-. 
 

LITTLE GENTILE: 
 
 DESERET ROMANCE 
 
 CAPTIVE AND EXILE 
 
 NEW JERUSALEM." 
 
 MIGNONETTE. 
 1 
 
 And Israel shall be a proverb and a by-word unto all people." 
 
 CHICAGO: 
 
 PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR BY THE 
 
 RELIGIO-PHILOSOPHICAL PUBLISHING HOUSE. 
 
 1879. 
 
921844 
 
LITTLE GENTILE. 
 
 " Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, 
 Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor ne'er shall be." 
 Wrote England's gifted son, poetic Pope, 
 Who thus denied his sincerest hope. 
 Thus man, ill-fated, in gravitation's chains, 
 Ever strives to soar beyond his allotted range. 
 
 Readers, no rare exotic flowers to offer you have I ; 
 Only wild blooms gathered 'neath a sullen sky. 
 .I've roamed in distant woodlands, in sequestered dells, 
 To pluck the drooping ferns, and tiny, sweet bluebells. 
 
 Brooklets murmured a rebuke, birds twitted me of 
 stealing ; 
 
 But, heeding not, I hurried on, my motive still con- 
 cealing. 
 
6 Little Gentile. 
 
 I have sprays of hawthorne, sweetbrier, and thistle, too, 
 Roses, laurel and myrtle, and leaves of mistletoe, 
 And a sheaf of lilies, leopard lilies, from the plain, 
 Gaudy in their gold and garnet, sparkling with the rain. 
 " All these I give my readers, trusting that each wit 
 Will judge with the same spirit that the author writ." 
 " Why mourn I not for thee 
 And with the southern clouds contend in tears." 
 
 " Come, Isaline, and hear from stricken heart 
 A tale of grief that bids you soon depart 
 From home and friends. 
 
 Fear not, I pray, 
 
 For every night there surely dawns a day ; 
 And we all must learn, either soon or late, 
 To bear with fortitude the stern decrees of fate. 
 
 Come closer to me, child. Our mutual woe 
 Makes doubly dear the treasure that most go ; 
 For, Isaline, the unhappy hour has come 
 When you must leave the old ancestral home. 
 
Little Gentile. 1 
 
 Our old estate in one brief day is gone, 
 And we, my love, are penniless and alone. 
 
 Your cousin, Annabel, so prostrated by the shock, 
 
 Is sick abed, and will not endure the mock 
 
 Of pitying friends. Poor Annabel loves you so, 
 
 It seems almost a sin to let you go. 
 
 But 'there is a destiny that shapes our ends,' 
 
 And Isaline will never want for friends ; 
 
 Tho' some prove false, like inconstant Ray, 
 
 Who quite unexpectedly has gone away ; 
 
 But ere he went, the mercenary dastard wrote 
 
 An adieu to Annabel a meagre little note. 
 
 You pity her, your eyes with tears are dim. 
 
 Don't worry, child ; she does n't care for him. 
 
 The avaricious coward, when he heard of our ill luck, 
 Vamosed at once, and had not e'en the pluck 
 To call on us. I bade her give him up forever, 
 Arid with such worthlessness e'en acquaintanceship 
 dissever. 
 
8 Little Gentile. 
 
 You go, like Ruth of old, 'mong harvesters to glean, 
 And triumph yet will bless our lovely Isaline. 
 My dear, be patient. Will you not hear me through? 
 The last hour, may be, your aunt can talk with you. 
 How time does fly ! Your carriage comes at noon, 
 And you scarcely seem to heed our separation soon. 
 
 My plan is this : I have a sincere friend 
 In the far west, and you to her I'll send. 
 An intruding guest with her you cannot be. 
 She invites you, love ; her letter here you see. 
 
 I this hour foresaw, and in silence did prepare 
 A home for you, whilst battling with despair. 
 You are better off to-day than Annabel and me. 
 Home and friends await you, whil'st on life's sea 
 We're doomed to drift, happy to find a little cot 
 In some secluded place where we can be forgot. 
 
 Here is a purse prepared for present needs ; 
 And hear, too soon, the prancing feet of steeds ! 
 
Little Gentile. 9 
 
 Your trunks are packed, and there is nought to do. 
 Oh, Isaline, ray child, unto yourself be true, 
 
 Then false to none you cannot be. 
 
 Here is a ray 
 
 Of Heaven's own light ; 'twill guide your way. 
 And should other sorrows unto you be given, 
 Brighter still will burn Ms Holy Lamp of Heaven. ' ' 
 
 No more she said ; the coup de main was made. 
 The long-planned role successfully had been played. 
 Some crystal tears, expelled from laughing eyes, 
 Corroborated with as many sobs and sighs. 
 
 The schemer watched the carriage roll away, 
 And said, " 'Tis done, and I've now no part to play, 
 But be, my own dear self, .mistress of Winsor House, 
 Since I've fortunately caught the intruding mouse. 
 The old estate is hers, not ours. But, hush! 
 The balmy zephyrs may have ears, and rush 
 
 To tell this dark intrigue. 
 
 But she is gone, 
 
 And poor Annabel and I are really alone. 
 
10 Little Gentile. 
 
 Tho' this act may bring us company. My brother 
 May come from the unknown, and Isa's mother ; 
 Each torturing me with spectral visions grim, 
 For what they'd deem unpardonable by Him 
 Who created me with faults predominating o'er 
 My better qualities. Would the same Power 
 My Maker condemn aught that I do ? 
 I know the right, and yet the wrong pursue 
 Lacking will-force, and conscience to guide aright, 
 I yield to wrong, tho' it brings eternal blight. 
 
 A thorn was Isaline, hidden 'neath my rose of joy 
 What I tenderly transplanted another might destroy ; 
 In other clime, our sweet Isa will live on, 
 Happily oblivious of what to-day is done; 
 Then all is well, and why supinely grieve ? 
 Whatever is, is right, I verily believe ! " 
 
 Whilst thus condoled the treacherous queen of sin, 
 Rustling silks were heard, and Annabel came in ; 
 
Little Gentile. n 
 
 Poor, prostrated Annabel, of Winsors fallen house , 
 Came to congratulate the exit of the deluded mouse, 
 And gayly said : 
 
 " How well you did succeed. 
 
 Your flimsy admonition I feared she would not heed. 
 Strange, she did not beg to share with us the little cot, 
 And whilst ' the world forgetting, be by the world 
 
 forgot ;' 
 
 But credulous Isaline disobedience never knew ; 
 So very true herself, she thought the same of you !" 
 
 " Yes," whimpered the old dame, "poor Isaline 
 Deserves our sincere pity. Only seventeen ! 
 And on the cold world thrown, so young and fair. 
 Heaven knows, it was my pride and grim despair 
 That made me do it. 
 
 I have not an itching palm : 
 
 Tho' Ray Hamliris wealth would be a healing balm 
 For our sin-pierced hearts. 
 
12 Little Gentile. 
 
 He loved Isaline, 
 
 Whilst you loved Mm. I come between, 
 And sunder them forever. Yours is the day ! 
 Look to your laurels, and bear the prize away. 
 
 And, should we our cherished hopes attain, 
 We'll sue for pardon, and will not sue in vain ! 
 Our web we'll weave so well that unsuspecting Ray 
 Will never dream us guilty of what is done to-day. 
 Ignorance we'll plead, all knowledge will disown 
 That Isa is the heiress, until the fact is known. 
 
 And life holds many chances ; the home she's gone to 
 find 
 
 Is but a myth, my girl, existing only in her mind. 
 
 In that semi-barbarous city, most sinful in the land, 
 
 If there's none to greet her, will she the shock with- 
 stand ? 
 
