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It i ! } \ \ J \l 1 n t \ CONTENTS. — }§( — DEDICATION : TO OLD DAN CHArCEU. APniOACIIINtt UTAH. — THE «OSs'« TALK : PASSING TJIH KANCIIC JOE AViLSON (!()Es A-LunrnN<; SAINT AND DISCU'LE THE BOOK OF MOUAION JOE ENDS iILS STOTcY. — Fil'.ST GLIMTJ-E OF I'TAH THE CITY OF THE SAINTS : AJlONCi THE I'ASTrUES. — SFMMETl EYENIXG DIALOGUE WITHIN THE CITY. — SAINT A1?E AND I'HE SEVEN . I'KOMENADE — MAIN STllEET, LTAH .... WITHP; THE SYNAGOtin;. — Si:i;M(>Nl/.K'l!I HIE ritOPHET THE FALLING (iF THE THUNDERBOLT. LAST ETISTLE OF ST. ABE TO THE I'ULYGA?.: IS'l'S THE FARM IN THE VALLEY. — U: NSE T (,1 S7l ) . PAGE 3 7 12 18 31 41 t)8 81 98 108 118 151 ' >fe1ft. TO OLD DAN CHAUCER. Maypole dance and Whitsun ale, Sports of peasants in the da/e, Harvest mirth and Jnnketting, Fireside play and kiss-in-rin^% Ancient fun and wit and ease, — Gone are one and ail 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 laise By great Bards luith twinkling eyes ; Gone the tale and gone the song Sound as nut-hroiun ale and strong. Freshening the sultry sense Out of idle impotence, DEDICA TIOh\ Sowing features dull or bright With deep dimples of delii^lit ! Tlird th: Mother-Lind I went, Seekin;^ these, half indolent ; Up and down, I saic them not ; Only found them half-forgot, Buried in long-darken'' d nooks With thy barrels of old books, Where the light of love and mirth Of the morning days of earth Sleeps, like liqht of sunken suns Brooding deep in colMveUd tuns ! Everywhere I found instead, Jlajiging her defected head, Barbing shafts of bitter wit. The pale Modern Spirit sit — While her shado'w, great as Gog's, Cast upon the island fogs, In the midst of all things dim Loom'd, gigantically grim. DEDICA TIOK. tf ' Honest Chaucer^ tlicc //^'/vv/ /// avcrscivith blithesome feet, Andthd' modern bards may stare, Crack a passing joke with Care ! lake a merry so/ig a//d trtic Fraught icith inner meanings too I Goodman Dull may croak and scoivl ; Leave him hooting to the owl ! Tight-laced Prudery may turn Angry back with eyes that burn, Readim^ on from page to page Scrofulous novels of the age ! Fools may frown and hiunbu^^s rail, Not for them I tell the Tale; Not for them, but such as thee. Wise old Em^lish Jollity ! jVc:c'/c>r/, Oci'o'h'i; 1871, ' Ai'i'ROAniixr; UTAir.-Trrr: r.oss's tale. I. PAssiNc; 'rm: RAXcni:. "Grrr!" shrieked the boss, with teeth cleiich'cl tight, Just as the lone ranche hove in siirht, And with a face of czhastlv hue He flogged 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 barked ; on each side of the pass The cattle grazing on the grass Raised heads and stared ; and with a cry Out the men rushed as we roll'd by. 4 THE BOSS'S TALE. "GrrrI" shrick'd the boss ; and o'er and o'er He flogg'd the foaming steeds and swore ; Harder and harder grew his face .\£ by the ranchc we swept apace, -\nd faced th.e hill, and past the pond, And gallop'd up the height beyond, Xor 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 savacfe eflee. Joe Wilson is the boss's name, A Wesfern boy well known to fame. He goes about the dangerous land His life for ever in his hand : r.'iSSLVG THE RAXCIIE. 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 ranchc down theer and bit of grass, I never pass 'em, night nor day. But the fit takes me jest that way ! i THE BOSS'S TALE. The bosses know as well as me What's coming, miles afore we see The dern'd old corner of a place, And they git ready for the race ! Lord ! if I didnl 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 W^ith 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 Hke their master, Smelt it miles orf, and spanked 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. 8 THE BOSS'S TALE, 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, Ilcr chap had died in a free fight, And here she Hved, 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 sta;-' 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 ; JOE WILSON GOES A-C0UR77XG. And from her hand when she took mine, Tlie warmth ran up Hke sherry wine ; And if in Hquor I made free To pull her larfin^ 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 dounright ivords that it should be, Ciss and her fam'ly understood That she and me would jine for good. Guess I was like a thirsty boss Dead beat for days, who comes across lO THE BOSS'S TALE. A fresh clear beck, and on the brink Scoops out his shaky hand to drink ; O'* Hkc a gal or boy of three, With eyes upon a pippin-tree ; Or like some Injun 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-tj'ce jest a dream ! Or guess how thet poor Injun 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 JOE WILSON GOES A-COURTING. 'Twarn't anything in thet tlieer style, But physic stuff or stinking ilc! 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!" II III. SAINT AND DISCiri.E. 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 AroSTLE — dcrn 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, IH SAINT AND DISCIPLE, With hccr 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 ^-er; And what I tell was told to me iiy them as were at hand to see. 'Twarn'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 — dcrn '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 mc, u THE BOSS'S TALE. And how 'twas quite the fam'ly plan To hcv 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; — HOLY WOOIXG, 15 Call thct a man I — then look at nic ! Thretty year old and six foot three, Afear'd o' nothinir morn nor nicjht, 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 ranchc I came, 1 6 THE noSS'S TALK. 1 Junip'd clown, ran in, saw Ciss\' thccr, And thought her kind o' cool and c[uccr; r'or when I caught lier with a kiss, 'Twarn't that she took the thing amiss, Ikit kept stone cool and gov a sigh. And wiped Jicr mouth upon the sly Oil her white milkin'-apron. 'Waal,' Says I, 'you're out o' sorts, my gal !' And with a squeamish smile for mc, 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 such 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.' C7J)\VJ' /.\'r/ Vv'AW TO riETY. 17 But Ciss)- 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 hoi)' spirits here w ithin ! ' 'Waal,' sa)'s I, meanin' to be kind, 'I must be oft*, for I'm behind ; JUit 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 hcv as c^ood 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 nOOK OF MORMON. *''Twas just a week after thet day When down I druv again this way. My heart was h'ght; and 'neath me 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 every wheer 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. THE BOOK OF MORMON. 