in the neighbourhood of Petra, the ancient capital of the Edomites. This mountain, whose rugged pinnacle forms a very striking feature in one of the most interesting scenes in the world, is of very difficult and steep ascent, which is partly artificial, rude steps or niches being in some places formed in the rock. It took some modern travellers an hour and a half to ascend its almost perpendicular sides. From its summit, a very extensive view may be enjoyed; while the burying place of the high priest of the Jews may furnish material for much profitable reflection. VILLAGE CHARACTERS.-No. II. R. MONTGOMERY. is; and I have no doubt that, were you within hearing of the story which I perceive him to be narrating, you would find something to interest you, and perhaps, assimilate your views to mine concerning the practice of war." 66 Suppose," said Wallace, "we take up our position behind yonder bush, and make it our post of observation ?" I cordially assented, and we speedily established ourselves in the immediate neighbourhood of the animated group. What we heard, with the exception of the oaths which embellished almost every sentence uttered by the old Campaigner, and the loud roar of laughter which ever and anon burst from his delighted auditors, was to the following effect: "Do they call duke of Wellington the hero of a hundred fights ?" asked the old Campaigner: "so am I. In every battle he fought, there was I in his ranks. Glorious work we had, my boys, in many of these battles. I did not think I should like it though, when we went into the first. My blood ran cold, and fear shivered my heart; but after I "SAY what you will in defence of had heard the roar of the cannon for an war," said I to my friend Wallace, "you hour or two, and had sent my bayonet will never make me believe that its evils through the hearts of a few Frenchmen, would not preponderate, if weighed in I began to relish the work, and the exthe balance with the glory and advan-perience of two or three battles made it tages which you affirm that England has derived from its late victories. Setting aside the enormous weight of taxation which it has placed upon our shoulders, and forgetting, for an instant, the dread ful fact that it has sent, unprepared, millions into eternity, I should still be able to maintain the truth of the senti ment so powerfully expressed by the poet, that à pleasure. I tell you what, my boys, At this moment I looked at Wallace, and was not sorry to find that he visibly "Where did you lose your old 'un ?" asked one of the group. "Where did you lose your old 'un ?" reiterated the old Campaigner, sneeringly; "why, I will tell you, since you hav'n't sagacity enough to guess. I told you I was in all duke of Wellington's battles. Don't you see, then, that it must be in the last that I lost my legthe great battle of Waterloo? There, I would not have lost that sight for more than the worth of two legs. Many a Frenchman did I settle that day; more, no doubt, than I know of; for both we and the enemy exchanged vollies without ceasing. Whiz! whiz! whiz! went their balls round our ears; but we cared no more for them than for pellets driven from the mouths of pop guns. Live or die, it was all one to us. Oh, it was glorious work! But coming to close quarters was most glorious of all. I warrant, my boys, that you would have done as I did, had you seen the wry faces which the Frenchmen made when they received our steel lozenges in their bosoms." "What was that ?" asked some of the by-standers. "Laughed, to be sure !" ejaculated the old Campaigner, a ghastly grin pervading his grim features, "what else should I have done?" "Wept, to be sure !" exclaimed Wallace, in an indignant tone, and advancing nearer to the belligerent orator; but I prevented him, and reminded him any interruption would bring the narration to a close. that 66 But soldiers are not always fighting, my boys," continued the old Campaigner, "that work, as you know, takes only up a day or two, and at all other times they lead a merry life. They whistle care to the winds, for their pay, if small, is and at home or abroad they are as gay as larks." The old Campaigner now dashed into details which I cannot sure; meddle with: he told of the infliction of brutal and unprovoked wrong in a strain of coarse ribaldry, which showed, beyond all need of further evidence, the brutalizing effects of war. ""Tis true," he said, "the duke forbade these things; but what cared we for orders when out of sight? He could not see every where, you know; he must have been a strange fellow if he could. Sometimes, to be sure, he would hear of our slips, and lashes, and sometimes worse, were freely administered; but many a glorious rumpus there was that never came to his knowledge. Oh, who would not lead the life of a soldier? I tell you, my boys, those were the happiest days of my life; and it is only because I could not spend more such, that I regretted the loss of my leg. What is a pension, compared with the pleasures of the camp? I would make a scramble for you, my boys, on the next pay day, if I could but be permitted to lead my life over again. But, no,' said he, in an altered tone, and drawing himself up haughtily, "I would not; for none of you deserve it. You love the feather bed and lazy enjoyments of home too well for me.' "There are no wars," exclaimed several voices, as if in deprecation of their implied want of courage. 