“Lord! ’Twan’t Joe Smith, wur it?”
“No; but one as great as he—one who has inherited his spirit; and who is now the head of all the Saints.”
“That feller at thur head? You ’stonish me, Josh Stebbins.”
“Ah! well you may be astonished. That man has astonished me, Hickman Holt. He has turned me from evil ways, and led me to fear the Lord.” The squatter looked incredulous, but remained silent. “Yes—that same man who was here with me in your humble cabin, is now Chief Priest of the Mormon Church! He has laid his hands on this poor head, and constituted me one of his humble Apostles. Yes, one of the Twelve, intrusted with spreading the true faith of the Saints over all the world.”
“Hooraw for you, Josh Stebbins! You’ll be jest the man for that sort o’ thing; ye’ve got the larnin’ for it, hain’t you?”
“No doubt, Brother Holt, with the help of the Lord, my humble acquirements will be useful; for though He only can open for us poor sinners the kingdom of grace, he suffers such weak instruments, as myself, to point out the narrow path that leads to it. Just as with the Philistines of old, the hearts of the Gentiles are hardened like flint-stones, and refuse to receive the true faith. Unlike the followers of Mohammed, we propagate not by the sword, but by the influence of ratiocination.”
“What?”
“Ratiocination.”
“What mout that be?”
“Reason—reason.”