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diff --git a/old/52459-8.txt b/old/52459-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 20ba8ed..0000000 --- a/old/52459-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7377 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Saint Abe snd His Seven Wives, by Robert Buchanan - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Saint Abe snd His Seven Wives - A Tale of Salt Lake City, With A Bibliographical Note - -Author: Robert Buchanan - -Release Date: June 30, 2016 [EBook #52459] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SAINT ABE SND HIS SEVEN WIVES *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - - - -SAINT ABE AND HIS SEVEN WIVES - -_A Tale of Salt Lake City_ - -With A Bibliographical Note - -By Robert Buchanan - -_First Cheap Edition_ - -London - -1896 - - - -TO OLD DAN CHAUCER. - - - Maypole dance and Whitsun ale, - - Sports of peasants in the dale, - - Harvest mirth and junketting, - - Fireside play and kiss-in-ring, - - Ancient fun and wit and ease, -- - - Gone are one and all of these; - - All the pleasant pastime planned - - In the green old Mother-land: - - Gone are these and gone the time - - Of the breezy English rhyme, - - Sung to make men glad and wise - - By great Bards with twinkling eyes: - - Gone the tale and gone the song - - Sound as nut-brown ale and strong, - - Freshening the sultry sense - - Out of idle impotence, - - Sowing features dull or bright - - With deep dimples of delight! - - - Thro' the Motherland I went - - Seeking these, half indolent: - - Up and down, saw them not: - - Only found them, half forgot. - - Buried in long-darken'd nooks - - With thy barrels of old books, - - Where the light and love and mirth - - Of the morning days of earth - - Sleeps, like light of sunken suns - - Brooding deep in cob-webb'd tuns! - - Everywhere I found instead, - - Hanging her dejected head, - - Barbing shafts of bitter wit, - - The pale Modern Spirit sit-- - - While her shadow, great as Gog's - - Cast upon the island fogs, - - In the midst of all things dim - - Loom'd, gigantically grim. - - Honest Chaucer, thee I greet - - In a verse with blithesomefeet. - - And ino' modern bards may stare, - - Crack a passing joke with Care! - - Take a merry song and true - - Fraught with inner meanings too! - - Goodman Dull may croak and scowl:-- - - Leave him hooting to the owl! - - Tight-laced Prudery may turn - - Angry back with eyes that burn, - - Reading on from page to page - - Scrofulous novels of the age! - - Fools may frown and humbugs rail, - - Not for them I tell the Tale; - - Not for them,, but souls like thee. - - Wise old English Jollity! - - Newport, October, 1872 - - - - -ST. ABE AND HIS SEVEN WIVES - - - Art thou unto a helpmate bound? - - Then stick to her, my brother! - - But hast thou laid her in the ground? - - Don't go to seek another! - - Thou hast not sin'd, if thou hast wed, - - Like many of our number, - - But thou hast spread a thorny bed, - - And there alas! must slumber! - - St. Paul, Cor. I., 7, 27-28. - - O let thy fount of love be blest - - And let thy wife rejoice, - - Contented rest upon her breast - - And listen to her voice; - - Yea, be not ravish'd from her side - - Whom thou at first has chosen, - - Nor having tried one earthly bride - - Go sighing for a Dozen! - - Sol. Prov. V., 18-20. - - - - -APPROACHING UTAH.--THE BOSS'S TALE. - - - - -I--PASSING THE HANCHE. - - - "Grrr!" shrieked the boss, with teeth clench'd - - tight, - - Just as the lone ranche hove in sight, - - And with a face of ghastly hue - - He flogg'd the horses till they flew, - - As if the devil were at their back, - - Along the wild and stony track. - - From side to side the waggon swung, - - While to the quaking seat I clung. - - Dogs bark'd; on each side of the pass - - The cattle grazing on the grass - - Raised heads and stared; and with a cry - - Out the men rush'd as we roll'd by. - - - "Grrr!" shriek'd the boss; and o'er and o'er - - He flogg'd the foaming steeds and swore; - - Harder and harder grew his face - - As by the rançhe we swept apace, - - And faced the hill, and past the pond, - - And gallop'd up the height beyond, - - Nor tighten'd rein till field and farm - - Were hidden by the mountain's arm - - A mile behind; when, hot and spent, - - The horses paused on the ascent, - - And mopping from his brow the sweat. - - The boy glanced round with teeth still set, - - And panting, with his eyes on me, - - Smil'd with a look of savage glee. - - - Joe Wilson is the boss's name, - - A Western boy well known to fame. - - He goes about the dangerous land - - His life for ever in his hand; - - Has lost three fingers in a fray, - - Has scalp'd his Indian too they say; - - Between the white man and the red - - Four times he hath been left for dead; - - Can drink, and swear, and laugh, and brawl, - - And keeps his big heart thro' it all - - Tender for babes and women. - - - He - - Turned, smiled, and nodded savagely; - - Then, with a dark look in his eyes - - In answer to my dumb surprise, - - Pointed with jerk of the whip's heft - - Back to the place that we had left, - - And cried aloud, - - "I guess you think - - I'm mad, or vicious, or in drink. - - But theer you're wrong. I never pass - - The ranche down theer and bit of grass, - - I never pass 'em, night nor day, - - But the fit takes me jest that way! - - - The hosses know as well as me - - What's coming, miles afore we see - - The dem'd old corner of a place, - - And they git ready for the race! - - Lord! if I _didn't_ lash and sweer, - - And ease my rage out passing theer, - - Guess I should go clean mad, that's all. - - And thet's the reason why I call - - This turn of road where I am took - - Jest Old Nick's Gallop!" - - - Then his look - - Grew more subdued yet darker still; - - And as the horses up the hill - - With loosen'd rein toil'd slowly, he - - Went on in half soliloquy, - - Indifferent almost if I heard, - - And grimly grinding out each word. - - - - -II--JOE WILSON GOES A-COURTING. - - - "There was a time, and no mistake, - - When thet same ranche down in the brake - - Was pleasanter a heap to me - - Than any sight on land or sea. - - The hosses knew it like their master, - - Smelt it miles orf, and spank'd the faster! - - Ay, bent to reach thet very spot, - - Flew till they halted steaming hot - - Sharp opposite the door, among - - The chicks and children old and young; - - And down I'd jump, and all the go - - Was 'Fortune, boss!' and 'Welcome, Joe!' - - And Cissy with her shining face, - - Tho' she was missus of the place, - - Stood larfing, hands upon her hips; - - And when upon her rosy lips - - I put my mouth and gave her one, - - She'd cuff me, and enjy the fun! - - She was a widow young and tight, - - Her chap had died in a free fight, - - And here she lived, and round her had - - Two chicks, three brothers, and her dad, - - All making money fast as hay, - - And doing better every day. - - Waal! guess tho' I was peart and swift, - - Spooning was never much my gift; - - But Cissy was a gal so sweet, - - So fresh, so spicy, and so neat, - - It put your wits all out o' place, - - Only to star' into her face. - - Skin whiter than a new-laid egg, - - Lips full of juice, and sech a leg! - - A smell about her, morn and e'en, - - Like fresh-bleach'd linen on a green; - - And from her hand when she took mine, - - The warmth ran up like sherry wine; - - And if in liquor I made free - - To pull her larfing on my knee, - - Why, there she'd sit, and feel so nice, - - Her heer all scent, her breath all spice! - - See! women hate, both young and old, - - A chap that's over shy and cold, - - And fire of all sorts kitches quick, - - And Cissy seem'd to feel full slick - - The same fond feelings, and at last - - Grew kinder every time I passed; - - And all her face, from eyes to chin, - - Said *'Bravo, Joe! You're safe to win!' - - And tho' we didn't fix, d'ye see, - - In downright _words_ that it should be, - - Ciss and her fam'ly understood - - That she and me would jine for good. - - Guess I was like a thirsty hoss - - Dead beat for days, who comes across - - A fresh clear beck, and on the brink - - Scoops out his shaky hand to drink; - - Or like a gal or boy of three, - - With eyes upon a pippin-tree; - - Or like some Injin cuss who sees - - A bottle of rum among the trees, - - And by the bit of smouldering log, - - Where squatters camp'd and took their grog - - The night afore. Waal!" (here he ground - - His teeth again with savage sound) - - "Waal, stranger, fancy, jest for fun, - - The feelings of the thirsty one, - - If, jest as he scoop'd out his hand, - - The water turn'd to dust and sand! - - Or fancy how the lad would scream - - To see thet fruit-tree jest a dream! - - Or guess how thet poor Injin cuss, - - Would dance and swear, and screech and fuss, - - If when he'd drawn the cork and tried - - To get a gulp of rum inside, - - 'Twarn't anything in thet theer style, - - But physic stuff or stinking ile! - - Ah! you've a notion now, I guess, - - Of how all ended in a mess, - - And how when I was putting in - - My biggest card and thought to win, - - The Old One taught her how to cheat, - - And yer I found myself, clean beat!" - - - - -III--SAINT AND DISCIPLE. - - Joe Wilson paused, and gazed straight down, - - With gritting teeth and bitter frown, - - And not till I entreated him - - Did he continue,--fierce and grim, - - With knitted brow and teeth clench'd tight. - - - "Along this way one summer night, - - Jest as I meant to take the prize, - - Passed an _Apostle_--dern his eyes! - - On his old pony, gravel-eyed, - - His legs a-dangling down each side, - - With twinkling eyes and wheedling smile, - - Grinning beneath his broad-brimm'd tile, - - With heer all scent and shaven face. - - He came a-trotting to the place. - - My luck was bad, I wasn't near, - - But busy many a mile from yer; - - And what I tell was told to me - - By them as were at hand to see. - - 'Twam't every day, I reckon, they - - Saw an Apostle pass their way! - - And Cissy, being kind o' soft, - - And empty in the upper loft, - - Was full of downright joy and pride - - To hev thet saint at her fireside-- - - One of the seventy they call - - The holiest holy--dern 'em all! - - O he was 'cute and no mistake, - - Deep as Salt Lake, and wide awake! - - Theer at the ranche three days he stayed, - - And well he knew his lying trade. - - 'Twarn't long afore he heard full free - - About her larks and thet with me, - - And how 'twas quite the fam'ly plan - - To hev me for her second man. - - At fust thet old Apostle said - - Little, but only shook his head; - - But you may bet he'd no intent - - To let things go as things had went. - - Three nights he stayed, and every night - - He squeezed her hand a bit more tight; - - And every night he didn't miss - - To give a loving kiss to Ciss; - - And tho' his fust was on her brow, - - He ended with her mouth, somehow. - - O, but he was a knowing one, - - The Apostle Hiram Higginson! - - Grey as a badger's was his heer, - - His age was over sixty year - - (Her grandfather was little older), - - So short, his head just touch'd her shoulder; - - His face all grease, his voice all puff, - - His eyes two currants stuck in duff;-- - - Call thet a man!--then look at _me!_ - - Thretty year old and six foot three, - - Afear'd o' nothing morn nor night, - - The man don't walk I wouldn't fight! - - Women is women! Thet's their style-- - - Talk _reason_ to them and they'll bile; - - But baste'em soft as any pigeon, - - With lies and rubbish and religion; - - Don't talk of flesh and blood and feeling, - - But Holy Ghost and blessed healing; - - Don't name things in too plain a way. - - Look a heap warmer than you say, - - Make'em believe they're serving true - - The Holy Spirit and not you, - - Prove all the world but you's damnation, - - And call your kisses jest salvation; - - Do this, and press'em on the sly, - - You're safe to win'em. Jest you try! - - - "Fust thing I heerd of all this game, - - One night when to the ranche I came, - - Jump'd down, ran in, saw Cissy theer, - - And thought her kind o' cool and queer; - - For when I caught her with a kiss, - - Twarn't that she took the thing amiss, - - But kept stone cool and gev a sigh, - - And wiped her mouth upon the sly - - On her white milkin'-apron. 'Waal,' - - Says I, 'you're out o' sorts, my gel!' - - And with a squeamish smile for me, - - Like folks hev when they're sick at sea, - - Says she, 'O, Joseph, ere too late, - - I am awaken'd to my state-- - - How pleasant and how sweet it is - - To be in sech a state of bliss!' - - I stared and gaped, and turned to Jim - - Her brother, and cried out to him, - - 'Hullo, mate, what's the matter here? - - What's come to Cissy? Is she _queer?_' - - Jim gev a grin and answered 'Yes, - - A trifle out o' sorts, I guess.' - - But Cissy here spoke up and said, - - 'It ain't my stomach, nor my head, - - It ain't my flesh, it ain't my skin, - - It's holy _spirits_ here within!' - - 'Waal,' says I, meanin' to be kind, - - 'I must be off, for I'm behind; - - But next time that I pass this way - - We'll fix ourselves without delay. - - I know what your complaint is, Ciss, - - I've seen the same in many a miss, - - Keep up your spirits, thet's your plan. - - You're lonely here without a man, - - And you shall hev as good a one - - As e'er druv hoss beneath the sun!' - - At that I buss'd her with a smack. - - Turn'd out, jump'd up, and took the track, - - And larfing druv along the pass. - - - "Theer! Guess I was as green as grass!" - - - - -IV--THE BOOK OF MORMON. - - - "'Twas jest a week after thet day - - When down I druv again this way. - - My heart was light; and 'neath the box - - I'd got a shawl and two fine frocks - - For Cissy. On in spanking style - - The hosses went mile arter mile; - - The sun was blazing golden bright, - - The sunflowers burning in the light, - - The cattle in the golden gleer - - Wading for coolness everywheer - - Among the shinin' ponds, with flies - - As thick as pepper round their eyes - - And on their heads. See! as I went - - Whistling like mad and waal content, - - Altho' 'twas broad bright day all round, - - A cock crow'd, and I thought the sound - - Seem'd pleasant. Twice or thrice he - - crow'd,' - - And then up to the ranche I rode. - - Since then I've often heerd folk say - - When a cock crows in open day - - It's a _bad sign_, announcin' clear - - Black luck or death to those thet hear. - - - "When I drew up, all things were still. - - I saw the boys far up the hill - - Tossin' the hay; but at the door - - No Cissy stood as oft afore. - - No, not a soul there, left nor right, - - Her very chicks were out o' sight. - - So down I jump'd, and 'Ciss!' I cried, - - But not a sign of her outside. - - With thet into the house I ran, - - But found no sight of gel or man-- - - All empty. Thinks I, 'this is queer!'-- - - Look'd in the dairy--no one theer; - - Then loiter'd round the kitchen' track - - Into the orchard at the back: - - Under the fruit-trees' shade I pass'd,... - - Thro' the green bushes,... and at last - - Found, as the furthest path I trode, - - The gel I wanted. Ye... s! by----! - - - The gel I wanted--ay, I found - - More than I wanted, you'll be bound! - - Theer, seated on a wooden cheer, - - With bows and ribbons in her heer, - - Her hat a-swinging on a twig - - Close by, sat Ciss in her best rig, - - And at her feet that knowing one, - - The Apostle Hiram Higginson! - - They were too keen to notice me, - - So I held back behind a tree - - And watch'd'em. Never night nor day - - Did I see Cissy look so gay, - - Her eyes all sparkling blue and bright, - - Her face all sanctified delight. - - She hed her gown tuck'd up to show - - Embrider'd petticoat below, - - And jest a glimpse, below the white, - - Of dainty leg in stocking tight - - With crimson clocks; and on her knee - - She held an open book, which he, - - Thet dem'd Apostle at her feet, - - With her low milking stool for seat, - - Was reading out all clear and pat, - - Keeping the place with finger fat; - - Creeping more close to book and letter - - To feel the warmth of his text better, - - His crimson face like a cock's head - - With his emotion as he read, - - And now and then his eyes he'd close - - Jest like a cock does when he crows! - - Above the heads of thet strange two - - The shade was deep, the sky was blue, - - The place was full of warmth and smell, - - All round the fruit and fruit-leaves fell, - - And that Saint's voice, when all was - - still, - - Was like the groanin' of a mill. - - - "At last he stops for lack of wind, - - And smiled with sarcy double-chinn'd - - Fat face at Cissy, while she cried, - - Rocking herself from side to side, - - 'O Bishop, them are words of bliss!' - - And then he gev a long fat kiss - - On her warm hand, and edged his stool - - Still closer. Could a man keep cool - - And see it? Trembling thro' and thro' - - I walked right up to thet theer two, - - And caught the dem'd old lump of duff - - Jest by the breeches and the scruff. - - And chuck'd him off, and with one kick - - Sent his stool arter him right slick-- - - While Cissy scream'd with frighten'd face, - - 'Spare him! O spare that man of grace!' - - - "'Spare him!' I cried, and gev a shout, - - 'What's this yer shine you air about-- - - What cuss is this that I jest see - - With that big book upon your knee, - - Cuddling up close and making sham - - To read a heap of holy flam?' - - Then Cissy clasp'd her hands, and said, - - While that dem'd Saint sat fierce and - - red, - - Mopping his brow with a black frown, - - And squatting where I chuck'd him down, - - 'Joe Wilson, stay your hand so bold, - - Come not a wolf into the fold; - - Forbear to touch that holy one-- - - The Apostle Hiram Higginson.' - - 'Touch him,' said I, 'for half a pin - - I'd flay and quarter him and skin! - - Waal may he look so white and skeer'd - - For of his doings I have heerd; - - Five wives he hev already done, - - And him--not half the man for one!' - - -"And then I stoop'd and took a peep - - At what they'd studied at so deep, - - And read, for I can read a bit, - - 'The Book of Mormon '--what was writ - - By the first Saint of all the lot, - - Mad Joseph, him the Yankees shot. - - 'What's the contents of this yer book?' - - Says I, and fixed her with a look. - - O Joe,' she answered, 'read aright, - - It is a book of blessed light-- - - Thet holy man expounds it clear \ - - Edification great is theer!' - - Then, for my blood was up, I took - - One kick at thet infernal book, - - And tho' the Apostle guv a cry, - - Into the well I made it fly, - - And turning to the Apostle cried, - - Tho' thet theer Scriptur' is your guide, - - You'd best depart without delay, - - Afore you sink in the same way! - - And sure as fate you'll wet your skin - - If you come courting yer agin!' - - - "At first he stared and puff'd and blew,-- - - Git out!' I cried, and off he flew, - - And not till he was out o' reach - - Shook his fat fist and found his speech. - - I turned to Cissy. 