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 had sign, announcin' clear Black luck or death to those thet hear. 19' "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 sor^ there, left or right, Her very chicks were out o' sidit. 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 ud or man J>0 THE BOSS'S TALE. 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 bacl^ : Under the fruit trees' shade I pass'd, Thro' the ^reen bushes, and at last Found, as the furthest path I trode, The '^q\ I wanted. Ye . . . s! by - ''The gel I wanted — ay, I found iviore 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 Closs 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 I.V THE ORCHARD. 21 And watch'd 'cm. 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 dpinty leg in stocking tight With crimson clocks; and on her knee She held an open book, which he, Thet dern'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! 22 THE BOSS'S TALK. ^ 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 doublc-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 dern'd old lump of duff Jest by the breeches and the scruff. JOE TAKES DESPERATE MEASURES And chuck'd him off, and with one kick- Sent his stool arter him right shck— While Cissy scream'd with frighten'd face 'Spare him ! O spare that man of grace !' 23 **' 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, Cuddhng up close and making sham To read a heap of holy flam?' Then Cissy clasp'd her hands, and said, While that dern'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 v^olf into the fold ; Forbear to touch that holy one-— The Apostle Hiram Higginson.' 24 yy//; jwss's tale. 'Touch him,' said I, 'for lialf a pin I'd flay and quarter him and skin ! Waal may he look so white and skeer'd. For of his doini^s 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 ver book?'' Says I, and fixed her with a look. 'O Joe,' she ansv/efeJ, 'read aright, It is a book of blessed light — Thet holy man expounds it clear;. Edification ^n-eat is theer!' n JOE AXD 77/E niSIIOP. Tlicn, for m>' blood was up, I took One kick at thet infernal book, And tho' the Apostle guv a cry. Into the well I made it flv 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 !' 2$. ''At first he stared and puff d and blew,- *Git out!' I cried, and off he flew, And not till lie 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 V Reckon 'twas a sidit To see the v/ay she stood upright, 26 THE BOSS'S TALE. Rolled her blue eyes up, tried to speak, Made fust a gig|,de, 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 v/hen 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 Watching 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 m^ore, Cissy — never mind; JOE AND CISS. 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. i^ut 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, ' Vou villain, touch me if you deer!' And just then in the distance, fur From danger, a voice echoed her,— The dern'd Apostle's, from some place Where he had hid his ugly face,— Crying out faint and thick and clear, * Ves, villain, touch iier if you deer I' 27 So riled I was, to be so beat, I could have struck her to my feet. 3 . 28 THE nOSS'S TALE I didn't tho', tho' sore beset — I never struck a woman yet. " But off I walked ri^dit 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 miscJiicf 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 w^ith pride. JIM DCXX'S KXPLAXATIOX. 29 1 in c» And all her thou^^lits, hi^\\\ nit,dit and day, Arc with the .Apostles fur awa}\ ** O that I were in bliss with them Thccr in the new Jerusalem !" She says ; and when we lau^h and sneer, Scs we're jest rar^in^ wolves down here. She's a bit dull at liome d'ye sec, 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 spill'd him : 30 THE BOSS'S TALE. In fact, done all wo deer,' said Jim, 'Against a pov/erfiil man like him ; ]5ut all in vain we've lied our sport ; Jest like a cat that caii t be hurt, With nine good lives if he hev one Is this same Hiram Higginson!'" V. JOE ENDS ins STORY.— FIRST CI.IMPSE OF UTAH. Joe paused, for down the mountain's brow Ill's hastening liorses trotted now. Into a canyon f^reen and bright, Tliro' which a beck was sparkling bright Quickly we wound. Joe Wilson h't 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. THE BOSS'S TALE. Reckon I might have won if I Had allays been at hand to try ; But I was busy out of sight, And he was thccr, morn, noon, and night, Playing his cards, and waal it wccr For him I never caught him thecr. 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 fme morning off they druv To what he called the Abode of Love — A dern'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, JOE EXDS ins STORY. 33 And she'd prefer for company A brisk young chap, tho' poor Hke me, Than the sixth part of him she's won — The holy Hiram Higginson. 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 lier 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 '11 take a feeble flush. But h :sn'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. 34 THE BOSS'S TALE. 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 Sainfs leavings — no, not me ! You've heerd of Vampires — them that rise At dead o' night with flaming eyes, And into women's beds '11 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 dern'd way in this yer spot — Grrr! git along, hoss ! dcrn you, trot !" From pool to pool the wild beck sped Beside us, dwindled to a thread. A SUMMER SCEX/l. 35 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-hav/k ; 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. THE BOSS'S TALE. 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, rhe mighty^ Valley wc descried. Burning below us in one ray Of liquid light that summer day ; UTAH AT LAST I 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 ! 1 O Saints that shine around the heavenly Seat ! JVhat 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 shadaived feet Of the Sierras, 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? pilgrim, halt! wandering heart, give praise ! Behold the City of these Latter Days ! Here mayst thou leave thy load and be forgiven, And in anticipation taste of Heaven ! I. AMOXC; THE PASTURES.— SUMMER EVENING dlveogue. Blsiioi> Pete. Bishop Joss. Stranger. Bishop Pete. Ah, things down liere, as you observe, are crettincr more pernicious, And Brigham's losing all his nerve, altiio' 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 ! i |i 4* J.UO.W THE PASTURES. 