Autobiography of Lucinda Lee Dalton

[Note: The following letters from Lucinda Lee Dalton are provided for research purposes only, not for copyright publication. Copies are available at various Utah and Western libraries. The originals are currently in LDS church archives; all quotations should be verified against the original sources.]

Cache Valley, 1876, Piute County, Dec. 27, 1876

Mrs. E. B. Wells:

Dear Sister: I prefer giving the brief sketch of my life, which you have asked of me, in the form of a letter to yourself; and, although I leave you at perfect liberty to do with it just as you please--to abridge, to prune, yet I think I would prefer to have you treat me in the third person, still reserving to yourself the right to make extracts from my own words.

(a paragraph of biographical detail follows. She was born in 1847 on an Alabama plantation. her parents move to Texas and joined the Church in DeWitt County in 1849. In 1850 they crossed the plains, participating at Council Bluffs in a company "housecleaning" and fast to bring the spring rains so that they would have grazing for the stock; they went to San Bernardino in 1851 with Charles C. Rich, remained there seven years and came to Beaver in 1857-58.)

They (her parents) were so poor and sometimes we wanted bread; but in my tenth year, a small patrimony of my mother's relieved the case a little. But during the deepest of his poverty, my father, determined that his children should not be ignorant--as well as poor, at the close of his day's work, patiently taught us, while yet too young to attend the common schools. So effectual was his care on me, that when, according to law I completed my fifth year and entered the public school, I found myself in a class of great, untaught girls entering their teens.

My mother, too, was so energetic in the matter of sending us to school, that though having many small children, and being under the necessity of "taking in work", for the sake of what she could thus earn, she kept the older ones in school so resolutely, that I only remember losing half a day in several years. I was eleven years old when we returned to Utah and thought I did not then know, I now know how she sat by her candle far into the night while I slept, to keep up with woman's everlasting work so that she could still spare me, her eldest daughter (the mother's right hand) to attend school. I was not ungrateful even then, for I loved my books and came to regard the head of the class as my rightful place. My parents desired to give me especially every opportunity at their command, hoping that afterward I would be able to teach my younger brothers and sisters. But the mixed and ill-regulated schools of new countries, such as Southern California and Utah were twenty years ago, are not capable, even when supplemented by diligence, of giving that thorough and methodical training which is the great object of school life. Scattered information is certainly better than none, but in my opinion, for the purposes of life, it compares with systematic training much like a weak crutch with a strong leg. I keenly feel this great defect in my merely common school education; but such was the best then to be had.

The first teacher whose instruction In enjoyed in Utah; o bless him! seemed to think me a sort of rough diamond, and compassionating my ravenous hunger for knowledge, gave to me instruction many a noontide hour when other children played and other men went home to dinner. He introduced me to a few of the elements of common philosophy, gave me a few simple lessons in botany, and some other branches of natural history, and led me through some of the enchanted vales of poesy; and his criticisms on elevated and maudlin sentiment in poetry are still my guide. He also gave me the first sweet draught from the immortal fountain of music; and the love of music was truly the master passion of my soul. On his authority I have that temerity to say that I had a genius for music; but alas, and alas! it is dying of hunger. His rudimentary instruction, the village choir and an accordion limit my musical advantages and attainment. And oh, pity me that it is so! because my longing for musical culture has been so intense as to be beyond expression. No weary traveler across the burning desert, ever longed more bitterly for water, nor famished slave for bread, than I for music.

At the age of twelve years, this beloved tutor and friend began training me for a teacher; but a few months later my father opened a private school and took me to assist him, and from that time I was a pupil no more. I worked with him the greater part of the time until about sixteen years old, when I was installed teacher of an infant school. I followed teaching as a profession several years during which time the infant school resolved itself into a mixed or common school; and I found myself under the necessity of applying myself to my books or acknowledging myself vanquished by some industrious boy or girl. Many an evening I faithfully fathomed the few pages in the arithmetic which the first pupil would be likely to achieve during the following day; and the knowledge that it must be done, so sharpened my wits that I never failed, and seldom had any serious difficultly.

