We can not now follow the good chaplain in his deeply interesting narrative. He makes no mention in it of his family, but it is certain from other data that he left Mrs. Norton and his young children in garrison at Fort Shirley, and that just about the time of his return from captivity to Boston, which was August 16, 1747, his little girl, Anna, died at the fort and was buried in the field a little to the west of it. Probably some soldier in the fort chiselled upon the rude stone the inscription as follows:

Hear lys ye body of An'na D: of ye Rev: Mr. John Norton. She died Aug; ye —— aged —— 1747.

This stone stood there in the bleak field exposed to the suns of summer and the storms of winter for more than one hundred and thirty years. The day of August on which she died and the number of years she had lived have become illegible by exposure,—impossible to be deciphered. The stone has lately been removed to Williams College, and with its companion relic, a stick of one of the timbers of Fort Shirley, and a few other memorials of the well and fort, are safe in a fire-proof building.

The tradition is still lively in Heath, and it may well be an historical fact for it has been handed down by an aged citizen there whose life began with the century, that there used to come up from Connecticut on an occasional pilgrimage to the site of Fort Shirley and particularly to the grave of Anna Norton some of her relatives. This is very likely; for John Norton became in 1748 a pastor in the parish of East Hampton, Middlesex Co., Conn., where he died in 1778; and one may still read on his tombstone there the following inscription:

IN MEMORY OF THE REV. JOHN NORTON PASTOR OF THE 3D CHURCH IN CHATHAM WHO DIED WITH SMALL POX MARCH 24th AD 1778 IN THE 63D YEAR OF HIS AGE.

He left several children. Among them an unmarried daughter, who lived till 1825. It is no mean touch and print of vital human sympathy that is left upon the sod beneath the great tree in Shirley-field by the figure of one who came and came again from a distant place to catch, it may be, a note from the dreary Past and drop a tear upon the grave of a sister whom she never saw.

To his Excellency William Shirley, Esq. Capt. Gen. and Gov'r in Chief of this Province, the Hon'ble his Majesty's Council & House of Representatives in Gen. Court assembled—

The Memorial of John Norton of Springfield in the County of Hampshire, Clerk, humbly showeth That in the month of February, 1746, he entered into the Service of the Province as a Chaplain for the Line of Forts on the Western Frontier and continued in that service until the Twentieth day of August following, when he was captivated at Fort Massachusetts and carried to Canada by the enemy, where he was detained a prisoner for the space of twelve months, during which time he constantly officiated as a chaplain among his fellow-prisoners in the best manner he was able under the great difficulties and suffering of his imprisonment, and your Humble Petit'r begs leave further to inform your Excell'c. & Honors that besides the great Difficulties and Hardships that your Petit'r indured during his captivity abroad, he and his family by means thereof are reduced to great Straight and Difficulties at home. He therefore prays your Excell'c and Honors would take his distressed Circumstances into your wiser Consideration and grant him such Help and Relief as your Excell'c, and Honors in your Wisdom and Goodness shall deem meet, and your memorialist as in duty bound shall ever pray.

JOHN NORTON.

Springfield, Jan. 25, 1748.

[ENDORSED]

In the House of Representatives, Feb, 23, 1748. Read and Ordered that the sum of L37, 10s. be allowed the memorialist in consideration of this officiating as Chaplain to the Prisoners whilst in captivity at Canada.

In council read & concurred W. Hutchinson, Speaker J. Willard Sec'y

Consented to

W. SHIRLEY.

* * * * *



THE MORMON CHURCH.

By Victoria Reed.

On the 24th of July, 1847, Brigham Young and a few followers pitched their tents at the base of the Wasatch Range—a spur of the Rocky Mountains. This was the nucleus of what is now known as the flourishing city of Salt Lake. These pioneers came across the vast plains, over the desolate mountains and entered the valley of the Great Salt Lake through Emigration Canon. Their first view of the locality was from the mouth of the canon which is at an elevation of seven hundred feet above the city, and from this eminence the clearness of the atmosphere enabled them to see mountain ranges ninety miles distant.

The wide valley, the broad expanse of the lake with its mountainous islands, miles in extent, and the encircling ranges, formed an amphitheatre of unexampled grandeur and rugged beauty. The valley itself at that time was a vast desert without tree or shrub, nothing but the wild sage-brush and the white alkali soil could be seen, if we except the scrub-oaks and lebanon cedars that covered the mountain sides and the emerald colored waters of the lake. Utah was then Mexican Territory, and this fact, as much perhaps as any other, determined Brigham Young to settle there. When the exodus from Nauvoo took place, the Mormons were roughly estimated at four thousand souls and probably about that number made the first settlement in Utah; but they have increased now to over two hundred and fifty thousand in the United States with societies in England, Wales and Scandinavia, all flourishing and sending yearly to Salt Lake as many as they can find means to transport. The history of this people will probably never be fully written, but they endured hardships, privations, sufferings, torture and death. Their settlement of Utah was one of extreme peril and anxiety, and for years it was a question whether they would survive or perish. Had they been actuated by conscience, by pure religious zeal, by patriotism, by any of the nobler sentiments, they would have made an enviable reputation in history and gone down to posterity as a society commanding the respect and veneration of the world; but when it is known that no community or state even would tolerate them and that they sought this uninhabitable wild, this unknown and then foreign territory, to escape the punishment of their crimes, and to practise an abhorrent and barbarous tenet of their faith, their glory departs and they look and will look in the light of history abject and pitiable. Some conception of their great undertaking in crossing the continent may be imagined when we reflect there were no roads, no known way across the vast arid plains, no mountain cuts, no bridged streams, no drinking water for miles upon miles with long tedious marches resulting in sickness and death.

To one acquainted with the country, knowing the obstacles they overcame, it is a matter of wonder that women and children were ever able to perform it. It must be remembered that their destination reached, their trials had only fairly begun. They were surrounded by savages, they were over a thousand miles from the habitation of a white man. They had pitched their tents on an alkali plain that had never been tilled; not a blade of grass grew in the soil and this in a climate where not a drop of rain or even a cloud appeared for six months in the year. Irrigation had never been tried, and the whole scheme was an experiment, the failure of which would have been fatal to the settlement. The first winter was spent in their wagons and in tents, while their subsistence was upon a scanty supply of vegetables. It is no more than common justice to accord to this people a great undertaking in founding the settlements of the territory, and a great triumph in their complete success; but above and beyond this, very little can be said in their favor.

The legal title of the Mormon church is the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, and in the church parlance, Salt Lake city is a state of Zion and the real Zion is at Jackson, Missouri, to which place the Mormons claim they are some day to return. The Mormon church is a very complicated institution, but as perfect in its organization and operations as the Catholic church. Church and State are inseparable and the main complications are in the priesthood which extends to nearly every male member of the church who has a family, thus making them all more or less responsible for the proceedings of their leaders. This priesthood is composed of a president, in whom is combined prophet, seer or revelator of the church. There have been only three men to fill that office, Joseph Smith, Brigham Young, and John Taylor who now occupies the position. This chief with two councillors form the first presidency. Next in order come the twelve apostles who hold equal authority in church matters with the president, though the presidency is the last resort in case of appeal. Next comes the order of the seventies, which consists of seven presidents, each having control or presiding over seventy priests or lower presidents, each of whom in turn, presides over a quorum of seventy. Out of this order of seventies come the patriarchs who dispense the blessings of the church, the high council which is an ecclesiastical court, all these orders making up a priesthood after the order of Melchisedec. Then follows the Aaronic priesthood which is composed of a senior bishop with two councillors acting as president of the state of Zion, and an indefinite number of bishops of lower rank with elders, teachers and deacons. The Mormons claim that this is the only apostolic church, the only church having the sign of miracles, the laying on of hands, the giving of tongues, the baptism for the dead, the consecration of marriage, the only church through whom and with whom God is talking as of old. Many of the ordinances of the church are performed in secret and are still more complicated. Although some of these rites and ceremonies have been revealed by apostates, yet there are others of such a character that even the bitterest seceder from the church would not dare unfold them. With this complex system conceived after the manner of the Jewish priesthood, and with the various revelations that have been added from time to time, the church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints stands to-day as a very curious monument to the ingenuity of men, the most prominent of whom were descended from Puritan fathers.

The ordinance that has given so much unpleasant notoriety to this church is that of polygamy, or plural marriage as the Mormons designate it. There are three kinds of marriage; the marriage for this world as in other churches, "till death do us part;" the marriage for this world and for eternity combined; and the marriage for eternity alone, independent and separate from this world's relationship.

The Mormon woman has no place in the future state excepting as she enters under the protection of her husband, so this last marriage or sealing for eternity was instituted to enable all unmarried women, or those who were only married for this world, to gain a foothold in the life to come. The motto of the Mormon church is, the greater the family, the greater the reward. Brigham Young with his nineteen families excelled in this respect, and he will be awarded the highest seat in Heaven. His sealed wives are said to number two hundred and fifty.

Joseph Smith has also been very popular and has had scores sealed to him.