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 maUcious eye, and progues us out of Canaan. Bisiioi' Joss. It ain't tlie Yankee that / fear, the neighbour nor the stranger — N y, no, it's closer home, it's Jicir, that I perceive the dani^er. The wheels of State has gather'd rust, the helm wants hands to guide it, 'Tain't from without the biler'U bust, but 'cause of steam inside it ; Yet if we went falootin' less, and made less noise and flurry. THE BULWARK OF TlIK FAITH. 43 It isn't Jonathan, I ^rucss, would hurt us in a hurry. Bnt 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, For^retting how our race increased, our very creed's found; tion. What's our religion';, strength and force, its sub- stance, and its storv ? '■\ Strang ilr. Polygamy, my friend, of course ! the law of love and glor)' ! Bishop Pete. Stranger, I'm with you there, indeed':— it's been the best of nusses ; 4 44 AMOXC THE PASTrRKS. Polygamy is to our creed what meat and drink to us is. Destroy that notion any day, and all the rest is brittle, And Mormondoni 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 iite's springs arc 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. BISHOP JOSS DESCninETII ST. AlU:. 45 You air a man of blessed toil, far-sliinin- and discerning, A heavenly lamp well trimm'd wiJi 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, ///;;/— the snivelling sneak— his v^ixy jiavie pro- vokes me, — Altho' my tempers milky-meek, he sours me and he chokes me. To see iiim going up and down with those meek lips asunder, Jest like a man about to drown, with lead to sink him under, n I I r 46 AMOXG THE PASTURES. His grey hair on his shoulders shed, o.ie leg than t'other shorter, No end of cuteness in his head, and him — as weak as water ! Bishop Petk. 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 tiie mother-country he was sent to wake the sinning, He shipp'd young lambs across the sea by jlocks — he was so winning ; O but he had a lively style, describing saintly blisses ! He made the spirit pant and smile, and seek sera- phic kisses ! How the bright raptures of the Saint fresh lustre seemed to borrow, ST. ABE'S IVEAA'iVESS 47 While black aid 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. )e 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. 48 AMONG THE PASTURES, The weakness of the man was such that any face could fool him. Aye ! 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 mischief 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, so BTSHOP PETE DEFINE TIT SAINTLhYESS. 49 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 biline of the kettle! With wary eye, with manner deep, a spirit over- brimmin', 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. I f. ■r ( 50 AMO.YG THE PASrURES. No n'iscs 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 dandle, The Devil never comes to tJicin^ lit by that holy candle ! When in their midst ^renely walks their jMaster 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, v/hen 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 ! S7: ABE'S HOUSEHOLD DESCRIBED. 51 Bishop Joss. It ain't a passionate flat like Abe can manacre 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 liead 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 sec, without the saintly feeling. His were the wildest sets of gals that cver^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. ill m 'f'- 52 AMOyCr THE PASTURES. 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 an 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 bakinq: ! 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. mmmi-f'^'m m m t ■ ' i w — TABITHA IVOOETII ABRAHAM. S3 She warn't so much for pretty looks, but slie was wise and thrifty: She'd seen th^ vanities of Hfe, was good at 'counts and brewin' — Thinks I, "Here's just the sort of wife to save poor Abe from ruin." So, after fooHng many a week, and showing him she loved him. And seeing he was sliy 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 ^n end to all your grief, if you've got reso.'ution. Where shall you find a house that thrives without a head that's ruling? ', ■' I \ 1 i 1 i ^K'<9 ill 54 AMOXa THE PASTURES. Here is the paragon of wives to teacb tliosj others schooHng! 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 percei\'e, 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 eral — em- brace him I " St.RAN(}ER. . . Why, that was acting fresh and fair ; — but Abe, was lie as hearty "i Bishop Joss. We ... 11 ! Abe was never anywhere against a female party ! J/OirST. Ai3E WAS SEALED TO TABITHA. 55 it At first ho seemed about to run, and then \vc might have missed him ; But Tabby was a tender one, slie collar'd him and kissed him. And round his neck she bUishing hung, part hold- ing, 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 reach- ing 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 light- ning and blue thunder, For she was going to have her way, and hold the vixens under ; 56 AMOXG THE /\i,sv'rA'/:s. 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 ? I Bishop Joss. And you thought right ; it is a plan by many here affected — Never by mc — I ain't the man — I'll have my will respected. iilSIIOP JOSS'S Oir.V DOMESTIC SYSTEM. 57 If all the women of my house can't fondly pull 1 toizether And each :k look out foi as meek- as any mouse, iuuk 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 siUy 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 rr pccted, each with tokens of affection. They dwell together, soft of speech, beneath their lord's protection ; ^1 »■ 1 I 58 AMOXc THE PAsrrnF.s, And if by any chance I mark a spaiic of shindy raisinc:, I set my heel upon that spark, — before the house <;ets 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 tlie household fuss, and husht the awful riot, The old contrary stupid cuss could not cnj'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 fLiintl}' ; And tho' the place was all his own, with hat in hand he'd enter. Like one thro' public buiidin;js shown, soft tread- incr down the centre. noir A.vxE yoNEs c.uri- to utah. 59 Still, thinn-s were better than before, thou-h some- what trouble-laden, WJicn one fine clay unto his door there came a Yankee maiden. *'Is IJrother Clewson in?" she says; and when she saw and knew Jiim, Tlie stranger -al to liis amaze scream'd out and clung unto liim. Then in a voice all thick and wild, exchu'm'd that gal unluck}', ''O Sir, I'm Jason Jones's child— lie's ^tv?