This I advanced my knowledge of the common branches, but my great ambition to gain a liberal education is still ungratified. In the early days of Utah, the struggle for bare sustenance was so severe that there was little time or opportunity for anything else; but I am thankful it is so much better now. I am truly thankful for every advantage I did enjoy, and wish I had improved them better; but there are times when my heart faints within me as I think of my God-given talents rusting away for want of polishing; and I do believe there is no sin in coveting that which is my neighbor's when I see others slight their privileges and trifle away those inestimable opportunities for which I have been almost consumed with longing. And it is most humiliating to see boys and girls yet in their 'teens acquiring greater proficiency than all my tedious years of self culture have enabled me to gain. But I am glad they are not limited to my meager opportunities, and I console myself for all that I lack, with the hope and determination that my children shall have a large part of what which I sought but never found.

From my childhood I have done considerable thinking, and long years ago, pondered questions which puzzle me still. So long as I can remember I longed to be a boy, because boys were so highly privileged and so free. Thousands of things for which I heard girls gravely reproved, met only an indulgent smile when done by boys. They could go when and where they pleased, alone or otherwise, without a thought of danger or impropriety. Education was offered to them accompanied with bribes, promises and persuasions, while doled out to girls grudgingly as something utterly wasted, and expected to be of no future use. Well I remember my disgust when I asked a gentleman teacher if in his opinion, I was sufficiently advanced in mathematics to study algebra with profit, and he replied that it would be wasted time for me to ever study it, because I already had more learning than was necessary for a good housekeeper, wife, and mother which was a woman's only proper place on earth. However, it is but justice to him and myself to say that he has since warmly commended my efforts at self culture and the good I have done as a teacher.

Often have I winced under the unconcealed contempt for "females" expressed by masculines of all grades from the urchin in pinafores to the finest scholars and ablest statesmen of the world. For these and many other reasons, in my youther and "blissful ignorance" I longed to be a boy; but, like Fanny Feren "I am now thankful that I belong to a more respectable class of society."

Not for all their boasted "supremacy," "superiority," and extensive advantages would I have women come down to their low moral level. Intellectual acquirements, fame, power, wealth, and even their self-conceit added, are as feathers in the scale against moral purity and since undeniably there are vastly more good women than good men on the earth who will dare decide that it would not be better for all-potent Custom to allow two or more of these good women to marry one good man, than to condemn them whether they would or not, either to live single or to wed a man a thousand fathoms beneath them? I never could see a spark of justice in that rule, unalterable as the laws of the Medes and Persians, that unless married, a woman passing to middle age must be severely condemned, while there is so little in the conditions of matrimony and its male candidates to tempt a refined and noble-minded woman.

Even while polite attentions from gentlemen were in themselves pleasant, I always felt a sort of guilt in accepting for my personality what I knew was rendered merely to abstract youth and beauty; and much disgust at the thought that my quick intellect, my honest heart, my high aspirations, all the sterling worthe that was really of myself, were never considered in this glittering realm of pleasure to which I was beconed. What girl that ever paused to think that she was caressed in society merely for her youth and freshness, things not in the least due to herself, and which advancing time will soon take from her, and that then she will surely be forsaken by this same society through no fault of her own, could ever become enamored of its fleeting pleasure and hollow praise?

I never was. Although the metrical movements of the dance in time to the rhythm of sweet music were very pleasant, I could grow tired as of any other kind of exercise, but I have seen girls who professed never to tire of dancing. I have often looked on while the beautiful girls, radiant of youth and happiness, with their devoted partners whirled through the dreamy waltz or sprightly cotillion, and mused on the possibility of one of these lovely and carefree maidens, become a woman and perhaps wife of one of these same adoring youths, wearing out not only her youth but her very life, drudging from morning till night to keep his house in order, and from night till morning with his ailing baby, only to be looked on by him as an inferior being, designed by nature to serve him. He will also think her a lucky woman to have won so superior a man as himself to take care of her; and he will talk about supporting her as if she did not perform more actual work and do more real contriving in twenty-four hours than her lord and master in a week.

I wondered how any many could haver the effrontery to ask, or any woman the supineness to lay down the scepter and crown of girlhood to assume the yoke and burden of wifehood. My prayer was then as now, that the time may come speedily when women will know and hold themselves at their true worth; when their eyes will be opened to the degradation of wasting their spotless lives on worthless and deprraved men; when by the extent of their knowledge of life as it is and has it should be, by the depth of their contempt for men who lead unholy lives, and by the firmness of their resolution and the dignity of their self-respect, they shall compel men to come up to their standard of morality and with them seek for something still better, or be outcast from the Eden of woman's association. Since there is nothing in Nature to prevent woman from sharing all the good things of this world, I am proud and thankful to see her beginning to burst the bands of that ironhanded custom which has so long warned her not to touch, and asserting her co-heirship with her brother man.