To uphold this peculiarly constituted church, various crimes have been committed, varying in hue, but the Mountain Meadow Massacre, when one hundred and nineteen men, women and children were butchered in cold blood under a flag of truce, surpasses in atrocity any act of the savage tribes by whom they are surrounded, and has stained indelibly the Mormon church. Before the advent of the Union Pacific Railroad, to breath a word against the church organization or any of its acts or resist one of their tenets or accumulate more wealth than was acceptable to the leaders, has always brought down instant and the severest punishment, and the perpetrators could never be brought to justice as they were emissaries of Brigham Young and his councillors.

It is polygamy, however, more than all their other deeds and revelations that has entailed misery, suffering and degradation. It has been the parent of more crime, more disloyalty, more deceit and sin generally than all the other causes combined. It is claimed that the revelation of polygamy came to the prophet Joseph Smith in 1843 at Nauvoo, and it was secretly practised by him and by other members of his church; but it was not published to the world until 1852, when Brigham Young made it known in Utah, thinking no doubt that he was beyond the pale of civilization and the terrors of the law. It was not made obligatory, but those who practised it were to have greater exaltation in the next world. A woman conforming in other respects is entitled to a seat in Heaven, but it is reserved for the polygamist to be one with the Father. Of course there is no room for Gentiles in the Mormon Heaven, excepting as hewers of wood and drawers of water to some Mormon saint.

The fanatical followers of the priesthood are filled with the superstitions of the old world, coming, as so many do from the lowest classes of Great Britain and Scandinavia, fit subjects for all the mummery imposed upon them in the name of religion. Brigham Young is often quoted as saying, that he had gathered around him a set of people that his satanic majesty himself would not have. Even after polygamy had been openly proclaimed in Utah, their missionaries utterly repudiated it, and in pursuance of private orders of the prophet they positively asserted that it was not a tenet of the church. They were afraid of bringing upon themselves the condemnation of foreign governments; but the ignorant offshoots of European Monarchies openly commit acts here, that they boast if perpetrated in their own land, would bring down upon them the severest penalties of the law. The perfect indifference and apathy of our government for so many years, however, has given the Mormons sufficient justification for their attitude. Abroad, not only their own security, but the large emigration which they sought and do secure yearly, rendered necessary a great deal of deceit. Men honest and fair-dealing in other respects have a twisted conscience in regard to plural marriage. As a Mormon woman said, "A polygamist is the most ingenious liar imaginable." In the earlier days on their arrival in Zion, when securely in the toils, their money in the hands of the elders, too far in the wilderness to make hope of return possible, these people have awakened to the horrors of the system, and women on the day of their arrival were hurried to the Endowment House to swell the number of polygamic wives in the land. Perhaps of all the women in Utah those who live in constant terror of their husbands entering polygamy are the most to be pitied. These plural marriages are performed in private in the Endowment House, a building in the same enclosure with the Tabernacle and Temple. Here they take oaths of allegiance to the church that absolve them from obedience to the laws of our country, when they conflict with their laws. They consider their obligations to their religion such that they perjure themselves on the witness stand in the most unblushing manner. They thus defeat the attempts to gain evidence of their marriages. Apostates, since the protection given to them by United States troops and the moral support of the Gentiles, have revealed many of the secrets of this place. This apostacy at any previous period of their history would have cost them their lives, as they take the most solemn oaths never to betray this most absurd and sacrilegious performance. The Endowment House is arranged to represent the Garden of Eden. The permanent Adam and Eve of the establishment are a man and woman prominent in the church. A well known public functionary who performs the ceremony represents God, while his satanic majesty fulfils his own appropriate functions. The ordeal lasts from nine in the morning until three in the afternoon, and one or more wives can be taken at one ceremony.

The Miles case which attained such notoriety in Utah a short time ago was one not altogether uncommon, in which a young girl engaged to a Mormon Elder in London accompanied him to this country to have the marriage ceremony performed by the fathers of the church. On their way thither the elder felt constrained to tell this young convert that he had already made promises of marriage to two Danish sisters who were awaiting him in Zion; but he assured her that though he felt obliged to fulfil all his vows yet she should be his first and only legal wife. She reluctantly consented to this humiliating compromise and on his arrival in Salt Lake he took the three maidens to the Endowment House and they were in turn married to him. Unfortunately for conjugal felicity, the English girl was made second in order on account of priority of age of one of the Danish sisters. Terrible scenes ensued and in her indignation this girl denounced her husband and he was brought into court on the charge of bigamy. Only once before in the whole history of Mormonism has the court gained evidence of these plural marriages. Wives are bound by such terrible oaths at the marriage ceremony that they dare not give testimony against their husbands. Also, the jurors are two-thirds Mormons and these law breakers would never punish one of their own number, and no person could be convicted without destroying the rights of trial by jury. Mr. Robinson, an Englishman who has lately written a book laudatory of the Mormons, makes the statement that "Many Mormon women could not be happy until their husbands took other wives." A lady who has written thrilling stories on the subject of polygamy, writes the following in response to Mr. Robinson of a friend of hers who was a Methodist and embraced Mormonism because she had been as she thought miraculously healed in answer to a prayer of a Mormon Elder. Soon after reaching Salt Lake her husband took another wife. She was an American and had been brought up in a Christian family, so she could not take kindly to polygamy; she thought, however, that it was something ordered by God and that she must be very wicked to have such bitterness in her heart towards the woman who had won her husband's love. She said, "I thought I would go for counsel to those who were wiser and better than I, so I paid a visit to a model family, two wives in one house who were said to live like sisters, and exceptionally happy. I told the first wife my story and asked her how she attained her happiness. 'Happiness,' she replied, 'I don't know the meaning of the word, I have never seen a happy hour since that woman came into my house and never shall until I drop into my grave.' The second wife said, 'for the sake of peace, I have given up every right both as woman and wife. If it were not for my child, I would have thrown myself into the river long ago.' Then I went to two of Brigham's wives who were held up as examples. The first to whom I spoke said, 'I have shed tears enough since I have been in polygamy to drown myself twice over;' the other said, 'the plains from the Mississippi River to Salt Lake are strewed with the bones of women who were not strong enough to bear the burdens of polygamy, and the cemetery here is full of them; but every one of these women will wear a martyr's crown.'" Women who give their consent to the death knell of happiness do it on the ground that their reward will be greater in Heaven, and that the few years in this world is as nothing in view of eternity. Buoyed up by these hopes, women leaving large families at home with infants in their arms, accompany their husbands and give them in marriage to young girls who have grown up at their very doors.

They have often left their husbands and even their children behind them in foreign lands or in our own, to gain the coveted privilege of passing the remnant of their days in communion with the Latter Day Saints in the glorious State of Zion. These deluded women get their deserved punishment for deserting the highest and acknowledged duties of life, by the ignominy and contempt heaped upon them by those who allured them from their homes. Contact with this institution has in a few cases not only deadened all finer sensibilities, but has trampled upon instinct, when mothers coming with grown daughters to Utah not only marry Mormons themselves, but urge their girls to become polygamic wives to their own husbands. Very few probably are of this character, and the majority are mere tools in the hands of a tyrannical priesthood.

A gentleman well versed in the history of the church in Utah writes "that after a thousand years of Christianity and civilization, Mormons have stripped woman of all her rights, have trampled her in the dust, have sworn her on her life to obey her jailor husband, then have given her the ballot and boast of their liberality."

Suffrage under a theocratic government is a farce for both man or woman and, in the latter case, a pure mockery, as the Mormon woman has apparently a privilege which is denied to woman elsewhere, but this privilege is entirely out of her power to use excepting as ordered by the church that controls her. Suffrage given to the women of Utah has had two results; first, to increase greatly the vote for the church and its institutions, and secondly, to make woman herself the champion of her own degradation. Brigham Young gave the suffrage to Morman women, and he was confident that he could manipulate this element as he had all others in behalf of his own aggrandizement, both spiritual and temporal. Our government and Gentile residents hoped that the franchise would be productive of great good in opening the eyes of these women to the knowledge of the power invested in them, to free themselves from the superstitious obedience with which their vicegerent had enchained them; but the folly of endowing them with our privilege so long as theocracy exists, has been fully demonstrated. To ask for rights which are cheerfully conceded to woman in every other section of the country, would be utterly useless in Utah. The law of suffrage like all other laws in Utah have been made for the sole protection of their divine institution; so these Mormon women have only raised their voices to uphold polygamy which they have been forced to do on all occasions when it would benefit their church. They assembled in Mass-meeting and petitioned Congress to propose an amendment to the constitution sanctioning polygamy, and they have waved banners in the streets of Salt Lake on which were inscribed "The women of Utah believe in polygamy." The brutal teachings of Brigham Young and his councillors and all the laws and institutions of Utah are intended to reduce woman to utter and abject servitude, and to resist this power in the earlier days when they were sensitive to the touch of the tyrant's will would have been a very dangerous experiment; but now, with help stretching towards them, they seem to be too throughly paralyzed by years of total submission to be able to avail themselves of it.

