Sunday found me in the pulpit, with a vast host assembled.
How shall I, in adequate words, portray even now the grandeur of language, ideas, the sublimity of the opening vision of mind, as I dilated on "Ye must be born again?" How enwrapped, how enlightened I was by the Spirit! How scripture, unthought of, unknown or unappreciated before, marched in single file before my mind! How, after nearly two hours, I sank to my seat exhausted, and thought of my clothes and my mother's chagrin if I saw her in that plight.
After the benediction, I descended to mingle with the people.
Many strangers to the hall and the Saints came trooping to me, eager to press my hand, leaving therein weighty metallic evidences of their appreciation of a God-helped "Mormon" missionary.
I now had more money than when on the levee at New Orleans.
How vividly I recall, even now, my gratitude, as on bended knees at my lodgings I thanked God for His wonderful interpositions in my behalf, and what joy I felt as I counted the metallic evidences of trust and answer to prayer.
As soon as I could I visited home, from which I had been exiled for my faith. They scanned me well, and one member of the family, referring to our mode of traveling—without purse or scrip, wanted to know if I had come home to sponge on them.
I replied "No!" and, putting my hand into my pocket, drew forth a sovereign. Pushing that towards them, I remarked, "That will pay my board bill while I stay. Our Elders do not sponge!"
I was proud that I had good clothes and money.
At the Sunday dinner the same acrimonious feelings were again exhibited.