 Disappointment brings delirium, and Death, with sickle 
 keen, 
 
 May gather in his sheaf the alluring Isaline." 
 
Little Gentile. 13 
 
 " Oh, mother, hush!" begged Annabel, "and bring Isa 
 
 back to-night ; 
 Love and wealth are naught compared with a sense of 
 
 right. 
 
 Let's say that we were jesting, and never let her 
 
 know 
 That we would have the heart to give this inhuman 
 
 blow. 
 
 My sister Isaline has been all my sunny life, 
 And I cannot stab the trusting girl with Deception's 
 
 knife. 
 
 Bright castles you've been building in Imagination's 
 air, 
 
 But to fall down in the future as you yourself de- 
 clare ; 
 
 \nd a wicked influence has o'erpowered me so long, 
 
 But now I see the right, and will defy the wrong. 
 
 Cousin loved and trusted you, and in going away, 
 ?ho' it broke her heart, she bravely would obey ! 
 
14 Little Gentile. 
 
 And how sad 'twill be, when, at her journey's end, 
 She finds herself betrayed by her truest friend ! 
 And imagine Isa's little grave in that strange land, 
 And that her death was caused by your own com- 
 mand." 
 
 "Annabel!" the woman interrupted, "your ingra- 
 titude 
 
 Dumfounds me ! Day after day, in dull solitude, 
 I've brooded o'er your welfare, without a will 
 Your cousin Isaline to either rob or kill, 
 As time will prove ! 
 
 Because my fancy drew 
 
 A picture of the possible, you faint-hearted grew, 
 And, cowardly upholding the white feather, 
 You beg to counteract what we have planned together 
 And you twit of wicked influence, oh, Annabel !" 
 And again from evil eyes crocodile tears fell. 
 
 " I've weighed this matter long," resumed the daim 
 In tremulous tones, " and a child should never blam( 
 
Little Gentile. 15 
 
 Parental judgment, till erring judgment brings 
 Its own reproach. 
 
 Your cruel censure stings 
 Worse than a serpent's tooth ! 
 
 And 'tis hard to brook 
 Your loud accusation and denouncing look ! 
 Still, my purpose none can foil the girl is gone, 
 And I can not, will not, rue the deed that's done. 
 
 Nor penniless is Isaline. I had a generous care 
 To more than ten times pay her journey's fare ! 
 And another sum to-morrow I shall send, 
 Commending her to the kindness of my friend 
 Kind Providence, who will ever guide 
 The wee barque launched on Life's uncertain tide. 
 5o, no great wrong, as fleeting time will tell ; 
 But act your part, and all will yet be well." 
 
 No more she wished to say, but left the room, 
 Leaving Annabel bowed in penitential gloom. 
 
16 Little Gentile. 
 
 And thus far again crafty Might had won. 
 But "ever the right comes uppermost and ever is jus- 
 tice done." 
 
 " How much of joy or grief a day can hold, 
 How much of both the same time can enfold," 
 Sighed Isaline, as rapidly the train 
 Dashed thro' woods and fields of ripening grain. 
 
 " This morn, yon glorious sun's caressing beams 
 Roused me from slumber's happiest dreams 
 
 Of what the day would bring. 
 
 The sad transition 
 
 Bewilders me ! Instead of glad fruition, 
 Mar ah' s cup at eve I sip, bereft, forsaken. 
 Oh, were this but a dream I might awaken ! 
 
 A mystery entrammels me. If auntie loved me true, 
 Would she have hurried me away, scarce breathing 
 
 an adieu? 
 
 And Annabel I could not see at all, she was so sick ; 
 It cannot be that I'm the dupe of Humor's cruel 
 
 trick ! 
 
Little Gentile. 17 
 
 Ah, no ; they would have sent a messenger ere this 
 To take me back. The fate of Peri, hurled from bliss, 
 Is preferable to mine. They 'gainst Paradise re- 
 belled, 
 
 And were for the sin from Paradise expelled. 
 If in the least I've sinned, I know not when ; 
 I only know I'm sent away, not to return again. 
 A pure and spotless life has always been my aim, 
 And, whatever caused our trouble, I cannot be to 
 blame. 
 
 If / had been the heiress, instead of Annabel, 
 
 On cunning plot my distracted thoughts would dwell ; 
 
 But, as it is, in deep midnight of mind, 
 
 I grope for what I know I. cannot find. 
 
 Nor more will I complain ; time soon will prove 
 
 The cause of this, and the depth of doubted love." 
 
 Like a poor dove, that hid beneath her wing 
 
 The arrow that pierced her heart, Isaline could fling 
 
is Little Gentile. 
 
 Her grief aside, awaiting quietly the hour 
 When the same grief would try her latent power. 
 
 "She has no force of character," the cynic reader , 
 
 smiles, 
 " Or now she would not be the dupe of Deception's 
 
 wiles." 
 
 And so it does appear; but character is stuff; 
 
 We'll compare to diamond cut, and diamond in the 
 
 rough, 
 
 Or to gold in dross, for which we the furnace need, 
 The fiery, flaming furnace, to make it gold indeed ; 
 Our stronger, better nature is a hidden thing for aye, 
 Unless trials and vicissitudes burn the drop away. 
 
 To joys accustomed from her infant years, 
 Isa could not comprehend the sudden flow of tears 
 The story told in anguish, sobs and sighs well feigned, 
 O'er the unsuspecting girl complete influence gained. 
 
Little Gentile. 19- 
 
 In dumb amaze she blindly did obey, 
 And kissed the hand that pointed her away, 
 And kissed the lips that late to her had lied, 
 And loved the heart that love to her denied. 
 
 And so the world moves on, sin foremost in the chase ; 
 But "not always to the sivift does justice give the 
 race." 
 
 Now Ariel, on tireless wing, flies o'er Columbia's do- 
 main, 
 
 A broad expanse before her spread of forest, mount 
 and plain. 
 
 From Atlantic to Pacific coast her joyous flight began, 
 
 And thus she praised the wondrous work of nature 
 and of man. 
 
 Not long ago I wandered here, and found the pride of 
 
 earth, 
 Unknown to all th' other world, a land of glorious 
 
 worth, r 
 
20 Little Gentile. 
 
 Concealing in her bosom treasures vast of gems and 
 gold, 
 
 Mineral mines of every kind, place and value yet un- 
 told. 
 
 Mighty rivers rolling to the seas, on whose turged tide 
 Boat, or ship of man, ne'er had been known to glide, 
 And deep, tangled wild woods, where axe was never 
 
 heard, 
 Where silence was unbroken, save by savage, beast or 
 
 bird. 
 
 Spontaneous vegetation grew in its appropriate clime, 
 As seasons came and went, and left no trace of time ; 
 And untamed herds, innumerable, in happy freedom 
 
 grazed 
 On boundless verdant meads. 
 
 His God the Indian praised, 
 
 In humble wigwams, where gorgeous temples stand, 
 Blest handiwork of art . 
 
Little Gentile. 21 
 
 With Reason's torch in hand, 
 Progress came in the starless way, an d, lo ! from shore 
 
 to shore, 
 A nation see, haloed in self-wrought glory and in 
 
 power ! 
 
 First came vanquished followers of the lowly Naza- 
 
 rene, 
 Seeking refuge here ; and in Nature's tabernacles 
 
 green 
 
 They sang glad songs of praise to Him who gave 
 An ear to prayer, and ransom to Bigot's slave. 
 
 The Holy Inquisition! as void of truth in name 
 As were its stakes and racks of mercy and of shame, 
 They, the edict of their Bible, " Thou shalt not kill" 
 
 denied, 
 For oft their impious hands in human gore were dyed. 
 