I am not so unjust as to make no exceptions to all the sweeping assertions I have been making. I know all women are not good and true, nor all men tyrannical and unjust. I could mention the names of several men pledged heart and soul to the holy Latter day work of woman's emancipation from her long bondage; and one at least of my acquaintance is a far more ferocious antagonist of woman slavery than I. From him I received the first antidotic draught to cure my misanthropy and disgust of life. He it was who first showed me wherein Religion is not leagued with woman's oppressors; who first assured me with a man's lips that a woman has as good a right to her individuality and her free agency on the earth as her brotherman. So you see, my dear friend, that for his sake, did I never know another liberal minded, large hearted man, I could not, and would not wish to condemn the whole race. I shall give honor where honor is due, and while waiting for the good time coming when all men and women shall be free and equal, put in my feeble hour wherever I can in her service.

I am religious by nature; and in behalf of my religion, I will bear witness that it has upheld me through many a bitter trial, and comforted me in grief when nothing else could. I was early taught to pray, and for the greater part of my life never closed my eyes for sleep without prayer. I do not recollect ever attending a ball or place of amusement without asking God to keep me from all ill or unbecoming thoughts, words or deeds, and from accidents or harm of any kind. During the entertainment I often recalled the prayer and I can truly say that my prayers were answered. Few young girls ever met with fewer little mortifying mishaps, or moved amid giddy pleasures with less danger of becoming enamored of them.

I was baptized at eight years old with the understanding, from my parents' teaching, that this ceremony and covenant, entered into willingly, entitled me to all the privileges and blessings of a beloved child of our Father until l should arrive at years of discretion; when it would become necessary for me either to ratify or repudiate the covenant. Looking back I see multiplied manifestations of grace which should have comforted and strengthened and satisfied me. But, from reading and tradition, I was so deeply imbued with the methodistical idea of a sudden, and entire change of heart, that I was blind to my own sweet experience of the grace of God, and sought mourning for that which was already mine. Where can be the need of a "change of heart" if one's heart is already at the feet of Christ? And what could convince one of being accepted by God, if not such an experience as this:

When I was about sixteen years old, a beloved baby brother was very sick and sinking so rapidly that we had great fear that he would die; but I felt, in all humility, that I had lived near to the Lord, had tried to do his will and was entitled to claim the promise "whatsoever ye ask in my name in faith that ye shall receive." Unknown to my parents, I fasted and prayed with intense fervor that the little one's life might be spared. I could not fail to see that he no longer grew worse, but neither did he grow better; but just remained at one point, which was a point of deep distress. For several days he lingered thus, while I felt like I had lifted some heavy weight just to the edge of a place of rest, but lacked the one ounce of power necessary to deposit it thereon. Coming at one time suddenly into the room, I saw my mother wring her hands and cry in anguish: "Why, oh why must my innocent baby suffer so much? If it is God's will to take him away, oh, let his cruel sufferings end!" My heart smote me guilty. Perhaps, thought I, it is God's will to take him--perhaps my short-sighted wishes stand between the beloved and his rest. I hastened away and with streaming eyes fell upon my knees crying "Thy will, O Lord, not mine, be done!" As soon as I was calm enough to reenter the sick room I did so and was struck to the heart by the change in the precious one's face; and that same evening he died.

But the greatest spiritual manifestation every vouchsafed to me was in relation to my marriage. I had seen in the married state so much was was disagreeable and humiliating to woman, that I was firmly resolved to remain single. I knew I was quite able to provide for myself and lay up a competence for age without any man's assistance; and although I loved children, I could not bring myself to believe that bearing children was the only way in which woman could serve the Lord acceptably. I knew that in my own profession of teaching I could do more to mould the moral nature of the young than any one mother in the privacy of her home. Moreover, there are few who yearn for children who cannot find some poor, motherless lamb of the fold needing shelter; and though I never tried to cheat myself into the belief that any such could ever be quite like one's own flesh and blood, I believed then as firmly as I do now, that it is the good we do, rather than the personal pleasure in doing it, which brings us joy hereafter. I was quite willing that those who chose that manner of seving the Lord might marry; but I was determined to choose the "better" way according to St. Paul.