The numbering of the vote is a very essential element in the ballot, as by that means the priesthood has knowledge of the failure of any man or woman to vote as they have been ordered. The Edmunds commission reports as follows in regard to Woman's suffrage: "We are satisfied that owing to the peculiar state of affairs in Utah—this law is an obstruction to the speedy solution of the vexed question."

There are many laws on the statute books detrimental to women. No right of dower exists in the territory, and the legislators at their last session wholly refused to provide for it. There are no marriage laws—as the Mormons hold the ordinance as strictly a Latter Day Church prerogative. There are no laws forbidding immorality such as are found in all other states and territories.

A prominent Mormon bishop lately asserted in the eastern press "that the Mormon women are happy," a statement entirely contrary to that of the women themselves who declare their state to be purgatorial.

The Anti-polygamy Standard says:—"A wife lately thwarted her husband in his attempt to enter polygamy, threatening to expose him in court; the true spirit of Mormonism was exhibited in his reply, that the laws of God would soon be in full force in Utah—we shall get rid of the Gentiles, and all such Mormon women as you will be blood-atoned." This atonement is one of the tenets of the church. Any act committed against it has in the past been punished by death, the shedding of the guilty persons, blood being necessary for the atonement of the sin.

A band of men called destroying angels, has committed these murderous deeds under the guidance of the priesthood. This doctrine is no longer in force and could not stand in the face of federal officials and a Gentile population.

It was for many years the desire of the church to prevent any expanding of the intellect on the part of their followers, and any casual observer at the Tabernacle would be convinced that this and their divine institution had done their thorough work in stamping ignorance and misery upon a large number of the faces gathered there.

Prayer has always played an important part in both secular as well as religious assemblages, used as a means to impress and overawe these superstitious disciples of an all absorbing faith. Every ball, every party, all social gatherings and even the theatre in the olden time, opened and closed with prayer. In the dedication of a building they bless the different parts even to shingles and nails. A full hour was consumed when the large tabernacle was dedicated, in enumerating and blessing the different materials that made up its construction. One other very peculiar tenet of the church is baptism for the dead. They are women principally who enter with enthusiasm in practising this rite, and they have been immersed as many as twenty times in one day to insure the future of departed friends. It was the boast of one poor simple Scotch woman that she had secured places in Heaven for Sir William Wallace and Robert Bruce. In accordance with a purpose of the priesthood, children bore a prominent part in public affairs. They were called Utah's best crop—and less than ten years ago—they formed conspicuous portions of the audiences that gathered in the tabernacle and theatre. Their youthful voices in concert rivalled those of the tabernacle choir, the latter no mean institution as it numbered over 300. At the theatre, too young to hold up their heads, their mothers tended them on pillows. This custom has gradually been abolished until now an apostle can harangue by the hour on his favorite topic of "come up and pay your tithing without an infant's cry to interrupt the monotonus strain."

This theocratic government, where one man calls himself God's vicegerent and imposes his revelations on a narrow minded fanatical class of men, carries its own hand into all its branches, nothing being too small or petty for its fingers to grasp, and implicit obedience is to-day, as it always has been, the watch-word of the church. At church conferences there is never a dissenting voice and at the polls always the same unanimous vote. The following quotations give an idea of how the power is placed in Utah and of what theocracy consists:—Brigham Young said in the Tabernacle in 1869, "what is the greatest miracle that can be wrought before God, our Saviour, the angels, the inhabitants of the earth and the infernal regions? Is it raising the dead or healing the sick? No—it is not—it is bringing a people to strict obedience to the rule of the priesthood."

Orson Pratt, the learned apostle, has always taught that "people cannot govern themselves by laws of their own making or by officers of their own choosing, for that would be in direct rebellion to the law of God. Absolute power vested in one man is the best and most efficient human government. There is one kind of government that will secure permanent prosperity and happiness, and that is theocracy or the government of God through his prophet, seer and revelator."

President Kimball said in the tabernacle:—"Have not the majority of this congregation made most solemn covenants and vows that they will listen, obey and be subject to the priesthood? Have not the sisters made the same solemn covenant before God, angels and men that they will be subject to their husbands?"

President Taylor says:—"You want to pay your tithing fairly and squarely, or you will find yourselves outside of the pale of the church of the living God. You must also uphold the co-operative institutions."

Col. Hollister, a gentleman thoroughly acquainted with Mormonism, writes thus:—"There is no rule of the people intended in the Mormon church. There is no state government contemplated because it has every organ of despotic state government in and of itself. It takes no account whatever of the natural right of man to life, liberty, property, freedom of opinion or of conscience. Its bill of rights, its constitution, its laws are the revelations of the prophet. It has not a single idea or institution common to free government or free men. As long as they hold this theocratic idea, to force democratic government upon them, is a farce. Its political party is the church and into that political party no one can enter excepting through the church."

Polygamy disgraces us in the eyes of the world, and fills the home where it enters with untold misery; but a theocratic government, thoroughly equipped, unanimously responsive in all its branches, far-reaching in its designs and expanding as rapidly as that of the Mormon church, presents a great political enigma to the American people even when shorn of its most obnoxious feature. Congress and the country at large have their attention fixed upon the question of polygamy, and the proposed legislative commission, if endorsed by Congress, would bring the Mormon Church itself face to face with it. It is so embedded in the very roots of their organization that many Mormons insist that it would be utterly impossible for the church to dispense with it; and the Deseret News, the church organ in the issue following the President's Message, declares that "neither commissions, edicts or armies, or any earthly power can affect plural marriages of the Mormons for they are 'ecclesiastical, perpetual and eternal.'" No doubt there will be a convulsive effort made to retain the government of the Territory in their own hands, and they might be forced to abandon polygamy to save such a catastrophe, but would they do it in good faith?

What would their fanatical followers say if the "absolute command of God" to Joseph Smith is no longer to be regarded. If polygamy can, however, be happily abolished, there still remains a solid phalanx of determined men and women manipulated by the hand of wily priests and bishops, who do not believe in our institutions, who deny the right of individual feeling or action, who teach the doctrine that the Latter Day Saints will rule eventually the whole country and the world. Such compact power, so guarded, so absolute, is certainly an unparalleled achievement when the few years of its conception and execution in a barren desolate waste is considered. A similar case has never been witnessed before in the heart of any country on the globe, and it is safe to say that no other civilized nation would have tolerated such an anomaly in its midst. Germany even has forbidden Mormon missionaries to come within her borders. England is profuse in condemnation of our Government for permitting such an institution as polygamy, which she fosters however by sending one-half the recruits that come yearly to our shores to practise it. Scandinavia and our own land contribute the balance, and it is confidently asserted that Massachusetts alone gives more converts to Mormonism than are converted from it in Utah, Worthy mechanics and skilled laborers in our manufacturing towns are joining this standard which holds out temptations of temporal prosperity that are difficult to resist.

The Mormon church is fast peopling the immediate surrounding territories. Idaho is dangerously invaded and the balance of power threatened, while Colorado and Arizona have large, growing settlements.

The first train that passed over the new narrow guage road that runs through Colorado, carried a load of foreign emigrants to Utah. Railroads intersect Utah in all directions, and the church is also laying her own peculiar rails throughout the whole region of the Rocky Mountains, and they will give promising dividends in strength and security to the church institutions.

The Edmunds bill is a step towards the abolishment of polygamy. It has disfranchised the law-breakers but has not had the effect of discouraging plural marriages. Some Gentiles maintain that there are as many solemnized now as before the passage of the bill, and the Commission itself acknowledges that the practice still exists, though they think there is a decrease.

However this may be, it is certainly true that strenuous efforts were made immediately upon its adoption to force young people into polygamy; and at the late conferences addresses were delivered enjoining upon the people the fact that, the Kingdom of God could not progress unless they obeyed the revelation given to Joseph Smith at Nauvoo, and God would never forgive his people if they did not obey his commands. While these sentiments were freely expressed in the Tabernacle, a statement is sent to the eastern papers by a prominent member of the church that "the Edmunds Bill has practically abolished polygamy."

To overthrow this theocratic government and to parry the subtle wiles of the priesthood, more than ordinary attention and wisdom will be required, and it will be a great triumph to our legislators if they can succeed in bringing about a peaceable solution of the greatest problem now before the American people.

* * * * *



ELIZABETH.[1]

A ROMANCE OF COLONIAL DAYS.

By Frances C. Sparhawk, Author of "A Lazy Man's Work."

CHAPTER XXIV.

A CASE OF CONSCIENCE.

The stars had not begun to pale in the morning twilight when Elizabeth awakened. The dim outlines of houses and trees could be seen through the window as she looked out against the sky. Within the room the furniture, large and heavy, looked still larger in the darkness. She fixed her eyes upon some point, and followed back the lines that flowed from it until they were lost in the dimness, and this assured her that she was awake. Her writing-table was in part sharply outlined against the window, and part of it was lost in the shadow of the draperies. The bureau seemed only a dark mass among the shadows in force in the corners of the room.