 Thro' the records of the past I find no darker page 
 Than where religious wars in all their fury rage ; 
 
22 Little Gentile. 
 
 But night recedes as day awakes the world. 
 Lo, freedom's ensign o'er Columbia furled ! 
 
 Gathering from all nations, a mingling of all creeds,. 
 Th' heathen with his god of clay, th' Christian with 
 her beads. 
 
 All bending 'neath the canopy of one azure sky, 
 Some praising gods an earth, others gods on high. 
 Each faction has a god, no matter what they say ; 
 If all adored one Deity, why divide the way ? 
 
 In every way sectarians go seeking for the goal 
 That their gods have promised the immortal soul. 
 And is the soul immortal ? argues man alone, 
 And proof of more than mortal life, he argues none* 
 
 Frown not, ye of piety, for I assume the right 
 To sing your praise or censure in my Ariel flight ; 
 And more praise than censure to all men belong, 
 As yet shall be shown in trans-continental song. 
 
Little Gentile. 23 
 
 A being of the air, and all earthly climes, 
 Blame me not, if I appear censorious at times. 
 This we know, Progression never can achieve 
 The power to make all minds one tiling believe ; 
 The human mind, grand enigma of all minds. 
 And stranger to itself. 
 
 The delineator finds 
 
 Himself ensnared, when he attempts to tell 
 The nature of thoughts, and how and where they 
 dwell. 
 
 "Know thyself" said a great philosopher of old, 
 Who could not do himself what he had told 
 Inferior men to do. 
 
 As an atom is subject of contention, 
 So one thought, reversed, will bring its mate, dissen- 
 tion. 
 
 From all the plains, reaching from sea to sea, 
 Two blades of grass alike you cannot bring to me, 
 Nor ne'er shall be, as countless seasons roll 
 Their rapid rounds ; nor soul the counterpart of soul. 
 
24 Little Gentile. 
 
 So, in disunion wild, the seen and unseen range. 
 Obedient to one immutable law. Nature's change ! 
 
 Clip not the wings of thought ; unhindered let it fly ; 
 To the remotest bounds of Wisdom's starry sky. 
 And shut not the eyes of Faith, when Truth afar 
 Gleams on her way, her only guiding star 
 A mournful fact, oft on Ariel wings I find 
 Faith, blinded, sent forth to lead the blind. 
 
 An honest, upright man, is dear old Orthodox, 
 Called in a dream to lead his neighboring flocks 
 From the broad road that leads to flames eternal 
 To elysian fields of life and bliss supernal. 
 
 Both the shepherd and the sheep devoutly eschew 
 
 evil, 
 And humbly serve the Lord because they fear the 
 
 devil 
 And his gulf of fire and sulphur. Yet, so timorous 
 
 are they, 
 That the light of reason dawning o'er their way 
 
Little Gentile. 25 
 
 They durst not see, lest from Free Gf-race they fall, 
 Tumbling into torment, shepherd, sheep and all. 
 
 And now behold, 'neath glorious Summer skies, 
 Beautiful Columbia in all her splendor lies. 
 
 Swift change the scenes, from Neptune s sea-girt 
 
 strand, 
 To Cornucopia, dealing plenty o'er the land. 
 
 " See Pan with flocks, with fruits Pomona crowned. 
 See Flora strew her garlands o'er the ground." 
 See cities, towns and mansions of the great 
 Adorning all the Federal ship of State. 
 
 Hear the shout of young America, on balmy breezes 
 
 borne, 
 
 And in th' distance hear the huntsman's shrilly horn ; 
 And, ah, too soon the pursuer and pursued 
 Will wrest for life and death in Nature's solitude. 
 
26 Little Gentile. 
 
 I loathe the sight of Death, and all that gives 
 
 Grief or pain to man, as to aught that lives. 
 
 Life is sweet, and dismal Death a dread 
 
 To all that breathe until Hope has fled. 
 
 In darkness hid, the severing knife and visage grim 
 
 Death, welcome, takes what once was judged to him. 
 
 Away, on outspread wings, the American Eagle see, 
 Speeding his sunward way, bright emblem of the free ! 
 A hundred years ago Columbia claimed the bird, 
 And his shriek of liberty she ever since has heard. 
 
 Britain's wondrous Lion, roaming from his lair, 
 Sought, but vainly sought, the great Eagle to ensnare. 
 In proud defiance, and victorious, see him upward fly, 
 The king of birds ! from native rocks into native sky ! 
 
 And when strong Rebellion strove the nation to 
 
 divide, 
 Then the brave and loyal Eagle sought the soldier's 
 
 side, 
 
Little Gentile. 27 
 
 Flying over blood and carnage, watching near and far ! 
 Hear him shrieking " victory" above the din of war ! 
 See him clutch in talons strong the glorious Stripes 
 
 and Stars, 
 And in triumph bear them o'er th' foeman's fallen Bars ! 
 
 Hail, dear old Hudson River! grand memorial stream, 
 Where Fulton launched his crude power of steam. 
 On your charming banks of dense drooping wood, 
 In glad surprise, sweet groups of Naiads stood, 
 Watching the bold inventor, and his infant boat, 
 Along your course in joyous triumph float. 
 And all the little Naiads rejoiced wildly then, 
 Upon this grand achievement of water and of men. 
 
 Long in Oblivion 's shade the crown of Locomotion lay, 
 Until star-eyed Science drove the gloom away, 
 And to plodding man the priceless trophy gave, 
 That made him king of labor, instead of drudging 
 slave. 
 
28 Little Gentile. 
 
 Far away, away, with speed and power sublime, 
 Behold steam-breathing steeds racing with Time ! 
 With vain old father Time, who, back in ages dim, 
 Ne'er dreamed that Tide would ever cope with him, 
 Nor that Tide would ever triumph over Tide, 
 As he has found on all the waters wide. 
 
 O'er lands they rush, the fire-belching coursers who 
 Headlong plunge the midnight tunnels through ; 
 Round mountain curves in giddy flight they sweep, 
 Now swing aloft their burdens o'er the deep, 
 The dark abyss, as if to prank with timid breath, 
 Or tantalize the gaping jaws of Death ! 
 
 Antiquity ! proud height of Oriental blaze, 
 Behold the work of "these degenerate days." 
 Progress rampant with more than mortal force ! 
 How would you trade with us your "Trojan horse?" 
 
 And before them flies before each reinless steed 
 The Electric Thought, with supernatural speed ! 
 
Little Gentile. 29 
 
 Guarding each way, bright messenger of Heaven, 
 And most glorious gift that to man is given. 
 
 Nor on land alone traverses the captive of the skies ; 
 But 'neath the ocean wave, around the world it flies. 
 Faithfully obeying the behests of mortal man, 
 Whose individual life on earth is but a span. 
 E'en he who dared to drag this victim from the sky 
 Was born to "perish, in the mingling storm to live and 
 die." 
 
 Like "Imperial Ccesar, dead and turned to day" 
 Franklin " might stop a hole to turn the wind away" 
 " For they are gone, alas! we know not where," 
 Wails restless man, dealing- his own despair. 
 " Through eternal veil we cannot see, so thick, 
 
 so thin ; 
 
 Oh, would but two return to us who have entered in. 
 And bring glad tidings back, that beyond the tomb 
 Lives every soul in amaranthine bloom !" 
 
so Little Gentile. 
 
 Oh, mad, aspiring man, your pinions clipped, 
 O'er eternal walls ye cannot fly till ye have sipped 
 The noxious cup of Death. 
 
