I dance.

The Saints address each other here, as elsewhere, as Brother and
Sister. "This way, Sister!" "Where are you going, Brother?" &c.,
&c. I am called Brother Ward. This pleases me, and I dance with
renewed vigor.

The Prophet has some very charming daughters, several of whom are
present to-night.

I was told they spoke French and Spanish.

The Prophet is more industrious than graceful as a dancer. He
exhibits, however, a spryness of legs quite remarkable in a man at
his time of life. I didn't see Heber C. Kimball on the floor. I am
told he is a loose and reckless dancer, and that many a lily-white
toe has felt the crushing weight of his cow-hide monitors.

The old gentleman is present, however, with a large number of
wives. It is said he calls them his "heifers."

"Ain't you goin' to dance with some of my wives?" said a Mormon to
me.

These things make a Mormon ball more spicy than a Gentile one.

The supper is sumptuous, and bear and beaver adorn the bill of
fare.

I go away at the early hour of two in the morning. The moon is