'Cicely Dunn,' - - Ses I, 'is this a bit of fun - - Or eernest?' Reckon 'twas a sight - - To see the way she stood upright, - - Rolled her blue eyes up, tried to speak, - - Made fust a giggle, then a squeak, - - And said half crying, 'I despise - - Your wicked calumnies and lies, - - And what you would insinuate - - Won't move me from my blessed state. - - Now I perceive in time, thank hiven, - - You are a man to anger given, - - Jealous and vi'lent. Go away! - - And when you recollect this day, - - And those bad words you've said to me, - - Blush if you kin. Tehee! tehee!' - - And then she sobbed, and in her cheer - - Fell crying: so I felt quite queer, - - And stood like a dern'd fool, and star'd - - Watchin' the pump a going hard; - - And then at last, I couldn't stand - - The sight no more, but slipt my hand - - Sharp into hers, and said quite kind, - - Say no more, Cissy--never mind; - - I know how queer you women's ways is-- - - Let the Apostle go to blazes!' - - Now thet was plain and fair. With this - - I would have put my arm round Ciss. - - But Lord! you should have seen her face, - - When I attempted to embrace; - - Sprang to her feet and gev a cry, - - Her back up like a cat's, her eye - - All blazing, and cried fierce and clear, - - You villain, touch me if you deer!' - - And jest then in the distance, fur - - From danger, a voice echoed her,-- - - The dem'd Apostle's, from some place - - Where he had hid his ugly face,-- - - Crying out faint and thick and clear, - - Yes, villain, touch her if you deer!' - - - So riled I was, to be so beat, - - I could have Struck her to my feet - - I didn't tho', tho' sore beset-- - - I never struck a woman yet. - - - "But off I walked right up the pass, - - And found the men among the grass, - - And when I came in sight said flat, - - What's this yer game Cissy is at? - - She's thrown me off, and taken pity - - On an Apostle from the City. - - Five wives already, too, has he-- - - Poor cussed things as e'er I see-- - - Does she mean _mischief_ or a _lark?_' - - Waal, all the men at thet look'd dark, - - And scratch'd their heads and seem'd in - - doubt. - - At last her brother Jim spoke out-- - - Joe, don't blame _us_--by George, it's true, - - We're chawed by this as much as you; - - We've done our best and tried and tried, - - But Ciss is off her head with pride, - - And all her thoughts, both night and day, - - Are with the Apostles fur away. - - "O that I were in bliss with them - - Theer in the new Jerusalem!" - - She says; and when we laugh and sneer, - - Ses we're jest raging wolves down here. - - She's a bit dull at home d'ye see, - - Allays liked heaps of company, - - And now the foolish critter paints - - A life of larks among the Saints. - - We've done our best, don't hev a doubt, - - To keep the old Apostle out: - - We've trained the dogs to seize and bite him, - - We've got up ghosts at night to fright him, - - Doctor'd his hoss and so upset him, - - Put tickle-grass in bed to fret him, - - Jalap'd his beer and snuffed his tea too, - - Gunpowder in his pipe put free too; - - A dozen times we've well-nigh kill'd him, - - - - We've skeer'd him, shaken him, and spiff'd - - him; - - In fact, done all we deer,' said Jim, - - Against a powerful man like him; - - But all in vain we've hed our sport; - - Jest like a cat that _can't_ be hurt, - - With nine good lives if he hev one. - - Is this same Hiram Higginson!'" - - - - -V--JOE ENDS HIS STORY.--FIRST GLIMPSE OF UTAH. - - - Joe paused, for down the mountain's brow - - His hastening horses trotted now. - - Into a canyon green and light, - - Thro' which a beck was sparkling light, - - Quickly we wound. Joe Wilson lit - - His cutty pipe, and suck'd at it - - In silence grim; and when it drew, - - Puff after puff of smoke he blew, - - With blank eye fixed on vacancy. - - At last he turned again to me, - - And spoke with bitter indignation - - The epilogue of his narration. - - - "Waal, stranger, guess my story's told, - - The Apostle beat and I was bowl'd. - - - Reckon I might have won if I - - Had allays been at hand to _try_; - - But I was busy out of sight, - - And he was theer, morn, noon, and night, - - Playing his cards, and waal it weer - - For him I never caught him theer. - - To cut the story short, I guess - - He got the Prophet to say 'yes,' - - And Cissy without much ado - - Gev her consent to hev him too; - - And one fine morning off they druv - - To what he called the Abode of Love-- - - A dem'd old place, it seems to me, - - Jest like a dove-box on a tree, - - Where every lonesome woman-soul - - Sits shivering in her own hole, - - And on the outside, free to choose, - - The old cock-pigeon struts and coos. - - I've heard from many a one that Ciss - - Has found her blunder out by this, - - And she'd prefer for company - - A brisk young chap, tho' poor, like me, - - Than the sixth part of him she's won-- - - The holy Hiram Iligginson. - - I've got a peep at her since then, - - When she's crawl'd out of thet theer den, - - But she's so pale and thin and tame - - I shouldn't know her for the same, - - No flesh to pinch upon her cheek, - - Her legs gone thin, no voice to speak, - - Dabby and crush'd, and sad and flabby, - - Sucking a wretched squeaking baby; - - And all the fun and all the light - - Gone from her face, and left it white. - - Her cheek 'll take 'feeble flush, - - But hesn't blood enough to blush; - - Tries to seem modest, peart and sly, - - And brighten up if I go by, - - But from the corner of her eyes - - Peeps at me quietly, and sighs. - - - Reckon her luck has been a stinger! - - She'd bolt if I held up my finger; - - But tho' I'm rough, and wild, and free, - - Take a _Saint's_ leavings--no not me! - - You've heerd of Vampires--them that rise - - At dead o' night with flaming eyes, - - And into women's beds'll creep - - To suck their blood when they're asleep. - - I guess these Saints are jest the same, - - Sucking the life out is their game; - - And tho' it ain't in the broad sun - - Or in the open streets it's done, - - There ain't a woman they clap eyes on - - Their teeth don't touch, their touch don't pison; - - Thet's their dem'd way in this yer spot-- - - Grrr! git along, hoss! dem you, trot!" - - - From pool to pool the wild beck sped - - Beside us, dwindled to a thread. - - With mellow verdure fringed around - - It sang along with summer sound: - - Here gliding into a green glade; - - Here darting from a nest of shade - - With sudden sparkle and quick cry, - - As glad again to meet the sky; - - Here whirling off with eager will - - And quickening tread to turn a mill; - - Then stealing from the busy place - - With duskier depths and wearier pace - - In the blue void above the beck - - Sailed with us, dwindled to a speck, - - The hen-hawk; and from pools below - - The blue-wing'd heron oft rose slow, - - And upward pass'd with measured beat - - Of wing to seek some new retreat. - - Blue was the heaven and darkly bright, - - Suffused with throbbing golden light, - - And in the burning Indian ray - - A million insects hummed at play. - - Soon, by the margin of the stream, - - We passed a driver with his team - - Bound for the City; then a hound - - Afar off made a dreamy sound; - - And suddenly the sultry track - - Left the green canyon at our back, - - And sweeping round a curve, behold! - - We came into the yellow gold - - Of perfect sunlight on the plain; - - And Joe, abruptly drawing rein, - - Said quick and sharp, shading his eyes - - With sunburnt hand, "See, theer it - - lies-- - - Theer's _Sodom!_" - - And even as he cried, - - The mighty Valley we espied, - - Burning below us in one ray - - Of liquid light that summer day; - - And far away, 'mid peaceful gleams - - Of flocks and herds and glistering streams, - - Rose, fair as aught that fancy paints, - - The wondrous City of the Saints! - - - - -THE CITY OF THE SAINTS. - - - _O Saints that shine around the heavenly Seat! - - What heaven is this that opens at my feet? - - What flocks are these that thro' the golden gleam - - Stray on by freckled fields and shining stream? - - What glittering roofs and white kiosks are these, - - Up-peeping from the shade of emerald trees? - - Whose City is this that rises on the sight - - Fair and fantastic as a city of light - - Seen in the sunset? What is yonder sea - - Opening beyond the City cool and free. - - Large, deep, and luminous, looming thro' the heat. - - And lying at the darkly shadowed feet - - Of the Sierrasy which with jagged line - - Burning to amber in the light divine, - - Close in the Valley of the happy land, - - With heights as barren as a dead man's hand?_ - - - _O pilgrim, halt! O wandering heart, give praise - - Behold the City of these Latter Days! - - Here may'st thou leave thy load and be forgiven, - - And in anticipation taste of Heaven!_ - - - - -AMONG THE PASTURES.--SUMMER EVENING DIALOGUE. - - -BISHOP PETE, BISHOP JOSS, STRANGER. - - - -BISHOP PETE. - - - Ah, things down here, as you observe, are getting - - more pernicious, - - And Brigham's losing all his nerve, altho' the - - fix is vicious. - - Jest as we've rear'd a prosperous place and fill'd - - our holy quivers, - - The Yankee comes with dern'd long face to give - - us all the shivers! - - And on his jaws a wicked grin prognosticates - - disaster, - - And, jest as sure as sin is sin, he means to be - - the master. - - "Pack up your traps," I hear him cry, "for here - - there's no remainin'," - - And winks with his malicious eye, and progues - - us out of Canaan. - - - -BISHOP JOSS. - - - It ain't the Yankee that _I_ fear, the neighbour - - nor the stranger-- - - No, no, it's closer home, it's _here_, that I perceive - - the danger. - - The wheels of State has gather'd rust, the helm - - wants hands to guide it, - - Tain't from without the tiler'll bust, but 'cause - - of steam inside it; - - Yet if we went falootin' less, and made less - - noise and flurry, - - It isn't Jonathan, I guess, would hurt us in a - - hurry. - - But there's sedition east and west, and secret - - revolution, - - There's canker in the social breast, rot in the - - constitution; - - And over half of us, at least, are plunged in mad - - vexation, - - Forgetting how our race increased, our very - - creed's foundation. - - What's our religion's strength and force, its - - substance, and its story? - - - -STRANGER. - - - Polygamy, my friend, of course! the law of love - - and glory! - - - -BISHOP PETE. - - - Stranger, I'm with you there, indeed:--it's been - - the best of nusses; - - Polygamy is to our creed what meat and drink - - to _us_ is. - - Destroy that notion any day, and all the rest is - - brittle, - - And Mormondom dies clean away like one in - - want of vittle. - - It's meat and drink, it's life, it's power! to - - heaven its breath doth win us! - - It warms our vitals every hour! it's Holy Ghost - - within us! - - Jest lay that notion on the shelf, and all life's - - springs are frozen! - - I've half-a-dozen wives myself, and wish I had a - - dozen! - - - -BISHOP JOSS. - - - If all the Elders of the State like you were sound - - and holy, - - P. Shufflebotham, guess our fate were far less - - melancholy. - - You air a man of blessed toil, far-shining and - - discerning, - - A heavenly lamp well trimm'd with oil, upon the - - altar burning. - - And yet for every one of us with equal resolu- - - tion, - - There's twenty samples of the Cuss, as mean as - - Brother Clewson. - - - -STRANGER. - - - St. Abe? - - - -BISHOP JOSS. - - - Yes, _him_--the snivelling sneak--his very _name_ - - provokes me,-- - - Altho' my temper's milky-meek, he sours me - - and he chokes me. - - To see him going up and down with those meek - - lips asunder, - - Jest like a man about to drown, with lead to sink - - him under, - - His grey hair on his shoulders shed, one leg than - - t'other shorter, - - No end of cuteness in his head, and him--as - - weak as water! - - - -BISHOP PETE. - - - And yet how well I can recall the time when - - Abe was younger-- - - Why not a chap among us all went for the - - notion stronger. - - When to the mother-country he was sent to wake - - the sinning, - - He shipp'd young lambs across the sea by _flocks_ - ---he was so winning; - - O but he had a lively style, describing saintly - - blisses! - - He made the spirit pant and smile, and seek - - seraphic kisses! - - How the bright raptures of the Saint fresh lustre - - seemed to borrow, - - While black and awful he did paint the one-wived - - sinner's sorrow! - - Each woman longed to be his bride, and by his - - side to slumber-- - - "The more the blesseder!" he cried, still adding - - to the number. - - - -STRANGER. - - - How did the gentleman contrive to change his - - skin so quickly? - - - -BISHOP JOSS. - - - The holy Spirit couldn't thrive because the Flesh - - was sickly! - - Tho' day by day he did increase his flock, his - - soul was shallow, - - His brains were only candle-grease, and wasted - - down like tallow. - - He stoop'd a mighty heap too much, and let his - - household rule him, - - The weakness of the man was such that any face - - could fool him. - - Ay! made his presence cheap, no doubt, and so - - contempt grew quicker,-- - - Not measuring his notice out in smallish drams, - - like liquor. - - His house became a troublous house, with mis- - - chief overbrimmin', - - And he went creeping like a mouse among the - - cats of women. - - Ah, womenfolk are hard to rule, their tricks is - - most surprising, - - It's only a dern'd spoony fool goes _sentimental- - - ising!