 'Tis said that Paradise 
 
 Once sent back a soul, who had doubly paid the price 
 Of passing through the gates of light, and that he 
 Proclaimed eternal life to man. 
 
 They sought to see 
 
 His wounded side and hands, for they denied 
 That he was Jesus whom they had crucified ; 
 And when he proved himself, they still refused to 
 
 know, 
 But wrapt themselves in unbelief, man's deepest woe. 
 
 Through skies, and o'er seas, ambitious man may sail, 
 But Heaven's stupendous walls he cannot scale ; 
 And, foiled in this, in incredulity profound, 
 The skeptic bows himself unto the ground, 
 And worships what he sees. Because, forsooth, 
 He saw not Heaven, in Heaven there is no truth ! 
 
Little Gentile. si 
 
 How rapidly the varied scenes appear; 
 And pass as rapidly "among the things that were." 
 Joyfully I have flown, a thousand miles or more, 
 Since I began my flight from Atlantic's shore. 
 
 Enchanting are the views of nature's panorama grand, 
 And in his works innumerable Art shows a master 
 
 hand. 
 
 E'en wow, I cannot sing the praise of one-half I see, 
 And to-day is but the germ of the great yet to be. 
 
 Down in yon field of rankly growing corn, 
 The plow-boy see a little plebeian born 
 Unmindful that his hat lets in the sun and rain, 
 And that his Sunday clothes are coarse and plain. 
 Guiding the plow that turns the damp, dark soil, 
 He dreams of future, and forgets his toil. 
 From the boy who wields in mimic power th' whip, 
 The man ideal sails on mighty seas the ship, 
 Or holds o'er ranks of men the saber of command, 
 And beholds himself a ruler of the land. 
 
32 Little Gentile. 
 
 "Whistling his marches in earnest childish joy, 
 Who would prophesy this vulgar little boy 
 The country's coming man ? 
 
 Columbian fields 
 
 Are so productive ; their abundant yields 
 Are of both kingdoms, regardless of the lowly born. 
 Sovereigns are often seen growing 'mong th' corn. 
 Kirtland, a "Mormon stake of Zion," lo! 
 And its deserted Temple, many years ago 
 There came an enthusiastic Mormon band, 
 With amusing " pageantry," to possess the land 
 To found a city appropriate to their patriarchal cause 
 And to obey their Prophet instead of moral laws. 
 Their leaders claimed that he was led by flaming sword ; 
 That he was commissioned immediate from th' Lord 
 " To redeem Israel's children from the wickedness of 
 
 man ;" 
 
 To gather them together ere the wrath of God began. 
 That angels showed him where, hidden in th' ground, 
 Ancient prophecies on golden plates were found ; 
 
Little Gentile. 33 
 
 That heavenly visitants would often with him dwell ; 
 That, responding to his prayers, manna from heaven 
 
 fell; 
 
 That he could command th' rough prairie gales 
 To waft into their tents numerous flocks of quails ; 
 That he could heal the sick and raise the dead, 
 E'en when the flickering flame had forever fled ! 
 
 Tell me, abandoned Temple, fast falling to decay, 
 Why did not your Prophet's God defend thee on that 
 
 day 
 
 When your immaculate Messiah by rabid law was slain, 
 And his clan of followers were scattered o'er the plain? 
 Why did not th' flaming sword gather in devouring 
 
 blaze 
 
 The men who slew the Saints of the Latter Days ? 
 Or, why did not your Prophet escape vengeful ire, 
 By going up, like Elijah, in a chariot of fire ? 
 
 I would not call, from the cross come down ; 
 Away with Prejudice and her unfriendly frown. 
 
34 Little Gentile. 
 
 But sacred Truth above all else I prize 
 Fallen angels' souvenir, brought from Paradise. 
 Dark world 't would be without th' heavenly gem, 
 Most precious jewel in Honor's diadem; 
 Guiding e'en Hope through life's varied vales, 
 And giving equipoise to blind Justice scales. 
 
 Laws and records of three thousand years ago 
 Illy compare with now, as all truth-seekers know. 
 The acme of ancient lore thought the round earth flat; 
 That the sun revolved, an obliging flame ; and that, 
 To succeed in human butchery, General Joshua 
 Bade the sun and moon stand still a day ; 
 And down the corridors of time reverberates th' news 
 That the mighty orbs obeyed in favor of th' Jews. 
 
 Oh, wondrous warrior ! supernatural in military skill ! 
 Most marvelous act, to make the sun stand still, 
 Whilst you defied a law, transcendent from above, 
 And foiled, perchance, the maneuverings of Jove. 
 
Little Gentile. 35 
 
 Through Futurity's dull mist behold the dawn 
 Of the gladdest day that man has looked upon ! 
 Tale-telling Tradition gone with religious Obloquy ; 
 And Truth proclaiming fearlessly, "/ am J." 
 
 Rapid flight, midway two oceans vast between, 
 Before me spreads as beautiful as the past has been. 
 What glorious power, to cleave the ambient air, 
 To dare what mortal man can only dream to dare ! 
 Tired at last with pedestrian rules complying, 
 In mystic Dream Land, behold the pedant flying, 
 Shouting, "Adieu to Terra Firma, adieu for evermore!" 
 And flying high and lo, he lights upon the floor! 
 
 Poor fallen man, if ere this ye had not fell, 
 
 None would be more ready to deplore than Ariel 
 
 Your sad condition ; but your great sire, you see, 
 
 Together with his spouse, fell beneath the tree 
 
 Of Life and Death a tremendous fall! 
 
 And yet I have not heard that they complained at all. 
 
36 Little Gentile. 
 
 Of immortality, and lovely Eden, now bereft, 
 Unmurmuring, young Adam took little Eve, and left. 
 
 Stretching far away, Nebraska's agricultural plain, 
 Checked with her meads, and fields of waving grain 
 No fairer, better land around the world I meet 
 Than this, renowned for quantity and quality of wheat. 
 
 G-reat American Desert ' t was called in days agone ; 
 Now by man transformed to field and verdant lawn, 
 Proving what Labor from dormant Nature can disclose, 
 And that the "Desert will blossom as the rose." 
 
 Along this route, guided by Adventurer's hand, 
 Traveled the fanatic Mormon to his Promised land ; 
 Like a pilgrim facing Mecca, th' Saints to Zion bound 
 Looked not back, but hurried on from unholy ground, 
 Shaking th' dust off their feet 'gainst th' Gentiles 
 
 who 
 Warred with the "wreck of Israel" and their Prophet 
 
 slew. 
 
Little Gentile. 37 
 
 So now the white haired devotee his thrilling story 
 
 tells 
 Whilst he beyond the Rocky Range safe in Zion 
 
 dwells. 
 
 Here encamped the Saints, and spent the night 
 In song and revelry. A religious rite 
 Merriment was to them. 
 
 Day's bright crown 
 
 Was pouring all his golden splendor down 
 On pious Contentment, dispatching frugal fare, 
 Or joining the leader in fervent morning prayer. 
 
 Pots, pans and pails, accoutrements all, 
 Were stowed in carts and wagons. 
 
 "No evil can befall 
 A day so fair," they said. 
 
 Each docile steer, 
 Yoked to his mate, awaited th' driver's whip to hear,, 
 
38 Little Gentile, 
 
 When lo ! an ox, whom Satan that morn had 
 Tampered with and made the tame brute mad, 
 Broke all restraint, and plunged o'er the plain, 
 His furious flight infecting all the other train. 
 
 On they madly rushed, regardless of each load 
 That they had meekly pulled along the sandy road ; 
 Bellowing hideously, they trod the turfy ground 
 Swift as the deer before the pursuing hound. 
 Men shouted, women shrieked, children in air 
 Were tossed 'mid household goods that wifely care 
 Had packed away so well. 
 