These and the tops of the heavy chairs, as she looked at one and another of them, helped to calm her and give her a sense of reality. But they in no way accounted for the startling suggestion, that whether dream or waking thought had first filled her with fear and then set her heart beating hard as she lay wide awake breathing unevenly and striving to learn if she were still under the influence of a dream, or if the unconscious conviction which had come upon her was the result of dwelling upon what she knew. She could not recall her dreams, but they seemed to her to have had no connection with the sudden sense of danger that had startled her awake. She tried to throw it off, but it was like the objects in the room that had seemed almost invisible at first, but that grew every moment more distinct to her as she watched them. She felt more and more sure that the danger was real, however the knowledge of it had come; a terrible danger, but not to herself. It seemed strange now that she had been blind so long, and yet, how could she have suspected such a horror? Lord Bulchester felt it, too, only that he would not allow himself to believe it. But it was he who had brought conviction home; it would never have come, she thought, if she had not seen him yesterday. But it had come, and it remained. It held her like a vise, drawing her back toward it whenever she tried to escape, driving off sleep forcibly when more than once that seemed about to seize her. What was she to do with it? Plainly, something. It and rest could never dwell together. But what? And how could she do it? A conviction which pressed upon herself with the force of a certainty, and yet had no proofs by which to establish itself, was not an easy thing to make felt by another mind. And when it was a conviction of danger, and that other had by nature and training a contempt of danger, the difficulties were increased. Added to this were other difficulties which Elizabeth felt keenly; but the fear was stronger than them all. The longer she studied the matter the more she saw that the only thing for her to do was the one thing that she shrank from most. All the freedom left her was to find out the best way of doing it.

When the dimness of starlight began to grow into the dawn, she arose. But she delayed at her toilet, standing so long in thought with her brush in her hand, and her dark hair sweeping over her shoulders, that it was six o'clock before she crossed the hall and knocked at her father's door.

There was no answer. She knocked again, with the same result, and then opening the door, found the room empty. Mr. Royal had gone down stairs. But it was too early for Mrs. Eveleigh, and Elizabeth might still have her talk with him without interruption. With a mixture of relief and dread she went down the broad, low stairs and crossed the hall into the library.

It had always been her favorite room. She had spent so many happy hours here with the books, that the room with its handsome old furniture and sunny windows was full of the memories and day dreams that her reading had conjured up. But not only this; it was here that she had seen most of her father; they had spent hours together here, while Mrs. Eveleigh attended to her household duties, or amused herself with her friends, or retired for her nap. And whether father and daughter talked, or sat, he with his paper or his writing, she with her book, each felt a companionship in the other. Elizabeth often spoke her thoughts freely to any one who happened to be within hearing when the mood for speech came over her; but as to her feelings, her father understood those best. This was partly on account of his quickness of comprehension, which supplied much that she did not utter, and partly because there came to her times when her father seemed like a second self, and silence grew unnatural.

But that morning speech, evidently, was not easy to her. For, although she had gone to him as a matter of course, her perplexity seemed to grow greater as she sat down by the desk at which he was making up some accounts. It seemed to her that her life was no longer free and simple; a dreadful force had come into contact with it and, as she felt, made it more unworthy. Had a mere jest ever before brought such a train of miseries? Her fingers laid restless folds in a piece of paper she took up, and her father after his greeting went on with the accounts. It was his habit to give people time, and he had found that doing it gave him the best opportunity to take his own bearings. His judgments were usually so accurate, and his decisions so wise that a good many people would have been thankful to find the scales by which he weighed the anxiety or the satisfaction that came under his observation. On that morning the rapid pen travelled several times up and down columns of figures and noted down the results before Elizabeth began:

"Father." It was a small beginning, and followed by silence. But the tone made Mr. Royal push his work aside, and look full into his daughter's face. "Father," she repeated, "I want you to advise me."

"Am I not always ready for that?" returned Mr. Royal, his smile fading before the gravity of her expression.

"There is something so hard to be done," she answered.

"Then, must it be done?"

"Oh, yes, that's the only thing about it I am quite sure of. It must be done, and directly, too. It may be too late now, but we must try. What troubles me is how it can be done so that we may be certain."

"Certain of what?"

"Certain that it reaches him," answered Elizabeth. Then she looked at her father, and remembered that he could not understand her. "I must tell you," she said. "It is like a nightmare. It oppresses me to think of it. I feel guilty to believe it, and yet I don't dare to deny it to myself, for fear of the consequences. It's about Mr. Edmonson, father."

"Oh!" said her listener in a tone far from pleased.

"And Mr. Archdale, added Elizabeth. Not that who the people are makes any difference. Our duties would be just the same knowing the,—knowing what I do." Her father sat watching her in silence with his keenest gaze. "There is no love lost between the two men, as you know," she went on. "Mr. Archdale is lofty, and wouldn't condescend to anything more than a dislike that he hasn't tried to conceal, since Mr. Edmonson ceased being his guest. But with Mr. Edmonson it's different; when he feels, he acts; and once in a while there is an unrestraint about him which is frightful; it makes me think of lava breaking through the crust of a volcano. I believe there is something volcanic in his nature; you can't go deep into it without danger. And there is danger now. Father, there is danger now." As Elizabeth repeated her statement she leaned forward a little and looked at her father, her eyes full of earnestness and dread.

"In what way, and to whom?" asked Mr. Royal.

"To Mr. Archdale," she answered.

It was not Mr. Royal's way to protest or deny; he liked to get in his evidence first of all. "What makes you think so?" he asked.

"A good many little things that have come back to me in confirmation, but especially a speech of Mr. Edmonson's that I overheard one day at Seascape. Stray shots," he said, "have taken off more superfluous kings and men than the world has any idea of. I did not know at the time whom he had been speaking about, and I forgot the speech; it seemed to me to have no object. But now it does, and now I remember a word or two besides that showed me that he had turned the conversation upon Mr. Archdale."

"When was this?"

"One morning when I was coming up from the beach, I didn't feel like talking to anyone, and when I heard voices the other side of the great boulder—you remember it?—I waited a moment, to see if they would pass on, so that I need not go back to the house by the longest way; and it was then that he said it. He was with Lord Bulchester. He was speaking of other things first, and then I missed a few words, and then he said this."

"So far as he was concerned," answered Mr. Royal, "that might be as innocent a speech as ever was uttered. Indeed, don't you see that a man who meditated mischief wouldn't make such a speech at all?"

"If the man were Mr. Edmonson he might, and to Lord Bulchester who, he knows, never would do anything against him. But Lord Bulchester is uncomfortable. I saw it yesterday; and perhaps wondering over that was what made me put everything together. I don't know how it was, but I awoke in the night and saw it all. And now they have gone where the will and the opportunity are sure to meet. Mr. Archdale must be warned."

"But, Elizabeth," said her father, "why should he want to do it? He succeeded in his designs upon the Archdale property. What malice can he have?" As he spoke, he looked earnestly at his daughter. He had not been blind to things going on about him, and especially things concerning his daughter, but in a case like this no suppositions of his own were to take the place of evidence.

Elizabeth met his eyes for a moment, then her own drooped and she grew pale. It was not that her father's eyes told her his thoughts, it was at the humiliation of her own position in being the object of mercenary scheming. "He has not enough money," she said at last distinctly, "and he wants more. That's what it means. And he dares to think—." She stopped short, and for a moment it seemed as if it would be impossible for her to go on; a hot flush came to her face and an angry light into her eyes. Then her courage returned, and although she uttered the words with visible effort she went resolutely on. "I know it," she said, "he dares to think someone else,—Mr. Archdale,—is somewhat like himself, and that he will come to want more money too. He cares for nobody, he would stop at nothing, and he thinks that I refused him because,—he does not understand how I feel towards him. Oh, don't you know that sometimes you know all about a thing, know it perfectly, and cannot make it seem so to another? Don't let it be so with you, father. Only listen to me." Mr. Royal did listen attentively as she went over the points of her story again. Had she been talking of some matter of business, her inexperience and a something about her that people were apt to call unpracticalness, might have decided him against giving any unusual weight to a speech like Edmonson's. But here the weight of her character, and of impressions stronger than she could put into words told. He saw, too, that she was looking at the matter with the accuracy and judgment that it usually takes years of training to learn. This, added to her own intensity, gave a convincing force to her words. He admitted to himself that the affair had an ugly look.

At last Elizabeth paused. She drew a little nearer her father, and laid her hand upon the table beside him. "I want you to advise me;" she said; then, "What must I do?"

In the impossibility of any answer he felt a sudden rebound from the force of her words. "I don't see that there is anything for you to do, or for anybody," he said. "How can you act upon a thing that is purely an assumption, and not only that, but a thing so wicked that it is a cruelty to a man to imagine it about him? I can't believe that it's necessary to do anything, for I can't bring myself to feel as you do. Are you very sure that you have not fancied a part of this?"

"Father!" cried Elizabeth, "I wish I had, But look at it." And she went again over the grounds of her suspicions, giving with a clearness that he was proud of, the indications that she had seen of the bent of Edmonson's will and the evidences of his headstrong character, linking one trifling act or word to another, until she had welded a chain so strong that Mr. Royal felt a thrill run through him as he listened, for she awoke in him her own belief and something of her own anxiety to be doing. So that when she had finished, instead of repeating that it was not necessary to do anything, he asked whom she had thought of as the person to give the warning to Archdale.