^/— stabb'd in Kentucky I And fatlier' s gone, and O I've come to yen across the mountains." And then the httle one was dumb, and Abe's c)'es gushed hke fountains. ... He took that gal into his place, and kept her as his daughter — - Ah, mischief to her wheedling face and tlie bad wind that brouq-ht her! 5 f I 60 .4J/0XC THE PASTURES. t Bishop Pete. I knew that Jones : — used to faloot about Emanci- pation — It made your very toe-nails shoct 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 h^pill, he came the final cropper. I Bishop Joss. . . . That gal \\'as fourteen years of age, and sly with all her meekness ; JASOiV JONES'S LEGACY. 6i 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 die:: ; Jkit tho' he seem'd so crush'd to be, when this or that one blew up, lie stuck to Jones's Legacy and school'd her till she grew up. Well ! there 1 the thing was said and done, and so far who could blame him ? '62 AMOA\; THE PASTURES. But O lie 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 man\' to be seen about these parts to beat lier ; 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 beaut\' ; And several Saints most great and blest now offer'd their protection, And I m\-self aniong the rest felt something of affection. But O the selfishness of Abe, all things it beats and passes ! S/STER AXA'E JTATH MANY WOOERS. 63 As greedy as a two-year babe a-grasping at molasses ! When once those Shepherds of ihe flock began to smile and beckon, He scream'd like any fighting cock, and raised his comb 1 reckon ! First one was floor'd, then number two, she wouldn't look at any ; Then viy 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 r.iinute he betran abusincr me most awful. "Begone," he said, "}'0u're like tiie rest, — wolves, wolves with rjreed'.- clutches! 64 AMONG THE PASTURES, 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 Jicv to seal the gal some day ;" but Abe cried fiercely, ''Nev^er!" Says I, " Perhaps it's in }'our 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, its crushing, bullying, v/earing. 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 cir- cumvent it, SISTER AiXNE IS SEALED UNTO ST. ABE. 65 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 punished clean, I'm thinking, He's ten times deeper in the slough, up to his neck and s< liking. There's vii gar in Abe's pale face enough to sour a a barrel, Goes crawling up and down the place, neglecting 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. 60 AMOXC Tin: PAST r RES. And now and then, to put it plain, while falHrg daily sicker, I think be tries to float his p^in by copious goes of liquor. iiisiiop Joss. Yes, that's tlie end of selfishness, it leads to long vexation — No man can pity Abe, I guess, wlio knows his situation ; And, Stranger, if this man you meet, don't take JTun for a sample. Although he speaks you fair and sweet, he's set a VI le example V l^ecause you see him ill at ease, at home, and never heart}'. Don't think these air the tokens, please, of a real saintly party ! No, he's a failure, lie's a sham, a scandal to our nation. '/irO MODEL SAINTS. (>7 Not fit to lead a single lamb, umvortby of his station ; No ! if you want a Saint to sec, who rules lambs when he's got 'cm. Just cock your weather-cyc at vie, or I^rother Shuftlc- botham. We don't go croaking cast and west, afraid of women's faces, We bless and we arc truly blest in our domestic places ; We air religious, holy men, happy our folds to jjather, Each is a loyal citizen, also a husband — rather. ^ But now with talk you're dry and hot, and weary with vour ride here. Jest come and see iny fam'ly lot, — they're waiting tea inside here. \ i II. wrriiix THE crrv. — saint ade and the seven. Sister Tabitha, thirty odd, Rising up with a stare and a nod ; Sister AmeHa, sleepy and mild, Freckled, Dudu-ish, 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. FADED FLOWERS. 6; And sinks on a chair and looks arcund, 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 fluttcrinc^ breast. Stands trembHng and peeping behind the rest. Fvery 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 i.mile, or a snappish sneer. Before the stranger they each assume A false fine flutter and feeble bio 3m, 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, t*^ 70 SA/XT An/-: AXD TI/E SKl'EX. And laiiLjuiclI)- t-cniblc and tr\' to blow-- Six pale roses all in a row ! n I i I Six ? ah, yes ; but at hand sits one, The seventh, still full of tiie lii^dit of the sun, Thouc^h her colour terribly comes and goes, Now wliite as a lil>', now red as a rose, So sweet she is, and so full ff li/ht, That the rose seems soft, and the lily bric^ht. Her large blue eyes, with a tender care. Steal to her husband unaware, And whenever he feels tiieni he flushes red, And the tremblin;:'" hand t''oes up to liis head ! o »j> i. 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 lier, " THE STRAXGER ESSAYETir SMAIJ. TALK. 71 But crowding tocjcther, as if by plan, Draw further and further from Sister Anne. I try to rattle alon;.;- in chat, Talkincj freely of thi;-3 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 {]at.>, all low, Give a lazy " yes " or a sleep}' *' no." Yet now and then Tabitlia speak:^ Snapping- her answer with yellow clieeks, And fixing the Saint wlio is sittinc^ bv With the fish-like q-|are of her , ya ai d( sis77:r .lvx/-:. More like the fresh youiiir fruit you see In the mother-hmd across the sen More like that rosiest flower on earth, A blooming maiden of Enr,rlish birth, Such as we find them yet awhile Scatter'd about the liomely Isle, Not yet entirely eateii away By the canker-novel of the dav. Or curling up antl losing their scent In a poisonous dew from the Continent. There she sits, in her quiet nook. Still briglit tho' sadden'd , and while I look, l^.Iy heart is filletl and my eyes are dim, And i hate the Saint when 1 turn to liim ! Ogre ! VAnc l^eard ! Oily and sly! His meekness a cheat, his quiet a lie! A roaring lion he'll walk the house Tho' now h.e crouches like any mouse ! Had not he pluck'd enough and to spare Of roses like these set fading there 77 I 7S .S-.//.V7- .\nr. AX/y riiE s/:r/:x. I l§. •i t "1 i- But he must seek to cajole and kiss Another )'et, and a chikl hke this ? A maid on the stalk, just panting to prove The honest joy of a virgin love ; A girl, a bab\-, an innocent child, To be caught bv the first man's face that smiled I Scarce able the difference to fiv Of poh'gamy and politics 1 Led to the altar like a lamb, And sacrificed to the great god S/iain ! Deluded, martj-r'd, given to woe, Last of seven who have perish'd so ; I'^or who can sav but the flowers T see Were once as rosy and ripe as she ? y , Alread)' the household worm has l)egun To feed on the cheeks of the little one ; Already her spirit, fever-fraught, Droops to the weight of its own thought ; nOTTI.En TI/iWDER. Already she saddens and sinks and sighs, Watclied by tlie jealous di\'u:;onisli eyes. Even Amelia, sleepy and wan. Sharpens her orbs as she looks at Anne ; While Sister Tabbv, when she can spare Her i^aze from the Saint in his easy-chair, Fixes her with a gort^on L;'lare. 79 All is still and calm and polite. The Sisters bolster themselves uprif^ht, Y\nd try to smile, but the atmosphere Is charged with tiiunder 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 ; — Kv'n so in the pauses of talk, each breast Is strangely conscious of the rest, ill So s.i/xr .!