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permitted it to rest, trusting, we suppose, and not unwisely, to the inordinate love of the marvellous, which is so strong a characteristic of our people, to sustain them, and protect for them the "silver veil" which hides from the world the hideousness of their deformity and renders that mysterious which, without the shade, would be horrible. The question naturally suggests itself-does not Rigdon fear that the original copy of his Book of Mormon would be produced, should he have the hardihood to deny the truth of Mrs. Davison's statement? But there is another very pertinent question, which ought forever to set at rest the story of the discovery of "the plates"--and it is this: Why have these plates never been seen by any one but Joe Smith and his "witnesses ?" The discovery has always been denied by the public at large, and why, with the means so ready at hand to establish the truth of the assertion, has it not been done, by exhibiting the plates themselves? There is but one valid answer to these questions-the plates never existed.

LOVE SKETCHES.

The thought was very beautiful
That rested on her brow,
With something of a spirit light,
Like sunset upon snow.

She seldom spoke, although her words
Were soft and sweet to hear,

And her voice was like a summer bird's,

So plaintive and so clear.

It was by accident that Herbert and Bertha first met, after the former's return home. Such a meeting could not but be momentarily embarrassing to them both, filled as their memories were, with the past they had made beautiful to each other. The months, the scenes, the events of the intervening time were blotted out from their thoughts; only their strange misunderstanding, their sad separation stood vividly before them. Neither knew what ties of heart the other might in the meanwhile have formed, but each hoped that neither had We cannot permit ourselves to believe that the found forgetfulness. Perhaps the long interlude Mormon sect will long exist. The history of all that had so completely divided their sympathies, delusions of the kind (with one solitary exception) might only have rendered dearer their meeting proves to our mind that its career will be a brief again, for alas! it is not while possessing them, one-and at this moment the seed of its overthrow that we appreciate the full value of our blessings. are at work. Poor Joe Smith has already fallen, There are trials that enhance our after happiness, by the hands of murderers, and is, in all proba-clouds that make the succeeding sunshine seem bility,

"Confined to fast in fires,

brighter, even as the apostle's shadow, while falling darkly on the suffering, passed away, to leave health and peace. Severe had been the trial of the lovers' separation, for the faculties of youth are strong to suffer, and the grief, whose existence is borne in pride and silence, is the deepest and saddest of any. Nor had Herbert in his innumerable wanderings found any tie to replace that suddenly broken one:

Till the foul crimes, done in his days of nature, Are burnt and purged away ;"Rigdon has, in effect, been expelled from the church, and is laboring with his pen to prove the corruptness of its leaders-the extraordinary powers which were granted, (and, we are sorry truth compels us to say, granted solely for the purpose of his imagination had often been kindled by the bemaking political capital,) for the government of wildering eyes of beauty, and he had not mingled their city, have been swept from them by an act with the fair daughters of those foreign lands, withof the last legislature of Illinois-and disease and out rendering manhood's passing tribute of admiwant are scattering the masses which have been ration and flattery to their loveliness. But still, collected at Nauvoo. The unity was destroyed this was the transient homage of taste, not the en with Smith-and with more than one leader to during one of tenderness, the calm and thoughtrally around, the church must fall. A number can ful recognition with which mind bows down be never save it-there must be one, and one only;-fore beauty's majesty, not the heart's secret wor one possessing an unusual portion of firmness and ship of its beloved one. Often, in his solitary pildecision of character, who shall be able to grasp the reins of control and wield them with unaided effrontery and presumption. The iron will of one man has, at all periods of the world, had more influence with a band of infatuated visionaries, than the councils of a multitude of advisers. The Mormons, so far as the public have been able to ascertain, have never had but one such man-and he was the Prophet Joseph, Jr.

grimage, like a gleam of moonlight, that young face, in the chastened light of its soft maidenly sweetness, had risen before him, and his spirit, like a wild bird, had flown back to its early nestling place. When the practised allurements of the cultivated and gifted, wearied him by their dazzling and restless brilliancy, when woman-lips spoke boldly the presumptuous follies of philosophy, and warm young beings trusted their hopes and recompenses to the idle

Enough of the Mormons. The reader will ex-illusions around them, then with renewed and redou cuse us for wasting so much fair paper on a subject so worthless. Xenia, Ohio.