66 True," the old Campaigner responded; "the world will rust for want of them. You need a good war to brighten you up. No man knows what spirit he possesses till something stirs it up within him. I like your answer, boys; no doubt you would be men if you could. But still some of the sweets of soldiership are left. You may yet dance to the sound of the fiddle, and march to the beat of the drum. Plenty of money, you know, in the bank of England: a soldier never starves." Here Wallace whispered an inquiry as to whether the old Campaigner was not employed as a recruiting serjeant? but, I assured him, that sheer love for the art of war made him thus eulogize it. 66a legs. But why do you cye my wooden | could not fail also to observe his obscenity leg? What do you think it is ?" and profaneness. Now, Wallace, these "What is it?" answered they, are some of the fruits of soldiership; and wooden leg, to be sure." whoever enters its ranks uneducated, as these rustics are, and unguarded by a higher principle than mere morality, must return home laden with such fruits. Is it not then something more than a flight of fancy to suppose, that the listeners on this occasion, may, in their turn, become the disseminators of evil?” "You know nothing at all about it," said the old Campaigner; "it is the fortune of war, and it is shod with glory!" "And I have no doubt," said I, as I turned away with Wallace, "that if soldiership will ensure them such a leg, more than one of that group, some forty years hence, will stump about this hill, and bellow out the glories of war, like this old Campaigner." 66 Do you think so?" asked Wallace. "That same old Campaigner, forty years ago, as the tongue of moralizing age has informed me, was the pride of this village. Moral and artless, a simplicity-loving poet might have taken. him as a personification of rural innocence. In an evil hour he listened to tales like those he now loves to recite, and went to the wars. What followed we have gathered from his own lips. Did you not perceive his inhumanity ?" "I did," answered Wallace. "And the spirit of revenge animating him, and which he even made his "Surely," Wallace replied; "they are in a course of training for it;" and his face assuming a deeply thoughtful expression, he added, "War, then, is a curse!" "It is, sir," I exclaimed, "and may Heaven hasten that day, when, according to the sure word of the prophecy, swords shall be turned into ploughshares, and spears into pruning hooks; when man shall cease to shed the blood of his fellow man, and be lauded for the deed." 66 Why should it not be now ?" asked Wallace, earnestly. 66 "I perceive," said I, that you now agree with me, that the evils of war outweigh its advantages, and that, were mankind wise, they would no longer go out to battle." "I concur in the sentiment with all my heart," Wallace replied; "the old Campaigner's tale has made me 'a friend' for ever on the subject of war. Peace! humanizing peace, shall be my motto." "You may well say humanizing peace," I replied, "for wars have directly the contrary effect on poor humanity. I will venture to affirm, that this tale of the old Campaigner, often told as it is, will brutalize more minds than our good old rector, with all his eloquence, can civilize with a thousand discourses. The soldier's tale suits the unrenewed natures of his audience: they possess no power, moral, reflective, or intellectual, to repel his fascination; they think as he thinks, feel as he feels upon the subject, and are willing votaries at the shrine of Moloch. Ignorance binds them with its iron chain, and poverty acts as a spur in their sides to urge them on-to what?" "The world calls glory," answered Wallace. "Then tell the world it errs," I replied, "and that the soldier is led on to rapine and slaughter. But there is a day coming," I added, "when wars, and rumours of wars shall no more ar It is now some years since Wallace and I thus conversed on the subject of war, and lapse of time has only served to strengthen the convictions I then expressed. I do not mean, however, to impugn the propriety of defensive war, and still less would I infer that the army is without its redeeming characters. Both those positions I would be willing to maintain at the point of the pen. But it is not to be supposed that our old Campaigner is the solitary instance of the evils produced by soldiership. Many have returned to their native homes with the same perverted minds, and the same propensity for perverting others. Mothers have bewailed the day on which they departed, and maidens have rued that of their return. Few, however, were so attractive as the hero of our sketch, who literally commanded the attention of his followers. On the brow of the hill in summer, by the blazing fire in winter, he might be found giving them such insights into what human nature may become, under certain hardening and corrupting circumstances, as would make the commonest sensibility shudder, morality retire, and modesty wrap her veil around her blushing forehead. Often as the ribald shout fell on my ear, I have exclaimed, "The old Campaigner has given morality another sword-thrust," and my fancy has seen it fall like a slain Frenchman. It was not illusion, alas! for many are this moment ready to tread in their instructor's steps; and are in a fair way, if war should unfortunately break out, of returning with a "fortune-of-war-shod-with-glory" sort of leg, and are even now such pests to society, that their absence would be as cheerfully greeted, as their return would be dreaded. These unhappy individuals, certainly, owe only the peculiar bent of their dispositions to the old Campaigner; their entire character was not formed by him; the misshapen work was, doubtless, commenced in infancy; and the reckless soldier did but set his rude seal upon it. The work, however, of the old Campaigner is now over. Not for him is now the struggle of war, or the revelry of peace; heedless youth will no longer give ear to him, nor moralizing manhood frown at his licentiousness. His head lies under the green mound, and pity can afford a sigh even for the old Campaigner. THE RECORder. MODERN SUPERSTITION.