_ - - But give'em now and then a bit of notice and a - - present, - - And lor, they're just like doves, that sit on one - - green branch, all pleasant! - - But Abe's love was a queer complaint, a sort of - - tertian fever, - - Each case he cured of thought the Saint a - - thorough-paced deceiver; - - And soon he found, he did indeed, with all their - - whims to nourish, - - That Mormonism ain't a creed where fleshly - - follies flourish. - - - -BISHOP PETE. - - - Ah, right you air! A creed it is demandin' iron - - mettle! - - A will that quells, as soon as riz, the biling of - - the kettle! - - With wary eye, with manner deep, a spirit - - overbrimmin', - - Like to a shepherd 'mong his sheep, the Saint is - -'mong his women; - - And unto him they do uplift their eyes in awe - - and wonder; - - His notice is a blessed gift, his anger is blue - - thunder. - - No n'ises vex the holy place where dwell those - - blessed parties; - - Each missus shineth in her place, and blithe and - - meek her heart is! - - They sow, they spin, they darn, they hem, their - - blessed babes they handle, - - The Devil never comes to _them_, lit by that holy - - candle! - - When in their midst serenely walks their - - Master and their Mentor, - - They're hush'd, as when the Prophet stalks down - - holy church's centre! - - They touch his robe, they do not move, those - - blessed wives and mothers, - - And, when on one he shineth love, no envy fills - - the others; - - They know his perfect saintliness, and honour - - his affection-- - - And, if they did object, I guess he'd settle that - - objection! - - - -BISHOP JOSS - - - It ain't a passionate flat like Abe can manage - - things in _your_ way! - - They teased that most etarnal babe, till things - - were in a poor way. - - I used to watch his thorny bed, and bust my - - sides with laughter, - - _Once_ give a female hoss her head you'll never - - stop her after. - - It's one thing getting seal'd, and he was mighty - - fond of Sealing, - - He'd all the human heat, d'ye see, without the - - saintly feeling. - - His were the wildest set of gals that ever drove - - man silly, - - Each full of freaks and fal-de-lals, as frisky as a - - filly. - - One pull'd this way, and t'other that, and made - - his life a mockery, - - They'd all the feelings of a cat scampaging - -'mong the crockery. - - I saw Abe growing pale and thin, and well I - - knew what ail'd him-- - - The skunk went stealing out and in, and all his - - spirit failed him; - - And tho' the tanning-yard paid well, and he - - was money-making, - - His saintly home was hot as Hell, and, ah! - - how he was baking! - - Why, now and then at evening-time, when his - - day's work was over, - - Up this here hill he used to climb and squat - - among the clover, - - And with his fishy eye he'd glare across the - - Rocky Mountains, - - And wish he was away up there, among the - - heavenly fountains! - - I had an aunt, Tabitha Brooks, a virgin under - - fifty, - - She warn't so much for pretty looks, but she - - was wise and thrifty; - - She'd seen the vanities of life, was good at - -'counts and brewin'-- - - Thinks I, "Here's just the sort of Wife to save - - poor Abe from ruin." - - So, after fooling many a week, and showing - - him she loved him, - - And seeing he was shy to _speak_, whatever - - feelings moved him, - - At last I took her by the hand, and led her to - - him straightway, - - One day when we could see him stand jest close - - unto the gateway. - - My words were to the p'int and brief: says I, - - "My brother Clewson, - - There'll be an end to all your grief, if you've got - - resolution. - - Where shall you find a house that thrives without - - a head that's ruling? - - Here is the paragon of wives to teach those - - others schooling! - - She'll be to you not only wife, but careful as a - - mother-- - - A little property for life is hers; you'll share it, - - brother. - - I've seen the question morn and eve within your - - eyes unspoken, - - You're slow and nervous I perceive, but now--the - - ice is broken. - - Here is a guardian and a guide to bless a man - - and grace him;" - - And then I to Tabitha cried, "Go in, old gal- - - embrace him!" - - - -STRANGER. - - - Why, that was acting fresh and fair;--but Abe, - - was he as hearty? - - - -BISHOP JOSS. - - - We...ll! Abe was never anywhere against a - -_female_ party! - - At first he seemed about to run, and then we - - might have missed him; - - But Tabby was a tender one, she collar'd him - - and kissed him. - - And round his neck she blushing hung, part - - holding, part caressing, - - And murmur'd, with a faltering tongue, "O, Abe, - - I'll be a blessing." - - And home they walk'd one morning, he just - - reaching to her shoulders, - - And sneaking at her skirt, while she stared - - straight at all beholders. - - Swinging her bonnet by the strings, and setting - - her lips tighter, - - In at his door the old gal springs, her grim eyes - - growing brighter; - - And, Lord! there was the devil to pay, and - - lightning and blue thunder, - - For she was going to have her way, and hold - - the vixens under; - - They would have torn old Abe to bits, they - - were so anger-bitten, - - But Tabby saved him from their fits, as a cat - - saves her kitten. - - - -STRANGER. - - - It seems your patriarchal life has got its - - botherations, - - And leads to much domestic strife and infinite - - vexations! - - But when the ladies couldn't lodge in peace one - - house-roof under, - - I thought that 'twas the saintly dodge to give - - them homes asunder? - - - -BISHOP JOSS. - - - And you thought right; it is a plan by many - - here affected-- - - Never by _me_--I ain't the man--I'll have my will - - respected. - - - -BISHOP JOSS'S OWN DOMESTIC SYSTEM. - - - If all the women of _my_ house can't fondly pull - - together, - - And each as meek as any mouse, look out for - - stormy weather!-- - - No, no, I don't approve at all of humouring my - - women, - - And building lots of boxes small for each one - - to grow grim in. - - I teach them jealousy's a _sin_, and solitude's just - - bearish, - - They nuss each other lying-in, each other's babes - - they cherish; - - It is a family jubilee, and not a selfish plea- - - sure, - - Whenever one presents to me another infant - - treasure! - - All ekal, all respected, each with tokens of - - affection, - - They dwell together, soft of speech, beneath their - - lord's protection; - - And if by any chance I mark a spark of shindy - - raising, - - I set my heel upon that spark,--before the house - - gets blazing! - - Now that's what Clewson should have done, but - - couldn't, thro' his folly, - - For even when Tabby's help was won, he wasn't - - much more jolly. - - Altho' she stopt the household fuss, and husht - - the awful riot, - - The old contrairy stupid Cuss could not enj'y - - the quiet. - - His house was peaceful as a church, all solemn, - - still, and saintly; - - And yet he'd tremble at the porch, and look - - about him faintly; - - And tho' the place was all his own, with hat in - - hand he'd enter, - - Like one thro' public buildings shown, soft - - treading down the centre. - - Still, things were better than before, though - - somewhat trouble-laden,. - - When one fine day unto his door there came a - - Yankee maiden. - - "Is Brother Clewson in?" she says; and when - - she saw and knew him, - - The stranger gal to his amaze scream'd out and - - clung unto him. - - Then in a voice all thick and wild, exclaim'd that - - gal unlucky, - - "O Sir, I'm Jason Jones's child--he's _dead_-- - - stabb'd in Kentucky! - - And father's gone, and O I've come to _you_ - - across the mountains." - - And then the little one was dumb, and Abe's - - eyes gushed like fountains.... - - He took that gal into his place, and kept her as - - his daughter-- - - Ah, mischief to her wheedling face and the bad - - wind that brought her! - - - -BISHOP PETE. - - - I knew that Jones;--used to faloot about Emanci- - - pation-- - - It made your very toe-nails shoot to hear his - - declamation. - - And when he'd made all bosoms swell with - - wonder at his vigour, - - He'd get so drunk he couldn't tell a white man - - from a nigger! - - Was six foot high, thin, grim, and pale,--his - - troubles can't be spoken-- - - Tarred, feathered, ridden on a rail, left beaten, - - bruised, and broken; - - But nothing made his tongue keep still, or stopt - - his games improper, - - Till, after many an awkward spill, he came the - - final cropper. - - - -BISHOP JOSS. - - -... That gal was fourteen years of age, and sly - - with all her meekness; - - It put the fam'ly in a rage, for well they knew - - Abe's weakness. - - But Abe (a cuss, as I have said, that any fool - - might sit on) - - Was stubborn as an ass's head, when once he - - took the fit on! - - And, once he fixed the gal to take, in spite of - - their vexation, - - Not all the rows on earth would break his firm - - determination. - - He took the naggings as they came, he bowed - - his head quite quiet, - - Still mild he was and sad and tame, and ate the - - peppery diet; - - But tho' he seemed so crush'd to be, when this - - or that one blew up, - - He stuck to Jones's Legacy and school'd her till - - she grew up. - - Well! there! the thing was said and done, and - - so far who could blame him? - - But O he was a crafty one, and sorrow couldn't - - shame him! - - That gal grew up, and at eighteen was prettier - - far and neater-- - - There were not many to be seen about these - - parts to beat her; - - Peart, brisk, bright-eyed, all trim and tight, like - - kittens fond of playing, - - A most uncommon pleasant sight at pic-nic or - - at praying. - - Then it became, as you'll infer, a simple public - - duty, - - To cherish and look after her, considering her - - beauty; - - And several Saints most great and blest now - - offer'd their protection, - - And I myself among the rest felt something of - - affection. - - But O the selfishness of Abe, all things it beats - - and passes! - - As greedy as a two-year babe a-grasping at - - molasses! - - When once those Shepherds of the flock began - - to smile and beckon, - - He screamed like any lighting cock, and raised - - his comb, I reckon! - - First one was floor'd, then number two, she - - wouldn't look at any; - - Then _my_ turn came, although I knew the - - maiden's faults were many. - - "My brother Abe," says I, "I come untoe your - - house at present - - To offer sister Anne a home which she will find - - most pleasant. - - You know I am a saintly man, and all my ways - - are lawful"-- - - And in a minute he began abusing me most - - awful. - - "Begone," he said, "you're like the rest,-- - - wolves, Wolves with greedy clutches! - - Poor little lamb; but in my breast I'll shield her - - from your touches!" - - "Come, come," says I, "a gal can't stay a child - - like that for ever, - - You'll _hev_ to seal the gal some day; " but Abe - - cried fiercely, "Never!" - - Says I, "Perhaps it's in your view _yourself_ this - - lamb to gather?" - - And "If it is, what's that to _you?_" he cried; - -"but I'm her father! - - You get along, I know your line, it's crushing, - - bullying, wearing, - - You'll never seal a child of mine, so go, and - - don't stand staring!" - - This was the man once mild in phiz as any - - farthing candle-- - - A hedgehog now, his quills all riz, whom no - - one dared to handle! - - But O I little guessed his deal, nor tried to - - circumvent it, - - I never thought he'd dare to _seal_ another; but - - he meant it! - - Yes, managed Brigham on the sly, for fear his - - plans miscarried, - - And long before we'd time to cry, the two were - - sealed and married. - - - -BISHOP PETE. - - - Well, you've your consolation now--he's pun- - - ished clean, I'm thinking, - - He's ten times deeper in the slough, up to his - - neck and sinking. - - There's vinegar in Abe's pale face enough to - - sour a barrel, - - Goes crawling up and down the place, neglect- - - ing his apparel, - - Seems to have lost all heart and soul, has fits of - - absence shocking-- - - His home is like a rabbit's hole when weasels - - come a-knocking. - - And now and then, to put it plain, while falling - - daily sicker, - - I think he tries to float his pain by copious goes - - of liquor. - - - -BISHOP JOSS. - - - Yes, that's the end of selfishness, it leads to - - long vexation-- - - No man can pity Abe, I guess, who knows his - - situation; - - And, Stranger, if this man you meet, don't take - -_him_ for a sample, - - Although he speaks you fair and sweet, he's set - - a vile example. - - Because you see him ill at ease, at home, and - - never hearty, - - Don't think these air the tokens, please, of a - - real saintly party! - - No, he's a failure, he's a sham, a scandal to our - - nation, - - Not fit to lead a single lamb, unworthy of his - - station; - - No! if you want a Saint to see, who rules lambs - - when he's got 'em, - - Just cock your weather-eye at _me_, or Brother - - Shufflebotham. - -_We_ don't go croaking east and west, afraid of - - women's faces, - - We bless and we air truly blest in our domestic - - places; - - We air religious, holy men, happy our folds to - - gather, - - Each is a loyal citizen, also a husband--rather. - - But now with talk you're dry and hot, and - - weary with your ride here. - - Jest come and see _my_ fam'ly lot,--they're waiting - - tea inside here. - - - - -WITHIN THE CITY.--SAINT ABE AND THE SEVEN. - - - Sister Tabitha, thirty odd, - - Rising up with a stare and a nod; - - Sister Amelia, sleepy and mild, - - Freckled, Duduish, suckling a child; - - Sister Fanny, pert and keen, - - Sister Emily, solemn and lean, - - Sister Mary, given to tears, - - Sister Sarah, with wool in her ears;-- - - All appearing like tapers wan - - In the mellow sunlight of Sister Anne. - - - With a tremulous wave of his hand, the Saint - - Introduces the household quaint, - - And sinks on a chair and looks around, - - As the dresses rustle with snakish sound, - - As curtsies are bobb'd, and eyes cast down - - Some with a simper, some with a frown, - - And Sister Anne, with a fluttering breast, - - Stands trembling and peeping behind the rest - - - Every face but one has been - - Pretty, perchance, at the age of eighteen, - - Pert and pretty, and plump and bright; - - But now their fairness is faded quite, - - And every feature is fashion'd here - - To a flabby smile, or a snappish sneer. - - Before the stranger they each assume - - A false fine flutter and feeble bloom, - - And a little colour comes into the cheek - - When the eyes meet mine, as I sit and speak; - - But there they sit and look at me, - - Almost withering visibly, - - And languidly tremble and try to blow-- - - Six pale roses all in a row! - - - Six? ah, yes; but at hand sits one, - - The seventh, still full of the light of the sun. - - Though her colour terribly comes and goes, - - Now white as a lily, now red as a rose, - - So sweet she is, and so full of light, - - That the rose seems soft, and the lily bright. - - Her large blue eyes, with a tender care, - - Steal to her husband unaware, - - And whenever he feels them he flushes red, - - And the trembling hand goes up to his head! - - Around those dove-like eyes appears - - A redness as of recent tears. - - Alone she sits in her youth's fresh bloom - - In a dark corner of the room, - - And folds her hands, and does not stir, - - and the others scarcely look at her, - - But crowding together, as if by plan, - - Draw further and further from Sister Anne. - - - I try to rattle along in chat, - - Talking freely of this and that-- - - The crops, the weather, the mother-land, - - Talk a baby could understand; - - And the faded roses, faint and meek, - - Open their languid lips to speak, - - But in various sharps and flats, all low, - - Give a lazy "yes" or a sleepy "no." - - Yet now and then Tabitha speaks, - - Snapping her answer with yellow cheeks, - - And fixing the Saint who is sitting by - - With the fish-like glare of her glittering eye, - - Whenever the looks of the weary man - - Stray to the corner of Sister Anne. - - - Like a fountain in a shady place - - Is the gleam of the sadly shining face-- - - A fresh spring whither the soul might turn, - - When the road is rough, and the hot sands - - bum; - - Like a fount, or a bird, or a blooming tree, - - To a weary spirit is such as she! - - And Brother Abe, from his easy chair, - - Looks thither by stealth with an aching care, - - And in spite of the dragons that guard the - - brink - - Would stoop to the edge of the fount, I think, - - And drink! and drink! - - - "Drink? Stuff and fiddlesticks," you cry, - - Matron reader with flashing eye: - - "Isn't the thing completely _his_, - - His wife, his mistress, whatever you please? - - Look at her! Dragons and fountains! Absurd!" - - Madam, I bow to every word; - - But truth is truth, and cannot fail, - - And this is quite a veracious tale. - - More like a couple of lovers shy, - - Who flush and flutter when folk are by, - - Were man and wife, or (in another - - And holier parlance) sister and brother. - - As a man of the world I noticed it, - - And it made me speculate a bit, - - For the situation was to my mind - - A phenomenon of a curious kind-- - - A person in love with his _wife_, 'twas clear, - - But afraid, when another soul was near, - - Of showing his feelings in any way - - Because--there would be the Devil to pay! - - - The Saint has been a handsome fellow, - - Clear-eyed, fresh-skinn'd, if a trifle yellow, - - And his face though somewhat soft and plain - - Ends in a towering mass of brain. - - - His locks, though still an abundant crop, - - Are thinning a little at the top, - - But you only notice here and there - - The straggling gleam of a silver hair. - - A man by nature rolled round and short, - - Meant for the Merry Andrew's sport, - - But sober'd down by the wear and tear - - Of business troubles and household care: - - Quiet, reticent, gentle, kind, - - Of amorous heart and extensive mind, - - A Saint devoid of saintly sham, - - Is little Brother Abraham. - - - Brigham's right hand he used to be-- - - Mild though he seems, and simple, and free; - - Sound in the ways of the world, and great - - In planning potent affairs of state; - - Not bright, nor bumptious, you must know, - - Too retiring for popular show, - - But known to conceive on a startling scale - - Gigantic plans that never fail; - - To hold with a certain secret sense - - The Prophet under his influence, - - To be, I am led to understand, - - The Brain, while the Prophet is the Hand, - - And to see his intellectual way - - Thro' moral dilemmas of every day, - - By which the wisest are led astray. - - - Here's the Philosopher!