W. B. F.

bled influence came the contrast of Bertha's character, her freedom from these fatal mockeries, her unwavering confidence, so deep and earnest, her

placid, untroubled nature, and her lofty apprecia- | fection, the longing to make reparation for his tion of that sublimity which lies in the simplicity of harshness, and the knowledge of the treasure he religion. Hers was the faith that indulged in no had trifled with. It was now a marvel to him how speculations, and boasted no theory, but claimed he could ever have been fascinated by Clara's earthevery hope and promise, the belief to which all born beauty, and while he listened, with involuntary things are possible, the trust that unhesitatingly homage, to her polished wit, and ever graceful conrejects the feeble glimmerings of philosophy, and versation, he turned to Bertha's quiet and cordial seeks in the starry sky a truer and holier guidance. simplicity, as the traveller withdraws from the It was not in Herbert's temperament wholly to real- brilliant sun of the East, to seek the still and reize the rare combination in Bertha's character, but freshing shade, and listen to the fountain's music. its contrast with others, now impressed him forci- It was not with entire satisfaction, that Clara bly, and he reverenced her exceeding loveliness, remarked the gradual renewal of the lovers' confiwithout questioning its source. dence; she could scarcely define the feeling, but Ah! such are the angels in this world of ours; she would much rather they had continued esthe redeeming portion of our fallen race, the sun-tranged. She had never forgotten Herbert's inbeams that come from the sky, and in mercy linger, difference to herself, and all the wasted artifice to brighten the gloom of the earth. Who may she had lavished for his attraction. It humnumber the blessings which the existence of such bled her pride to recollect all that care so vainly beings brings, and if the presence of a few holy ones, saved from destruction the cities of old, how know we what visitations are averted, what afflictions turned from us, by the prayerful lives of those whose example holds heaven to our eyes?

bestowed, and she could with difficulty forgive those who resisted her witchery. Coldly, therefore, she looked on her sister's returning happiness, and many a pang of secret envy lurked beneath her sunny smiles. What a world this is, which to those who most fervently adore it, and who sacrifice in that worship all holy and celestial things, gives in return but a fearful recompense of doubt and delusion and despair, a heart overflowing with all uncharitableness, a soul without one satisfaction in the present, or a single hope in the hereafter. And it was this she had toiled and sought for, this she had wearied life away to win. Now, the reward was gained, and untold grief was in its possession. Heaven be with us when we hope, for we know not what we ask, when we sigh for this world's blessings, and saddest of all inflictions, is the curse of a wish fulfilled, a granted prayer!

Herbert was somewhat surprised at the kind and friendly manner in which Bertha greeted him, for he imagined some emotion of resentment, or at least of reserve, would have followed the reception of its farewell letter. That letter! with how many troubling associations was it connected, and how bitterly, in the dark days of absence, had he regretted its cold and hasty words. There had been moments when he would have erased those lines at any sacrifice, when he would cheerfully have given the brightest hopes of years, to have blotted out from recollection that brief record of injustice and suspicion. And here I would speak in kindness, one friendly caution to those who love, and entreat It was not long before Herbert sought and obthem to weigh well their written thoughts. The tained an opportunity to reveal his repentance, and careless expressions that are nothing when uttered, renew his assurances to Bertha. He spoke with that are then contradicted by the look and tone impassioned remorse of his impetuous departure; which accompany them, bring no such alleviation, he described his faithful remembrance of her duwhen they lie before us, coldly and deliberately ring the long interval of wandering and variety, traced. They bear with undue weight upon the his continued association of her image with all his spirits, and separation, which imparts additional schemes for the future and all his pleasures in the value to every token of kindness, bestows also a past. He implored forgiveness and forgetfulness new importance to whatever awakens distrust. for his folly, and with faltering voice and a hopeThere are few who have no such thoughtlessness ful heart, Bertha listened kindly to that passionate to regret, and those who have lived long enough supplication. With what revived loveliness her to feel the scarceness and the preciousness of an life seemed glowing now! How often the involabiding love, grieve that any shadow should dim its perfect confidence. Bertha had nothing false in her nature, and she affected no reserve. She was aware that Herbert had acted hurriedly, and been influenced by a false impression, and she was not astonished by his conduct, although she deplored its unjustness. Now he had evidently repented his former course and realized its ungenerous irritation, and he met her It is well for us, that even the purest felicity on again with unaltered tenderness and much self-re-earth is a transient thing, for this world has allureproach. All that he recalled but added to his af-'ments difficult for the wisest to withstand, ties that

untary tear of too much happiness sprung to those eloquent and placid eyes, and how beautiful was the expression of meek and thankful tenderness, which rested like the light of stars upon her heaven-tinted brow! Now the resignation of the last three years was no longer demanded; the long ordeal was passed, and hers was the tranquillity of a mind, that had even here found peace.