She was about to speak, then checked herself, hesitated, and at last said, "I want you to advise me."

"Um!" said Mr. Royal, and was silent. He was somewhat disappointed that she, so powerful in statement, should have no suggestion to offer in a matter that puzzled him the more, the more he thought of it. Such a warning would not be easy to give under the most favorable circumstances. It would not be a pleasant task to tell a man that another man had designs upon his life, and when such assertion had only the proof of strong conviction and of evidence, trivial in its details, strong only as a whole, it would be even hazardous to whisper a warning to the person himself, liable to lead to complications and sure to be met by incredulity and either ridicule or resentment. But here, where no personal communication was to be had, the difficulties were a hundred times greater. Circumstances made it especially awkward for either Elizabeth or himself to put these suspicions into words. But to put them upon paper with all the cumulative evidence needed to carry conviction,—if conviction could indeed be conveyed without the reiteration of words and the persuasiveness of the voice,—to do this and send the paper adrift, to fall into Archdale's hands or not as the fortunes of war should determine, perhaps to fall into other hands,—it was impossible, for Elizabeth's sake it was impossible. "I don't see how we can reach him," he said at last. "A letter wouldn't answer."

"No," she said, "he might never get it." Mr. Royal looked at her more closely as she fixed her eyes upon him, flushing a little as she spoke with the earnestness of her purpose.

"Well," he said musingly, "we certainly can't get at him in any other way, and that one is uncertain and dangerous. Even the dispatches are subject to the fortunes of war. I don't see what we can do, Elizabeth. Do you?"

But even as he spoke, he refrained from what he was about to add, turning his assertion into a question. For a change was coming over his daughter; the power within her to rise to great occasions was in force now. The conventionalities that were holding him in check were unfelt by her; she had risen above them to that high ground where the intricacies of life are resolved into absolute questions of right and wrong, and where perfect simplicity of intention becomes a divine guide.

"Father, do you remember," she cried, "what I have cost him and Katie? I must not be silent, and let them be separated more, a great deal, than my foolish speech once seemed to do. He has gone where stray shots are of everyday occurence, and nobody ever inquires into them. Apart from this obligation, if we do nothing we shall be murderers." She locked her fingers together as she spoke, not in nervous indecision, for her look was full of resolution, but as if the necessity that she was facing disturbed her. Mr. Royal suddenly perceived that his daughter had not finished, that behind that expression there was, not a suggestion, indeed, but a decision. She had come to him, not for advice, but for approval; she knew what to do. Her plan would scarcely be one to meet the approval of people like Mrs. Eveleigh. But he recognized that the soul that was looking out from Elizabeth's fearless eyes had a high law of its own. And when his daughter spoke in this mood, Mr. Royal was reverent enough to listen.

CHAPTER XXV.

DUTY.

"How strange it seems here," said Nancy Foster leaning forward toward Elizabeth, as they sat in the sunshine on the deck of the schooner; and as she spoke she glanced along the horizon.

Elizabeth before answering turned her head in the direction in which the land, had it been in sight, would have appeared; but no vision of shore broke the wide circuit of ocean and sky. Then her eyes came back to the little vessel as if to assure herself that she was not alone in this waste of water. Her father sat on the opposite side reading. With a word of reply to Nancy, she fell into silence again. Only, instead of the vague wonder how she should meet the future, her thoughts now turned to the past. It was nine mornings since that consultation with her father in the library, and they had been only one night at sea. It had taken a week to get off. From the first she had counted upon Mrs. Eveleigh's remonstrances and vehement reproaches of Mr. Royal's wrong-doing in taking his daughter into such danger. They were only a little more vehement than she had expected. But Mrs. Eveleigh did not know the errand; if she had, that would have made a difference, or, as Elizabeth reflected, she thought that this would have been treated as the strangest part of the affair. But she had kept her own counsel, saying only that her father and she thought it right. Mrs. Eveleigh had been so exasperated by being kept in the dark that she had retained her anger to the very last day. Then she had drowned her resentment in a flood of tears, and declared between her sobs that, frightful as it all was, for she dreaded the very sight of a gun, she would rather go with Elizabeth than have the dear girl set off without any companion. Elizabeth's reminder that her father and Nancy were to accompany her only called forth the assertion that a maid was no companion, and a man was nothing at such a time. Elizabeth thought that at the time of sieges and battles a man might be considered of some little consequence. But she never argued with Mrs. Eveleigh, and she had quitted her thankful for the good lady's affection, and glad that Mrs. Eveleigh was to be left behind on such an expedition.

"You'll never come back," Mrs. Eveleigh sobbed. "The French ships of war will be sure to gobble up you and your father, too. I know just how it will be. You are a crazy girl, and I don't know what is the matter with you," she had added irrelevantly; "and as to your father, you must have bewitched him; he used to have plenty of common sense."

The matter with Mr. Royal was, that he knew his daughter well enough to be sure that if Archdale was killed during the siege she would feel always that her silence might have given the opportunity for his death. And he knew that to bring upon Elizabeth the miseries of an uneasy conscience would be to kill her by slow torture. Besides, he himself believed in the danger, his own conscience was aroused, and that was not easily put to sleep. But if he had heard the verdict of Mrs. Eveleigh, who knew nothing of the matter, he would not have blamed her so much.

He had hired this little schooner in which they now were at a ruinous rate, and had not been able to do even that until he had pledged himself to pay all damages in case of loss. Governor Shirley had seized the opportunity to send dispatches several days earlier than he had intended. Mr. Royal went with a picked crew, men both honest and skilful. He knew the dangers of French vessels as well as Mrs. Eveleigh did, but his daughter's persistent assertion: "We shall be murderers," had overborne every objection.

Elizabeth sitting on deck that morning, was thinking of these things, and tracing in this danger which she was trying to avert, one of the consequences of her frolic on the river that summer evening. Then she remembered that but for that she would perhaps have been Edmonson's wife, and she said to herself that the Lord had been very merciful to her, and that she would try not to shrink from her duty.

"How fast we are going," said Nancy again. It was true that the little vessel before a fair wind was flying over the water at a rate that, if kept up, and in the same direction, would soon bring its passengers to their destination. Elizabeth was glad of speed, already it might be too late. And besides, the sooner her errand was done, the sooner she should return with a mind at rest. She began to reckon how long before she should be at home again. In a week, in less time if they were fortunate, they should reach Louisburg. She should not want more than five minutes' talk with Mr. Archdale. Then it would be home again immediately. Her father had hired the schooner for the very reason that it should not be detailed for any other service, but should bring them back at once. How strange it was, she thought, to spend fourteen days for only five minutes' conversation, and that, too, with one who was no especial friend except through his engagement to Katie. But for all the weariness she was thankful to do it, and grateful to her father. She hoped that she should not catch even a glimpse of Edmonson, and it seemed improbable that she would. After the siege was over he would probably go to England again. How she wished he were there now, and she quietly at home, where in that case she might have been now.

The next day there was a head wind, and the day following no wind at all. As time went on, it grew evident that it would be more than a week from their starting before they could drop anchor in Cabanus Bay. Dread lest they should be too late began to harass Elizabeth. But she showed no impatience. Her silence was what Nancy noticed most. But, then, Nancy liked talking, and did not enjoy the books which her Mistress had brought with her and read most persistently, or sometimes tried to read, unsuccessfully. Even then they served as a protection against the maid's talk when she was in too anxious a mood to endure it.

On the morning of the seventeenth they caught sight of the "Little Gibraltar," but the wind was against them, and it was the afternoon of the next day before the Captain of the schooner could run into the Bay, and go ashore with his dispatches and Mistress Royal's message to the General.

Elizabeth looked about her with breathless interest, realizing that here she was to find war. It happened that on her arrival there was a lull in the cannonading. Both sides had paused to draw breath, but the lull was far from perfect silence, and to her inexperience this occasional thunder of bursting shells seemed sharp conflict. She said so to the Captain as they drew toward shore.

"Bless yer!" he answered with a laugh. "This ain' t no thin' at all, this is nothin' but child's play. Wait till yer see it hot and heavy. I s'pose we shall go back to-morrow, though. I'd like to have yer see some good stout work first."

"Ain't we in danger here?" inquired Nancy.

The skipper rolled his quid of tobacco in his cheek reflectively a moment. "Well, no," he said, "I guess nothin' to speak of. They're too busy answering the batteries; it's only the stray shot that comes our way. There's a thousand chances to one agin' its hitting us, and I guess we can stand the one." He looked at Nancy closely to guage the amount of her courage.

"I guess we can," she answered coolly. This reply seemed to please him. He had before considered Nancy "a nice lookin' girl;" and now, as he put down "grit" in his mental catalogue of her fascinations, he smiled to himself, and thought of a neat little home on the Salem shore where his mother now presided, and where it was not impossible that some day Nancy might be persuaded to reign. But the demands of the hour recalled him from this dream to his usual brisk attention to realities, and as soon as he had cast anchor, he left the ship in charge of the mate, and went in search of the General.