--here he sits, - - Here, with his vaguely wandering wits, - - Among the dragons, as I have said, - - Smiling, and holding his hand to his head. - - What mighty thoughts are gathering now - - Behind that marble mass of brow? - - What daring schemes of polity - - To set the popular conscience free, - - And bless humanity, planneth he? - - His talk is idle, a surface-gleam, - - The ripple on the rest of the stream, - - But his thoughts--ah, his _thoughts_--where do - - they fly, - - While the wretched roses under his eye - - Flutter and peep? and in what doth his plan - - Turn to the counsel of Sister Anne? - - For his eyes give ever a questioning look, - - And the little one in her quiet nook - - Flashes an answer, and back again - - The question runs to the Brother's brain, - - And the lights of speculation flit - - Over his face and trouble it. - - - Follow his eyes once more, and scan - - The fair young features of Sister Anne: - - Frank and innocent, and in sooth - - Full of the first fair flush of youth. - - Quite a child--nineteen years old; - - Not gushing, and self-possessed, and bold, - - Like our Yankee women at nineteen, - - But low of voice, and mild of mien-- - - More like the fresh young fruit you see - - In the mother-land across the sea-- - - More like that rosiest flower on earth, - - A blooming maiden of English birth. - - Such as we find them yet awhile - - Scatter'd about the homely Isle, - - Not yet entirely eaten away - - By the canker-novel of the day, - - Or curling up and losing their scent - - In a poisonous dew from the Continent. - - - There she sits, in her quiet nook, - - Still bright tho' sadden'd; and while I look, - - My heart is filled and my eyes are dim, - - And I hate the Saint when I turn to him! - - Ogre! Blue Beard! Oily and sly! - - His meekness a cheat, his quiet a lie! - - A roaring lion he'll walk the house - - Tho' now he crouches like any mouse! - - Had not he pluck'd enough and to spare - - Of roses like these set fading there, - - - - But he must seek to cajole and kiss - - Another yet, and a child like this? - - A maid on the stalk, just panting to prove - - The honest joy of a virgin love; - - A girl, a baby, an innocent child, - - To be caught by the first man's face that smiled! - - Scarce able the difference to fix - - Of polygamy and politics! - - Led to the altar like a lamb, - - And sacrificed to the great god _Sham!_ - - Deluded, martyr'd, given to woe, - - Last of seven who have perish'd so; - - For who can say but the flowers I see - - Were once as rosy and ripe as she? - - Already the household worm has begun - - To feed on the cheeks of the little one; - - Already her spirit, fever-fraught, - - Droops to the weight of its own thought; - - Already she saddens and sinks and sighs, - - Watched by the jealous dragonish eyes. - - Even Amelia, sleepy and wan, - - Sharpens her orbs as she looks at Anne; - - While Sister Tabby, when she can spare - - Her gaze from the Saint in his easy-chair, - - Fixes her with a gorgon glare. - - - All is still and calm and polite, - - The Sisters bolster themselves upright, - - And try to smile, but the atmosphere - - Is charged with thunder and lightning here. - - Heavy it seems, and close and warm, - - Like the air before a summer storm; - - And at times,--as in that drowsy dream - - Preluding thunder, all sounds will seem - - Distinct and ominously clear, - - And the far-off cocks seem crowing near - - Ev'n so in the pauses of talk, each breast - - Is strangely conscious of the rest, - - And the tick of the watch of Abe the Saint - - Breaks on the air, distinct though faint, - - Like the ticking of his heart! - - I rise - - To depart, still glancing with piteous eyes - - On Sister Anne; and I find her face - - Turn'd questioning still to the same old place-- - - The face of the Saint. I stand and bow, - - Curtsies again are bobbing now, - - Dresses rustling... I know no more - - Till the Saint has led me to the door, - - And I find myself in a day-dream dim, - - Just after shaking hands with him. - - Standing and watching him sad and slow - - Into the dainty dwelling go, - - With a heavy sigh, and his hand to his head. - - -... Hark, _distant thunder!_--'tis as I said: - - The air was far too close;--at length - - The Storm is breaking in all its strength. - - - - -III--PROMENADE--MAIN STREET, UTAH. - - - -THE STRANGER. - - - Along the streets they're thronging, walking, - - Clad gaily in their best and talking, - - Women and children quite a crowd; - - The bright sun overhead is blazing, - - The people sweat, the dust they're raising - - Arises like a golden cloud. - - Still out of every door they scatter, - - Laughing and light. Pray what's the matter. - - That such a flock of folks I see? - - - -A LOUNGER - - - They're off to hear the Prophet patter, - - This yer's a day of jubilee. - - - -VOICES. - - - Come along, we're late I reckon... - - There's our Matt, I see him beckon... - - How d'ye do, marm? glad to meet you. - - Silence, Hiram, or I'll beat you... - - Emm, there's brother Jones a-looking... - - Here's warm weather, how I'm cooking! - - - -STRANGER - - - Afar the hills arise with cone and column - - Into a sky of brass serene and solemn; - - And underneath their shadow in one haze - - Of limpid heat the great salt waters blaze, - - While faint and filmy through the sultry veil - - The purple islands on their bosom sail - - Like floating clouds of dark fantastic air. - - How strangely sounds (while 'mid the Indian - - glare - - Moves the gay crowd of people old and young) - - The bird-like chirp of the old Saxon tongue! - - The women seem half weary and half gay, - - Their eyes droop in a melancholy way,-- - - I have not seen a merry face to-day. - - - -A BISHOP - - - Ther's a smart hoss you're riding, brother! - - How are things looking, down with you? - - - -SECOND BISHOP - - - Not over bright with one nor 'tother, - - Taters are bad, tomatoes blue. - - You've heer'd of Brother Simpson's losses?-- - - Buried his wife and spiled his hay. - - And the three best of Hornby's hosses - - Some Injin cuss has stol'n away. - - - -VOICES. - - - Zoë, jest fix up my gown... - - There's my hair a-coming down... - - Drat the babby, he's so crusty-- - - It's the heat as makes him thusty... - - Come along, I'm almost sinking... - - There's a stranger, and he's winking. - - Stranger. - - That was a fine girl with the grey-hair'd lady, - - How shining were her eyes, how true and - - steady, - - Not drooping down in guilty Mormon fashion, - - But shooting at the soul their power and passion. - - That's a big fellow, six foot two, not under, - - But how he struts, and looks as black as thunder, - - Half glancing round at his poor sheep to scare - - 'em-- - - Six, seven, eight, nine,--O Abraham, what a - - harem! - - - All berry brown, but looking scared as may be, - - And each one but the oldest with a baby. - - - -PHOEBE - - - A Girl? - - Another. - - Yes, Grace! - - - -FIRST GIRL - - - Don't seem to notice, dear, - - That Yankee from the camp again is here, - - Making such eyes, and following on the sly, - - And coughing now and then to show he's nigh. - - - -SECOND GIRL - - - Who's that along with him--the little scamp - - Shaking his hair and nodding with a smile? - - - -FIRST GIRL - - - Guess he's some new one just come down to - - - -SECOND GIRL - - - Isn't he handsome? - - - -FIRST GIRL - - - No; the first's my style! - - - -STRANGER - - - If my good friends, the Saints, could get then - - will, - - These Yankee officers would fare but ill; - - Wherever they approach the folk retire, - - As if from veritable coals of fire; - - With distant bow, set lips, and half-hid frown, - - The Bishops pass them in the blessed town; - - The women come behind like trembling sheep, - - Some freeze to ice, some blush and steal a peep. - - And often, as a band of maidens gay - - Comes up, each maid ceases to talk and play, - - Droops down her eyes, and does not look their - - way; - - But after passing where the youngsters pine, - - All giggle as at one concerted sign, - - And tripping on with half-hush'd merry cries, - - Look boldly back with laughter in their eyes! - - - -VOICES - - - Here we are, how folk are pushing... - - Mind the babby in the crushing... - - Pheemy!.. Yes, John!.. Don't go staring - - At that Yankee--it's past bearing. - - - Draw your veil down while he passes, - - Reckon you're as bold as brass is. - - - -ABE CLEWSON - - -_[Passing with his hand to his head, attended by his - - Wives.]_ - - Head in a whirl, and heart in a flutter, - - Guess I don't know the half that I utter. - - Too much of this life is beginning to try me, - - I'm like a dem'd miller the grind always nigh - - me; - - Praying don't sooth me nor comfort me any, - - My house is too full and my blessings too - - many-- - - The ways o' the wilderness puzzle me greatly. - - - -SISTER TABITHA. - - - Do walk like a Christian, and keep kind o' - - stately! - - And jest keep an eye on those persons behind - - you, - - You call 'em your Wives, but they tease you and - - blind you; - - Sister Anne's a disgrace, tho' you think her a - - martyr, - - And she's tuck'd up her petticoat nigh to her - - garter. - - - -STRANGER - - - What group is this, begrim'd with dust and - - heat, - - Staring like strangers in the open street? - - The women, ragged, wretched, and half dead, - - Sit on the kerbstone hot and hang the head, - - And clustering at their side stand children - - brown, - - Weary, with wondering eyes on the fair town. - - Close by in knots beside the unhorsed team - - The sunburn'd men stand talking in a dream, - - For the vast tracts of country left behind - - Seem now a haunting mirage in the mind. - - Gaunt miners folding hands upon their breasts, - - Big-jointed labourers looking ox-like down, - - And sickly artizans with narrow chests - - Still pallid from the smoke of English town. - - Hard by to these a group of Teutons stand, - - Light-hair'd, blue-eyed, still full of Fatherland, - - With water-loving Northmen, who grow gay - - To see the mimic sea gleam far away. - - Now to this group, with a sharp questioning - - face, - - Cometh a holy magnate of the place - - In decent black; shakes hands with some; - - and then - - Begins an eager converse with the men: - - All brighten; even the children hush their cries, - - And the pale women smile with sparkling eyes. - - - -BISHOP. - - - The Prophet welcomes you, and sends - - His message by my mouth, my friends; - - He'll see you snug, for on this shore - - There's heaps of room for millions more!.. - - Scotchman, I take it?.. Ah, I know - - Glasgow--was there a year or so... - - And if _you_ don't from Yorkshire hail, - - I'll--ah, I thought so; seldom fail. - - - Make yourselves snug and rest a spell, - - There's liquor coming--meat as well. - - All welcome! We keep open door-- - - Ah, _we_ don't push away the poor; - - Tho' he's a fool, you understand, - - Who keeps poor long in this here land. - - The land of honey you behold-- - - Honey and milk--silver and gold! - - - -AN ARTIZAN - - - Ah, that's the style--Bess, just you hear it; - - Come, come, old gal, keep up your spirit: - - Silver and gold, and milk and honey, - - This is the country for our money! - - - -A GERMAN. - - - Es lebe die Stadt! es lebe dran! - - Das heilige Leben steht mir an! - - - -A NORTHMAN. - - - Taler du norske - - - -BISHOP. - - - -_[Shaking his head. and turning with a wink to the - - English.]_ - - No, not me! - - _Saxon's_ the language of the free: - - The language of the great Evangels! - - The language of the Saints and Angels! - - The only speech that Joseph knew! - - The speech of him and Brigham too! - - Only the speech by which we've thriven - - Is comprehended up in Heaven!.. - - Poor heathens! but we'll make'em spry, - - They'll talk like Christians by and by. - - - -STRANGER - - - _[Strolling out of the streets.]_ - - From east, from west, from every worn-out land, - - Yearly they stream to swell this busy band. - - Out of the fever'd famine of the slums, - - From sickness, shame, and sorrow, Lazarus comes, - - Drags his sore limbs o'er half the world and sea, - - Seeking for freedom and felicity. - - The sewer of ignorance and shame and loss, - - Draining old Europe of its dirt and dross, - - Grows the great City by the will of God; - - While wondrously out of the desert sod, - - Nourished with lives unclean and weary hearts - - The new faith like a splendid weed upstarts. - - A splendid weed! rather a fair wild-flower, - - Strange to the eye in its first birth of power, - - But bearing surely in its breast the seeds - - Of higher issues and diviner deeds. - - Changed from Sahara to a fruitful vale - - Fairer than ever grew in fairy tale, - - Transmuted into plenteous field and glade - - By the slow magic of the white man's spade, - - Grows Deseret, filling its mighty nest - - Between the eastern mountains and the west, - - While--who goes there? What shape antique - - looks down - - From this green mound upon the festive town, - - With tall majestic figure darkly set - - Against the sky in dusky silhouette? - - Strange his attire: a blanket edged with red - - Wrapt royally around him; on his head - - A battered hat of the strange modem sort - - Which men have christened "chimney pots" in - - sport; - - Mocassins on his feet, fur-fringed and grand, - - And a large green umbrella in his hand. - - Pensive he stands with deep-lined dreamy face, - - Last living remnant of the mighty race - - Who on these hunting-fields for many a year - - Chased the wild buffalo, and elk, and deer. - - Heaven help him! In his mien grief and despair - - Seem to contend, as he stands musing there; - - Until he notices that I am nigh, - - And lo! with outstretched hands and glistening - - eye - - Swift he descends--Does he mean mischief? - - No; - - He smiles and beckons as I turn to go. - - - -INDIAN - - - Me Medicine Crow. White man gib drink to me. - - Great chief; much squaw; papoose, sah, one, - - two, three! - - - -STRANGER - - - With what a leer, half wheedling and half winking, - - The lost one imitates the act of drinking; - - His nose already, to his woe and shame, - - Carbuncled with the white man's liquid flame! - - Well, I pull out my flask, and fill a cup - - Of burning rum--how quick he gulps it up; - - And in a moment in his trembling grip - - Thrusts out the cup for more with thirsty lip. - - - But no!--already drunken past a doubt, - - Degenerate nomad of the plains, get out! - - _[A railway whistle sounds in the far distance.]_ - - Fire-hearted Demon tamed to human hand, - - Rushing with smoky breath from land to land, - - Screaming aloud to scare with rage and wrath - - Primaeval ignorance before his path, - - Dragging behind him as he runs along - - His lilliputian masters, pale and strong, - - With melancholy sound for plain and hill - - Man's last Familiar Spirit whistles shrill. - - Poor devil of the plains, now spent and frail, - - Hovering wildly on the fatal trail, - - Pass on!--there lies thy way and thine abode, - - Get out of Jonathan thy master's road. - - Where? anywhere!--he's not particular where, - - So that you clear the road, he does not care; - - Off, quick! clear out! ay, drink your fill and die; - - And, since the Earth rejects you, try the Sky! - - And see if He, who sent your white-faced - - brother - - To hound and drive you from this world you - - bother, - - Can find a comer for you in another! - - - - -WITHIN THE SYNAGOGUE.--SERMONIZETH THE PROPHET. - - - Sisters and brothers who love the right, - - Saints whose hearts are divinely beating, - - Children rejoicing in the light, - - I reckon this is a pleasant meeting. - - Where's the face with a look of grief?-- - - Jehovah's with us and leads the battle; - - We've had a harvest beyond belief, - - And the signs of fever have left the cattle; - - All still blesses the holy life - - Here in the land of milk and honey. - - - -FEMININE WHISPERS - - - Brother Shuttleworth's seventeenth wife,.. - - Her with the heer brushed up so funny! - - - -THE PROPHET - - - Out of Egypt hither we flew, - - Through the desert and rocky places; - - The people murmur'd, and all look'd blue, - - The bones of the martyr'd filled our traces. - - Mountain and valley we crawl'd along, - - And every morning our hearts beat quicker. - - Our flesh was weak, but our souls were strong. - - And we'd managed to carry some kegs of - - liquor. - - At last we halted on yonder height, - - Just as the sun in the west was blinking. - - - -FEMININE WHISPERS - - - Isn't Jedge Hawkins's last a fright?... - - I'm suttin that Brother Abe's been drinking! - - - -THE PROPHET. - - - That night, my lambs, in a wondrous dream, - - I saw the gushing of many fountains; - - Soon as the morning began to beam, - - Down we went from yonder mountains, - - Found the water just where I thought, - - Fresh and good, though a trifle gritty, - - Pitch'd our tents in the plain, and wrought - - The site and plan of the Holy City. - - "Pioneers of the blest," I cried, - - "Dig, and the Lord will bless each spade- - - ful." - - - -FEMININE WHISPERS - - - Brigham's sealed to another Bride... - - How worn he's gittin'! he's aging dread- - - ful. - - - -THE PROPHET - - - This is a tale so often told, - - The theme of every eventful meeting; - - Yes! you may smile and think it old; - - But yet it's a tale that will bear repeating. - - That's how the City of Light began, - - That's how we founded the saintly nation, - - All by the spade and the arm of man, - - And the aid of a special dispensation. - - "Work" was the word when we begun, - - "Work" is the word now we have plenty. - - - -FEMININE WHISPERS. - - - Heard about Sister Euphemia's son?.. - - Sealing already, though only twenty! - - - -THE PROPHET. - - - I say just now what I used to say, - - Though it moves the heathens to mock and - - laughter, - - From work to prayer is the proper way-- - - Labour first, and Religion after. - - Let a big man, strong in body and limb, - - Come here inquiring about his Maker, - - This is the question I put to him, - - "Can you grow a cabbage, or reap an - - acre?" - - What's the soul but a flower sublime, - - Grown in the earth and upspringing surely! - - - -FEMININE WHISPERS - - - O yes! she's hed a most dreadful time! - - Twins, both thriving, though she's so - - poorly. - - - -THE PROPHET. - - - Beauty, my friends, is the crown of life, - - To the young and foolish seldom granted; - - After a youth of honest strife - - Comes the reward for which you've panted. - - - O blessed sight beyond compare, - - When life with its halo of light is rounded, - - To see a Saint with reverend hair - - Sitting like Solomon love-surrounded! - - One at his feet and one on his knee, - - Others around him, blue-eyed and dreamy! - - - -FEMININE WHISPERS. - - - All very well, but as for me, - - My man had better!