MONSIEUR VIOLET (FISCLE PART-IV) by FREDERICK MARRYAT (leveled readers txt) 📕

Turn Them Into The Swamps, Where He Is Pretty Certain Of Recovering Them

Afterwards."

Saying This, He Advanced to The Door, And Was Just Putting Has Hand Upon

The Latch, When We Heard A Most Terrific Yell, Which Was Followed by A

Neighing, Which I Recognized as That Of My Horse. Taking Our Pistols And

Bowie-Knives, We Hurried down The Lane.

We Found That Our Two Horses, With A Third, Belonging To One Of The

Hunters, Were Out Of The Stable, And Tied neck And Tail, So As To

Require Only One Person To Lead Them. The First One Had The Bridle On,

And The Last, Which Was Mine, Was In a State Of Excitement, As If

Something Unusual Had Happened to Him. On Continuing Our Search, We

Found The Body Of A Young Man, Most Horribly Mangled, The Breast Being

Entirely Open, And The Heart And Intestines Hanging Outside.

It Appeared that My Faithful Steed, Which Had Already Shown, In texas, A

Great Dislike To Being Taken Away From Me, Had Given The Thief The

Terrible Kick, Which Had Thrown Him Ten Or Fifteen Yards, As I Have Said

A Mangled corpse. By This Time, The Other Hunters Came Out To Us; Lights

Were Procured, And Then We Learned that The Victim Was The Parson'S

Eldest Son, Newly Married, And Settled on The East Side Of The St.

Francis. The Parson Was Not Long Himself In making His Appearance; But

He Came From An Opposite Direction To That Of The House, And He Was

Dressed as On The Evening Before: He Had Evidently Not Been To Bed

During That Night.

As Soon As He Became Aware Of The Melancholy Circumstance, He Raved and

Swore That He Would Have The Lives Of The Damned frenchman And His

Damnation Horse; But Mr. Courtenay Went To Him, And Said--

"Hold Your Tongue, Miserable Man! See Your Own Work, For You Have Caused

This Death. It Was To Fetch Your Son, To Help You To Steal The Horses,

That You Crossed the River In the Dug-Out. Be Silent, I Say; You Know

Me; Look At Your Eldest-Born, Villain That You Are! May The Chain Of

Your Future Misery Be Long, And The Last Link Of It The Gibbet, Which

You Deserve!"

The Parson Was Silent, Even When His Sobbing Wife Reproached him. "I

Warned thee, Husband," She Said; "Even Now Has This Come, And I Fear

That Worse Is Still To Come. Unlucky Was The Hour We Met: Still More So

When The Child Was Born;" And, Leaning against The Fence, She

Wept Bitterly.

I Will Pass Over The Remainder Of This Melancholy Scene. We All Felt For

The Mother And The Poor Girl, Who Stood By With A Look Of Despair.

Saddling Our Horses, Mr. Courtenay And I Resumed our Journey, The

Hunters Remaining Behind Till The Arrival Of The Magistrate, Whom We

Promised to Send. To Procure One, We Were Obliged to Quit The High Road,

And, After A Ride Of Several Miles, Having Succeeded in finding His

House, We Woke Him, Gave Him The Necessary Directions, And, At Sunrise,

Forded the River.

At Last We Arrived at The Plantation Of Mr. Courtenay: The House Was One

Of The Very Few Buildings In the United states In which Taste Was

Displayed. A Graceful Portico, Supported by Columns; Large Verandahs,

Sheltered by Jessamine; And The Garden So Green And So Smiling, With Its

Avenues Of Acacias And Live Fences Of Holly And Locust, All Recalled to

My Mind The Scenes Of My Childhood In europe. Every Thing Was So Neat

And Comfortable; The Stables So Airy, The Dogs So Well Housed, And The

Slaves So Good-Humoured-Looking, So Clean And Well Dressed.

When We Descended from Our Horses, A Handsome Lady Appeared at The

Portico, With Joy And Love Beaming In her Face, As Five Or Six Beautiful

Children, Having at Last Perceived our Arrival, Left Their Play To

Welcome And Kiss Their Father. A Lovely Vision Of Youth And Beauty Also

Made Its Appearance--One Of Those Slender Girls Of The South, A Woman Of

Fifteen Years Old, With Her Dark Eyelashes And Her Streaming Ebony Hair;

Slaves Of All Ages--Mulattoes And Quadroon Girls, Old Negroes And Boy

Negroes, All Calling Together--"Eh! Massa Courtenay, Kill Plenty Bear,

Dare Say; Now Plenty Grease For Black Family, Good Massa Courtenay."