General Pepperell was in his tent, resting after a hard day's work. Not only had he been through the camp cheering the soldiers, by imparting to them something of his own indomitable resolution and by seeing personally that everything possible was done for the sufferers in the hospital, but he had also been for hours superintending the arrangements on the new battery that was to do such execution upon the granite walls of Louisburg. Now everything was in readiness and he had ordered two hours of rest before the firing from it should begin. Nearly an hour of that had gone by before he entered his tent for the rest he needed, when almost immediately the messenger reached him.

"Mr. Royal and his daughter here!" he cried. "And Mr. Royal requests to see Captain Archdale? I don't understand. But I shall hear why from them." He dispatched an orderly for Stephen who was still at the battery, and then went with the skipper to the little vessel that had brought the unexpected guests. Elizabeth never forgot the kindness of his greeting. In the midst of the strange scene and of preparations for work in which women had no part, the friendliness of his face and tones, and his cordial grasp of her hand made her feel almost at home. She had been sure of courtesy, but she had not dared to look for this, and her eyes grew dim for an instant.

"I suppose that we shall return this evening," she said after the greetings and inquiries were over and Mr. Royal had explained that in a few minutes all that he had come for could be said to Mr. Archdale. Although after thinking the matter over carefully he had decided that it was Elizabeth, filled with the spirit of her warning, who should herself give her message to Archdale yet he spoke to Pepperell as if she had accompanied him. And when the General said that he had already sent for the young man, Mr. Royal told him that his daughter had that in her pocket for him which, if he knew, it would lend wings to his feet.

"A letter from our charming Mistress Katie," pronounced Pepperell, smiling at Elizabeth.

"Yes," she said, and after a little repeated her question of their returning that evening.

"Yes, I know," said the General. He waited a moment, and then added. "But if you come among soldiers, you will feel the exactions of war. There are those dispatches, you remember, not even read yet" and he touched the breast of his coat, "because I was in such haste to pay my respects to you. Now, I should like to send an answer to these, and I am afraid I shall not have it ready before to-morrow morning; the Commodore will probably write me to-night and I want to include whatever news he may have. Will to-morrow do?"

"Oh, yes, I shall be glad to help the cause, even so little as that," she answered. Pepperell thanked her for her words, and ignored the look of disappointment that he had seen flit across her face before she spoke.

"We have been putting up a fascine battery within two hundred and fifteen yards of the west gate," he said, "It will open fire in an hour, and then you will see a cannonade! We have two forty-two pounders there, it will be no child's play." Nothing had then hinted at the Titanic scale of modern war engines. Elizabeth's eyes dilated, but she said nothing. The General sat beside her, and asked how things were going on in Boston, asked about his friends, and many trifling details that neither dispatches nor letters would give him, and that she wondered that he had heart for in the scenes going on about him. Then he told them many particulars of the siege and especially of the terrible labor of dragging the heavy guns from the shore into position, interspersing all this narrative of the life-and-death struggles with amusing anecdotes and bright comments, until she was amazed, and in listening found that she had gained a better knowledge of him than in years of ordinary acquaintance. For she could not have realized by that how many-sided the man was, how full of resources, and how indomitable. She noticed how sympathetically he spoke of the brave fellows he was leading. When he said that the hardships of the campaign and the cold of a severer climate than they had been accustomed to had prostrated numbers of them. Elizabeth saw that it was not only soldiers that he felt he was losing when they died, but men from his own home and neighborhood and in whom he had a personal interest. Then as he sat there, she begged him not to think of her if others needed him but to go.

"This time is at my own disposal," he answered, adding with a smile. "If the struggle had come, Mistress Royal, I should think of you, no doubt, but I should not give you a moment's attention. The pointing of the smallest cannon would at the moment be of more importance than all your affairs. A besieging army can have no cry of 'Place aux dames;' therefore I shall not invite you to stay after to-morrow. I shall even send you home. Or, lest I should hurt your feelings too much, I will put it this way; I shall send your father home, and he will take you with him."

Elizabeth laughed; and the conversation went on with its interest increasing, when all at once Pepperell rose, and held out his hand to her in farewell. "I may not see you again until we meet in Boston." he said, "but if I can, I will come for a moment in the morning."

She was surprised at his going away so soon after his assurance of being at leisure but as after speaking to her father he stepped over the side of the vessel, she perceived the reason for his sudden departure. His trained eye had caught what the distance had hidden from her, the figure of a man coming rapidly toward the shore.

When the General landed, the keel of the little boat he was in grated on the beach at Stephen Archdale's feet. With a salute to his commander, the latter sprang into it, and before Elizabeth had recovered her breath, was coming over the ship's side.

The General walked on without turning his head toward the schooner. Nevertheless, it is true that once he said to himself distinctly. "The Yankee in me does clamor to know what they want of that fellow."

[Footnote 1: Copyright, 1884, by Frances C. Sparhawk.]

* * * * *



ROOM AT THE TOP.

Never you mind the crowd, lad, Or fancy your life won't tell; The work is the work for a' that To him that doeth it well. Fancy the world a hill, lad; Look where the millions stop; You'll find the crowd at the base, lad; There's always room at the top.

Courage and faith and patience, There's space in the old world, yet; The better the chance you stand, lad, The further along you get. Keep your eye on the goal, lad, Never despair or drop; Be sure that your path leads upward; There's always room at the top.

* * * * *



TWO DAYS WITH THE A.M.C.

By Helen M. Winslow.

It is a divine up-reaching instinct in man that forces him to climb the hills of science, unlock the mysteries of ages, and wrest from the natural forces of earth and air, their well-guarded secrets. Is it the subtle workings of this desire for the mastery over mechanical agencies, this prying into Nature's secrets, that leads us out into the forest primeval and gives zest to mountain climbing?

Fortune is said to favor the brave. It certainly favored the writer of this article when an opportunity was offered for a two days' trip with the Appalachian Mountain Club up Mounts Kearsarge South and Cardigan in New Hampshire. A few words in regard to this club. Well known as it has come to be, the objects of its existence are scarcely understood by the majority, even, of Bostonians.

"Oh," said one, referring to this very trip. "They go off somewhere, climb a mountain, have a jolly time and then come home. It's about the same thing over and over."

Very true. But they do more. According to the by-laws, "the objects of the club are to explore the mountains of New England and adjacent regions, both for scientific and artistic purposes, and in general to cultivate an interest in geographical studies."

In addition they do much to open up new mountain resorts to the public and render the old ones more attractive. They construct new and accurate maps. They not only collect scattered scientific information of all kinds but study to make it available. All this they do by combining effort, comparing notes and interchanging ideas. They hold monthly meetings in Boston, publish a magazine, own quite a library, and have established a reputation second to no similar organization in the country. The club was established in 1876, and the membership to-day of over six hundred is ample proof of its popularity. That their researches are really valuable is demonstrated by the fact that Professor Hitchcock in his geological works quotes them frequently in support of his own theories.

On the seventeenth of June some twenty members of the Appalachian Mountain Club gathered at an early hour in the Lowell station at Boston. The party was unusually small for one of their popular excursions. The majority were young and strong and looked amply fitted for mountain climbing. Yet grave men were there whose silver hair told that they had already climbed life's rounded hill and saw its westering sun; but elderly people are never old, so long as they remain young in heart and spirits, and pleasant anticipation beamed from the faces of all as the train steamed away toward the north, and the two days' outing was fairly begun.

The morning was cloudy and a possible rain storm threatened the plans of the Appalachians. But the clerk of the weather-bureau evidently understood the necessity for favorable conditions and issued them accordingly. Before we had reached Canaan, N.H., the clouds had broken away and the afternoon promised to be perfect. We had with us a Harvard professor, a topographical surveyor, an amateur photographer, a Concord philosopher and the champion walker of the club. Apropos of some of the feats of the latter a story was told of the man who walked forty miles in two hours. This was putting the Appalachians entirely in the shade, and the story called forth incredulous remarks. Investigation proved, however, that the Appalachian was not outdone, for the hero of the canard accomplished his feat only by taking a Champlain steamer at Burlington, Vt., and walking deck the entire distance to Rouse's Point!

After passing Concord we advanced through wilder regions where the swiftly changing views of clustering villages and quiet farm-houses alternated with wooded slopes and glimpses of pond or river forming a series of charming pictures. Nature was at her best and the picturesque hills of New Hampshire were beautiful in all their June finery.

At Penacook the granite monument on Dustin Island was pointed out. In 1697 Hannah Dustin, with her six weeks' old babe and its nurse, were captured by Indians at Haverhill and brought to the wigwam camp on this island. The babe was killed before her eyes but the mother planned an escape. Awaking the nurse and a white lad who had been taken prisoner also, she took the Indians' own tomahawks and dispatched the men and one woman. The brave white women then spiked all the cannon save one and taking the scalps of their victims with them, they embarked on the Merrimack, then high with the spring floods, and soon reached Haverhill. Afterwards she was called to Boston, publicly thanked by the General Court and received a grant of fifty pounds. Fifty years later the Indians attacked and massacred the settlers in this valley. Today their descendants, the "Kanucks," cross the country daily in the modern express trains and find employment in our manufacturing cities.