 A Pandemonium rattle 
 
 Made the crashing vehicles among the crazy cattle ! 
 Supreme Destruction ruled the mad stampede, 
 Gloating far and wide o'er Abram's scattered seed 
 And plunder ! 
 
 0, Mormonite ! power had not ye 
 To avert the course of that dread catastrophe ! 
 
Little Gentile. 39 
 
 Preach what you will, but doesn't it seem queer 
 That you could raise the dead, but couldn't stop a 
 steer ? 
 
 ***** 
 
 Satire, despoiler of peace ! ugliest combination 
 Of ugliest evils ! my utter detestation 
 And besetting sin ! would that ye were gone, 
 Dark spirit ! Forever nigh, ye have undone 
 Half my joys. 
 
 Looking two ways, I never know 
 When you will deal the quick and vengeful blow ! 
 One eye looks approval I lave in Lethe's stream 
 Whilst ye aim with t' other, and stab my favorite 
 theme. 
 
 Away with you, your two-story eyes and one-story 
 
 pate 
 
 Prove ye shade of the infernal, and a son of Hate. 
 In his dreadful den I will not beard the lion, 
 Nor with combative satire will I enter Zion. 
 
40 Little Gentile. 
 
 "Follow me 'mong the Holies, and from the air I'll 
 
 fan, 
 
 And become as mortal man on the Terrestrial ball!" 
 
 ^'Ah, what a pet you're in, my angry Ariel sprite ! 
 
 Why now condemn the soul of your delight ? 
 
 Would you dare enter Zion unarmed, alone, 
 
 The avenging angels quickly would atone 
 
 For what we've said, by spilling out your blood. 
 
 No tragedy more sublime since Noah's flood. 
 
 Yet, combative as I am, I'd shun the scene profound 
 
 Angels, and Ariel, battling o'er holy ground. 
 
 Sweet morsel for sensation ! But I forget, 
 Ye cannot die ; ye are immortal yet. 
 Loving the truth, inviolate is your vow. 
 Ariel, Mortality waits upon you now ! 
 Breathing to you his evanescent breath, 
 Bidding you welcome, to th' world of death ! 
 
Little Gentile. 41 
 
 With you I have crossed the forbidden pales. 
 Behold me here in Ephraim's sacred vales! 
 How fortunate our fall among th' Saints of God 
 No crime nor vice in Zion's blest abode ! 
 
 Attune your lyre, and join the Empyrean throng ; 
 Let Wahsatch hear that Satire lives in song ! 
 Let sorrowing man, seeking Grilead's balm, 
 Know that in Zion waves Salvation's palm ! 
 That pilgrims pluck from the tree that thrives 
 On Jordan's banks ; 
 
 That Jacob and his wives 
 In happiest wedlock live ; 
 
 That saints give up the ghost, 
 But to return with Christ and his Elysian host, 
 Who cometh soon, to reign a thousand years, 
 "With power and dominion." 
 
 That death and tears, 
 
 With Lucifer, shall from the earth be driven; 
 That Temples are palaces for the King of Heaven. 
 
42 Little Gentile. 
 
 " That wolves with lambs shall graze the verdant mead, 
 And boys in flowery bands the tiger lead." 
 
 When Resurrection ushers glad Millennial morn, 
 When th' saved come forth at sound of Gabriels 
 
 horn, 
 
 When Mountain Meadow's grave shall ope and send 
 An hundred souls, The Great Tribunal to attend ! 
 
 Ah, gazing on yon dome, ye stumble on a skull. 
 Heed it not, I pray, for the Holy Land is full 
 Of righteousness. 
 
 What sudden exit doth unwelcome Satire make, 
 Whilst I as sudden from my dreams awake 
 Dreams of light and shadow broken dreams, 
 Threads of doubt and despair, woven with th' gleams 
 Of hope ! 
 
 Soul-piercing pang, to awake and find 
 That I am mortal, and blindest of the blind. 
 
Little Gentile. 43 
 
 Oh, could I remain in the blissful realms of sleep, 
 And mortal curse ne'er share to awake and weep. 
 
 How high in air sweet Fancy winged her flight, 
 But to fall at last in deepest, darkest night ! 
 
 How oft I whisper to my soul, "Peace; be still! 
 "He doeth all things well." 
 
 His infinite will 
 
 Tends to our everlasting weal, and not eternal woe, 
 Or dissolution of the soul ! 
 
 This we know, 
 
 Present life is real, the world is good and fair, 
 And, tho' but a breath, why give it to despair? 
 
 Let's seize the golden moments, as they fleeting fly, 
 And cull their hidden joys. 
 
 To live and die, 
 
 Mortality's sole aim. Insolvable is more than this; 
 And when we go beyond and find eternal bliss, 
 
 
44 Little Gentile. 
 
 Useless was our murmuring. 
 
 And should the vital spark 
 
 Extinguished be in chaos, unfathomable and dark, 
 How useless still our murmuring ! 
 
 And often turns 
 
 Upon me my infuriated soul, and madly spurns 
 My soothing, raving. 
 
 Away, and tell your puerile tale 
 To bedridden crones and babes ; but seek not to segale, 
 With simpering sophistry, a distracted soul ! 
 
 /, whose power can scale the firmament, and th' 
 
 whole 
 Of wonderful creation can traverse with speed of 
 
 thought ! 
 
 I, in my prison house of human flesh, am taught, 
 "Peace, be still," and "He doeth all things well" 
 Watching, fearing, I only hear Deaths knell, 
 And the dull thud of clay, falling upon clay. 
 "Earth to earth and dust to dust," we pass away; 
 
Little Gentile. 45 
 
 So doth the grass, the empire and th' crown. 
 " Man cometh up as a flower and is cut down;" 
 And falls he not with the ill-fated bloom, 
 Back to earth, all sharing the same doom? 
 
 No answer comes through swiftly rolling years, 
 As I watch for beacon light, through a mist of tears ; 
 So wails my soul, so combat soul and I, 
 One thought taunting both we live and die. 
 
 "A bruised reed" I would assuage- the grief 
 Of other souls, lost in dark unbelief. 
 Drifting myself upon a moonless sea, 
 No star of Bethlehem 
 
 Ah, who is she 
 
 In th' gloaming? young, and wonderfully fair, 
 Robed in pure white, and veil of golden hair, 
 Bright embodiment of all that's pure and good, 
 Unconsciously intruding upon my solitude ! 
 Who is she ? and how comes she here 
 To the abode of wretched doubt and fear ? 
 
46 Little Gentile. 
 
 No apparition, but a beautious child of earth 
 And sweet contentment, and of different birth 
 Th' plebeian throng surrounding seeming 
 At home as she plucks the terrace rose, deeming 
 Herself alone 
 
 Hark ! from her swan-like throat 
 A low, sweet song upon the air doth float. 
 
 Implicit trust in God ! Oh, hallowed hour, 
 
 That shows me perfect peace, and the divine power 
 
 Of Faith! 
 
 Recede, ye shades, and let me see 
 The angelic guide, that Heaven has sent to me ; 
 And whither she goes, would I could follow fast, 
 Lest in doubt's dungeon my soul again is cast. 
 
 Aye. soul, what think you of that song ? 
 Would trust like that to earth alone belong ? 
 Would soul like that, when the mortal part is dead, 
 Lie down and sleep in clay's eternal bed? 
 
Little Gentile. 47 
 
 Hark ! faint footfalls ! She comes this way, 
 
 And I will speak to her ere the glorious day 
 
 Is gone ere the swift approach of night 
 
 Shuts out forever this new-found ray of light. 
 