--I'd pison him, - - Pheemy! - - - -THE PROPHET - - - There in the gate of Paradise - - The Saint is sitting serene and hoary, - - Tendrils of euros, and blossoms of eyes, - - Festoon him round in his place of glory; - - Little cherubs float thick as bees - - Round about him, and murmur "father!" - - - The sun shines bright and he sits at-ease, - - Fruit all round for his hand to gather. - - Blessed is he and for ever gay, - - Floating to Heaven and adding to it! - - - -FEMININE WHISPERS - - - Thought I should have gone mad that day - - He brought a second; I made him rue it! - - - -THE PROPHET - - - Sisters and Brothers by love made wise. - - Remember, when Satan attempts to quel] - - you, - - If this here Earth isn't Paradise - - You'll never see it, and so I tell you. - - Dig and drain, and harrow and sow, - - God will bless you beyond all measure; - - Labour, and meet with reward below, - - For what is the end of all labour? Plea- - - sure! - - - Labour's the vine, and pleasure's the grape; - - The one delighting, the other bearing. - - - -FEMININE WHISPERS - - - - Higginson's third is losing her shape. - - She hes too many--it's dreadful wearing. - - - -THE PROPHET - - - But I hear some awakening spirit cry, - - "Labour is labour, and all men know it; - - But what is pleasure?" and I reply, - - Grace abounding and Wives to show it! - - Holy is he beyond compare - - Who tills his acres and takes his blessing, - - Who sees around him everywhere - - Sisters soothing and babes caressing. - - And his delight is Heaven's as well, - - For swells he not the ranks of the chosen? - - - -FEMININE WHISPERS. - - - Martha is growing a handsome gel... - - Three at a birth?--that makes the dozen. - - - -THE PROPHET. - - - Learning's a shadow, and books a jest, - - One Book's a Light, but the rest are human. - - The kind of study that I think best - - Is the use of a spade and the love of a - - woman. - - Here and yonder, in heaven and earth, - - By big Salt Lake and by Eden river, - - The finest sight is a man of worth, - - Never tired of increasing his quiver. - - He sits in the light of perfect grace - - With a dozen cradles going together! - - - -FEMININE WHISPERS. - - - The babby's growing black in the face! - - Carry him out--it's the heat of the weather! - - - -THE PROPHET - - - A faithful vine at the door of the Lord, - - A shining flower in the garden of spirits, - - A lute whose strings are of sweet accord, - - Such is the person of saintly merits. - - Sisters and brothers, behold and strive - - Up to the level of his perfection; - - Sow, and harrow, and dig, and thrive, - - Increase according to God's direction. - - This is the Happy Land, no doubt, - - Where each may flourish in his vocation. - - Brother Bantam will now give out - - The hymn of love and of jubilation. - - - - -V--THE FALLING OF THE THUNDERBOLT - - - Deep and wise beyond expression - - Sat the Prophet holding session, - - And his Elders, round him sitting - - With a gravity befitting, - - Never rash and never fiery, - - Chew'd the cud of each inquiry, - - Weigh'd each question and discussed it. - - Sought to settle and adjust it, - - Till, with sudden indication - - Of a gush of inspiration, - - The grave Prophet from their middle - - Gave the answer to their riddle, - - And the lesser lights all holy, - - Round the Lamp revolving slowly, - - Thought, with eyes and lips asunder, - -"_Right_, we reckon, he's a wonder!" - - - Whether Boyes, that blessed brother, - - Should be sealed unto another, - - Having, tho' a Saint most steady, - - Very many wives already? - - Whether it was held improper, - - If a woman drank, to drop her? - - Whether unto Brother Fleming - - Formal praise would be beseeming, - - Since from three or four potatoes - -(Not much bigger than his great toes) - - He'd extracted, to their wonder, - - Four stone six and nothing under? - - Whether Bigg be reprimanded - - For his conduct underhanded. - - - Since he'd packed his prettiest daughter - - To a heathen o'er the water? - - How, now Thompson had departed, - - His poor widows, broken-hearted, - - Should be settled? They were seven, - - Sweet as cherubs up in heaven; - - Three were handsome, young, and pleasant, - - And had offers on at present-- - - Must they take them?.. These and other - - Questions proffer'd by each brother, - - The great Prophet ever gracious, - - Free and easy, and sagacious, - - Answer'd after meditation - - With sublime deliberation; - - And his answers were so clever - - Each one whisper'd, "Well I never!" - - And the lesser lights all holy, - - Round the Prophet turning slowly, - - Raised their reverend heads and hoary, - - Thinking, "To the Prophet, glory! - - - Hallelujah, veneration, - - Reckon that he licks creation!" - - - Suddenly as they sat gleaming, - - On them came an unbeseeming - - Murmur, tumult, and commotion, - - Like the breaking of the ocean; - - And before a word was utter'd, - - In rush'd one with voice that fluttered - - Arms uplifted, face the colour - - Of a bran-new Yankee dollar, - - Like a man whose wits are addled. - - Crying--"_Brother Abe's skedaddled!_" - - - Then those Elders fearful-hearted - - Raised a loud cry and upstarted, - - But the Prophet, never rising, - - Said, "Be calm! this row's surprising!" - - And as each Saint sank unsinew'd - - In his arm-chair he continued: - - - "Goodman Jones, your cheeks are yellow, - - Tell thy tale, and do not bellow! - - What's the reason of your crying-- - - Is our brother _dead!_--or _dying?_" - - - As the Prophet spake, supremely - - Hushing all the strife unseemly, - - Sudden in the room there entered - - Shapes on whom all eyes were centred-- - - Six sad female figures moaning, - - Trembling, weeping, and intoning, - - "We are widows broken-hearted-- - - Abraham Clewson has departed!" - - - While the Saints again upleaping - - Joined their voices to the weeping, - - For a moment the great Prophet - - Trembled, and look'd dark as Tophet. - - But the cloud pass'd over lightly. - - "Cease!" he cried, but sniffled slightly, - - "Cease this murmur and be quiet-- - - Dead men won't awake with riot. - - Tis indeed a loss stupendous-- - - When will Heaven his equal send us? - - Speak, then, of our brother cherish'd, - - Was it _fits_ by which he perish'd? - - Or did Death come even quicker, - - Thro' a bolting horse or kicker?" - - - At the Prophet's question scowling, - - All the Wives stood moaning, howling, - - Crying wildly in a fever, - - "O the villain! the deceiver!" - - But the oldest stepping boldly, - - Curtseying to the Session coldly, - - Cried in voice like cracking thunder, - - "Prophet, don't you make a blunder? - - Abraham Clewson isn't dying-- - - Hasn't died, as you're implying - - No! he's not the man, my brothers, - - To die decently like others! - - Worse! he's from your cause revolted-- - - Run away! ske-daddled! bolted!" - - - Bolted! run away! skedaddled! - - Like to men whose wits are addled, - - Echoed all those Lights so holy, - - Round the Prophet shining slowly - - And the Prophet, undissembling, - - Underneath the blow sat trembling, - - While the perspiration hovered - - On his forehead, and he covered - - With one trembling hand his features - - From the gaze of smaller creatures. - - Then at last the high and gifted - - Cough'd and craved, with hands uplifted, - - Silence. When 'twas given duly, - - "This," said he, "'s a crusher truly! - - - Brother Clewson fall'n from glory! - - I can scarce believe your story, - - O my Saints, each in his station, - - Join in prayer and meditation!" - - - Covering up each eyelid saintly - - With a finger tip, prayed faintly, - - Shining in the church's centre, - - Their great Prophet, Lamp, and Mentor; - - And the lesser Lights all holy, - - Round the Lamp revolving slowly, - - Each upon his seat there sitting, - - With a gravity befitting, - - Bowed their reverend heads and hoary, - - Saying, "To the Prophet glory! - - Hallelujah, veneration! - - Reckon that he licks creation!" - - - Lastly, when the trance was ended. - - And, with face where sorrow blended - - Into pity and compassion, - - Shone the Light in common fashion; - - Forth the Brother stept who brought them - - First the news which had distraught them, - - And, while stood the Widows weeping, - - Gave into the Prophet's keeping - - A seal'd paper, which the latter - - Read, as if 'twere solemn matter-- - - Gravely pursing lips and nodding, - - While they watch'd in dark foreboding, - - Till at last, with voice that quivered, - - He these woeful words delivered:-- - - - "Sisters, calm your hearts unruly, - - Tis an awful business truly; - - Weeping now will save him never, - - He's as good as lost for ever; - - Yes, I say with grief unspoken, - - Jest a pane crack'd, smash'd, and broken - - In the windows of the Temple-- - - Crack'd's the word--so take example! - - Had he left ye one and all here - - On our holy help to call here, - - Fled alone from _every_ fetter, - - I could comprehend it better! - - Flying, not with some strange lady, - - But with her he had already, - - With his own seal'd Wife eloping-- - - It's a case of craze past hoping! - - List, O Saints, each in his station. - - To the idiot's explanation!" - - - Then, while now and then the holy - - Broke the tale of melancholy - - With a grunt contempt expressing, - - And the widows made distressing - - Murmurs of recrimination - - Here and there in the narration, - - The great Prophet in affliction - - Read this awful Valediction! - - - - -VI--LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE TO THE POLYGAMISTS. - - - O Brother, Prophet of the Light!--don't let my - - state distress you, - - While from the depths of darkest night I cry, - - "Farewell! God bless you!" - - I don't deserve a parting tear, nor even a male- - - diction, - - Too weak to fill a saintly sphere, I yield to my - - affliction; - - Down like a cataract I shoot into the depths - - below you, - - While you stand wondering and mute, my last - - adieu I throw you; - - Commending to your blessed care my well-be- - - loved spouses, - - My debts (there's plenty and to spare to pay - - them), lands, and houses, - - My sheep, my cattle, farm and fold, yea, all by - - which I've thriven: - - These to be at the auction sold, and to my - - widows given. - - Bless them! to prize them at their worth was - - far beyond my merit, - - Just make them think me in the earth, a poor - - departed spirit. - - I couldn't bear to say good-bye, and see their - - tears up-starting; - - I thought it best to pack and fly without the - - pain of parting! - - O tell Amelia, if she can, by careful educa- - - tion, - - To make her boy grow up a man of strength - - and saintly station! - - Tell Fanny to beware of men, and say I'm still - - her debtor-- - - Tho' she cut sharpish now and then, I think it - - made me better! - - Let Emily still her spirit fill with holy consola- - - tions-- - - Seraphic soul, I hear her still a-reading "Reve- - - lations!" - - Bid Mary now to dry her tears--she's free of her - - chief bother; - - And comfort Sarah--I've my fears she's going to - - be a mother; - - And to Tabitha give for me a tender kiss of - - healing-- - - Guilt wrings my soul--I seem to see that well- - - known face appealing! - - - And now,--before my figure fades for ever from - - your vision, - - Before I mingle with the shades beyond your - - light Elysian, - -_Now_, while your faces all turn pale, and you - - raise eyes and shiver, - - Let me a round unvarnish'd tale (as Shakspere - - says) deliver; - - And let there be a warning text in my most - - shameful story, - - When some poor sheep, perplext and vext, goes - - seeking too much glory. - - O Brigham, think of my poor fate, a scandal to - - beholders, - - And don't again put too much weight before - - you've tried the shoulders! - - - Though I'd the intellectual gift, and knew the - - rights and reasons; - - Though I could trade, and save, and shift, - - according to the seasons; - - Though I was thought a clever man, and was at - - spouting splendid,-- - - Just think how finely I began, and see how all - - has ended! - - In _principle_ unto this hour I'm still a holy - - being-- - - But oh, how poorly is my power proportion'd to - - my seeing! - - You've all the logic on your side, you're right in - - each conclusion, - - And yet how vainly have I tried, with eager - - resolution! - - My will was good, I felt the call, although my - - strength was meagre, - - There wasn't one among you all to serve the - - Lord more eager! - - I never tired in younger days of drawing lambs - - unto me, - - My lot was one to bless and praise, the fire of - - faith thrill'd through me. - - And _you_, believing I was strong, smiled on me - - like a father,-- - - Said, "Blessëd be this man, though young, who - - the sweet lambs doth gather! " - - At first it was a time full blest, and all my - - earthy pleasure - - Was gathering lambs unto my breast to cherish - - and to treasure; - - Ay, one by one, for heaven's sake, my female - - flock I found me, - - Until one day I did awake and heard them - - bleating round me, - - And there was sorrow in their eyes, and mute - - reproach and wonder, - - For they perceived to their surprise their Shep- - - herd was a blunder. - - O Brigham, think of it and weep, my firm and - - saintly Master-- - -_The Pastor trembled at his Sheep, the Sheep despised - - the Pastor!_ - - - O listen to the tale of dread, thou Light that - - shines so brightly-- - - Virtue's a horse that drops down dead if over- - - loaded slightly! - - She's all the _will_, she wants to go, she'd carry - - every tittle; - - But when you see her flag and blow, just ease - - her of a little! - -_One_ wife for me was near enough, _two_ might - - have fixed me neatly, - -_Three_ made me shake, _four_ made me puff, _five_ - - settled me completely,-- - - But when the _sixth_ came, though I still was - - glad and never grumbled, - - I took the staggers, kick'd, went ill, and in the - - traces tumbled! - - - Ah, well may I compare my state unto a beast's - - position-- - - Unfit to bear a saintly weight, I sank and lost - - condition; - - I lack'd the moral nerve and thew, to fill so fine - - a station-- - - Ah, if I'd had a head like you, and your deter- - - mination! - - - - Instead of going in and out, like a superior - - party, - - I was too soft of heart, no doubt, too open, and - - too hearty. - - When I _began_ with each young sheep I was too - - free and loving, - - Not being strong and wise and deep, I set her - -_feelings_ moving; - - And so, instead of noticing the gentle flock in - - common, - - I waken'd up that mighty thing--the Spirit of a - - Woman. - - Each got to think me, don't you see,--so foolish - - was the feeling,-- - - Her own especial property, which all the rest - - were stealing! - - And, since I could not give to each the whole of - - my attention, - - All came to grief, and parts of speech too deli- - - cate to mention! - - - Bless them! they loved me far too much, they - - erred in their devotion, - - I lack'd the proper saintly touch, subduing mere - - emotion: - - The solemn air sent from the skies, so cold, so - - tranquillising, . - - That on the female waters lies, and keeps the - - same from rising, - - But holds them down all smooth and bright, - - and, if some wild wind storms 'em, - - Comes like a cold frost in the night, and into ice - - transforms 'em! - - - And there, between ourselves, I see the diffi- - - culty growing, - - Since most men are as meek as me, too pas- - - sionate and glowing; - - They cannot in _your_ royal way dwell like a - - guest from Heaven - - Within this tenement of clay, which for the Soul - - is given; - - They cannot like a blessed guest come calm and - - strong into it, - - Eating and drinking of its best, and calmly - - gazing thro' it. - - No, every mortal's not a Saint, and truly very - - few are, - - So weak they are, they cannot paint what holy - - men like you are. - - Instead of keeping well apart the Flesh and - - Spirit, brother, - - And making