But as I gained "here a little, and there a little" knowledge of the religion I professed, and especially when after much meditation, study and prayer, I, in my twentieth year, willingly renewed my covenant and enrolled myself a responsible member of the church, I learned that in the highest glory of heaven, none are single. One man or one woman is but half of a perfect individual, and we must bid adieu to reason itself when we try to suppose that anything short of absolute perfection will attain to the highest glory. The highest heaven had always been my goal. This little, insurmountable piece of reasoning was worse than gall and wormwood to me, for in my pride of heart, I had determined to win my soul's salvation alone. I did not want a co- worker, forgetting that the best and bravest of us are only too happy to be acknowledged coworkers with Christ. It took some time to reconcile my hard heart to this fact; I even told myself that I should prefer to become handmaiden to some sanctified woman than what I termed "chief servant in a gentleman's household." I had been told in express terms by some blind leaders of the blind; that the Kingdom here and hereafter belonged only to man; and that woman enjoyed its gifts and blessings only in sufficient degree to make her man's efficient servant; and that looked to me not worth striving for.

It was in this state of mind that I became acquainted with __________ [identified in a postscript as Charles Wakeman Dalton]; who, after a time, intimated to me that I would make a most desirable wife; I resented the thought, and told him that the man who thought I should be a meek, obedient, unobtrusive servant was very sadly wrong. When he comprehended my bitterness and my position on the subject, he mildly reasoned that to be a servant is not always a degrading thing, but the reverse. The greatest service ever performed on earth was that done by Christ for the whole human family, and which left us all deeply his debtors. A benefit conferred, produces a corresponding obligation on the part of the one benefitted. Between husband and wife there is need of mutual service, and which ever fails in discharaging this obligation falls thus far under condemnation. The wife is no more bound to follow the husband's advice than he hers; but when advice is really good, either would lose by not doing so. He knew of no such obligation which was not equally binding on each.

This was new light on a difficult problem. This was speaking from reason and common sense instead of vaguely hinting at some foggy superstition about man's being created first and consequently best, noblest, and suprem-est. These were arguments at once indisputable and satisfactory. No true woman wishes to evade her just obligations, but she scorns to enter into a contract which binds only herself. While mutual service is pleasant and desirable, one-side service is bitter and detestable; the one is truly ennobling, the other degrading. I began to see that artificial rules had superceded natural ones in this matter, but that because most people arrived at a false conclusion by taking a false starting point, I had no need to do the same. With a husband who is willing, a woman may easily preserve her individuality even after marriage--always provided she has any to be preserved, and that I considered I did have. Here, thought I, is a man who does not think that merely because he is male he stands a whole flight of stairs higher in creation than a woman-- and, believing him to be honest and true as well as liberal minded, I could see that it would be easy to love him.

At this point a new hydra rose up before me in this shape: "Who are you and how did you become so wise as to dare choose with whom you will pass not only this brief life but the countless ages of eternity?" I felt that I did not dare; for had not thousands of wiser and better women than I made mistakes which wrecked not only their own happiness here and hopes for the hereafter, but entailed misery, disgrace, and ruin on innocent children? For time alone, as the people of the world marry, I could not and would not, because I considered that in a woman's case, the burdens and trials of matrimony far exceed its benefits and blessings. Only for the sake of its expected joys in eternity, could I endure its trials through time; but that cherished "free agency" which gives a woman the choice with which of her fellow beings she will undertake to find eternal happiness, began to look far more like a burden and a snare than a privilege or a blessing. I thought and dreamed about it; I fasted and prayed about it; I grew pale and hollow-eyed over it but found no conclusion.

I was at last willing to love a man, but dared not assume the responsibility of becoming his wife. Getting no answer to all my prayers in very despair--and in deep humiliation because I was impressed to do so--I called on him to pray with me on the subject. I knew he was startled by the demand, and felt it like assuming a great responsibility but he hesitated only long enough to learn that there was no shadow of trifling in me. He knelt down first, and I placed myself beside him and laid one of my hands on one of his; and as I did so, I felt a thrill through every fibre of my being and I know he felt the same. I was utterly crushed under the knowledge that within a few minutes a question would be settled which would shape and determine my destiny forever, and cowardly, I dread to meet the decision. The prayer was short, simple and unassuming, but direct, earnest, and sincere; and at every word uttered, a hugh stone of my mountain load of doubt and fear rolled from my heart. My stony pride and bitter humility were alike softened; a peace sweeter than joy took possession of my sou; I felt that we were in the presence of the hosts of heaven; and a direct incontrovertible testimony was given me that it was the will of God and not my will that I should accept this man for my yokefellow. He knew as well as I what the decision was; and in awe-struck, solemn silence, we left the spot. To this day it is to both of us a most precious and solemn recollection and is never mentioned between us except with deepest reverence.