an existence. No; as I have commenced, I must conclude; there is no backward path for me; I will enjoy a little longer, all my accustomed pleasures, and relinquish them only when I must give up all. This is my birth-day; I am twenty-six to-day. What mournful anniversaries they are, these milestones along the highway to the grave, these dark days of redoubled remembrance and regret. I have always endeavored to forget them, but this, the last one I shall ever see, forces me to feel its presence. I have suffered so much lately that I appear to have grown old rapidly; years have been curdled into these hours of suffering.

tempt the affections all too strongly, and links that | But my calmness deceived him, he believed me in breaking, break the heart they bound. Bertha resigned, for he could not trace the agony of dread had been but a few weeks a bride, when the sorrow in which I awaited his reply. He gave it at last, which had once before threatened them fulfilled its as unreservedly as I wished, and it was hopeless. mission, and after but a few days' suffering the He talked, however, the usual cant with which they little Alice died. There is something in the hea- would cheat the dying; he advised quiet, retirevenward departure of infancy, unsullied by the con-ment, and freedom from all the excitements of sosciousness of care, in the early ceasing to be, of a ciety. With such care, he said, I might still count heart that might have lived on, to suffer so much, on a few years of reasonable and happy life. What which is too beautiful, too full of hope to awaken folly! as if I could even endure the burden of such violent affliction. Even where the heart had clung to the little one with all a mother's unwavering devotedness, even where life had buried its brightness beside the sleeper in that tiny grave, and all that is loveliest in the things around, becomes from association to the bereaved, all that is saddest, yet there is a light still radiantly shining through the trial, and heaven never seems so near to the gaze of faith, as when it looks up through tears, from childhood's grave. But ah me! to Clara all these comfortings were denied, for the veil was still upon her spirit. It was a mournful thing to behold that small pale face so perfect in its angelic repose, to see the little dimpled hands folded peacefully over the stilled heart, which had in kindness been taken from the touch of sin, and given rest without its having known weariness, and then, from that tiny statue of Death in its loveliest and truest aspect, to turn to the mother's frantic and almost blasphemous lamentations. She gave full sway to her rebellious grief, and overwhelmed at length by her uncontrolled feelings, she lay for several weeks dangerously ill.

CLARA'S JOURnal.

"A long blank is between me and the past, a void of forgetfulness from which I shudder to have come forth. I have been very ill, this world has been all gloom and darkness to me, and I have stood on the very threshold of another. If death were nothingness, how joyfully would I welcome and summon it, but Hamlet's doubt is mine, I too, fear the "dreams which to that sleep may come," and I dare not die. I once thought life such an enchanting gift, and that I had much to live for, but how suddenly all my blessings seem to have dwindled away until every thing, around, beyond, within, is desolate! What have I done to be thus afflicted? how is this to end? I know not; would I could believe what I profess, that I care not.

"They all wondered at my rebellious agony, and even Lynton, who should have known me better, spoke to me of hope and the hereafter. O! the bitterness of listening to such words, as if it was not anguish enough to know all he could say, yet find no comfort in it, as if those truths and promises were not in my soul a living and consuming fire; as if they were not the very things which told me, oh! how clearly, that I should look on my child no more.

"And must I depart with all my life's high aims unattained; must I be forgotten by those who admired me most, or be recalled only in pity by the ones who now seek my approval, and envy my gifts? I can feel now, with Corinne, the sorrow of forsaking a flattering world, without leaving one memorial of the power that must perish with its possessor. But Corinne had other hopes, and a trust above disappointment. Hers was the faith so alluring to the enthusiast; the belief so full of beautiful illusions, that the poet's imagination involuntarily grasps at its witchery, and is forced to struggle against its fascination. O! could I live. but five years longer, I would at least toil for a place in the world's memory. Hitherto I have been too much engrossed by the attractions immediately surrounding me, too much occupied with mere per"I feel that my career is hastening rapidly to sonal triumphs, and the future has always appeared its close, that I am the victim of a fatal and inev- to me so interminable, that the present was not itable disease. I may live a few months longer, sufficiently valued. I could not bear the seclusion and then this feverish madness will be over. I necessary to attain other success, but now, had I have been tormented by the desire of certainty, the opportunity, I would write day and night, I for I can bear anything better than doubt, and I would bring to one point my energies and acquirelaid my case before a physician, soliciting his can- ments; I would bequeath at least a faint semdid opinion. He had known me long, as one world-blance of my genius, something that should be devoted, and I shall never forget the searching gaze read and remembered. I would pour forth at once with which he would have read my inmost thoughts. the treasures of my being, that those who knew

me, might proudly recall the knowledge of what I
was, and those who knew me not, would sigh to
picture what I might have been. How I tempt
myself with mockeries to the last. Five years
Why in five months I shall be forgotten, except by
the few who love me, and who will then mourn me
without comfort. I can write no more; my soul
is dark, and the shadows every moment grow
deeper. I am utterly wretched, desolate in heart
and hope."