one with cunning art the nigger of - - the other, - - They muddle and confuse the two, they mix and - - twist and mingle, - - So that it takes a cunning view to make out - - either single. - - The Soul gets mingled with the Flesh beyond all - - separation, - - The Body holds it in a mesh of animal sensa- - - tion; - - The poor bewilder'd Being, grown a thing in - - nature double, - - Half light and soul, half flesh and bone, is given - - up to trouble. - - He thinks the instinct of the clay, the glowings - - of the Spirit, - - And when the Spirit has her say, inclines the - - Flesh to hear it. - - The slave of every passing whim, the dupe of - - every devil, - - Inspired by every female limb to love, and light, - - and revel, - - Impulsive, timid, weak, or strong, as Flesh or - - Spirit makes him, - - The lost one wildly moans along till mischief - - overtakes him; - - And when the Soul has fed upon the Flesh till - - life's spring passes, - - Finds strength and health and comfort gone-- - - the way of last year's grasses, - - And the poor Soul is doom'd to bow, in deep - - humiliation, - - Within a place that isn't now a decent habitation. - - - No! keep the Soul and Flesh apart in pious - - resolution, - - Don't let weak flutterings of the heart lead you - - to _my_ confusion! - - But let the Flesh be as the _horse_, the Spirit as - - the _rider_, - - And use the snaffle first of course, and ease her - - up and guide her; - - And if she's going to resist, and won't let none - - go past her, - - Just take the _curb_ and give a twist, and show - - her you're the Master. - - The Flesh is but a temporal thing, and Satan's - - strength is in it, - - Use it, but conquer it, and bring its vice dowN - - every minute! - - - Into a woman's arms don't fall, as if you meant - - to _stay_ there, - -_Just come as if you'd made a call\ and idly found - - your way there_; - - Don't praise her too much to her face, but keep - - her calm and quiet,-- - - Most female illnesses take place thro' far too - - warm a diet; - - Unto her give your fleshly kiss, calm, kind, and - - patronising, - - Then--soar to your own sphere of bliss, before - - her heart gets rising! - - Don't fail to let her see full clear, how in your - - saintly station - - The Flesh is but your nigger here obeying your - - dictation; - - And tho' the Flesh be e'er so warm, your Soul - - the weakness smothers - - Of loving any female form much better than the - - others! - - O Brigham, I can see you smile to hear the - - Devil preaching;-- - - Well, I can praise your perfect style, tho' far - - beyond my reaching. - - Forgive me, if in shame and grief I vex you with - - digression, - - And let me come again in brief to my own dark - - confession. - - - The world of men divided is into _two portions_, - - brother, - - The first are Saints, so high in bliss that they the - - Flesh can smother; - - God meant them from fair flower to flower to - - flutter, smiles bestowing, - - Tasting the sweet, leaving the sour, just hover- - - ing,--and going. - - The second are a different set, just _halves_ of - - perfect spirits, - - Going about in bitter fret, of uncompleted - - merits, - - Till they discover, here or there, their _other half_ - -(or woman), - - Then these two join, and make a Pair, and so - - increase the human. - - The second Souls inferior are, a lower spirit- - - order, - - Born 'neath a less auspicious star, and taken by - - soft sawder;-- - - And if they do not happen here to find their fair - - Affinity, - - They come to grief and doubt and fear, and end - - in asininity; - - And if they try the blessed game of those - - superior to them, - - They're very quickly brought to shame,--their - - passions so undo them. - - In some diviner sphere, perhaps, they'll look and - - grow more holy,-- - - Meantime they're vessels Sorrow taps and grim - - Remorse sucks slowly. - - Now, Brigham, _I_ was made, you see, one of - - those _lower_ creatures, - - Polygamy was not for me, altho' I joined its - - preachers. - - Instead of, with a wary eye, seeking the one - - who waited, - - And sticking to her, wet or dry, because the - - thing was fated, - - I snatch'd the first whose beauty stirred my soul - - with tender feeling! - - And then another! then a third! and so con- - - tinued Sealing! - - And duly, after many a smart, discovered, - - sighing faintly, - - I _hadn't found my missing part, and _wasn't_ - - strong and saintly! - - O they were far too good for me, altho' their - - zeal betrayed them;-- - - Unfortunately, don't you see, heaven for some - - other made them: - - Each would a downright blessing be, and Peace - - would pitch the tent for her, - - If "she" could only find the "he" originally - - meant for her! - - - Well, Brother, after many years of bad domestic - - diet, - - One morning I woke up in tears, still weary and - - unquiet, - - And (speaking figuratively) lo! beside my bed - - stood smiling - -_The Woman_, young and virgin snow, but beckon- - - ing and beguiling. - - I started up, my wild eyes rolled, I knew her, - - and stood sighing, - - My thoughts throng'd up like bees of gold out of - - the smithy flying. - - And as she stood in brightness there, familiar, - - tho' a stranger, - - I looked at her in dumb despair, and trembled - - at the danger. - - But, Brother Brigham, don't you think the - - Devil could so undo me, - - That straight I rushed the cup to drink too late - - extended to me. - - No, for I hesitated long, ev'n when I found she - - loved me, - - And didn't seem to think it wrong when love - - and passion moved me. - - O Brigham, you're a Saint above, and know not - - the sensation - - The ecstasy, the maddening love, the rapturous - - exultation, - - That fills a man of lower race with wonder past - - all speaking, - - When first he finds in one sweet face the Soul he - - has been seeking! - - When two immortal beings glow in the first - - fond revealing, - - And their inferior natures know the luxury of - - feeling! - - But ah, I had already got a quiver-full of bless- - - ing, - - Had blundered, tho' I knew it not, six times - - beyond redressing, - - And surely it was time to stop, tho' still my lot - - was lonely: - - My house was like a cobbler's shop, full, tho' - - with "misfits" only. - - - And so I _should_ have stopt, I swear, the - - wretchedest of creatures, - - Rather than put one mark of care on her - - belovéd features: - - But that it happen'd Sister Anne (ah, now the - - secret's flitted!) - - Was left in this great world of man unto my - - care committed. - - Her father, Jason Jones, was dead, a man whose - - faults were many, - - "O, be a father, Abe," he said, "to my poor - - daughter, Annie!" - - And so I promised, so she came an Orphan to - - this city, - - And set my foolish heart in flame with mingled - - love and pity; - - And as she prettier grew each day, and throve - -'neath my protection, - -_I saw the Saints did cast her way some tokens of - - affection_. - - O, Brigham, pray forgive me now;--envy and - - love combining, - - I hated every saintly brow, benignantly in- - - clining! - - Sneered at their motives, mocked the cause, - - went wild and sorrow-laden, - - And saw Polygamy's vast jaws a-yawning for - - the maiden. - - Why _not_, you say? Ah, yes, why not, from - - your high point of vision; - - But I'm of an inferior lot, beyond the light - - Elysian. - - I tore my hair, whined like a whelp, I loved her - - to distraction, - - I saw the danger, knew the help, yet trembled - - at the action. - - At last I came to you, my friend, and told my - - tender feeling; - - You said, "Your grief shall have an end--this is - - a case for Sealing; - - And since you have deserved so well, and made - - no heinous blunder, - - Why, brother Abraham, _take_ the gel, but mind - - you keep her under." - - Well! then I went to Sister Anne, my inmost - - heart unclothing, - - Told her my feelings like a man, concealing - - next to nothing, - - Explain'd the various characters of those I had - - already, - - The various tricks and freaks and stirs peculiar - - to each lady, - - And, finally, when all was clear, and hope - - seem'd to forsake me, - - "There! it's a wretched chance, my dear--you - - leave me, or you take me." - - Well, Sister Annie look'd at me, _her_ inmost - - heart revealing - -(Women are very weak, you see, inferior, full of - - feeling), - - Then, thro' her tears outshining bright, "I'll - - never never leave you! - - "O Abe," she said, "my love, my light, why - - should I pain or grieve you? - - I do not love the way of life you have so sadly - - chosen, - - I'd rather be a single wife than one in half a - - dozen; - - But now you cannot change your plan, tho' - - health and spirit perish, - - And I shall never see a man but you to love and - - cherish. - - Take me, I'm yours, and O, my dear, don't - - think I miss your merit, - - I'll try to help a little here your true and loving - - spirit." - - "Reflect, my love," I said, "once more," with - - bursting heart, half crying, - - "Two of the girls cut very sore, and most of - - them are trying!" - - And then that' gentle-hearted maid kissed me - - and bent above me, - - "O Abe," she said, "don't be afraid,--I'll try to - - make them _love_ me!" - - - Ah well! I scarcely stopt to ask myself, till all - - was over, - - How precious tough would be her task who - - made those dear souls love her! - - But I was seal'd to Sister Anne, and straight- - - way to my wonder - - A series of events began which showed me all - - my blunder. - - Brother, don't blame the souls who erred thro' - - their excess of feeling-- - - So angrily their hearts were stirred by my last - - act of sealing; - - But in a moment they forgot the quarrels they'd - - been wrapt in, - - And leagued together in one lot, with Tabby for - - the Captain. - - Their little tiffs were laid aside, and all com- - - bined together, - - Preparing for the gentle Bride the blackest sort - - of weather. - - It wasn't _feeling_ made them flout poor Annie in - - that fashion, - - It wasn't love turn'd inside out, it wasn't jealous - - passion, - - It wasn't that they cared for _me_, or any other - - party, - - Their hearts and sentiments were free, their ap- - - petites were hearty. - - But when the pretty smiling face came blossom- - - ing and blooming, - - Like sunshine in a shady place the fam'ly Vault - - illuming, - - It naturally made them grim to see its sunny - - colour, - - While like a row of tapers dim by daylight, they - - grew duller. - - She tried her best to make them kind, she - - coaxed and served them dumbly, - - She watch'd them with a willing mind, deferred - - to them most humbly; - - Tried hard to pick herself a friend, but found her - - arts rejected, - - And fail'd entirely in her end, as one might - - have expected. - - But, Brother, tho' I'm loathe to add one word to - - criminate them, - - I think their conduct was too bad,--it almost - - made me hate them. - - Ah me, the many nagging ways of women are - - amazing, - - Their cleverness solicits praise, their cruelty is - - crazing! - - And Sister Annie hadn't been a single day their - - neighbour, - - Before a baby could have seen her life would be - - a labour. - - But bless her little loving heart, it kept its - - sorrow hidden, - - And if the tears began to start, suppressed the - - same unbidden. - - She tried to smile, and smiled her best, till I - - thought sorrow silly, - - And kept in her own garden nest, and lit it like - - a lily. - - O I should waste your time for days with talk - - like this at present, - - If I described her thousand ways of making - - things look pleasant! - - But, bless you, 'twere as well to try, when - - thunder's at its dire work, - - To clear the air, and light the sky, by penny- - - worths of firework. - - These gentle ways to hide her woe and make - - my life a blessing, - - Just made the after darkness grow more gloomy - - and depressing. - - Taunts, mocks, and jeers, coldness and sneers, - - insult and trouble daily, - - A thousand stabs that brought the tears, all - - these she cover'd gaily; - - But when her fond eyes fell on _me_, the light of - - love to borrow, - - And Sister Anne began to see _I knew_ her secret - - sorrow, - - All of a sudden like a mask the loving cheat - - forsook her, - - And reckon I had all my task, for _illness_ over- - - took her. - - - She took to bed, grew sad and thin, seem'd like - - a spirit flying, - - Smiled thro' her tears when I went in, but when - - I left fell crying; - - And as she languish'd in her bed, as weak and - - wan as water, - - I thought of what her father said, "Take care of - - my dear daughter!" - - Then I look'd round with secret eye upon her - - many Sisters, - - And close at hand I saw them lie, ready for use - ---like blisters; - - They seemed with secret looks of glee, to keep - - their wifely station; - - They set their lips and sneer'd at me, and - - watch'd the situation. - - O Brother, I can scarce express the agony of - - those moments, - -1 fear your perfect saintliness, and dread your - - cutting comments! - - - I prayed, I wept, I moan'd, I cried, I anguish'd - - night and morrow, - - I watch'd and waited, sleepless-eyed, beside - - that bed of sorrow. - - - At last I knew, in those dark days of sorrow - - and disaster, - - Mine wasn't soil where you could raise a Saint - - up, or a Pastor; - - In spite of careful watering, and tilling night - - and morning, - - The weeds of vanity would spring without a - - word of warning. - - I was and ever must subsist, labell'd on every - - feature, - - A wretched poor _Monogamist_, a most inferior - - creature-- - - Just half a soul, and half a mind, a blunder and - - abortion, - - Not finish'd half till I could find the other - - missing portion! - - And gazing on that missing part which I at last - - had found out, - - I murmur'd with a burning heart, scarce strong - - to get the sound out, - - "If from the greedy clutch of Fate I save this - - chief of treasures, - - I will no longer hesitate, but take decided mea- - - sures! - - A poor monogamist like me can _not_ love half a - - dozen, - - Better by far, then, set them free! and take the - - Wife I've chosen! - - Their love for me, of course, is small, a very - - shadowy tittle, - - They will not miss my face at all, or miss it very - - little. - - I can't undo what I have done, by my forlorn - - embraces, - - And call the brightness of the sun again into - - their faces; - - But I _can_ save one spirit true, confiding and - - unthinking, - - From slowly curdling to a shrew or into swine- - - dom sinking." - - These were my bitter words of woe, my fears - - were so distressing, - - Not that I would reflect--O no!--on any living - - blessing. - - - Thus, Brother, I resolved, and when she rose, - - still frail and sighing, - - I kept my word like better men, and bolted,-- - - and I'm flying. - - Into oblivion I haste, and leave the world be- - - hind me, - - Afar unto the starless waste, where not a soul - - shall find me. - - I send my love, and Sister Anne joins cordially, - - agreeing - - I never was the sort of man for your high state - - of being; - - Such as I am, she takes me, though; and after - - years of trying, - - From Eden hand in hand we go, like our first - - parents flying; - - And like the bright sword that did chase the - - first of sires and mothers, - - Shines dear Tabitha's flaming face, surrounded - - by the others: - - Shining it threatens there on high, above the - - gates of heaven, - - And faster at the sight we fly, in naked shame, - - forth-driven. - - Nothing of all my worldly store I take, 'twould - - be improper, - - I go a pilgrim, strong and poor, without a single - - copper. - - Unto my Widows I outreach my property com- - - pletely. - - There's modest competence for each, if it is - - managed neatly. - - That, Brother, is a labour left to your sagacious - - keeping;-- - - Comfort them, comfort the bereft! I'm good as - - dead and sleeping! - - A fallen star, a shooting light, a portent and an - - omen, - - A moment passing on the sight, thereafter seen - - by no men! - - I go, with backward-looking face, and spirit - - rent asunder. - - O may you prosper in your place, for you're a - - shining wonder! - - So strong, so sweet, so mild, so good!--by - - Heaven's dispensation, - - Made Husband to a _multitude_ and Father to a - -_nation!