As we go northward Kearsarge may be seen from the back of the train, now sinking behind the green hills, now rising abruptly from the horizon and looming grandly above the surrounding country. Cardigan does not come into view until we have nearly reached Canaan, whose fair and happy land was our destination. On alighting from the train, amid the crowd of assembled villagers, a three seated carriage and two immense Shaker wagons awaited us. The ride of six miles was a welcome change from the preceding railway travel. Coming from a city where the mercury had reached 96 deg. in the shade but the day before, the fresh invigorating mountain air was like a breath from the open doors of Paradise. The stout horses scrambled up the steep hills altogether unmindful of the wagon-loads of people behind. Perhaps the light hearts and buoyant spirits of the party lessened their avoirdupois and the tonnage was actually less than it seemed!

Billowy mountains, charming valleys, winding streams and picturesque bypaths varied our course over the rural highways. The blackberry bushes were white with bloom and the gardens of the farm-houses gay with peonies and flower-de-luce. After passing a small mica quarry, we came suddenly upon a bend of the road where was revealed a grand sweep of the hazy Green Mountains, and a bewildering view of the New Hampshire hill-country. Shortly afterward we passed the little box-like white building, which serves as both church and town house, where the sixty votes of Dorchester are counted. This building constitutes the entire town of Dorchester. Surely, in view of the stony soil, the inhabitants of the place may be said to show great wisdom by not living there!

By three o'clock we found ourselves at the Mountain House, twelve hundred feet below the summit of Mount Cardigan. This house is nothing more or less than a barn, in one end of which an attempt has been made to make a comfortable shelter for the human family. Here the real work of the day began, although we had already come one hundred and four miles by train and six by teams. No enterprising railroad man has set his seal upon this region and we were forced to pursue the journey by means of the conveyances which nature long ago—(how long, thank fortune, we are not obliged to tell)—at our disposal. But faint heart ne'er climbed a high mountain and with the aid of stout walking-sticks we easily climbed the path which led up under sighing spruces and stunted birch, filled with a fine exhilaration.

On each side and under foot was a profusion of wild flowers. Not June flowers, but those found with us in May, so backward was the season at that altitude. The red and white trillium, the sarsaparilla, Solomon's seal, "moose-missy" and black-berry bushes, and, farther up, the blue-berry bushes, all hung full of blossoms, a small Alpine flower of seven white petals excited much curious comment, for in spite of its resemblance to the wind-flower, no one seemed able to classify it.

Suddenly some six hundred feet below the summit of Cardigan we came out from the stunted under-growth and found ourselves traversing the smooth granite mass which constitutes the entire mountain top. The rock is full of minute particles of mica, which glitter and flash in the sun like "gems of purest ray serene." A brisk wind was blowing and the rarefied air infused us with new strength to make the remaining ascent.

Some distance from each other, half way up the rounded cone, lie several huge boulders poised in the bed of what was once a glacial drift. They are of entirely different character from the rock on Cardigan and without doubt came from much farther north. Whence, and when? The course of the drift is also very plainly marked from northeast to southwest. From the character of the rock there is reason to believe that when God said, "Let the dry land appear," Mount Cardigan was the first to show his head and came from the very bowels of the earth. Hitchcock's "Geology of New Hampshire" states that these White Mountains appeared above the face of the waters as islands at a very early period of the world's history. "It would not be surprising," he says, "if this archipelago covered as much area as New Hampshire and Vermont combined." If these hoary old mountains could tell us their history since creation, how short-lived and insignificant our own little lives would appear!

Professor Hitchcock has also traced the course of glacial drift among the mountains in a most interesting manner. Glacial action, and marks of scarification are numerous on the north and west sides of them while they are entirely wanting on the southeastern slopes. In some instances the general course of the drift from the northwest was changed by the position of the mountains. For instance, Ragged Mountain and Kearsarge, South, rise abruptly from comparatively level regions and from their proximity to each other gave rise to a different motion of the ice, the marks of which still show its course.

The view from this, the oldest of the mountains is scarcely surpassed by any in the state. To the north, Moosilauke, Chocorua, Lafayette, Mount Washington and the main peaks of the principal White Mountain group lie sharply outlined. The Ossipee Mountain toward the east, the Uncanoonacs in the distance, Ragged and Sunapee and Kearsarge, near neighbors, claimed attention. In the far western horizon Ascutney, Camel's Hump, Mount Mansfield, and Jay Peak showed hazy and indistinct. Below us the broken ranges of green hills surged like immense billows of some Titanic sea. The fresh verdure of every field and tree made up a landscape seldom equalled in tone of color, and one which amply repaid the climber. But while some were content with looking, other true Appalachians remembered the objects of the club. While one took photographs of the surrounding scenery, far and near, another made profile sketches of the distant peaks; while one attempted a bit of topographical work, another took measurements by means of a powerful telescope; and the results of all were put on record for future reference.

A member of the A.M.C. just returned from Florida had been carrying about some strange looking fruit all day, resembling partly an orange but more nearly a small yellow winter squash. Now, he made himself popular by dispensing great pieces of grape-fruit among the thirsty crowd. It is a necessity of perverse humanity to be thirsty wherever there is no water; and but for the Florida fruit and the canteens which had been filled at the spring on the mountain side, we should have suffered.

Mount Cardigan is but 3,156 feet above the sea-level; but as it stands alone the view on all sides is unobstructed and clear. It did not take us an hour to decide that three thousand feet above the sea, under favorable conditions is quite a sightly place. And we took the homeward path, feeling that the view was worth a dozen times its cost. Forty minutes afterward we arrived at the bottom in the condition of the weak-kneed and trembling saints whom the hymn-book denounces.

An hour of rattling down the hills brought us to Canaan depot again where our special train awaited us. After a refreshing draught of milk at the Cardigan House, from the piazzas of which a fine view of the mountain may be had, we were rapidly whirled away toward Patler Place in Andover.

This village was named for the once famous sleight of hand performer Patler. His house is a cozy, pretty affair, freshly painted and nestled under great embowering trees. Close by is his grave.

Here, too, barges were in waiting to take us to the Winslow House, four miles distant on Mount Kearsarge. Before we had left the train the soft rays of the setting sun had changed the hill-sides to amethyst and deepened the purple gloom of the valleys. Now, as we rode in merry groups of six or eight, over the country by-ways, the new moon slowly touched every tree and shrub with her magical wand until the land with its long, weird shadows and silver radiance seemed to belong to another world than that of day-light.

It was nine o'clock when the Winslow House suddenly revealed itself. An open wood fire burned brightly in the brick fireplace, and in that altitude was a comfort indeed. The ample walls seemed to fairly glow with welcome as we entered. Some of us acknowledged that we were tired; others confessed to sleepiness; but one and all openly declared their hunger. We had only to look at each other to madly accept the theory that mankind was created of dust; but we were not long in disposing of a large amount of surplus material. And then the supper bell,—welcome sound! In view of a cherished reputation for veracity, it would not be wise to state the exact amount of sirloin steak and broiled salmon that disappeared from mortal vision that night at ten o'clock, or to tell how the strawberries and boiled lobster were stored safely away by the A.M.C. We are sworn to secrecy, and although the supper hour was not passed over in silence then—far from it! it must be now.

No one need suppose that after the experiences of the day the representative A.M.C's. were fatigued sufficiently to make them willing to retire at half-past ten. Besides, nightmare has its horrors, and there was that supper!

It is popularly supposed throughout the country, that Bostonians make an annual pilgrimage on the seventeenth of June to Bunker Hill, and devoutly ascend the monument on their hands and knees. Although circumstances had prevented the A.M.C. party from discharging their debt of gratitude to their ancestors in the prescribed method, they could not forget that it was Bunker Hill Day. One of our gallant and patriotic brethren had been carrying a mysterious bundle about and guarding it with jealous care all day. Now, he produced and displayed—sky-rockets! They went off, soon after, with great success, surprising alike the stately mountain behind us and the little country girl who had come up from the valley below, to see the "Boston folks."

The powerful telescopes were also set up and observations of the heavens occupied the astronomically inclined for an hour or two. Thus the moons of Jupiter were made to contribute to the evening's entertainment. The piano, too, was not the instrument of torture usually found masquerading in hotel-parlors, and we finally gravitated towards it and made night hideous with our music and college songs until, to pharaphrase the poet, in to-day already walked to-morrow and it was twelve o'clock,

"My friends," spoke up one of the gentlemen, "I am very sorry to say that we shall not be able to ascend Mount Kearsarge to-morrow."

"Why?" exclaimed a dozen anxious voices.

"Because," was the impressive answer, "it is to-day!"

In the laugh which followed the party said good night and retired.