Add To All This, The Dogs Barking and The Horses Neighing, And Truly The

Whole _Tableau_ Was One Of Unbounded affection And Happiness, I Doubt

If, In all North America, There Is Another Plantation Equal To That Of

Mr. Courtenay.

I Soon Became An Inmate Of The Family, And For The First Time Enjoyed

The Pleasures Of Highly-Polished society. Mrs. Courtenay Was An

Admirable Performer Upon The Harp; Miss Emma Courtenay, Her Niece, Was A

Delightful Pianist; And My Host Himself Was No Mean Amateur Upon The

Flute. Our Evenings Would Pass Quickly Away, In reading Shakspeare,

Corneille, Racine, Metastasio, Or The Modern Writers Of English

Literature: After Which We Would Remain Till The Night Had Far Advanced,

Enjoying The Beautiful Compositions Of Beethoven, Gluck, And Mozart, Or

The Brilliant Overtures Of Donizetti, Bellini, And Meyerbeer.

Thus My Time Passed like A Happy Dream, And As, From The Rainy Season

Having Just Set In, All Travelling Was Impossible. I Remained many Weeks

With My Kind Entertainers, The More Willingly, That The Various Trials I

Had Undergone Had, At So Early An Age, Convinced me That, Upon Earth,

Happiness Was Too Scarce Not To Be Enjoyed when Presented to You. Yet In

The Midst Of Pleasure I Did Not Forget The Duty I Owed to My Tribe, And

I Sent Letters To Joe Smith, The Mormon Leader At Nauvoo, That We Might

At Once Enter Into An Arrangement. Notwithstanding The Bad Season, We

Had Some Few Days Of Sunshine, In which Pretty Miss Emma And I Would

Take Long Rambles In the Woods; And Sometimes, Too, My Host Would Invite

The Hunters Of His Neighbourhood, For A General _Battue_ Against Bears,

Deer, And Wild Cats. Then We Would Encamp Out Under Good Tents, And

During The Evening, While Smoking Near Our Blazing Fires, I Would Hear

Stories Which Taught Me More Of Life In the United states Than If I Had

Been Residing There For Years.

"Dis-Moi Qui Tu Frequentes, Je Te Dirai Qui Tu Es," Is The Old French

Proverb. Mr. Courtenay Never Chose His Companions But Among The More

Intellectual Classes Of The Society Around Him, And, Of Course, These

Stories Were Not Only Well Told, But Interesting In their Subject. Often

The Conversation Would Fall Upon The Mormons, And Perceiving How Anxious

I Was To Learn Anything about This New Sect, My Host Introduced me To A

Very Talented gentleman, Who Had Every Information Connected with Their

History. From Him I Learned the Particulars Which Gave Rise To

Mormonism, Undoubtedly The Most Extraordinary Imposition Of The

Nineteenth Century.

There Existed years Ago A Connecticut Man, Named solomon Spalding, A

Relation Of The One Who Invented the Wooden Nut-Megs. By Following Him

Through His Career, The Reader Will Find Him A Yankee Of The True Stock.

He Appears At First As A Law Student; Then As A Preacher, A Merchant,

And A Bankrupt; Afterwards He Becomes A Blacksmith In a Small Western

Village: Then A Land Speculator And A County Schoolmaster; Later Still,

He Becomes The Owner Of An Iron-Foundry; Once More A Bankrupt; At Last A

Writer And A Dreamer.

As Might Be Expected, He Died a Beggar Somewhere In pennsylvania, Little

Thinking That, By A Singular Coincidence, One Of His Productions (The

"Manuscript Found"), Redeemed from Oblivion By A Few Rogues, Would

Prove In their Hands A Powerful Weapon, And Be The Basis Of One Of The

Most Anomalous, Yet Powerful Secessions Which Has Ever Been Experienced

By The Established church.

We Find, Under The Title Of The "Manuscript Found," An Historical

Romance Of The First Settlers Of America, Endeavouring To Show That The

American Indians Are The Descendants Of The Jews, Or The Lost Tribes. It

Gives A Detailed account Of Their Journey From Jerusalem, By Land And By

Sea, Till They Arrived in america, Under The Command Of Nephi And Lehi.

They Afterwards Had Quarrels And Contentions, And Separated into Two

Distinct Nations, One Of Which Is Denominated nephites, And The Other

Lamanites.