 What perfect grace and beauty, smiling, yet serene 
 
 The little Gentile of whom I've heard Isaline. 
 
 '"''Like rays of stars that meet in space, 
 
 And mingle in a bright embrace," 
 
 Soul met soul in the gathering gloom of eve, 
 
 Our exiled Isaline, and skeptic Genevieve : 
 
 Ariel, whose scoffing song revealed 
 
 The dark unrest that her soul concealed 
 
 Bright Genevieve, captive in her father's home, 
 
 Sweet suburban place whither Isaline had come 
 
 Three months ago. 
 
 Yet they scarcely knew 
 
 The existence of each other, until chance threw 
 The twain together. 
 
48 Little Gentile. 
 
 Genevieve was called 
 Insane. Dear reader, be not appalled, 
 For reputation fair has suffered worse than this. 
 People will talk, you know, tho' they often miss 
 The truth. 
 
 Whether the girl was mad or not 
 I cannot tell. I only know her saintly sire got 
 Extremely mad himself, when she refused to wed 
 The Prophet, whose pretty little parlors, and bed, 
 ( A la the spider) with silken curtains hung, 
 Made it a grand inducement to be Mrs. Young. 
 
 But the Prophet turned him round, and went away, 
 Not promising to call upon another day ! 
 For well he knew that 'mong Zioris daughters fair 
 Many would eagerly be caught by his golden snare. 
 
 And when he was gone, the knowing neighbors said 
 The old gent turned on Genevieve, and read 
 
Little Gentile. 49 
 
 Her such a lecture as she ne'er had heard 
 Before ! 
 
 " Oh, Genevieve !" he roared, "ye have stirred 
 My wrath beyond control. Ungrateful girl, 
 Swine before whom we've thrown the pearl ! 
 Do you not know the Judgment Day is nigh, 
 And that all women in their graves will lie 
 Until the coming of the second Resurrection, 
 If in the first they've not a husband's fond protec- 
 tion ? 
 
 And, next to this, it has often grieved me sore, 
 To see the brethren, a dozen men or more, 
 Cold and haughtily from other folks withdraw, 
 And brag about their rich and famous son-in-law ; 
 Whilst I am looked upon, by the uppish clan, 
 As only Bishop Warren, a plain, plodding man ! 
 Whilst upon you, Vievie, a fortune I've expended, 
 And for my pains, my fondest hopes are ended. 
 From wicked Babylon you bring your foolish pride, 
 Scorning our Prophet, and all the Church beside. 
 
50 Little Gentile. 
 
 Three days debate the question ; if then you've not 
 
 relented, 
 I shall conclude that your mind is demented." 
 
 No enviable lot, a pretty Mormon girl to be 
 
 A host of married suitors calling round to see 
 
 If ye wish to be awakened first Resurrection Day ! 
 
 And if she's sleepy headed inclined to answer nay, 
 
 Have an ugly papa fly into a scolding fit, 
 
 And finish up by saying that she has lost her wit. 
 
 Poor Genevieve ! By and by, another suitor came, 
 A bishop, a-courtin' the "Babylonian flame." 
 True, he'd a wife in the city, and another one at home, 
 A lovely country place, where there was ample room 
 For Grenevieve; but she refused him flat, of course, 
 Whereupon her father stormed until he was hoarse, 
 Condemning her as trash in the matrimonial mart, 
 Since she'd not wed th' Prophet, nor Enoch Achen- 
 heart 
 
Little Gentile. 51 
 
 The distinguished Brigham Young, Zion's chosen man, 
 And the young and wealthy Enoch, bishop of Valley 
 
 Tan, 
 
 Who had " loved and lost ;" but the neighbors heard 
 Him vow, that she yet should be his better third. 
 
 Next a handsome elder the haughty beauty sought ; 
 An unmarried man, success was sure, he thought. 
 "Be mine," he swore, " and by the powers above 
 No other wife shall ever share my love. 
 Polygamy abhorring, one wife alone I'll claim. 
 Be that one, sweet Genevieve, and name ' ' 
 "Out of my presence!" said the girl; "away!" 
 He went, and wedded sisters twain that day. 
 Oh, horrid blot upon the nation's face ! 
 To give a thing like this a dwelling place ! 
 
 White with the frosts of three score years and ten, 
 Next old Jacob came, pleading for his favorite Ben. 
 " Sister Vievie," he cautiously began, " rumors of late 
 Have worried me concerning your celestial fate. 
 
52 Little Gentile. 
 
 They say ye'll wed with none ; that all Zion 
 Cannot send a suitor whom ye can rely on ; 
 That ye are determined to die an old maid, 
 And of the coming wrath ye are not afraid. 
 Oh, daughter of Israel ! I am alarmed for you ! 
 Choose at once, I entreat, an honest man and true. 
 And among the brethren I do not know of any 
 More willing to save you than my son Benny. 
 'Tis a timely warning, 'gainst Heavenly retrospection, 
 That might point a flaw to prevent your resurrection." 
 
 What more he said I do not care to write ; 
 
 But this I'll tell, a letter came that night 
 
 To Genevieve, and its contents I'll disclose, 
 
 Tho', by so doing, I lengthen my list of saintly foes. 
 
 " Hail, Genevieve ! the fairest flower 
 
 On Zion's virgin tree ! 
 Guided by Elohimic power, 
 I give my heart to thee ! 
 
Little Gentile. 
 
 A heart that has not loved before, 
 
 Nor will not love again ! 
 Scorn not the offering, I implore, 
 
 But give ear to my refrain. 
 Mohim has commanded me. 
 
 A revelation came down 
 For me to mate at once with thee, 
 
 And establish now my kingdom. 
 
 I've a thousand cattle on the hills, 
 
 And as many sheep and swine 
 Gamboling 'mong th' valley rills, 
 
 And half of them are thine. 
 They tell me that you've driven away 
 
 Zion's exalted brethren, 
 But 'tis revealed that you will say 
 
 When you'll need your loving Ben. 
 
 If this wouldn't drive a girl insane, 
 
 I don't know what would. Ben's "refrain" 
 
54 Little Gentile. 
 
 Was torn in tatters, and given to Deseret air ; 
 And Elohim directed his loving heart elsewhere. 
 
 In Valley Tan he found pious Josepha Kingdom, 
 Who aspired to be the queen of a celestial kingdom. 
 "Oh, Josepha," rejoiced Ben, on his wedding eve, 
 "I'm glad I didn't wed that G-entile Grenevieve! 
 A 'purty' queen she would make. Why, her very 
 
 frown 
 
 Would drag a saint and all his kingdom down ! 
 She quarreled with her pa, and wanted me to take her; 
 But she won't be resurrected if / am sent to wake 
 
 her." 
 
 Oh, false, dissembling man ! how very oft he apes 
 The fox, who failed to reach the high and luscious 
 
 grapes; 
 
 Turning disappointedly from the prize, he'll say, 
 Like cunning Lennard, "The grapes are sour, any 
 
 way." 
 
Little Gentile. 55 
 
 One more incident ; the last, tho' not the least. 
 "Brigg" the Prophet's son, saw Genevieve at a feast 
 Of the Passover, or some kind of Mormon jubilee. 
 I can't describe it accurately, as you plainly see. 
 "Brigg" gazed on Genevieve, then turning to his 
 
 wife, 
 Bade her behold the fairest girl he'd met in all his 
 
 life. 
 Soon who was seen driving to the Warrens but young 
 
 "Brigg," 
 
 The finest span in Zion bringing up the grandest rig. 
 Bowing graciously, he began : " Bishop, by your 
 
 leave, 
 I offer myself in holy wedlock to fair Genevieve." 
 