Beaver, Beaver Co., UT
Sept. 22nd 1884

To John Taylor,

President of the Church of Jesus Christ, of Latter Day Saints

My Brother: Acting upon counsel, which you will understand by reading the accompanying letters, I address this letter to you with trembling heart and hands, and with fervent prayers to God for the guidance of his holy Spirit; that not one word of mine may convey the faintest shade of untruth or unkindness. My object is to reveal to you a few incidents in the life of my late husband, Charles Wakeman Dalton, for the purpose of learning through you, Prophet, Seer and Revelator, the will of God concerning me and my children.

I was between Twentyone and Twentytwo years old when I was sealed to C.W. Dalton who was already the husband of three wives by Prest. D.H. Wells in SL City in the year '68. I had tried to be very careful to love and wed none but a true Servant of God. I questioned him concerning his faith in the Latter Day Work, the Ten Commandments, the Word of Wisdom and o[th]er things, and he professed to be blameless in all save the Word of Wisdom; and convenanted with me to be strict in that henceforth. But in less than six months after our marriage, I released him from this covenant solely to save him from breaking it. In the third year of my married life, trouble between my Father and Mother resulted in a separation. During these trying times, my sixteen years-old siter, pure as an angel and tender-hearted as a dove, when she could no longer endure what she witnessed at home, would often come to my house to weep out her grief and almost her life. I really feared she might die if she remained there, so I asked leave of my mother, (to whom all the children clung in preference to their father,) to keep her with me awhile, and pay her to help me at home and in teaching school. Thus she became an inmate of my home. My husband soon desired to marry her. She consented, I was willing, he obtained the consent of my mother with a protest against her extreme youth, but before he had laid the case before his other three wives, my father made a demand that she leave me and her mother also, and live with him and his second wife. None of us was willing to that, and the next thing we heard from him was a summons to my husband and sister to appear before a Bishop's Tribunal to answer to a charge of criminal intimacy. We found that the charge was based on the fact that sister had some new clothing which her father had not bought; and he argued that some body's money paid for them, and it was not supposable that it was given for nothing. It was easily and satisfactorily explained that her own earnings, though not large, were quite sufficient to clothe her, and the cost of the articles in question was named. Every point was equally weak and as squarely met. Bp. Jon Ashworth dismiessed the case as not proved, and said he saw no impropriety whatever in my sister residing with me. When we returned home, my poor, distressed sister cast herself upon her face and wept herself almost into a state of unconsciousness. My husband came near and wished to comfort her, but she with violence commanded him to leave her and never speak to her again. I tried to soothe her by telling her that although the shame of this prceeding was truly dreadful, yet she should not blame my husband for it, and her own good conscience should enable her to bear ir bravely. But she wailed out in a dying voice, that the most dreadful part of it all was that the charge was only too true. I could not believe this awful assertion. I remembered his blameless behavior while paying his addresses to me, and I thought surely her mind was wandering. But she adhered to her statement so long and so despairingly, that I was convinced against my will; and my dismay was beyond the power of words to picture.