_ - - May all the saintly life ensures increase and - - make you stronger! - - Humbly and penitently yours, - - A. Clewson (_Saint no longer_). - - - - -THK FARM IN THE VALLEY--SUNSET. - - - Still the saintly City stands, - - Wondrous work oF busy hands; - - Still the lonely City thrives, - - Rich in worldly goods and wives, - - And with thrust-out jaw and set - - Teeth, the Yankee threatens yet-- - - Half admiring and half riled, - - Oft by bigger schemes beguiled, - - Turning off his curious stare - - To communities elsewhere. - - Always with unquiet eye - - Watching Utah on the sly. - - Long the City of the Plain - - Left its image on my brain: - - White kiosks and gardens bright - - Rising in a golden light; - - Busy figures everywhere - - Bustling bee-like in the glare; - - And from dovecots in green places, - - Peep'd out weary women's faces, - - Flushing faint to a thin cry - - From the nursery hard by. - - And the City in my thought - - Slept fantastically wrought, - - Till the whole began to seem - - Like a curious Eastern dream, - - Like the pictures strange we scan - - In the tales Arabian: - - Tales of magic art and sleight, - - Cities rising in a night, - - And of women richly clad, - - Dark-eyed, melancholy, sad, - - Ever with a glance uncertain, - - Trembling at the purple curtain, - - Lest behind the black slave stand - - With the bowstring in his hand - - Happy tales, within whose heart - - Founts of weeping eyes upstart, - - Told, to save her pretty head, - - By Scheherazad in bed! - - - All had faded and grown faint, - - Save the figure of the Saint - - Who that memorable night - - Left the Children of the Light, - - Flying o'er the lonely plain - - From his lofty sphere of pain - - Oft his gentle face would flit - - O'er my mind and puzzle it, - - Ever waking up meanwhile - - Something of a merry smile, - - Whose quick light illumined me - - During many a reverie, - - When I puffed my weed alone. - - - Faint and strange the face had grown, - - Tho' for five long years or so - - I had watched it come and go, - - When, on busy thoughts intent, - - I into New England went, - - And one evening, riding slow - - By a River that I know, - - (Gentle stream! I hide thy name, - - Far too modest thou for fame!) - - I beheld the landscape swim - - In the autumn hazes dim, - - And from out the neighbouring dales - - Heard the thumping of the flails. - - - All was hush'd; afar away - - (As a novelist would say) - - - - -SUNSET IN NEW ENGLAND - - - Sank the mighty orb of day, - - Staring with a hazy glow - - On the purple plain below, - - Where (like burning embers shed - - From the sunset's glowing bed, - - Dying out or burning bright, - - Every leaf a blaze of light) - - Ran the maple swamps ablaze; - - Everywhere amid the haze, - - Floating strangely in the air, - - Farms and homesteads gather'd fair; - - And the River rippled slow - - Thro' the marshes green and low, - - Spreading oft as smooth as glass - - As it fringed the meadow grass, - - Making 'mong the misty fields - - Pools like golden gleaming shields. - - - Thus I walked my steed along, - - Humming a low scrap of song, - - Watching with an idle eye - - White clouds in the dreamy sky - - Sailing with me in slow pomp. - - In the bright flush of the swamp, - - While his dogs bark'd in the wood, - - Gun in hand the sportsman stood; - - And beside me, wading deep, - - Stood the angler half asleep, - - Figure black against the gleam - - Of the bright pools of the stream; - - Now and then a wherry brown - - With the current drifted down - - Sunset-ward, and as it went - - Made an oar-splash indolent; - - While with solitary sound, - - Deepening the silence round, - - In a voice of mystery - - Faintly cried the chickadee- - - Suddenly the River's arm - - Rounded, and a lonely Farm - - Stood before me blazing red - - To the bright blaze overhead; - - In the homesteads at its side, - - Cattle lowed and voices cried, - - And from out the shadows dark - - Came a mastiff's measured bark. - - Fair and fat stood the abode - - On the path by which I rode, - - And a mighty orchard, strown - - Still with apple-leaves wind-blown, - - Raised its branches gnarl'd and bare - - Black against the sunset air, - - And with greensward deep and dim, - - Wander'd to the River's brim. - - - Close beside the orchard walk - - Linger'd one in quiet talk - - With a man in workman's gear. - - As my horse's feet drew near, - - The labourer nodded rough "good-day," - - Turned his back and loung'd away. - - Then the first, a plump and fat - - Yeoman in a broad straw hat, - - Stood alone in thought intent, - - Watching while the other went, - - And amid the sunlight red - - Paused, with hand held to his head. - - - In a moment, like a word - - Long forgotten until heard, - - Like a buried sentiment - - Born again to some stray scent, - - Like a sound to which the brain - - Gives familiar refrain, - - Something in the gesture brought - - Things forgotten to my thought; - - Memory, as I watched the sight. - - Flashed from eager light to light - - Remember'd and remember'd not, - - Half familiar, half forgot. - - Stood the figure, till at last, - - Bending eyes on his, I passed, - - Gazed again, as loth to go, - - Drew the rein, stopt short, and so - - Rested, looking back; when he, - - The object of my scrutiny, - - Smiled and nodded, saying, "Yes! - - Stare your fill, young man! I guess - - You'll know me if we meet again!" - - - In a moment all my brain - - Was illumined at the tone, - - All was vivid that had grown - - Faint and dim, and straight I knew; him, - - Holding out my hand unto him, - - Smiled, and called him by his name. - - Wondering, hearing me exclaim. - - Abraham Clewson (for'twas he) - - Came more close and gazed at me, - - As he gazed, a merry grin - - Brighten'd down from eyes to chin: - - In a moment he, too, knew me, - - Reaching out his hand unto me, - - Crying "Track'd, by all that's blue - - Who'd have thought of seeing _you?_ - - Then, in double quicker time - - Than it takes to make the rhyme, - - Abe, with face of welcome bright, - - Made me from my steed alight; - - Call'd a boy, and bade him lead - - The beast away to bed and feed; - - And, with hand upon my arm, - - Led me off into the Farm, - - Where, amid a dwelling-place - - Fresh and bright as her own face, - - With a gleam of shining ware - - For a background everywhere, - - Free as any summer breeze, - - With a bunch of huswife's keys - - At her girdle, sweet and mild - - Sister Annie blush'd and smiled,-- - - While two tiny laughing girls, - - Peeping at me through their curls, - - Hid their sweet shamefacëdness - - In the skirts of Annie's dress. - - -***** - - - That same night the Saint and I - - Sat and talked of times gone by, - - Smoked our pipes and drank our grog - - By the slowly smouldering log, - - While the clock's hand slowly crept - - To midnight, and the household slept - - "Happy?" Abe said with a smile, - - "Yes, in my _inferior_ style, - - Meek and humble, not like them - - In the New Jerusalem." - - Here his hand, as if astray, - - For a moment found its way - - To his forehead, as he said, - - "Reckon they believe I'm dead? - - Ah, that life of sanctity - - Never was the life for me. - - Couldn't stand it wet nor dry, - - Hated to see women cry; - - Couldn't bear to be the cause - - Of tiffs and squalls and endless jaws - - Always felt amid the stir - - Jest a whited sepulchre; - - And I did the best I could - - When I ran away for good. - - Yet, for many a night, you know - - (Annie, too, would tell you so), - - Couldn't sleep a single wink, - - Couldn't eat, and couldn't drink, - - Being kind of conscience-cleft - - For those poor creatures I had left, - - Not till I got news from there, - - And I found their fate was fair, - - Could I set to work, or find - - Any comfort in my mind. - - Well (here Abe smiled quietly), - - Guess they didn't groan for me! - - Fanny and Amelia got - - Sealed to Brigham on the spot; - - Emmy soon consoled herself - - In the arms of Brother Delf; - - And poor Mary one fine day - - Packed her traps and tript away - - Down to Fresco with Fred Bates, - - A young player from the States: - - While Sarah,'twas the wisest plan, - - Pick'd herself a single man-- - - A young joiner fresh come down - - Out of Texas to the town-- - - And he took her with her baby, - - And they're doing well as maybe.'" - - Here the Saint with quiet smile, - - Sipping at his grog the while, - - Paused as if his tale was o'er, - - Held his tongue and said no more. - - "Good," I said, "but have you done? - - You have spoke of all save one-- - - All your Widows, so bereft, - - Are most comfortably left, - - But of one alone you said - - Nothing. Is the lady _dead?" - - Then the good man's features broke - - Into brightness as I spoke, - - And with loud guffaw cried he, - - "What, Tabitha? Dead! Not she. - - All alone and doing splendid-- - - Jest you guess, now, how she's ended! - - Give it up? This very week - - I heard she's at Oneida Creek, - - All alone and doing hearty, - - Down with Brother Noyes's party. - - Tried the Shakers first, they say, - - Tired of them and went away, - - Testing with a deal of bother - - This community and t'other, - - Till she to Oneida flitted, - - And with trouble got admitted. - - Bless you, she's a shining lamp, - - Tho' I used her like a scamp, - - And she's great in exposition - - Of the Free Love folk's condition, - - Vowing, tho' she found it late, - - Tis the only happy state.... - - - "As for me," added the speaker, - - "I'm lower in the scale, and weaker; - - Polygamy's beyond my merits, - - Shakerism wears the spirits, - - And as for Free Love, why you see - - (Here the Saint wink'd wickedly) - - With my whim it might have hung - - Once, when I was spry and young; - - But poor Annie's love alone - - Keeps my mind in proper tone, - - And tho' my spirit mayn't be strong, - - I'm lively--as the day is long." - - - As he spoke with half a yawn, - - Half a smile, I saw the dawn - - Creeping faint into the gloom - - Of the quickly-chilling room. - - On the hearth the wood-log lay, - - With one last expiring ray; - - Draining off his glass of grog, - - Clewson rose and kick'd the log; - - As it crumbled into ashes, - - Watched the last expiring flashes, - - Gave another yawn and said, - - "Well! I guess it's time for bed!" - - -THE END. - - - - - -BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE ON ST. ABE AND HIS SEVEN WIVES. - -St. Abe and his Seven Wives was written in 1870, at a time when all the -Cockney bastions of criticism were swarming with sharp-shooters on -the look-out for "the d------d Scotchman" who had dared to denounce -Logrolling. It was published anonymously, and simultaneously _The Drama -of Kings_ appeared with the author's name. The _Drama_ was torn to -shreds in every newspaper; the Satire, because no one suspected who had -written it, was at once hailed as a masterpiece. Even the _Athenaum_ -cried "all hail" to the illustrious Unknown. The _Pall Mall Gazette_ -avowed in one breath that Robert Buchanan was utterly devoid of dramatic -power, while the author of _St. Abe_ was a man of dramatic genius. The -secret was well kept, and the bewildered Cocknies did not cease braying -their hosannahs even when another anonymous work, _White Rose and -Red_, was issued by the same publisher. _St. Abe_ went through numerous -editions in a very short space of time. - -To one familiar with the process of book-reviewing, and aware of the -curious futility of even honest literary judgments, there is nothing -extraordinary in the facts which I have just stated. Printed cackle -about books will always be about as valuable as spoken cackle about -them, and the history of literature is one long record of the march of -genius through regions of mountainous stupidity. But there were some -points about the treatment of _St. Abe_ which are worth noting, -as illustrating the way in which reviewing "is done" for leading -newspapers. Example. The publisher sent out "early sheets" to the -great dailies, several of which printed eulogistic reviews. The _Daily -Telegraph_, however, was cautious. After receiving the sheets, the -acting or sub-editor sent a message round to the publisher saying that -a cordial review had been written and was in type, but that "the -Chief" wanted to be assured, before committing himself to such an -advertisement, about the authorship of the work. "_Is_ it by _Lowell?_" -queried the jack-in-office; "only inform us in confidence, and the -review shall appear." Mr. Strahan either did not reply, or refused to -answer the question. Result--the cordial review never appeared at all! - -The general impression, however, was that the poem was written by James -Russell Lowell. One or two kind critics suggested Bret Harte, but these -were in a minority. No one suspected for one moment that the work was -written by a Scotchman who, up to that date, had never even visited -America. The _Spectator_ (A Daniel come to judgment!) devoted a long -leading article to proving that humour of this particular kind could -have been produced only in the Far West, while a leading magazine -bewailed the fact that we had no such humourists in England, since "with -Thackeray our last writer of humour left us." - -In America itself, the success of the book was less remarkable, and the -explanation was given to me in a letter from a publisher in the States, -who asserted that public feeling against the Mormons was so fierce and -bitter that even a joke at their expense could not be appreciated. "The -very subject of Mormondom," wrote my friend, "is regarded as indecent, -unsavoury, and offensive." In spite of all, the satire was appreciated, -even in America. - -Already, however, its subject has ceased to be contemporary and become -historical. Mormonism, as I depicted it, is as dead as Slavery, for the -Yankee--as I foreshadowed he would do, in this very book--has put down -Polygamy. Future generations, therefore, may turn to this book as they -will turn to _Uncle Tom's Cabin_, for a record of a system which once -flourished, and which, when all is said and done, did quite as much good -as harm. I confess, indeed, that I am sorry for the Mormons; for I think -that they are more sinned against than sinning. Polygamy is abolished in -America, but a far fouler evil, Prostitution, flourishes, in both public -and private life. The Mormons crushed this evil and obliterated it -altogether, and if they substituted Polygamy, they only did openly and -politically what is done, and must be done, clandestinely, in every -country, under the present conditions of our civilisation. - -The present is the first cheap edition of the book, and the first which -bears the author's name on the title page. It will be followed by a -cheap edition of _White Rose and Red_. I shall be quite prepared to hear -now, on the authority of the newspapers, that the eulogy given to _St. -Abe_ on its first appearance was all a mistake, and that the writer -possesses no humour whatsoever. I was informed, indeed, the other day, -by a critic in the _Daily News_, that most of my aberrations proceeded -from "a fatal want of humour." The critic was reviewing the _Devil's -Case_, and his suggestion was, I presume, that I ought to have perceived -the joke of the Nonconformist Conscience and latterday Christianity. I -thought that I had done so, but it appears that I had not been funny at -all, or not funny enough. But my real misfortune was, that my name was -printed on the title page of the work then under review. - -I cannot conclude this bibliographical note without a word concerning -the remarkable artist who furnished _St. Abe and his Seven Wives_ with -its original frontispiece. The genius of the late A. B. Houghton is -at last receiving some kind of tardy recognition, chiefly through the -efforts of Mr. Pennell, whose criticisms on art have done so much to -free the air of lingering folly and superstition. When I sought out Mr. -Houghton, and persuaded him to put pencil to paper on my behalf, he was -in the midst of his life-long struggle against the powers of darkness. -He died not long afterwards, prematurely worn out with the hopeless -fight. One of the last of the true Bohemians, a man of undoubted -genius, he never learned the trick of wearing fine linen and touting -for popularity; but those who value good work hold him in grateful -remembrance, and I am proud to think that so great a master in black and -white honoured me by associating himself with a book of mine. - -Robert Buchanan. - - - - -ORIGINALLY PREFACED TO SAINT ABE AND HIS SEVEN WIVES. - -TESTIMONIES OF DISTINGUISHED PERSONS. - - -I. From P----------t G------t, U.S. - -Smart. Polygamy is Greek for Secesh. Guess Brigham will have to make -tracks. - -II. From R. W. E------n, Boston, U.S. - -Adequate expression is rare. I had fancied the oracles were dumb, and -had returned with a sigh to the enervating society of my friends in -Boston, when your book reached me. To think of it! In this very epoch, -at this very day, poetry has been secreting itself silently and surely, -and suddenly the whole ocean of human thought is illumined by the -accumulated phosphoresence of a subtle and startling poetic life.. . . -Your work is the story of Polygamy written in colossal cipher the study -of all forthcoming ages. Triflers will call you a caricaturist, empty -solemnities will deem you a jester. Fools! who miss the pathetic -symbolism of Falstaff, and deem the Rabelaisan epos fit food for -mirth.... I read it from first page to last with solemn thoughts too -deep for tears. I class you already with the creators, with Shakespere, -Dante, Whitman, Ellery Channing, and myself. - - -III. From W------t W----------n, Washington, U.S. - -I - - Our own feuillage; - - A leaf from the sweating branches of these States; - - A fallen symbol, I guess, vegetable, living, human; - - A heart-beat from the hairy breast of a man. - -2 - - The Salon contents me not; - - The fine feathers of New England damsels content me not; - - The ways of snobs, the falsettos of the