She is quite exclusive in her tastes, and associates but little with the "women." She occupies a small room on the third floor of the Harem, about twelve by fifteen feet in size. A neat carpet covers the floor; a common bedstead occupies one corner. There are some oak chairs grained, with crochet covers, white window-curtains and bed-spread, her "own handiwork." Behind the door is a neat little wardrobe. On a shelf over the window, stands a vase of artificial flowers. A stand, covered with books, usually occupies the centre of the room, and these articles, with a neat little stove, make up the furniture. This is the _home_ of "the sweet singer of Israel." She has cast the charm of her genius over the rude materials, and there is an air of neatness, comfort, and refinement about her little sanctum which is not apparent in any other portion of the house. Here she receives and entertains her company. She occupies her time chiefly in writing, and in needle-work. She is highly respected by the family, who call her "one of the nobles of the earth." When tired of writing and study, she walks out and visits her friends. If any one is sick in the house she looks after the invalid, and shows every kindness and attention. She soothes the afflicted, and cares for the infirm and aged. She and Zina D. Huntington are the most lady-like and accomplished of the wives. The following verses, written by Miss Eliza R. Snow, will show her style as well as the religious fervor and fanaticism for which she is remarkable. [For the _Deseret News_.] "_The Ladies of Utah to the Ladies of the United States Camp, in a Crusade against the Mormons._ BY MISS E. R. SNOW. Why are you in these mountains, Exposed to frosts and snows? Far from your sheltering houses, From comfort and repose? Has cruel persecution, With unrelenting hand, Thrust you from home and kindred, And from your native land? Have you been robbed and plundered, Till you are penniless, And then in destitution Driven to the wilderness? No, no; you've joined a crusade Against the peace of those Driven to these distant valleys By cruel, murderous foes. Amid the dreary desert, Where hideous red men roam; Where beasts of prey were howling, We've made ourselves a home. Can woman's heart be callous, And made of flint and steel? Perhaps you'll learn to pity, When you are made to _feel_. Should sickness prey upon you, And children cry for bread, With bitter self-reproaches You'll rue the path you tread. We love with purest feelings, Our husbands, children, friends; We've learned to prize the blessings Which God in mercy sends.