She affirmed that he had been so base and treacherous that even under the existing circumstances she considered herself too good for him, and nothing could induce her to undertake further experience with such a man. Then I told her that if all that was true, then neither would I remain with him, for although I had been sealed for time and eternity, I knew that God would consider me released by his own act. This seemed to frithten her; as for she pleaded with me not to push him over the verge of ruin, saying that such action on my part would seal his doom. I adhered to my resolution, however considering the responsibility of the consequences to him, to be his and not mine. Then she begged me to delay action for a few days, and promised. Before the time was passed she told me that she had had another talk with him, and found him so humble, so full of repentance and good promises, that she had promised to forgive him; and that she would marry him in order to give him a chance to win forgiveness in heaven. She entreated me again to take back what I had said, and with a failing heart, 1st I thus laid my own soul under his sin, I consented for her sake. Only a few weeks after this, my second child was born; my first was in poor health, and died soon after. This grief added to my secret sorrow, almost prostrated me, and my husband, compassionately decided to take me with him to Salt Lake for change. My sister was to accompany us, but there was no definite understanding that this was to be her wedding trip; but when we arrived, he insisted that the ceremony take place. I was so fearful of assisting to consummate a wrong, that I went secretly to the houe of Bro. Wells, resolved to tell him all I knew, and throw all responsibility upon him. He was not at home, so I left a note for him asking for an interview on important business, and giving my address. No summons came until the afternoon of the next day, after the marriage. When they returned from the House, to which I did not go, my husband brought me word that Bro. Wells expected me to call on him at a certain hour; but he, my husband, cautioned me not to make trouble, and my sister insisted on going with me, and on the way begged me with tears not to expose her, because it could do no good now. Bro. Wells said that being a stranger in the City, I had bungled in giving my address, and that was why I had not heard from him sooner; but now he was ready to hear my "important business." I told him that several things had rested heavily on my mind and had seemed of vast importance before the marriage, but far less so now, and if he would excuse me, I would say nothing of others, only this: I knew and regretted that this marriage had not been properly agreed on either with her family or his. He seemed to think my looks were serious, and though he did not urge to say all I had intended, he asked a few questions. "Is he not a good man?" I answered "I always thought so." "Is she not a good woman?" "I believe she is." "Does he not provide for his family?" "Yes, sir, he does." "Is he kind to you?" "Yes, sir." "Then I think all is well; and as for the families not being properly notified, as you say, tell them I say that in these times, when such things are best kept quiet, I hope they will forgive this irregularity." Thus the matter passed over, and she remained with us four years; --four years of misery to her, and of wearing anxiety to me; and then she left us, and the Church also; having made up her mind that Mormonism was iniquity, and its followers hypocrites. I fear you will say that then I should have gone too; but by this time the rest of his fammly had withdrawn themselves from him, his property was wasted, his health broken, his spirits depressed; and I felt that I dared not forsake him in this extremity, lest God should require his welfare at my hands. He clung to me like a sick child to its mother; and I tried to cheer and encourage him and lead him back to peace of mind. But I never could induce him to confess that one thing, though his denial was weak and shamefaced. He pleaded that it was very hard I should be willing to believe such a thing of him, no matter who said it; and added that no person on earth could prevail with him ever to harbor a suspicion like that concerning me. "That is the very point; Charles, you have that perfect faith in me, and I once had it in you; and it is for you to say how I have lost it; but I assure it was sorely against my will." At this point he would always break off the conversation. We went to St. George and there he was rebaptized and tried to start anew; and for awhile I had great hope that he would find firm footing again, but it seemed that he could not gather courage to face the congregations of the Saints, and I am not sure that he ever once partook of the Sacrament of Bread and Water after the time I have been speaking of. We remained in St. George three years and then returned to Beaver. His health continued to fail, and we both knew he would not remain long, and his charge to me was to waste no time shedding tears for him, but spend all my energies trying to rear our four surviving children in the way they should go. At last he came to his death by drowning, and many say by intoxication; but I have tried very hard not to believe that, although I cannot deny that he frequently drank spirituous liquor. Through all this, I know that he loved me, and all his wives and children; and he never did deny the Faith, though more than once, in a fit of despair, he asked me to go with him to California, to Alaska, "anywhere," he said "to leave our troubles behind us." But I knew too well that his troubles could not be left. My heart aches with compassion toward him, but my love and confidence died when I learned that he had dishonored his Priesthood and ruined both my sweet innocent sister and himself by one unholy deed which seemed to quench the light within him. No one on earth knows this dreadful thing except my sister and myself; she by her own experience, and I by her testimony, and by the testimony of the after course of both parties. She is now in Little Rock, Ark., an employee of the Rio Grande & Denver RR Co., I will inclose a late letter from her, hoping the Spirit of Inspiration will reveal to you all that I have not said, or do not know.

Now, my Brother, I beg that you will give these documents your earnest attention; and if you wish to question me further, I stand ready to answer; and after you have duly considered my case, tell me, truly as God lives, did I lay myself under condemnation by my forbearance toward him: and if so, what can I do now to make it right? Will my children--four of the six born since the time I speak of--belong to their father hereafter? Dare I remain his and hope for the crown which is the coveted reward of the Faithful? Or must I remain his in order to keep my children? for this is my hearts desire;--never to be separated from them, but to be their mother forever and ever.

When this letter leaves my hands, I shall fast and pray that God will speak to me through you, His Annointed over all the earth, and give me strength and grace to do his will, whatever it may be. I am, most humbly,

Your sister in the New and Everlasting Covenant, Lucinda Lee Dalton