primo tenore, the legs - - of Lydia Thomson's troupe of blondes, content me not; - - Nor tea-drinking, nor the twaddle of Mr. Secretary Harlan, - - nor the loafers of the hotel bar, nor Sham, nor Long- - - fellow's Village Blacksmith. - -3 - - But the Prairies content me; - - And the Red Indian dragging along his squaw by the scruff of - - the neck; - - And the bones of mules and adventurous persons in Bitter - - Creek; - - And the oaths of pioneers, and the ways of the unwashed, - - large, undulating, majestic, virile, strong of scent, all - - these content me. - -4 - - Utah contents me; - - The City by the margin of the great Salt Lake contents me; - - And to have many wives contents me; - - Blessed is he who has a hundred wives, and peoples the - - solitudes of these States. - -5 - - Great is Brigham; - - Great is polygamy, great is monogamy, great is polyandry, - - great is license, great is right, and great is wrong; - - And I say again that wrong is every whit as good as right, and - - not one jot better; - - And I say further there is no such thing as wrong, nor any - - such thing as right, and that neither are accountable, and - - both exist only by allowance. - -6 - - O I am wonderful; - - And the world, and the sea, and joy and sorrow, and sense - - and nonsense, all content me; - - And this book contents me, with its feuillage from the City of - - many wives. - - -IV. From Elder F------k E----------s, of Mt. L------n, U.S. - -An amusing attempt to show that polygamy is a social failure. None can -peruse it without perceiving at once that the author secretly inclines -to the ascetic tenets of Shakerism. - - -V. From Brother T. H. N------s, O----------a C--------k. - -After perusing this subtle study, who can doubt that Free Love is the -natural human condition? The utter selfishness of the wretched -monogamist-hero repels and sickens us; nor can we look with anything but -disgust on the obtusity of the heroine, in whom the author vainly tries -to awaken interest. It is quite clear that the reconstruction of Utah on -O--------a C------k principles would yet save the State from the crash -which is impending. - - -VI. From E---------a F-------n H-------m, of S----------n Island. - -If _Polygamy_ is to continue, then, I say, let _Polyandry_ flourish! -Woman is the sublimer Being, the subtler Type, the more delicate -Mechanism, and, strictly speaking, _needs_ many pendants of the -inferior or masculine Type to fulfil her mission in perfect comfort. Shall -Brigham Young, a mere Man, have sixteen wives; and shall one wretched -piece of humanity content _me_, that supreme Fact, _a perfect Woman_, -highest and truest of beings under God? No; if these things be -tolerated, I claim for each Woman, in the name of Light and Law, twenty -ministering attendants of the lower race; and the day is near when, if -this boon, or any other boon we like to ask, be denied us, it will be -_taken with a strong hand!_ - - -VII. From T------s C--------e, Esq., Chelsea, England. - -The titanic humour of the Conception does not blind me to the radical -falseness of the Teaching, wherein, as I shall show you presently, you -somewhat resemble the miserable Homunculi of our I own literary Wagners; -for, if I rightly conceive, you would tacitly and by inference urge that -it is expressly part of the Divine Thought that the _Ewigweibliche_, or -Woman-Soul, should be _happy_. Now Woman's _mundane_ unhappiness, as I -construe, comes of her inadequacy; it is the stirring within her of -the Infinite against the Finite, a struggle of the spark upward, of the -lower to the higher Symbol. Will Woman's Rights Agitators, and Monogamy, -and Political Tomfoolery, do what Millinery has failed to do, and waken -one Female to the sense of divine Function? It is not _happiness_ I -solicit for the Woman-Soul, but _Identity_; and the prerogative of -Identity is great work, Adequacy, pre-eminent fulfilment of the -Function; woman, in this country of rags and shams, being buried quick -under masses of Sophistication and Upholstery, oblivious of her divine -duty to increase the population and train the young masculine Idea -starward. I do not care if the wives of Deseret are pale, or faint, or -uncultured, or unhappy; it is enough for me to know that they have a -numerous progeny, and believe in Deity or the Divine Essence; and I will -not conclude this letter without recording my conviction that yonder -man, Brigham Young by name, is perhaps the clearest Intellect now -brooding on this planet; that Friedrich was royaller but not greater, -and that Bismarck is no more than his equal; and that he, this American, -few in words, mark you, but great in deeds, has decided a more -stupendous Question than ever puzzled the strength of either of those -others,--the Question of the Sphere and Function in modern life of the -ever-agitating _Feminine Principle_. If, furthermore, as I have ever -held, the test of clearness of intellect and greatness of soul be -_Success_, at any price and under any circumstances, none but a -transcendental Windbag or a pedantic Baccalaureus will doubt my -assertion that Young is a stupendous intellectual, ethical, and -political Force--a Master-Spirit--a Colossal Being, a moral Architect of -sublime cunning--as such to be reverenced by every right-thinking _Man_ -under the Sun. - - -VIII. From J------n R------n, Esq., London. - -I am not generally appreciated in my own country, because I frequently -change my views about religion, art, architecture, poetry, and things in -general. Most of my early writings are twaddle, but my present opinions -are all valuable. I think this poem, with its nervous Saxon Diction, its -subtle humour, its tender pathos and piteousness, the noblest specimen -of narrative verse of modern times; and, indeed, I know not where to -look, out of the pages of Chaucer, for an equally successful blending -of human laughter and ethereal mystery. At the same time, the writer -scarcely does justice to the subject on the aesthetic side. A City where -the streets are broad and clean and well-watered, the houses surrounded -by gardens full of fruit and flowers; where the children, with shining, -clean-washed faces, curtsey to the Philosophers in the public places; -where there are no brothels and no hells; where life runs fresh, -free, and unpolluted,--such a City, I say, can hardly be the symbol of -feminine degradation. More than once, tired of publishing my prophetic -warnings in the _Daily Telegraph_, I have thought of bending my -weary footsteps to the new Jerusalem; and I might have carried out -my intention long ago, if I had had a less profound sense of my own -unfitness for the duties of a Saint. - - -IX. From M--------w A--------d, Esq., England. - -Your poem possesses a certain rough primitive humour, though it appears -to me deficient in the higher graces of _sweetness_ and _light._ St. -Paul would have entirely objected to the monogamical inference drawn in -your epilogue; and the fact that you draw any such inference at all is -to me a distressing proof that your tendency is to the Philistinism of -those authors who write for the British Matron. I fear you have not read -"Merope." - - - - -SOME NOTICES OF THE FIRST EDITION. - - -From the "GRAPHIC." - -"Such vigorous, racy, determined satire has not been met with for many -a long day. It is at once fresh and salt as the sea.... The humour is -exquisite, and as regards literary execution, the work is masterly." - - -From the "PALL MALL GAZETTE." - -"Although in a striking address to Chaucer the author intimates an -expectation that Prudery may turn from his pages, and though his theme -is certainly a delicate one, there is nothing in the book that a modest -man may not read without blinking, and therefore, we suppose, no modest -woman. On the other hand, the whole poem is marked with so much natural -strength, so much of the inborn faculties of literature--(though they -are wielded in a light, easy, trifling way)--that they take possession -of our admiration as of right. The chief characteristics of the book -are mastery of verse, strong and simple diction, delicate, accurate -description of scenery, and that quick and forcible discrimination of -character which belongs to men of dramatic genius. This has the look -of exaggerated praise. We propose, therefore, to give one or two large -samples of the author's quality, leaving our readers to judge from them -whether we are not probably right. If they turn to the book and read it -through, we do not doubt that they will agree with us." - - -From the "ILLUSTRATED REVIEW." - -"The tale, however, is not to be read from reviews.... The variety of -interest, the versatility of fancy, the richness of description with -which the different lays and cantos are replete, will preclude the -possibility of tediousness. To open the book is to read it to the end. -It is like some Greek comedy in its shifting scenes, its vivid pictures, -its rapidly passing 'dramatis personae' and supernumeraries.. .. The -author of 'St. Abe,' who can write like this, may do more if he will, -and even found a new school of realistic and satirical poetry." - - -From the "DAILY NEWS." - -"If the author of a 'Tale of Salt Lake City' be not a new poet, he is -certainly a writer of exceedingly clever and effective verses. They -have the ring of originality, and they indicate ability to produce -something still more remarkable than this very remarkable little -piece. It merits a place among works which every one reads with genuine -satisfaction. It is a piece which subserves one of the chief ends of -poetry, that of telling a tale in an unusually forcible and pleasant -way.... If it be the author's purpose to furnish a new argument against -polygamous Mormons, by showing the ridiculous side of their system, -he has perfectly succeeded. The extracts we have given show the varied, -fluent, and forcible character of his verse. None who read about Saint -Abe and his Seven Wives can fail to be amused and to be gratified alike -by the manner of the verse and the matter of the tale." - - -From the "SCOTSMAN." - -"This book does not need much commendation, but it deserves a great -deal. The author of 'The Biglow Papers' might have written it, but there -are passages which are not unlike Bret Harte; and him we suspect. The -authorship, however, may be left out of notice. Men inquire who has -written a good book, that they may honour him; but if his name never be -heard, the book is none the less prized. In design and construction -this work has high merit. It is a good story and it is good poetry. The -author is a humourist and a satirist, and he has here displayed all his -qualities lavishly." - - -From the "NONCONFORMIST." - -"Amazingly clever.... Besides its pure tone deserves warm recognition. -The humour is never coarse. There is a high delicacy, which is -sufficient to colour and sweeten the whole, as the open spring breeze -holds everything in good savour." - - -From the "SPECTATOR." - -We believe that the new book which has just appeared, 'St. Abe and His -Seven Wives,' will paralyze Mormon resistance far more than any amount -of speeches in Congress or messages from President Grant, by bringing -home to the minds of the millions the ridiculous-diabolic side of the -peculiar institution. The canto called 'The Last Epistle of St. Abe to -the Polygamists,' with its humorous narrative of the way in which the -Saint, sealed to seven wives, fell in love with one, and thenceforward -could not abide the jealousy felt by the other six, will do more to -weaken the last defence of Mormonism--that after all, the women like -it--than a whole ream of narratives about the discontent in Utah. -Thousands on whom narrative and argument would make little or no impression, -will feel how it must be when many wives with burning hearts watch the -husband's growing love for one, when the favourite is sick unto -death, and how 'they set their lips and sneered at me and watched the -situation,' and will understand that the first price paid for polygamy -is the suppression of love, and the second, the slavery of women. The -letter in which the first point is proved is too long for quotation, -and would be spoiled by extracts; but the second could hardly be better -proved than in these humorous lines. - -The descriptions of Saint Abe and his Seven Wives will be relished -by roughs in California as much as by the self-indulgent philosophers -of Boston.... Pope would have been proud, we fancy, of these terrible -lines, uttered by a driver whose _fiancée_ has just been beguiled away -by a Mormon saint. - - -From the "ATHENÆUM." - -"'Saint Abe and his Seven Wives' has a freshness and an originality, -altogether wanting in Mr. Longfellow's new work, 'The Divine Tragedy.' -In quaint and forcible language--language admirably suited to the theme; -the author takes us to the wondrous city of the saints, and describes -its inhabitants in a series of graphic sketches. The hero of the story -is Saint Abe, or Abraham Clewson, and in giving us his history the -author has really given us the inner life of the Mormon settlement. In -his pages we see the origin of the movement, the reasons why it has -increased, the internal weakness of the system, and the effect it -produces on its adherents. We are introduced to the saints, whom we see -among their pastures, in their homes, in their promenades, and in their -synagogue." - - -From the "FREEMAN." - -"A remarkable poem.... The production is anonymous, but whoever the -author may be there can be no question that he is a poet, and one of -vast and varied powers. The inner life of Mormondom is portrayed with a -caustic humour equal to anything in 'The Biglow Papers'; and were it not -for the exquisite elegance of the verse we should think that some parts -of the poem were written by Robert Browning. The hero of the poem is a -Mormon, who fares so badly as a polygamist that he elopes with one of -his seven wives--the one whom he really loves; and the story is a most -effective exposure of the evils which necessarily attach to polygamy." - - -From the "WEEKLY REVIEW." - -"There can be no doubt that it is worthy of the author of 'The Biglow -Papers.' Since that work was published, we have received many humorous -volumes from across the Atlantic, but nothing equal to 'St. Abe.' As -to its form, it shows that Mr. Lowell has been making advances in the -poetic art; and the substance of it is as strong as anything in the -entire range of English satirical literature." - - -From the "BRITISH QUARTERLY REVIEW." - -"The writer has an easy mastery over various kinds of metre, and a -felicity of easy rhyming which is not unworthy of our best writers -of satire..., The prevailing impression of the whole is of that easy -strength which does what it likes with language and rhythm. .... -The style is light and playful, with admirable touches of fine -discrimination and rich humour; but the purpose is earnest. .... The -book is a very clever and a very wholesome one. It is one of those -strong, crushing, dramatic satires, which do more execution than a -thousand arguments." - - -From "TEMPLE BAR." - -"It is said to be by Lowell. Truly, if America has more than one -writer who can write in such a rich vein of satire, humour, pathos, -and wit, as we have here, England must look to her laurels.... This -is poetry of a high order. Would that in England we had humourists who -could write as well. But with Thackeray our last writer of humour left -us." - - -From the "WESTMINSTER REVIEW." - -"'Saint Abe and his Seven Wives' may lay claim to many rare -qualities. The author possesses simplicity and directness. To this he -adds genuine humour and interposes dramatic power. Lastly, he has contrived -to give a local flavour, something of the salt of the Salt Lake to his -characters, which enables us to thoroughly realise them.... We will -not spoil the admirable canto 'Within the Synagogue' by any quotation, -which, however long, cannot possibly do it justice. We will merely say -that this one hit is worth the price of the whole book. In the author we -recognise a true poet, with an entirely original vein of humour." - - -From the "MANCHESTER GUARDIAN." - -"It is thoroughly American, now rising into a true imaginative -intensity, but oftener falling into a satirical vein, dealing plainly -enough with the plague-spots of Salt Lake society and its wily, false -prophets.... Like most men capable of humour, the author has command of -a sweeter and more harmonious manner. Indeed, the beautiful descriptive -and lyrical fragments stand in vivid and reflecting relief to the homely -staple of the poem." - - -From the "TORONTO GLOBE." - -"It is impossible to deny that the praises bestowed on 'St. Abe and -his Seven Wives' as a work of literary power are deserved." - - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Saint Abe snd His Seven Wives, by Robert Buchanan - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SAINT ABE SND HIS SEVEN WIVES *** - -***** This file should be named 52459-8.txt or 52459-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/4/5/52459/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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