 Holy Wedlock! Dear Heaven, a blush of shame 
 Has stained the cheek of Decency! and wedlock's 
 
 name 
 
 Is but a tool in salacious Priestcraft's hand, 
 Engendering vice and discord in a goodly land ! 
 
56 Little Gentile. 
 
 "Brother," replied the Bishop, "I wish you success. 
 But recently my child has caused me great distress ; 
 Her strange ways I cannot understand so s^d 
 At times I almost think the girl is going mad ; 
 Tho' reared in Babylon, taught in Gentile schools, 
 She cannot conform at once to all our rules. 
 Exalted brothers have sought her hand in vain 
 She will not hear, nor why will she explain. 
 Reconcile her if you can; the aged are soon gone." 
 And, calling Gene vie ve, he left the twain alone. 
 
 Oh, pure "daughters in Babylon" send to Heaven 
 A prayer of gratitude, you are not given 
 A prey to viciousness ; and invoke the hour 
 When right will overthrow this lascivious power ! 
 
 Handsome "Brigg" had a speech appropriate to his 
 
 case, 
 
 Which he delivered with the most charming grace 
 To Genevieve, concluding with the lover's usual sigh, 
 And waited like a lover does for the girl's reply. 
 
Little Gentile. 57 
 
 And how could she reply to her much-married beau ? 
 Why, Genevieve, as usual, bade her admirer go; 
 But ere he went away quite loth to be defeated 
 He begged to know why he should be so rudely 
 
 treated. 
 
 What had he done ? How had he offended ? 
 He, the Prophet's son, so highly recommended. 
 
 "How have you offended me? Nay, do not ask 
 A thing you know. You wear a hideous mask, 
 In the name of Heaven, that you may execute 
 The most infamous plan on earth ; you persecute 
 Bayed Chastity, with the insolent persistency 
 Of a demon, and with the low inconsistency 
 Of a fool." 
 
 Genevieve replied, her flashing eyes 
 Scintillating her innate power to despise. 
 
 "Knowing my principles," continued she, 
 "How dare you offer your fractional heart to me? 
 
58 Little Gentile. 
 
 For, like others of your creed, wives have not you ?" 
 "Yes," answered the crest-fallen "Brigg," "I have a 
 
 few." 
 
 "Your foul confession," said she, " intensifies my hate : 
 So Guardy, my dog, will escort you to the gate." 
 
 And her faithful friend, obedient to her command, 
 Stepped quickly in and licked the poor girl's hand. 
 But the indignant Saint scorned the escort rude, 
 And bowed himself away in the maddest mood. 
 And Guardy, incensed by the well-directed slight, 
 Sprang forth unbidden with full intent to bite ; 
 But changed his mind ere his race was run, 
 And swapped his vengeance for a bit of fun. 
 For scarce had Brigg, the somewhat married man, 
 Turned Zionward his gay, high spirited span, 
 When Guardy leaped from out his hiding place, 
 Plunging with mock fury into each courser's face. 
 Mad with fright, they sped away, heedless of the rein 
 That desperation pulled to check, but pulled in vain ; 
 
Little Gentile. 59 
 
 Thro' Zion they dashed, no power to guide or stop, 
 Until EloJiim allowed the prayerful saint to drop 
 In Ephraim's vale. 
 
 "Bind up my wounds, Jove," 
 He said. " Thou alone canst heal the wounds of love. 
 I mind not this accident," he wailed in plaintive tones. 
 " Drop me from tallest peak of Wahsatch, smash all 
 
 my bones, 
 
 Yet I would breathe the blissful breath of life, 
 If Thou hadst given me fair Genevieve to wife ! 
 But I am denied the one bright boon I crave. 
 Queen of my kingdom, whom I fain would save, 
 Now doomed to slumber on in clammy bed of clay, 
 Until thy angel sounds the last Resurrection Day!" 
 Myriads of wild sunflowers the vales adorning, 
 Stood with bowed heads, like deeply mourning 
 The fate of Genevieve. 
 
 And Jordan gurgled on, 
 Like bewailing the grief and fall of Zion's son. 
 
60 Little Gentile. 
 
 All nature mourns, thought "Brigg," as he arose, 
 Brushing the dust from off his costly clothes ; 
 And to meet rescuing friends, limping he returns, 
 Musing how oft the lamp of hope an ignis fatuus burns. 
 His steeds were gone, his carriage scattered on the 
 
 vale, 
 
 And he alone was left to tell the thrilling tale ; 
 Bereft of varied treasures ; none nigh to condole ; 
 Bereft of e'en the rosebud in his botton hole ! 
 
 And it came to pass, when Bishop Warren learned 
 How Genevieve the Prophet's son had spurned, 
 He smote his breast, and put ashes on his head, 
 Crying : "Alas, I am undone ; would that I were dead. 
 Nine celestial kingdoms cannot now atone 
 For the sacrilegious work that Genevieve has done ! 
 Wrap me in sackcloth !" he despondingly would rave, 
 " My gray hairs will go down in sorrow to the grave, 
 For my exalted glory is demolished for all time, 
 Unless her repentance redeems apparent crime ! 
 
Little Gentile. 61 
 
 Tho' if she were mad all would be well in heaven, 
 And her disobedience would freely be forgiven. 
 And would that she were so; I should be exempt 
 From all terrestrial censure and contempt. 
 And she is insane, and I'll quickly lock her in, 
 And rid myself of what appears a leading sin; 
 And when 'tis known, that she has lost her mind, 
 Ample consolation in the Church I'll find. 
 And should she recover accept in full our creed, 
 Then her prison door shall ope she shall be freed. " 
 
 So, sacerdotal /Sorrow let Sagacity come in, 
 And relieve Hypocrisy of an apparent sin. 
 
 How long, Christ, wilt thou endure the mock 
 Of dissimulating man? Know'st thou the Rock 
 Of thy salvation is crumbling into sand ! 
 And thy broken Church is floating from the strand 
 Of Truth! 
 
 Infamy 's dark sea is swallowing up 
 The price thou gavest in Calvary's bitter cup! 
 
62 Little Gentile. 
 
 Genevieve's prison comprised a suit of rooms 
 O'erlooking a fountain and the rarest blooms. 
 Graciously a bough bent near her window's sill, 
 Where gladsome wild birds came and ate their fill 
 From the little captive's hand. 
 
 So long unblest, 
 
 Imprisonment was to her a haven of rest ; 
 Tho' she affected grief when her father sternly said : 
 " Vievie, by your wickedness my happiness is fled ; 
 Soon from the Church of Zion I'll be cut off forever, 
 Unless you at once from Gentile ways dissever. 
 
 You are my child, and I cannot drive you hence. 
 A Christian father is supposed to be a child's defense ; 
 So I will give you shelter, raiment and food, 
 Meanwhile you must remain in perfect solitude. 
 
 A ruse I have invented to shield you from disgrace ; 
 And "that I may safely keep the Bishopric a place 
 
Little Gentile. 63 
 
 I cannot well afford to lose. I fear the hate 
 Of the brethren whose scowls worry me of late. 
 
 We will tell inquiring friends that you are ill ; 
 Or that 'learning hath made thee mad, 1 better still. 
 Thus you will be hidden, safe from all discovery, 
 Until we're pleased to herald your complete recovery. 
 
 In seclusion you may see, how that you are lost, 
 And turn and walk in the light of the Holy Ghost. 
 And if ye are converted, ten times ten thousand tongues 
 Will welcome you with shouts to God's elected throngs. 
 Heaven rejoices more o'er one redeemed, th' Scrip- 
 tures say, 
 Than o'er ninety and nine that go not astray. 
 
