stant guard over himself. Any husband might feel to kiss his wife gladly: to go round a table and kiss half a dozen, is no joke. It is so in every thing with him. With a dozen eyes to notice at what time he retires to rest, or arises on any one occasion, and half a dozen mouths to talk about it, he must be perfectly governed by rule. Every look, every word, every action has to be weighed, or else there is jealousy, vituperation, quarreling, bitterness. For this reason, the idea of obtaining domestic felicity is ridiculed. Brigham is the model, and he to some extent adopts the dogma of the Quietists, "Repose is the only perfect happiness." He acts as though he felt, and wished others to feel, that man was the frigid master, performing every act of kindness, not as springing from his heart, but because he had reasoned it out, to be an act of duty. Warmth of feelings, tenderness of attachment, devotedness of attention to a woman, is there called, by that worst of Mormon epithets, "Gentilish." "Man must value his wife no more than any thing else he has got committed to him, and be ready to give her up at any time the Lord calls him," said Brigham one Sunday afternoon; and J. M. Grant followed the remark by saying, "If God, through his prophet, wants to give my women to any more worthy man than I am, there they are on the altar of sacrifice; he can have them, and do what he pleases with them!"
They carry this same coldness of affection into all their connubial relations. Brigham always sleeps by himself, in a little chamber behind his office. I have heard the leading men publicly advocate the adoption of this practice. They