/•'/: /.\7) '/'///■: sr.n v. And tlic tick of llic w.itch of Abe the Saint Breaks on the air, distinct tliouL,^h faint, Like the tickin-'" of liis lieart ! I rise To de])art, still idancin;^' with pilcous eyes On Sister Anne ; and I fuid her face urn 'd (|uesti(>nin[;" still to the same old place — Tlie face of the Saint. 1 stand and bow Curtsies a''"ain are bobbing" iiow, L) rcsses rustnni'- stli I k- now no more Till the Saint ha.s led nie to the door, And I find nivself in a da\--dreani dim, Just after sliakini;" hands with him, StandiiiL;' and watchin[4- him sad and slow Into the dainty dwellin'.'; l^o. With a 1ica\'v sicrh. and his hand to his head. * J . . . I lark, disUmt //iiiii(icr!---\h as 1 said : The air was far too close ; — at lenc^th Tile Storm is breaking- in all its strength. 111. rRDMi'XADi-: -MAix srki:i:r, utaii. TiiK SruAXGi-.i^i. Aloni^ the streets tlie\-"re Ihroty'inLr, M'alkiir^ Clad L;aily in tlieir 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 tliey scatter. Laughing and light. Pray wliat's the matter, That such a flock of folks I see ? < % 82 .V.t/X STREET, UTAir. A LouNdKR. They're off to liear tlie Prophet patter, Tills yer's a day (jf jubilee. VoiCF.s. Come along, we're late 1 reckon. . . There's our Matt, I see him b 'j'.M Si son tongue ! The women seem half \vear\' and half ^ny, Their eyes droop in a nw^lanchols \va)", — I haVc \\\A seen a i^u"»r\- f.ice to-da}'. A Hisii(M'. Thet's a smart hoss \ou're ritlin-j. brotlier! How are thini^s looking;", down with v'ou ? Sixo.M) llisnoi'. Not over bright with one nor 'tother, Taters are bad, tomatoes blue. You've hccr'd of Brother Simpson's losses ? Ruried his wife and spiled his ha\'. And the three best of Hornby's hosses Some Injun cuss lias stol'n away. i i ^ ^4 JA/A\' STREET, LTMf. V<)l(i:s. Zoc', JL'st fix up my c^own. . . There's niv liair a-comiiv^ cIdwm. . . Drat tlic babby, lie's so crust)' — ^t's the heat as makes liim thusty. . . Come alon'4, I'm almost sinkinc;. . . There's a slraiv^er, ami \\<: r^ uinkiuL;'. Stkanckr. That was a fine c;irl witli the f^re}'-hair'd lady, How shiniii;^- were her e)'es, how trt'e and steady, Not drooping (\k)\\\\ in [^niilt\' Mormon fashion, But shootin<,^ at the soul their power and passion. That's a big fellow, six feet two, not under, But how he struts, and looks as black as thunder, Half glancing round at his poor sheep to scare 'cm — Six, seven, eight, nine, — O Abraham, what a harem ! co(,v/-:t77.\\; wrrir /•///■: /■:x/-:.]fy 85 All ben-)' brown, bul lookin^r scared is ni And each one but the oldest with a baby. a)' bi Pha^be ! AxorifKR. Yes, Grace I I'lk.'i' GiKJ.. Oon't seem to notice, dear, That \ ankee fi-oni tlie camp acrain is lierc. IVIakin^^ such cyc:^, and following- on the si}-, And coui^diing now r.nd then U> .diow he's niL;h. Six'oxi) Girl. Who's that alone; witli him — the little scamp Shaking- his hair and noddin % •^A 6^ '^ 'SJ) 6^ 86 ATA IN STREET, UTAH. Skcond Girl Isn't lie handsome? P'lRST GlKL. No; the first's my style! 11 STRAXfiKR. If my ijood friends, the Saints, could get their \vill. These Yankee officers would fair 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 tremblin[^ 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; ST. ABE PASSF.TIf. 87 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 ! VOICKS. 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. A':;e Clewson. {Passing witli 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. 88 A/A AV SI 'KEE'1\ U lAlL ' !■ Too mucli of this life is beginnin^L^ to try me, I'm like a dern'd miller the Ljrind always ni<^h me ; Prayinj^ don't soothe me nor comfort me any, My house is too full and my blessinj^-s too many — The ways o' the wilderness puzzle me f^reatly. Sister Tabitiia. Do walk like a Oiristian, and keep kind o' stately ! And jest keep an eye on those persons behind you, You call 'em your \Vives_ but tliey 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. A a ROUP OF EMIGRANTS. 8^ Stra\(;ki<. What group is tliis, bcgrini'd with dust and heat, Staring Hkc strangers in the open street ? The women, ragged, wretched, and half dead, Sit on the kerbstone hot and hanix the head, And clustering at their side stand chikh'en 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 drea-.v,. For the vast tracts of country left beliind Seem now a hauntincr mira":e in the mind. Gaunt miners folding hands upon their breasts, Big-jointed labourers looking ox-like down, And sickly artizans w'ith narrow chests Still pall'a from the smoke of English town. Hard by to these a group of Teutons stand, Light-hair'd, blue-eyed, still full of Fatherland, M 90 MALY STREET, UTAH. i I! I Witli \vatcr-lo\'ing NoilhiiiCn, who grow gay To sec the mimic sea gleam far away. Now to tliis group, with a sharp questioning face, Cometh a hoi}" magnate of the place In decent black ; shakes hands Avith 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. l)lSlI()i\ The Prophet welcomes \-ou,' and sends His message by m\' mouth, my friends ; He'll see you snug, for on this shore There's Jieaps of room for millions more ! . . Scotchman, 1 take it ? . '. Ah, I know Glasgow — was there a )'ear or so. . . And if j'cw don't from Yorkshire hail, I'll — ah, I thought so ; seldom fail. WELCOME TO CANAAN. Make yourselves snug and rest a spell, There's liquor coming — meat as well. All welcome ! We keep open door — Ah, ive 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 Lebcn steht mir an ! 91 A Northman. Taler du norske t M: ;i -k:\ 92 MAIN STREET, UTAH. Bishop. [Shaking his head, and turning zvith a ivink to the English.l 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. DESERET. 93 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. Chansfed 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. ! I 1 1 -^ ■ <» i 1 \ T i ' ■ ' fln 1 if ' J ' •94 MALV STKEEr, UTAH. X (I XVhile — 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 Wrr pt royally around him ; on his head A battered hat of the strange modern 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 • HI THE LAST IiVDIAX. 