World-lover! thus the earth-dream ever endeth!
JANE TAYLOE WORTHINGTON.

THE THREE DAYS.

BY A CADET IN THE VIRGINIA MILITARY INSTITUTE.

THE FIRST DAY.

It was on the 25th of July, 1830-the ministers of a despotic, but undermined government, thought they could crown their work of oppression, by publishing and enforcing the Royal Orders. But these were destined to prove fatal to a family, of which it was so truly said, that they could neither learn any thing from the lessons of experience, nor forget any past injuries. The same they had come from exile, the same they were to return to exile. The assembly of the representatives of the nation had three successive times been dissolved. The feeble monarch, whose time was divided between his confessor and his hounds, was made to believe that by a mere act of his will, by a single stroke of his pen, he could annihilate those sacred rights of man, liberty of the press and national representation. From a residence little distant from the metropolis, he thought he could tame that mighty lion, the people, and conquer it as easily as the bucks of his forests. Alas, what a delusion! How bitterly was it repented.

When the royal orders, dissolving the national assembly, and abolishing the liberty of the press, appeared in the morning papers on the 26th, the effervescence they produced was immense. The opposition papers were short, but energetic in their remarks. One of them, The National, ended by calling the citizens to arms, as the only means of regaining their liberty and expelling their tyrants. That appeal was not to be slighted.

both sides of the city. The river is enclosed between quays of a sufficient elevation to prevent the highest waters from overflowing the city. They are like a common street, one side of which would be a row of houses, and the other, the parapet of the quay. Along them are several public buildings, which, in case of insurrection, become important military positions. The house then occupied by my family was situated on one of the quays on the north side of the river, and could be said to have been in the very centre of the battle. On the same side, towards the East of it, is the City Hall, (hotel de ville.) Towards the West is the Louvre, and a little further, the Royal Palace of the Tuileries. Just in front of us, on the southern side of the river, are the Police Barracks and head quarters, together with the Law buildings. Two stone bridges, about a quarter of a mile apart, and between which we were situated, led to the opposite side. The one towards the East is the merchants' bridge, (pont au change,) and the other is the new bridge, (pont neuf.) Opposite the City Hall is the suspended bridge of Arcole. Opposite the Louvre is the suspended bridge of arts. It must be kept in mind, that the city of Paris is full of guard-rooms, to which, at guard-mounting, the regiments in garrison in the city send every day a guard, more or less strong, according to the importance of the position. Every public edifice contains one or more of these guard-rooms, and when any disturbance is apprehended, the number of men sent to each of them is double. The city contains, besides, numerous barracks, some of which are fortified, and large enough to hold a whole regiment of 2,000 men. It is also to be noticed that the streets are paved with hewn stones exactly of the shape and size of a cube foot, which being taken out with the aid of a lever, can easily be raised in barricades or breast-works.

On the evening of the 26th, the effect of the morning news began to be visible. Anxious and numerous groups were every where to be seen, discussing the eventful occurrences of the day and their necessary effects. Yet it was remarkable, that no anger, no passion could be perceived among the citizens; but the stern and contracted brow, the dark frown, showed that the agitation then reigning, like the short and treacherous surge of the sea near the breakers, was ten times more dangerous to the ship of the State, than the boisterous waves of wrath, raised by an empty wind. The King, Charles the Tenth, had, some years before, dissolved and disarmed the national guard, or militia, of the whole country, because he thought their opinions were hostile to his power. But on The city of Paris is built on both sides of the that ominous evening, the beloved uniform was river Seine, which traverses it from E. to W. again produced to light, worn by a few courageous Its circumference is about 30 miles, and it con- citizens, who did not fear to expose themselves in tained at the time a population of 800 thousand that way to the vengeance of their tyrants. The souls. Several stone and suspended bridges unite tri-colored flag, that noble standard of liberty for

Some description of the place will be necessary to understand the following pages.

