What she would have me, yet not have me know.'
"Falling in love, and running in love, are, as everybody knows, common enough, and yet less so than what I shall call catching love. Where the love itself is imprudent, that is to say, where there is some just, prudential cause or impediment why the two parties should not be joined together in holy matrimony, there is culpable imprudence in catching it, because danger is always to be apprehended, which may have been avoided."
It is plain to be seen, our Prophet did not walk into love,—he did not run into it. He caught it, as a man catches the measles. It broke out, and showed itself all over, in smiles, bows, and sweet honeyed tones. It is also plain that he should not have caught it. Had he not the charming Amelia, dear Emeline, sweet Lucy, pretty Twiss, his darling Lucy No. 2, poetic Eliza, meek Zina, and his dear, dear Jemima, Martha, Ellen, Susan, Hattie, etc., etc. How could any man, much less a prophet, wish for more?
But he said to himself, "I have not a French lady in the family to teach my daughters that charming language. I have no prima donna to conduct their musical education. Then my last love—my pretty, naughty, bewitching Amelia—is so cross and fitful, she leads me such a crazy life, she frets and scolds, and I cannot drown her voice, even with my 'sacred fiddle.' [He had frequently boasted that with his violin he could put a stop to the scolding of any of his women.]
"Then my French lady is accomplished. She can receive my foreign guests. She is so clever, that she can assist me in my business projects and plans; and if she should prove unkind,—which God grant she may not,—and if her sweet lips should scold, I should have a great advantage,—I could not understand her. Then her name,—Selima! How poetical. None of my wives have such a poetical name. With her in my Harem, I could rival the Sultan himself. Yes, sweet, adored Selima, you shall be mine. You shall be the high priestess of my affections, and all my common women shall serve you."
The Prophet plead his suit, but Selima was like stone. He had a young man in his employ who dared to love Selima. The rival lovers met face to face. The Prophet was furious,—"She is not for you, sir, she is not for you. Leave my service, and never dare to aspire to that young lady's hand again."
Alas, that love so devoted, so pure and disinterested as Brigham's, should fail to be rewarded by the object of its choice. But no sooner had the poor singing-master, for such he was, left the Territory for California, than another rival appeared in the field,—a California volunteer,—a dangerous rival; one who would not fear to follow up any advantage he might gain over his spiritual competitor.
To destroy the romance of the whole story, Selima, charming
but sensible Selima, becoming disgusted with the whole affair, soon after left for Switzerland again, leaving her lovers to settle the matter among themselves.
For once in his life, Brigham Young was foiled, and that by a woman.