95 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, sail, 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 wath 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. 1 1 111 HI i! 96 MA LV .STREET, UTAH. But no ! — already drunken past a doubt, Degenerate nomad of the plains, get out ! \A railway ivhistlc sounds in tJic 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 Primeval 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 ; J» nil IT E .V.LV .h\7) A'A'A 97 Ofi", quick ! clear out I ay, drink your fill and die ; And, since the Earth rejects you, try the Sky ! And sec if He, who sent your white-faced brother To hound and drive you from this world )'0u bother, Can find a corner for }'ou si another ! ; I < ! IV. ji WITHIN THE SYNAGOGUE. — SERMONIZETH THE rROPHET. 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? — f 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. DESCRIBETII THE FLIGHT FROM EGYPT 99' Feminine Whispers. Brother Shuttleworth's seventeenth wife, . . Her with the heer brushed up so funny ! rHE 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 managed to cany 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 Hawki:is's last a fright .\ . . I'm suttin that Brother Abe's been drinking r I' I m i; U lOO IVITIim THE SYNAGOGUE. 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. » I/Oir THE CITY WAS FOUNDED. lOI The Prophet. This is a tale so often told, The theme of every eventful meeting ; Yes 1 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, i \ \\ i i ^m 102 WITHIN THE SYNAGOGUE. 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. Ill 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. SAINTLY BLISS. 103 O blessed sight beyond compare, When Hfe 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 vtc, My man had better \—Vdpison him, Pheemy 1 The Prophet. There in the gate of Paradise The Saint is sitting serene and hoary. Tendrils of arms, and blossoms of eyes. Festoon him round in his place of glory ; Little cherubs float thick as bees Round about him, and murmur " father '" H H I 1 1 '' 1 • I ■. 1 i 1 ■'■ ' ;1 . 1 \ ■ 1 ' ■ '*( 1 ' r ■ 104 WITHIN THE SYNAGOGUE. The sun shines bright and he sits at ease, Fruit all round for his hand to gather. Blessed is he both night and day, 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 I The Prophet. Sisters and Brothers by love made wise, Remember, when Satan attempts to quell 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 ! THE PROPHET DEFINE TH HOLINESS. 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. 105 But I hear some awakening spirit cry, " Labour is labour, and all men know it ; But what is pleasure V 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 ? ao6 WITHIN THE SYNAGOGUE. Feminine Whispers. Martha is growing a handsome gel. . . Three at a birth ? — that makes the dozen ! ! >:l 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 PROPIIET ENJOINETH FAITH. 107 The Prophet. A faithful vine at the door of the Lord, A shining flower in the garden of spirits, A lute whose strinf 3 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. 8 * H hi '!,■■; 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, PKESCIF.NCE OF THE PKOPIIET. And the lesser lights all holy, Round the Lamp revolving slowly, Thought, with eyes and lips asunder, ''Right, we reckon, he's a wonder!" 109 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 v/ould 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. I •I i ; ] V i . m Wf I 1 I no FALLING OF THE THUNDERBOLT, 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 ! |i ■'■ j (• I CONSTERNATION IN THE SESSION. Hallelujah, veneration, Reckon that he licks creation !" mt iU 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 unplifted, face the colour Of a bran new Yankee dollar, Like a man whose wits are addled. Crying — " Brother Abes 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 : I 1 t i I . II 112 FALLING OF THE I'HUNDERBOLT. " Goodman Jones, your cheeks are yellow, Teil 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 centered — 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 SISTER TABirilA EXPLAINETH. ^' 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 \\.fits by which he perish'd? Or did death come even quicker, Thro' a bolting horse or kicker?" "3 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 thu'ider, ''Prophet, don't you make a blunder! Abraham Clewson isn't dying— Hasn't died, as you're implying. : 'I I < H Ki V f" 114 FALLING OF THE THUNDERBOLT. 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! ske-daddled! 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! I STRANGE TRANCE OF THE PROPHET. iiS 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 ( I < K ''m, ii6 FALLING OF THE THUNDERBOLT, 4 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 woe 'ul words delivered : — ''Sisters, calm your liearts 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 ST. ABE'S LL T^TER. "7 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! i ■' w iiiili VL LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE TO THE POLYGAMISTS. 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!" 1 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 ; HIS MESSAGE TO HIS WIDOWS. 119 Commending to your blessed care my well-beloved 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! 1 1 i\ 120 /.AST EPISTLE OE ST. ABE. 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, ST. ABE LAMENTETII HIS DOIVXFALL. 121 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 ! I 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! • J22 LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE. A.AL :ia In principle unto this hour I'm still a holy being — But oh, how poorly is my power proportioned 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, Th':;re 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 thrilled through me. Andj^w, believing I was strong, smiled on me like a father, — Said, ''Blessed be this man, though young, who the sweet lambs doth gather!" S7\ ABE DEF/XETII VIRTUE. 123 L holy ned to gilt ill eager h my Lord lamb^i f faith ne like , who At first it was a time full blest, and all my earthly 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 Shepherd 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! I I 'il "4 LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE. \ II I' She's all the wiliy 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, tivo might have fixed me neatly, Three made me shake, four made me puff. Jive 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! WARNETH AGAINST SENTIMENT. »25 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 fed- tugs 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 delicate to mention! I I I I 126 LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE. \ ? m 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 tranquilizing! 