VOL. XI-61

which so much blood had been shed, and which, taken out. In a few minutes the quay presented since the days of the empire, had been severely the most curious spectacle. Immediately beneath proscribed, was borne through the streets with our windows was an immense crowd in expectaenthusiasm. Alas! how much more blood would tion of a suden attack and taking means to resist be shed before its folds could wave triumphantly over the spires of the land.

However, the government did not slumber, but was taking measures to smother those rising sparks, when night and darkness closed the scenes of the day.

What a darkness! All was as still as death; yet it was that kind of living and moving stillness which would have caused you to shudder. You would have felt like a man who falls on a sudden into a dark cavern where he knows enemies are concealed. He cannot see them, he cannot hear them. Yet he fancies he can feel their breath, and he trembles in the expectation that every moment, or every motion of his will bring forth a tremendous explosion. The mine is ready; a spark will set fire to it. The people, the people are preparing for the morrow!

The sun rose on the 27th in a clouded atmosphere, but the morning mist was soon blown away, and the fiery globe appeared in all its splendor, a faithful image of that liberty, the fate of which was to be decided so soon, and which was destined to emerge so bright and pure from the dark clouds of the battle.

it. Out of the gunsmiths' shops, the most heterogeneous arms had been taken, some of them belonging to far distant days. Here you could see a swarthy blacksmith fixing on his huge head the helmet of some knight of the middle age. There the cuirass of a leaguer on the breast of a student, or the head piece of a dragoon worn by a clerk. Some were armed with the Polish lance, or the Turkish scimitar. Others brandished the twohanded sword of the crusader, or the boardinghatchet of the sailor. A few had muskets. Some more had fowling pieces, but the majority had nothing but bayonets fastened at the ends of sticks, or any other weapon chance might have thrown in their hands. Yet it was such a crowd, without leaders, without ammunition, almost unarmed, which undertook to conquer thirty thousand men of regular troops, including light and heavy artillery and cavalry, forming the garrison of Paris, besides the Royal and Swiss guards and the police. The struggle was deadly, and we will see with what success it was crowned.

As it has been said before, the first charges of cavalry were without any result, and it became ne cessary to employ more effective means. Four All was quiet till about 10 o'clock. Then nu- horsemen were sent from the police barracks to merous groups appeared on all points. They were bring orders to the different officers commanding as yet peaceful, but more animated than on the the garrison. They started at full gallop, but the preceding day. Suddenly a drum, a solitary drum people had now assumed the offensive. When they is heard, and lo! it is a muffled drum. There was a reached the middle of the Merchants' bridge, I becolumn of young men, most of them law or medi- held a scene which time can never blot out of my cal students, marching in ranks, arm in arm, and in memory. The report of six or eight muskets was the most deadly silence. The majority of them heard, and there lay the orderlies and their horses, were dressed in black, and one of them marched in a quivering and bloody heap. They were the first front, carrying a black flag, on the funereal folds of victims, and many a time has the image of those which was this inscription in white letters, Lib- falling men crossed my boyish dreams. erty or Death! They passed away and disap- In the mean time the insurgents had not been peared like a phantom. The motionless groups idle in the other parts of the city. All the guardhad gazed on them in silence. Not a shout, hardly rooms, containing only a small force, had been cara word had been exchanged between them. There was between them a deeper bond than words could express. That device, Liberty or Death, was engraved in the hearts of every one.

But the authorities thought it was time to make a demonstration. A squadron of cavalry was sent from the police barracks to make some charges. Away they swept along the Southern quay-away they swept along the Merchants' bridge; but when they reached the groups the scene was changed as if by magic. In a second, every man had drawn a dagger, or some other weapon, and attacked the horsemen hand to hand. In the mean time some others dug out the paving stones and piled them up in barricades so as to prevent the passage of cavalry. The numerous gunsmiths' stores, situated along the quays, were broken open and the arms

ried, and the arms there found were distributed among the victors. Barricades were formed and some blood was shed. So that the troops began to be put in motion on all sides. The important edifices were hastily fortified and their usual garrisons doubled. The palace of the Louvre received a very strong reinforcement of Swiss guards, and the contest because more general. At last a detachment of royal guards was seen coming from the New bridge, whilst a brigade of the line appeared on the Merchants' bridge. The citizens, who defended the barricade before our house, waited for them in stern silence, expecting that countrymen would not fire on countrymen without trying at least some milder arguments. But from the servants of tyranny, no mercy was to be hoped, and no mercy was shown. A discharge was simultaneously made by both de

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