At 10 A.M. the meeting opened with a spiritual song. Then Mr. Wallace—a civilized-looking man lately returned from foreign travel—being called upon by the presiding elder for the day, opened the meeting with prayer, of which the two short-hand writers in the tribune proceeded to take notes. The matter, as is generally the case with returned missionaries delivering their budget, was good; the manner was somewhat Hibernian; the “valleys of the mountains”—a stock phrase, appeared and reappeared like the speechifying Patlander’s eternal “emerald green hills and beautiful pretty valleys.” He ended by imploring a blessing upon the (Mormon) President, and all those in authority; Gentiles of course were included. The conclusion was an amen, in which all hands joined: it reminded me of the historical practice of “humming” in the seventeenth century, which caused the universities to be called “Hum et Hissimi auditores.”
THE SERMON.Next arose Bishop Abraham O. Smoot, second mayor of Zion, and successor to the late Jedediah M. Grant, who began with “Brethering,” and proceeded at first in a low and methody tone of voice, “hardly audible in the gallery,” to praise the Saints, and to pitch into the apostates. His delivery was by no means fluent, even when he warmed. He made undue use of the regular Wesleyan organ—the nose; but he appeared to speak excellent sense in execrable English. He recalled past persecutions without over-asperity, and promised future prosperity without over-prophecy. As he was in the midst of an allusion to the President, entered Mr. Brigham Young, and all turned their faces, even the old lady—
“Peut-on si bien prêcher qu’elle ne dorme au sermon?”—
who, dear soul! from Hanover Square to far San Francisco, placidly reposes through the discourse.
The Prophet was dressed, as usual, in gray homespun and homewoven: he wore, like most of the elders, a tall, steeple-crowned straw hat, with a broad black ribbon, and he had the rare refinement of black kid gloves. He entered the tribune covered and sat down, apparently greeting those near him. A man in a fit was carried out pumpward. Bishop Smoot concluded with informing us that we should live for God. Another hymn was sung. Then a great silence, which told us that something was about to happen: that old man held his cough; that old lady awoke with a start; that child ceased to squall. Mr. Brigham Young removed his hat, advanced to the end of the tribune, expectorated stooping over the spittoon, which was concealed from sight by the boarding, restored the balance of fluid by a glass of water from a well-filled decanter on the stand, and, leaning slightly forward upon both hands propped on the green baize of the tribune, addressed his followers.
The discourse began slowly; word crept titubantly after word, and the opening phrases were hardly audible; but as the orator warmed, his voice rose high and sonorous, and a fluency so remarkable succeeded falter and hesitation, that—although the phenomenon is not rare in strong speakers—the latter seemed almost to have been a work of art. The manner was pleasing and animated, and the matter fluent, impromptu, and well turned, spoken rather than preached: if it had a fault it was rather rambling and unconnected. Of course, colloquialisms of all kinds were introduced, such as “he become,” “for you and I,” and so forth. The gestures were easy and rounded, not without a certain grace, though evidently untaught; one, however, must be excepted, namely, that of raising and shaking the forefinger; this is often done in the Eastern States, but the rest of the world over it is considered threatening and bullying. The address was long. God is a mechanic. Mormonism is a great fact. Religion had made him (the speaker) the happiest of men. He was ready to dance like a Shaker. At this sentence the Prophet, who is a good mimic, and has much of the old New English quaint humor, raised his right arm, and gave, to the amusement of the congregation, a droll imitation of Anne Lee’s followers. The Gentiles had sent an army to lay waste Zion, and what had they done? Why, hung one of their own tribe! and that, too, on the Lord’s day![146] The Saints have a glorious destiny before them, and their morality is remarkable as the beauty of the Promised Land: the soft breeze blowing over the Bowery, and the glorious sunshine outside, made the allusion highly appropriate. The Lamanites, or Indians, are a religious people. All races know a God and may be saved. After a somewhat lengthy string of sentences concerning the great tribulation coming on earth—it has been coming for the last 1800 years—he concluded with good wishes to visitors and Gentiles generally, with a solemn blessing upon the President of the United States, the territorial governor, and all such as be in authority over us, and, with an amen which was loudly re-echoed by all around, he restored his hat and resumed his seat.
[146] Alluding to one Thos. H. Ferguson, a Gentile; he killed, on Sept. 17th, 1859, in a drunken moment, A. Carpenter, who kept a boot and shoe store. Judge Sinclair, according to the Mormons, was exceedingly anxious that somebody should be sus. per coll., and, although intoxication is usually admitted as a plea in the Western States, he ignored it, and hanged the man on Sunday. Mr. Ferguson was executed in a place behind the city; he appeared costumed in a Robin Hood style, and complained bitterly to the Mormon troops, who were drawn out, that his request to be shot had not been granted.
Having heard much of the practical good sense which characterizes the Prophet’s discourse, I was somewhat disappointed: probably the occasion had not been propitious. As regards the concluding benedictions, they are profanely compared by the Gentiles to those of the slave, who, while being branded on the hand, was ordered to say thrice, “God bless the State.” The first was a blessing. So was the second. But at the third, natural indignation having mastered Sambo’s philosophy, forth came a certain naughty word not softened to “darn.” During the discourse, a Saint, in whose family some accident had occurred, was called out, but the accident failed to affect the riveted attention of the audience.
Then arose Mr. Heber C. Kimball, the second President. He is the model of a Methodist, a tall and powerful man, a “gentleman in black,” with small, dark, piercing eyes, and clean-shaven blue face. He affects the Boanerges style, and does not at times disdain the part of Thersites: from a certain dislike to the Nonconformist rant and whine, he prefers an every-day manner of speech, which savors rather of familiarity than of reverence. The people look more amused when he speaks than when others harangue them, and they laugh readily, as almost all crowds will, at the thinnest phantom of a joke. Mr. Kimball’s movements contrasted strongly with those of his predecessor; they consisted now of a stone-throwing gesture delivered on tiptoe, then of a descending movement, as
“When pulpit, drum ecclesiastic,