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 difficulty growmg. Since most men are as meek as me, too passionate and glowing : They cannot in your royal wa> dwell like a guest from Heaven Within this tenement of clay, which for the Soul is given ; THE FLESH AND THE SPIRIT. 127 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 nigg.r 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; 128 LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE. I K'f The poor bewildered 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 ev^ery 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 wvor- takes 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, SUBDUING OF THE FLESH. 129 -the And the poor Soul is doom'd to bow, in deep humili- ation, Within a place that isn't now a decent habitation. No ! keep the Soul and Flesh apart in pious resolu- tion. Don't let weak flutterings of the heart lead you to my confusion I 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 non6 go past her. Just take the curb and giN'e a twist, and show her you're the Master. The flesh is but a temporal thing, and Satan'r strength is in it, Use it, but conquer it. and bring its vice down every minute ! 1 1 1 ri ■ ;:M nV M- ,: ; 11 '9 M 11 I 11 I n 130 Z^^r EPISTLE OF ST. ABE. 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 zuay 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 dic- tation ; And tho' the Flesh be e'er so warm, your Soul the weakness smothers Of loving any female form much better than the others ! DIVIDE Til MEN INTO TWO CLASSES. 1 3 « O Brigham, I can see you smile to hear the Devil preaching ; — Well, I can praise your perfect style, tho' far beyoncJ 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 Hi'o 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 hovering, and going. The second are a different set, just halves of perfect Spirits, Goin^ about in bitter fret, of uncompleted merits. 132 LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE. ■1 5:Jj ' I i ;# Till they discover, here or there, their otJier half (or woman). Then these two join, and make a Pair, and so in- crease 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 assininity ; And if they try the blessed game of those superior to them, They're very quickly brought to shame, — their pas- sions 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. HOli^ ST. ABE BLUNDERED LV SEALING. I33 Now, Brigham, /was made, you see, one of those loiver 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 feehng ! And then another ! then a third ! and so continued SeaUng! And duly, after many a smart, discovered, sighing faintly, I hadn't found my missing part, and wasut strong and s?'ntly ! O they were far too good for me, altho' their zeal betrayed them ; — Unfortunately, don't you see, heaven for some other made them ; n I !■■■: '! if n 134 LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE. 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 T]ie Woman, young and virgin snow, but beckoning 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. THE RAPTURES OF THE UXSAIXTLY 135 icace eant and But, Brother Brigham, don't you think the Devil could so undo mc, That straight I rushed the cup to drink too late extended to mc, 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 ,pf feeling ! i i 1 i I • ■:i( I 136 LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE. 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 sJiould have stopped, 1 swear, the wretchedest of creatures. Rather than put one mark of care on her belov(5d 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 !" ' DESCRIBETII HIS OIV2V JEALOUSY, I37 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, / saiv the Saints did cast her zmy 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 iiot, you say? Ah, yes, why not, from your high point of vision ; But I'm of an inferior lot, beyond the light Elysian. I I ^1 i ^ ( aiS LAST EPISTLE OE S7\ ABE. ! I \ \ 11 I tore :r.y hair, whined Hkc a whelp, I loved her to distraction, I saw the danger, knew the help, yet trembled at the action. . At last I cai.ie to you, my friend, and told my ten- der feeling; You said, "Your grief shall have and 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 airs peculiar to each lady, SISTER ANNE LAST OF THE SEVEN I39 And, finally, when all was clear, and hope sccm'd to forsake me, ^'There! it's a wretched chance, my dear— you leave me, or you take me." Well, Sister Annie looked at me, her inmost heart revealing (Women arc very weak, you see, inferior, full of feeling). Then, thro' her tc.irs 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. 10 I I ! 140 LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE. Take me, I'm yours, aad 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 !" ill 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 straightway to my wonder A series of e/ents began which show'd me all my blunder. t\ i now THE SIX DECLARED BATTLE, 141 t think loving ' with f them ne and try to ill was made way to all my 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 combined 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 wasnt that they cared for me, or any other party, Their hearts and sentiments were free, their appetites were hearty. „:* Ui LAST EPirriE OF ST. ABE. But when the pretty smiling face came blossoming 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. .1:1^: .^ 'if! * r-r 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 onq might have expected. But, Brother, tho' I'm loath to add one word to criminate them, I think their conduct was too bad, — it almost made me hate them. ' flow SISTER ANNE GREW SAD. 143 5oming Vault sunny t, they coaxed rred to md her it have vord to t made 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 ! 144 LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE. I 1* |H' { But, bless you, 'twere as well to try, when thunder's at its dire work. To clear the air, and light the sky, by pennyworths 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 mCy the light of love to borrow, And Sister Anne began to see / 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 overtook her. HOW SISTER ANNE FELL SICK. MS der'j )rths She took to bed, grew sad and thin, seem'd like a spirit flying. Smiled thro' her t-ars 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, reaiy 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. Brother, I can scarce express the agony of those moments, 1 fear your perfect saintliness, and dread your cutting comments ! 