"You will find us," said he, "trying to live peaceably. A sojourn with people thus minded must be a great relief to you, who come from a land where brother hath lifted hand against brother, and you hear the confused noise of the warrior perpetually ringing in your ears." Despite the courtly deference and Scriptural dignity of this speech, I detected in it a latent crow over that "perished Union" which was the favorite theme of every saint I met in Utah, and I hastened to assure the President that I had no desire for relief from sympathy with my country's struggle for honor and existence.
"Ah," he replied, in a voice slightly tinged with sarcasm. "You differ greatly, then, from multitudes of your own countrymen, who, since the draft began, have passed through Salt Lake, flying westward from the crime of their brothers' blood. . . You call them 'Copperheads' I believe? We find them very truth-seeking, remarkably open to conviction. Many of them have stayed with us. . ." This made me long to knock him down worse than I had ever felt regarding either saint or sinner. But it is costly to smite an apostle of the Lord in Salt Lake City; I merely retaliated by telling him I wished I could hear him say that in a lecture-room full of Sanitary-Commission ladies scraping lint for their husbands, sweethearts, and brothers in the Union army.
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