The wickedness of his book consists in its being a lie from beginning to end, and of himself in being throughout an impostor. Pretending to be a "seer"—which, he says, is greater than a prophet—he puts into the hands of his followers a work of pure invention as a religious guide inspired by God, and which, among his followers, is to take the place of the Bible. Though an ignorant man, he was possessed of much shrewdness. He courted persecution, though he hoped to profit, not to die by it. Unfortunately, his enemies, by their inconsiderate persecution, have made him a martyr for his opinions, and have given a stability to his sect which nothing may now be able to shake. It was urged by Smith himself that the New World was as deserving of a direct revelation as the Old; and his disciples press upon their hearers that, as an American revelation, this system has peculiar claims upon their regard and acceptance. The feeling of nationality being thus connected with the new sect, weak-minded native-born Americans might be swayed by patriotic motives in connecting themselves with it. But it is mortifying to learn that most numerous accessions are being made to the body in their new home by converts proceeding from England.[8] Under the name of the "Latter-day Saints," professing the doctrines of the gospel, the delusions of the system are hidden from the masses by the emissaries who have been dispatched into various countries to recruit their numbers among the ignorant and devoutly-inclined lovers of novelty. Who can tell what two centuries may do in the way of giving a historical position to this rising heresy?
AN ICE-HILL PARTY IN RUSSIA.
The reader, I hope, will have no objection to quit his comfortable fire-side, put on his furs, and accompany me to a sledge, or ice-hill party.
An army of about ten or fifteen sledges start from a house where all the party assemble, the gentlemen driving themselves, and each family taking some provisions with them. After about an hour and three-quarters' drive, the whole caravan arrives at the house of a starosto (president) of the work-people employed by the foreign commercial houses in Russia. The starosto is usually a wealthy man, and mostly looked up to by his neighbors, as he has by some most extraordinary means acquired some few townish manners, which suit his country appearance as much as glazed boots, and a polka tie would suit the true English country farmer.
After having warmed themselves before a good hot Russian stove, the party begin operations by getting the sledges ready, and ascending the ice-hills. The hills are made of a wooden scaffold, covered with huge bits of ice, all of an equal size, placed side-by-side, so as to fit closely together. By being constantly watered, they gradually become one solid mass, as smooth as a mirror. The hill, which usually is of a considerable height, and rather sloping, ends in a long, narrow plain of ice called the run, which is just broad enough for three narrow sledges to pass each other, and long enough to carry you to the foot of a second hill.
The sledges are usually of iron, long and narrow, and covered by cushions, often embroidered by the fair hand of a lady. They are low, and so constructed that they can hold one or two persons, as the case may be. Both the run and the hill are bordered by fir trees on each side, and on such evening parties are illuminated with Chinese lamps placed between the branches of the trees. Fancy yourself on the top of the hill looking down this illuminated avenue of firs, which is reflected in the mirror of the ice, as if determining to outshine the lights in the clear sky, and the gay laughing crowds moving up and down the hills, and you have before you the finest and most perfect picture of sorrowless enjoyment, as a striking contrast to the lifeless nature surrounding it. The briskness of the movement, and the many accidents happening to the clumsy members of the party, keep up the excitement, while the contest of young men to obtain this or the other lady for their partner on their down-hill journey (not in life), never allows the conversation or the laugh to flag for one moment. I remember once getting into what school-boys would call an awful scrape with one of the ice-hill heroes. We both started together from the second hill on a race, and I, having a faster sledge, overtook him by the length of my conveyance, and arrived at the top of the hill before him. Seeing that the belle of the evening was disengaged, I approached her with all the formality with which the newly-admitted youth requests the queen of a ball-room for the pleasure and honor to dance a polka with her, and asked her to go down. Forgetting a previous appointment with my former antagonist, she accepted my offer, and the latter just arrived in time to see us start from the hill. In his rage he determined to do me some mischief by upsetting my sledge, as soon as he had an opportunity of doing so without any damage to another party. He soon had an occasion, but, unfortunately I had a sledge with a lady before me; passing me, he hit me, and I, hitting against the sledge before me, without being able to avoid it, at the same time getting hold of his legs, upset all three. Luckily, no injury was done, as the whole lot were upset into the snow, to the great enjoyment of all spectators.
Gradually the time to retire approaches. The lamps begin to go out, and the hills, divested of their beauty, appear like the ruins of a magnificent city of olden times. Here and there you see a single lamp peeping out from the branches of the trees, wistfully looking round in search of its brothers, as if it wanted to assure itself of the absence of any other enlightening object.
The party go in to refresh themselves with tea and other warm beverages. The gentlemen wait on the ladies, and a new contest begins, as each tries to surpass the other in politeness and quickness. If it is a supper, you see these youthful and useful members of society running about with plates of sandwiches, or steering along with a cup of bouillon in one and a glass of wine in the other hand, through the intricate passages formed by the numberless tables occupied by members of the fair sex. And then having, after a great deal of danger, at last arrived at their destination, they find the lady they wanted to serve already provided with every necessary comfort; and, perchance, she is so much engaged in conversation with their more fortunate rival, that she can not even give them a grateful smile for their trouble. Now the ladies adjourn, and the field of action is left to the gentlemen. All restraint seems to have gone. The clatter of knives, the jingling of glasses, the hubbub of voices, all this makes such a chaos of strange and mysterious noises, that it has quite a deafening effect. At last a cry of order is heard from the top of the table. One of the directors of the party, after having requested the audience to fill their glasses, in flowery language proposes the health of the ladies, which, of course, is drunk with tremendous applause, manifested by acts, such as beating with the handles of knives and forks on the table, and clapping hands.