard, and my father with two other men, strangers to me, are carrying out our household goods. My mother looks pale, and when I ask her, "What is the matter?" she takes me in her arms, kisses me, and says, "We are going to leave our home, and will never see it again!" Just then some other teams come along, and one of the brethren calls to my father to be sure to put out the fire, and to hurry up, for it is getting late. In a few minutes mother and the children are lifted tenderly into the wagon. Father next takes his place on the front seat, turns his face to the west, and his back upon the home, which it had taken seven years of sacrifice and toil to build.