-THE MOR- Ir is a lamentable fact that a considerable number of the people of this country are now led astray by a sect called Mormonites, or latter-day saints. The seeds of this wretched imposture were imported from America about four years ago. The book from which the deluded derive their name contains more than six hundred pages of closely printed matter. Its title is as follows:-" The Book of Mormon: an account written by the hand of Mormon upon plates taken from the plates of Nephi. Wherefore it is an abridgment of the record of the people of Nephi, and also of the Laminites, written to the Laminites, who are a remnant of the house of Israel; and also to Jews and Gentiles, written by way of commandment, and also by the spirit of prophecy and revelation." To it is appended the testimony of three witnesses that they "have seen the plates that contain the record;" and know that they have been translated by the gift and power of God, and that they "declare that an angel of God came down from heaven, and he brought and laid before our eyes, that we beheld and saw the plates and engravings thereon." There is also the testimony of eight witnesses, "that the plates of which Joseph Smith, jun., hath spoken have the appearance of gold." A correspondent of the "Episcopal Recorder," published in Philadelphia, describes one agent of this superstition as named Harris, and a visit which the writer received from him in Palmyra in 1827. The following is an extract from his statement, which is now given with a view to prepare any of our readers, who have "Mormonites" around them, for the exposure of their error. He says, Harris remarked that he reposed great confidence in me as a minister of Jesus Christ, and that what he had now to communicate he wished me to regard as strictly confidential. He said he verily believed that an important epoch had arrived, that a great flood of light was about to burst upon the world, and that the scene of Divine manifestation was to be immediately around us. In explanation of what he meant, he then proceeded to remark that a golden Bible had recently been dug from the earth, where it had been deposited for thousands of years, and that this would be found to contain such disclosures as would settle all religious controversies, and speedily bring on the glorious millennium. That this mysterious book, which no human eye of the present generation had yet seen, was in the possession of Joseph Smith, jun., ordinarily known in the neighbourhood under the more familiar designation of Joe Smith; that there had been a revelation made to him by which he had discovered this sacred deposit, and two transparent stones, through which, as a sort of spectacles, he could read the Bible, although the box or ark that contained it, had not yet been opened; and that by looking through those mysterious stones, he had transcribed from one of the leaves of this book, the characters which Harris had so carefully wrapped in the package which he was drawing from his pocket. The whole thing appeared to me so ludicrous and puerile, that I could not refrain from telling Mr. Harris, that I believed it a mere hoax got up to practise upon his credulity, or an artifice to extort from him money; for I had already, in the course of the conversation, learned that he had advanced some twenty-five dollars to Joe Smith as a sort of premium for sharing with him in the glories and profits of this new revelation. For, at this time, his mind seemed to be quite as intent upon the pecuniary advantage that would arise from the possession of the plates of solid gold of which this book was composed, as upon the spiritual light it would diffuse over the world. My intimations to him, in reference to the possible imposition that was being practised upon him, however, were indignantly repelled. Before I proceed to Martin's narrative, however, I would remark in passing, that Smith, who has since been the chief prophet of the Mormons, and was one of the most prominent ostensible actors in the first scenes of this drama, belonged to a very shiftless family near Palmyra. They lived a sort of vagrant life, and were principally known as money diggers. Joe from a boy appeared dull and utterly destitute of genius; but his father claimed for him a sort of second sight, a power to look into the depths of the earth, and discover where its precious treasures were hid. Consequently, long before the idea of a golden Bible entered their minds, in their excursions for money digging, which I believe usually occurred in the night, that they might conceal from others the knowledge of the place where they struck upon treasures, Joe was usually their guide, putting into a hat a peculiar stone he had through which he looked to decide where they should begin to dig. According to Martin Harris, it was after one of these night excursions, that Joe, while he lay upon his bed, had a remarkable dream. An angel of God seemed to approach him, clad in celestial splendour. This Divine messenger assured him, that he, Joseph Smith, was chosen of the Lord to be a prophet of the most high God, and to bring to light hidden things, that would prove of unspeakable benefit to the world. He then disclosed to him the existence of this golden Bible, and the place where it was deposited; but at the same time told him that he must follow implicitly the Divine direction, or he would draw down upon him the wrath of Heaven. This book, which was contained in a chest or ark, and which consisted of metallic plates covered with characters embossed in gold, he must not presume to look into, under three years. He must first go on a journey into Pennsylvania, and there among the mountains, he would meet with a very lovely woman, belonging to a highly respectable and pious family, whom he was to take for his wife. As a proof that he was sent on this mission by Jehovah, as soon as he saw this designated person, he would be smitten with her beauty; and though he was a stranger to her, and she was far above him in the walks of life, she would at once be willing to marry him and go with him to the ends of the earth. After their marriage, he was to return to his former home, and remain quietly there until the birth of his first child. When this child had completed his second year, he might then proceed to the hill beneath which the mysterious chest was deposited, and draw it thence, and publish the truths it contained to the world. Smith awoke |