146 LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE. I prayed, I wept, I moan'd, I cried, I anguish'd night and morrow, I watched 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 wliere 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, labelled 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 ! ST. ABE REGISTERETII A VOW. 147 ish'd that 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 ^ save this chief of treasures, I will no longer hesitate, but take decided mea- sures ! A poor monogamist like me can not love hal'" 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 shadow}^ tittle. They will not miss my face at all, or miss it very little. I :an't undo what I have done, by my forlorn embraces. And call the brightness of the sun again into their faces ; I \ n Hi! J m ka' I4S LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE. But I can save one spirit true, confiding and unthinking, From slowly curdling to a shrew or into swinedom 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 behind me. Afar unto the starless waste, where not a soul shall find me. I send my love, and Sister Anne joins cordially, agreeing 1 never was the sort of man for your high state of being. i ^\-- ST. ABE DIDDETH FAREWELL TO EDEN. 149 and idom were still of 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 sons 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. Ther»-'s modest competence for each, if it is managed neatly. I50 LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE. 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 portend, and an omen, A moment passing on the sight, thereafter seen by no men I 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 mtdtitude 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).. \v i.f' rent THE .T^tTt- \r\T T FY— SUNSET. T FARM IN THE VALLL\ (1871.) :Ji ' THE FARM IN THE VALLEY — :o: — 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. 'il 4 U ^4-. 154 T//E FARM IN 7^ HE VALLEY. 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, Flashing faint to a thin cry From the nursery hard by. And the City in my thought Slept fantastically wrought. Till the w'iole 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, AFTER FIVE YEARS, I5S 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 Sclicherazad 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 <^entle face would flit O'er my mind and puzzle it. Ever waking up meanwhile Something of a merry smile, 11 •i t , 156 THE FARM IN THE VALLEY. Whose quick light illumined mo During many a reverie, When I puffed my weed alone. I 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 modect 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 w ould say) SU.\'SET IN NEW ENGLAND. 157 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. 158 THE FARM IN THE VALLEY, ■" ' I',' «. ' J ■ si' i i]i i ' ' -l \\% Wr - \ ' W '-^ 1 1 ' ^ IJ] 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 th^ 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. THE HOMESTEADS. 159 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 tiie 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 i6o rilE FARM IN THE VALLEY. I! 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; THE STRANGER VASSETII. Memory, as 1 watched the sight, Flashed from eager Ught 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. , fill vounir man ! 1 guess Stare your fiU, > oun^ ^^ :(• „-^ meet aiiain ; You'll know me if wc meet ■^ i6i In a moment all my brain Was illumined at the tone. All was vivid that had grown . Kaint and dim, and straight! knew him. Holding out my hand unto h.m, Smiled, and called him by his name. l62 THE FARM IN THE VALLEY. 4 1' Wondering, hearing me exclaim, Abraham Clcwson (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 ; Called 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, W .ST. ABE AND SISTER AXNE. With 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 mc through their curls. Hid their sweet shamefacrdness In the skirts of Annie's dress. 163 * 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. I t*^ 164 THE FAKM IX Till: VALLEY. ji '), ■!< " Happy ? " Abe said with a smile. " Yes, in my ififcrior style, ]\Ieek 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 ^'^e of sanctity Never was the life for me. Couldn't stand it wet nor dry, Hated to see w^omen cr)' ; Couldn't bear to be the cause Of tiffs and squalls and endless jaws ; Always folt amid the stir Jest a whited sepulchre ; And I did the best I could When 1 ran away for good. Yet for many a night, you know (Annie, too, would tell you soj, y/-. ABE SUKVKYETII THE VAST. i65 Couldn't sltcp a sin L^le wink, Couldn't cat, a nd couldn't drink, Ikinc; !;ind of conscicncL'-clcft 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 trroan for me Fanny and Amelia got Sealed to Brigham on the spot ; Kmma 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— 1 66 THE FARM IX Till-: VM.l.EY. •f A youiifj joiner fresh come down Out of Texas to the town — And he took her with her babv, And tliey're doinj; well as maybe." \X Here the Saint with quiet smile, Sippin^j at his j^ro^ the while, Paused as if his tale was o'er, Held his tongue and said no more. "Good," I said, "but have you done.-* Vou 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 dcadT Then the good man's features broke Into brightness as I spoke, And with loud guffaw cried he, -•What, Tabitha? Dead! Not she. LAST GI.lMrsE OF SISTKK TAIUTIIA. 167 All alone and doin^^ splendid — Jest you ^aiess, now, how she's ended ! Give it up ? This very week 1 heard she's at Oneida Creek, All alone and doini; heart}', Down with Brother Noyes's party. Tried the Shakers first, they say, Tired of them and went away, Testin^r with a deal of b(jther 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 ; liM THE FARM W 77/E VALLEY. Polygamy's beyond my merits, Shakerism wears the spirits. And as for Free Love, whj , you sec (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." It' \_ Y ;.t. As he spoke with half a yawn. Half a smile, I saw tlie 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 ; TO BED ! 169 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. (JUOBE raiNllNG CO., 2 5 4 28 KING HTKUKT EA8 r, TOR )NTO.