Brigham’s manners astonish any one who knows that his only education was a few quarters of such common-school experience as could be had in Ontario County, Central New York, during the early part of the century.  There are few courtlier men living.  His address is a fine combination of dignity with the desire to confer happiness,—­of perfect deference to the feelings of others with absolute certainty of himself and his own opinions.  He is a remarkable example of the educating influence of tactful perception, combined with entire singleness of aim, considered quite apart from its moral character.  His early life was passed among the uncouth and illiterate; his daily associations, since he embraced Mormonism, have been with the least cultivated grades of human society,—­a heterogeneous peasant-horde, looking to him for erection into a nation:  yet he has so clearly seen what is requisite in the man who would be respected in the Presidency, and has so unreservedly devoted his life to its attainment, that in protracted conversations with him I heard only a single solecism, ("a’n’t you” for “aren’t you,”) and saw not one instance of breeding which would be inconsistent with noble lineage.

I say all this good of him frankly, disregarding any slur that maybe cast on me as his defender by those broad-effect artists who always paint the Devil black,—­for I think it high time that the Mormon enemies of our American Idea should be plainly understood as far more dangerous antagonists than hypocrites or idiots can ever hope to be.  Let us not twice commit the blunder of underrating our foes.

Brigham began our conversation at the theatre by telling me I was late,—­it was after nine o’clock.  I replied, that this was the time we usually set about dressing for an evening party in Boston or New York.

“Yes,” said he, “you find us an old-fashioned people; we are trying to return to the healthy habits of patriarchal times.”

“Need you go back so far as that for your parallel?” suggested I.  “It strikes me that we might have found four-o’clock balls among the early Christians.”

He smiled, without that offensive affectation of some great men, the air of taking another’s joke under their gracious patronage, and went on to remark that there were, unfortunately, multitudinous differences between the Mormons and Americans at the East, besides the hours they kept.

“You 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 hastened to assure the President that I had no desire for relief from sympathy with my country’s struggle for honor and existence.