Cruel And Bloody Wars Ensued, In which Great Multitudes Were Slain. They

Buried their Dead In large Heaps, Which Caused the Mounds Now So

Commonly Found On The Continent Of America. Their Knowledge In the Arts

And Sciences, And Their Civilization, Are Dwelt Upon, In order To

Account For All The Remarkable Ruins Of Cities And Other Curious

Antiquities, Found In various Parts Of North And South America.

Solomon Spalding Writes In the Biblic Style, And Commences Almost Every

Sentence With, "And It Came To Pass,"--"Now, It Came To Pass."

Although Some Powers Of Imagination, And A Degree Of Scientific

Information Are Displayed throughout The Whole Romance, It Remained for

Several Years Unnoticed, On The Shelves Of Messrs. Patterson And

Lambdin, Printers, In pittsbourg.

Many Years Passed, When Lambdin The Printer, Having Failed, Wished _To

Raise The Wind By Some Book Speculation_. Looking Over The Various

Manuscripts Then In his Possession, The "Manuscript Found," Venerable In

Its Dust, Was, Upon Examination, Looked upon As A Gold Mine, Which Would

Restore To Affluence The Unfortunate Publisher. But Death Summoned

Lambdin Away, And Put An End To The Speculation, As Far As His Interests

Were Concerned.

Lambdin Had Intrusted the Precious Manuscript To His Bosom Friend,

Sidney Rigdon, That He Might Embellish And Alter It, As He Might Think

Expedient. The Publisher Now Dead, Rigdon Allowed this _Chef-D'Oeuvre_

To Remain In his Desk, Till, Reflecting Upon His Precarious Means, And

Upon His Chances Of Obtaining a Future Livelihood, A Sudden Idea Struck

Him. Rigdon Well Knew His Countrymen, And Their Avidity For The

Marvellous; He Resolved to Give To The World The "_Manuscript Found_,"

Not As A Mere Work Of Imagination Or Disquisition, As Its Writer Had

Intended it To Be, But As A New Code Of Religion, Sent Down To Man, As

Of Yore, On Awful Sinai, The Tables Were Given Unto Moses.

For Some Time, Rigdon Worked very Hard, Studying The Bible, Altering His

Book, And Preaching Every Sunday. As The Reader May Easily Imagine, Our

Bible Student Had Been, As Well As Spalding, A Jack-Of-All-Trades,

Having Successively Filled the Offices Of Attorney, Bar Keeper, Clerk,

Merchant, Waiter, Newspaper Editor, Preacher, And, Finally, A Hanger-On

About Printing-Offices, Where He Could Always Pick Up Some Little Job In

The Way Of Proof Correcting and So Forth.

To Us This Variety Of Occupations May Appear Very Strange, But Among The

Unsettled and Ambitious Population Of The United states, Men At The Age

Of Fifty Have Been, Or At Least Have Tried to Be Everything, Not In

Gradation, From The Lowest Up To The Highest, But Just As It May

Happen--Doctor Yesterday And Waiter To-Day--The Yankee Philosopher Will

To-Morrow Run For A Seat In legislature; If He Fails, He May Turn A

Methodist Preacher, A Mormon, A Land Speculator, A Member Of The "Native

American Society," Or A Mason--That Is To Say, A Journeyman Mason.

Two Words More Upon Rigdon, Before We Leave Him In his Comparative

Insignificance! He Is Undoubtedly The Father Of Mormonism, And The

Author Of The "Golden Book," With The Exception Of A Few Subsequent

Alterations Made By Joe Smith. It Was Easy For Him, From The First

Planning Of His Intended imposture To Publicly Discuss, In the Pulpit,

Many Strange Points Of Controversy, Which Were Eventually To Become The

Corner-Stones Of The Structure Which He Wished to Raise.

The Novelty Of The Discussions Was Greedily Received by Many, And, Of

Course, Prepared them For That Which Was Coming. Yet, It Seems That

Rigdon Soon Perceived the Evils Which His Wild Imposture Would Generate,

And He Recoiled from His Task, Not, Because There Remained lurking In

His Breast Some Few Sparks Of Honesty, But Because He Wanted courage; He

Was A Scoundrel, But A Timorous One, And Always In dread Of The

Penitentiary. With Him, Mormonism Was A Mere Money Speculation, And He

Resolved to Shelter Himself Behind Some Fool Who Might Bear The Whole

Odium,