The Winslow House was named for Admiral Winslow, of the war-ship Keasarge, who was present at the opening of the hotel, and gave the owner a stand of colors. On the parlor table lay a Bible presented by him, as stated by a gilt inscription on the cover. When the gallant commander died, a boulder was taken from the side of Mount Kearsarge for his monument, but the controversy in regard to which of the two Kearsarges the ship had been named for arose about that time and the family of the officer finally decided not to use the boulder. It has been pretty well settled, at last, that the mountain in Merrimack County, designated by Superintendent Patterson as Kearsarge South, is the one which gave the famous ship its name. Under the shadow of it, too, was laid the body of the soldier of the Sixth Massachusetts Regiment who fell at Baltimore, exclaiming with his dying breath: "All hail to the Stars and Stripes;" although afterward he was removed to lie near the soldiers' monument at Lowell. The ancient spelling of this monument was Carasage, and later, Kyar Sarga; but as early as 1804 the laws of New Hampshire give it as Kearsage. The local spelling of Kearsarge North, until a comparatively recent period, was Kiarsarge. It is still called Pequaket.

Early the next morning, two bold Appalachians rose early and took a run up the mountain, getting back to breakfast and making the descent of nearly 1,200 feet in eighteen minutes! The climb was represented as more difficult than that of the day before. We did not find it so, however, as we proceeded with the reinforcements furnished by a hearty breakfast; the clear bracing air of the morning was delightful. The song-sparrows, perched at a safe distance, poured forth floods of melody, the Peabody bird added his high weird note, while other wild birds occasionally chimed in. The path led up through forests of black spruce whose sighing branches whispered softly over our heads. Every one was in excellent humor and had a capital story or a bit of geological scientific or botanical wisdom. The wild-flowers were scarcer than on Cardigan but there was greater variety of ferns. Half way up, a tiny spring welled up in the pathway. Our grave philosopher, as well-versed in mystical wood-craft as metaphysics, cut a strip of birch-bark from one of the over-hanging trees and deftly fashioned an Indian drinking-cup. Working from the idea of a birch-bark canoe somebody offered the cup-full, as a "schooner of water." On being asked to explain her nautical terms, the joker protested ignorance and entirely disowned her far-fetched joke.

**

As we advanced, here and there, under the white birches or between the dense growth of spruce, broad glimpses were visible of the townships below. Suddenly, vegetation ceased and we were again on the bare rock with several hundred feet between us and the rude structure called, by courtesy, the Summit House. Beside the latter, we already descried our companions, not lost but gone before; and we find ourselves in the awkward predicament of the man with three hands—a right, a left and a little behind-hand.

The top of Kearsarge is composed of andalusite schist. The marks of glacial action are even more distinct than on Cardigan, while the stratification is very curious. When we reached the top, the first-comers were already busy with surveys, profile sketches and photographs. As we looked at Cardigan looming up grandly in the northwest, we were proud of our work of the day before. The view from the two mountains, only twenty miles apart, is of course much the same. Kearsarge is in exact line with Wauchusct, the Pack Monadnocks and Moosilauke. These, except the first, could be plainly seen. Mount Washington, seventy miles distant, Lafayette, Chocorua, Tridyranid, the Twin Mountains, and Franconia Notch formed a sharp, clear picture against the northern sky, and were flanked by scores of smaller mountains. The green rolling country, flecked by numerous ponds and rivers, stretched away for miles at our feet, to a line of blue, hazy mountains. The Black-water hills, Sunapee and dozens of other well-known mountains seemed from our standpoint hardly more than good-sized haystacks. So, perhaps, will our greatest earthly achievements look, when viewed from the heights of eternity.

By noon a blue haze had crept over the horizon and was spreading over the whole landscape. But we had scored a victory over it by coming early.

"To have the great poetic heart, Is more than all the climber's art."

In some sense, we each felt the meaning of the lines, as we turned from Kearsarge top and made the gradual descent. There is a precipitous bridle-path which shortens the distance in proportion as it increases fatigue. The majority of us were unwilling to tempt fate by adopting it, and took the easier way. As we stopped occasionally in a shady nook to rest, we severally confessed that scraps of Lowell's matchless poem had been floating nebulously in the brain ever since the clouds had disappeared the day before. Two such days as we had been blessed with are rare, even in June. Up there in the forest primeval, in the happy shining weather, we were constantly proving that there was

"Not a leaf or a blade too mean To be some happy creature's palace."

If we waxed sentimental, something must be forgiven the lavish summer.

At the hotel, the bountiful dinner was garnished with the best of all sauces. Then, reluctantly indeed after our two days' tramping, we started for Boston, arriving there a little past seven the same evening. We had had unprecedented weather, and a well-planned and perfectly executed trip. Never was there a pleasanter excursion or a more successful outing. If the path up the hill of life were no more difficult than that up Cardigan! If all earthly troubles could be as easily surmounted as Kearsarge! Possibly they might be if we went forth to meet them with the same stout heart and determined spirit.

"Daily with souls that cringe and plot, We Sinais climb and know it not"

* * * * *



THE MARCH OF THE SIXTH REGIMENT.

By Rev. Charles Babbidge, Chaplain.

Should a motto ever be needed for some prospective medal commemorative of the "Old Sixth Reg." none would seem to be more appropriate than a quotation from Virgil,—"Primus tentare viam." Though but little honor attaches to being first, where all were equally ready to be foremost, still, the "chances of war" gave some little advantage to this fortunate military body. Its ready re-response to the call "To Arms," served to awaken a similar enthusiasm in all the other military organizations of the Commonwealth. The admirable state of discipline to which the regiment had been brought by its accomplished and efficient commander, Col. Edward F. Jones, and his subordinate officers, was fully competent to secure the respect and confidence of the multitudes of patriotic citizens with whom it came in contact after leaving Massachusetts; and it is only doing justice to the soldiers of this regiment to say, that amid all the excitement of the commencement of a campaign, and all the flattering attentions and entertainments which they received from every quarter, and on all occasions, they maintained the solid, steady deportment of soldiers well trained, of citizens accustomed to good society, and of patriots ready and willing to do whatever these qualities imply and require.

It can hardly be said that "the order to march" came unlooked for, though it most certainly was sudden. The tender of the services of the regiment had long since been in the hands of Gov. Andrew; meetings of the field and staff officers had been held; there was a free and thorough interchange of opinions and sentiments among the line officers; and not a single soldier could be found who had not fully digested all the particulars of a possible future.

The ready response of our citizen-soldiers to the call of the governor furnishes an apt illustration of the peculiar character of our people. Under a government that requires the constant maintenance of a strong military force, "General Orders" would have been issued to the various camps and garrisons scattered throughout the country. When danger threatened us it became manifest at once, that every peaceful village was a garrison, and every city a fortified camp. It was often a subject of merriment while we, like Christopher North were "under canvas," to relate the particular circumstances of time, place, and occupation at the moment when each of us found himself suddenly transformed into a soldier. Each had his story to tell of his numerous "hair's breadth escapes," as through mud, snow and darkness he made his way to the appointed rendezvous, on the morning of April 16th.

In Lowell the regiment paraded in Huntington Hall, and there received a cordial welcome from the people of that city. Taking the cars we arrived in Boston about noon, and were assigned quarters in one of the armories in Faneuil Hall. With a view to better accomodations, the regiment in the afternoon marched to Boylston Hall, and there prepared for as comfortable a bivouac as circumstances permitted.

Up to this time the weather had been as gloomy as war and dripping clouds could make it. Having (figuratively) pitched our tents in Boylston Hall, the discipline of camp-life was at once established, and communication with the world outside, was largely cut off. This however did not interfere with the free admission of many tokens of regard from friends outside, in the form of refreshments of various kinds.

Two memorable incidents of the evening will long be remembered. The pretty and graceful daughter of Col. Jones was adopted, with all the honors, as "Daughter of the Regiment"; and secondly the comfortable and becoming overcoats prepared with wise forethought for the regiment were issued. The motley outer-garments, in which, up to this moment, we had found shelter from the storm, were at once discarded. In our new garments we not only found great comfort;—we also felt that the inner as well as the outer man could boast a resemblance to "regular" troops.

On the morning of the 17th we were marched to the State House, then and there to receive the salutations of the Governor, and also to receive, what at the moment struck some of us as a pretty forcible reminder that we were now occupying positions that were entirely new to us.

Drawn up in military array in Doric Hall we were each of us "donated" two blue flannel shirts and some corresponding under garments. This gratuitous equipment implied service. To those of us who within a twelvemonth had figured in the hall over our heads, as representatives of the sovereign people, it indicated a very marked change of circumstances.

Among other tokens of the confidence reposed in our patriotism and prowess, a heavy cavalry revolver was bestowed upon each of the field and staff officers. As these could not be conveniently carried, on the return march, by those who had been made the happy recipients of these bulky favors, they were bundled together and consigned for safe-keeping to the Chaplain, to be borne on the line of march back to Boylston Hall. Why that functionary should have been chosen to carry a whole armory of weapons, in the sight of the admiring crowds that lined the streets of Boston remains a question. Opinions are equally divided as to whether, as chaplain he would be most likely to prevent a hasty and rash use of fire-arms; or whether, he was de facto a "common carrier," on the ground that ministers were made and designed for "bearing burdens."