While it may be true that the relations between the two branches of this family are as variable as are those of average Gentile families in our cities who live in connecting flats, and who, when company is present, usually appear to be on terms of perfect amity one with another, and that this Mormon home has its conflicts, yet it must be admitted that there is now a peaceful atmosphere, and the children, who are sometimes a social barometer, pass freely from one apartment to the other. Another friend, a merchant, invites us to call. He also happens to have exactly two wives, both of whom, but at different times, I have since entertained with their husband in my Eastern home. This gentleman enjoyed the luxury of two very well appointed homes, separated by about fifty feet of lawn, in each of which was housed one branch of his family. He frankly informed me that he devoted each alternate week to each family. I remarked that this plan must occasion considerable moving of his own personal effects. "Oh no," he replied. "It is easy enough, but I think things go a little smoother when each woman has her own home." I observed, however, that wife number one ran over in a pleasant and familiar way, and joined in our visit. The husband said that he honestly and conscientiously divided his time between his two families. These women were refined, and had profited by better educational advantages than were afforded the greater number of people whom I had met in Utah. It would be strange indeed if an indication of partiality or preference for either wife by her husband would not arouse some feelings of resentment, and possibly jealousy, in the heart of the other. I once asked one bright lady if she really favored the idea of a plurality of wives. "Yes," she replied slowly, and then added, "but it is because it is God's will. I would prefer to have a whole husband." To me this reply seemed to be a fair statement of the attitude of Mormon women toward polygamy. [Illustration: GREAT SALT LAKE] During nearly all of our sojourn in the city our venerable and beloved traveling companion, Deacon Simeon E. Cobb, had been in another Mormon home very ill. It was a home, however, in which there was but one wife, and which I frequently visited. On the 10th of October, the Deacon peacefully passed away. All of the members of our party were summoned to the city, and on the following day we laid him in a cemetery, situated away up near Camp Douglass, and overlooking the entire Jordan Valley. There was no clergyman in the city to assist in the obsequies. The Reverend Norman McLeod was then on his Eastern trip already referred to. Deacon Cobb's Mormon home had been a comfortable asylum in his days of suffering, and he had said, previous to his death, that the good wife who attended him had been an angel of mercy.