 You have the burden of my prayers. Now to your 
 
 room 
 
 Retire, and there remain till this oppressive gloom 
 Is quite dispelled. 
 
64 Little Gentile. 
 
 I shall ever hold the keys, 
 
 And none ye'll see, save your maid and dog ; these 
 Your sole companions. 
 
 And soon as ye are changed, 
 I'll publish the glad news that ye are not deranged!" 
 
 Tediously I've been telling how a little " Gentile" 
 For hated heresy, was doomed to " durance vile" 
 A rarity in this century and in Americas blest land. 
 For keys to turn on unbelief, and by a father's hand. 
 
 But liberty to Genevieve was nothingness compared 
 To the mean indignities which she daily shared 
 With vulgar Priesthood. 
 
 Paternal incarceration 
 Was hailed as a refuge a heavenly dispensation ! 
 
 'Twas during her captivity that she essayed to write 
 The Transcontinental Poem; but her failure quite 
 No comment needs. 
 
Little Gentile. 65 
 
 Illiterate Bunyan, in his cell, 
 Wrote his "dreamy experience," and wrote it well; 
 Pleasing at least to Orthodoxy r , who in that age per- 
 verted 
 
 Would have canonized a cannibal if he had been con- 
 verted. 
 
 But for joyless Genevieve a different case I plead. 
 Captive 'neath parental roof, dissenter from parental 
 
 creed, 
 Crouching to Dissimulation, clad in Lunacy's low 
 
 guise, 
 To hide the purest principles from Bigot's prying eyes. 
 
 Under what hallucination should she think of writing 
 When her persecutors all her joys were blighting ? 
 But perchance the lonely girl solace found in jingling 
 
 rhyme, 
 And wrote her wild, disjointed^verse by way of killing 
 
 time. 
 3 
 
<;6 Little Gentile. 
 
 Undoubtedly she did, poor child ; and I pity her sin- 
 cerely, 
 
 For how frequently in Ariel s song, and how clearly, 
 Vague unrest is shown, murmuring, pleading grief, 
 Only known to the benighted, stranded on the reef 
 Of Uncertainty. 
 
 Denying God, yet calling on his name ; 
 Denying the Redemption, yet clinging to the same ; 
 Denying the eternal boon promised to the soul, 
 Yet pointing a despairing brother to an eternal goal. 
 
 And who would not doubt the "High Oracles of 
 
 Heaven" 
 When a stone instead of bread to Hunger s cry was 
 
 given ? 
 
 And who would not yield to wonder and dismay, 
 When the shrine to which they knelt crumbled into 
 
 clay? 
 
 And G-enevieve was in her most melancholy mood, 
 When Isaline "intruded upon her solitude." 
 
Little Gentile. 67 
 
 Strangers were they, yet from first glance they knew 
 Congenial souls had met, and immediately threw 
 Reserve aside ; each told her sorrows to the other, 
 And sympathy grew stronger when neither had a 
 mother. 
 
 I cannot tell Isaline's story just as she told it then, 
 For girls talk in a way of their own, especially when 
 They are alone, and personal wrongs their theme, 
 Both victims of a creed they despised in the extreme ; 
 Isaline decoyed from home, Genevieve imprisoned 
 
 there 
 Isaline resigned, Genevieve wailing in despair. 
 
 Both were young and beautiful Isa scarce eighteen, 
 Whilst only twenty summers Genevieve had seen ; 
 The charms of Isa were of that " radiant'* kind 
 We all adore so much, and yet so seldom find. 
 
 A wealth of yellow hair, outshining seeds of gold, 
 Floated o'er a Hebe-like form, from head of classic mold, 
 
68 Little Gentile. 
 
 And eyes, the "windows of the soul" soft and brown, 
 Revealing principles as priceless as a jeweled crown. 
 
 A pen portrait of Genevieve I should certainly decline : 
 A task too great for justice in this " lowly lay of mine." 
 Good as she was beautiful, and curious inquirers 
 Should not compute those merits by the girl's admirers. 
 
 Had she been in Babylon instead of Zion, where 
 Souls are often saved (?} by skeins of silken hair, 
 Where winsome eyes, dewy lips and rose-leaf com- 
 plexion 
 
 Are a certain guarantee for woman's early resurrection ; 
 Had she been in Babylon, instead of saintly fold, 
 A different tale of Genevieve might happily be told; 
 Description would not hesitate, when required to tell 
 Of the transcendent virtues and beauties of a belle. 
 
 A fastidious sentiment pervades the common mind, 
 That evil associations will corrupt the most refined ; 
 
Little Gentile. 69 
 
 And appropriate to this notion is a maxim not the 
 
 truest, 
 "If thou'lt tell me where thou goest, then Til tell thee 
 
 what thou doest." 
 But the case of Isa and Genevieve plainly serves to 
 
 show, 
 That censure should not follow where we are doomed 
 
 to go. 
 
 For a jewel is a jewel still, tho' into/ filth we fling it, 
 And gold is pure bright gold, tho' from the dirt we 
 
 bring it ; 
 And a noble soul is just the same, no matter where 
 
 'tis seen, 
 Tho' G-rundy on appearances pours her malicious 
 
 spleen. 
 
 " Angelia," said Bishop Warren to his wife, one eve, 
 " Our home is dark and desolate without our Gene- 
 vieve ; 
 
70 Little Gentile. 
 
 Far better had she died, for her imprisonment 
 Fills all the house with gloom and discontent. 
 My conscience pleads, and I would liberate the girl 
 But for the wrath the brethren would upon me hurl. 
 
 They think that she's insane, and I have told it, too, 
 Until I often think myself the horrid tale is true. 
 I have preached it in the pulpit, to congregations 
 
 sad. 
 
 That I am broken-hearted because my child is mad! 
 And when sisters weep, shame burns my cheek 
 I think of Ananias, and can scarcely speak; 
 I know the part I'm playing is pure Hypocrisy, 
 But 'tis either this, Angelia, or vile ''Apostasy.' ' 
 
 "Yes, Moses, I grieve," the pious spouse replied, 
 "To see you daily struggling 'gainst an adverse 
 
 tide ; 
 
 But you should remember the crown we cannot wear, 
 Unless the heavy cross we uncomplaining bear ; 
 
Little Gentile. 71 
 
 Th' laborer in th' vineyard and th' coming of th' 
 
 Master 
 Should encourage you to triumph o'er trials and 
 
 disaster. 
 Think not of apostasy Satan is tempting you to 
 
 stray : 
 
 The darkest hour is just before the dawning of the day. 
 So I told a sweet young girl, whom I met this morn, 
 Wandering near the Tabernacle, tearful and forlorn. 
 
 And she was the sweetest child you ever did behold ; 
 The tiniest feet and hands, and hair like burnished 
 
 gold, 
 That fell about the little waif a shower of shining 
 
 curls. 
 I coaxed a smile, and her teeth looked like a row of 
 
 pearls 
 So very small I almost thought the girl a fairy 
 
 queen ; 
 She told her name, but I forget, only Isaline. 
 
72 Little Gentile. 
 
 She, hesitating, told of intrigue, or something of the 
 
 kind ; 
 How she had been sent to friends whom she could not 
 
 find. 
 
 The little outcast Moses don't scowl so, for I know 
 The girl is good ; he that is without sin let him throw 
 The first stone at her. And I thought we could afford 
 To give the child a home decent bed and board. 
 It is our Christian duty. Let her teach little Belle, 
 And we will be practicing what we preach as well. 
 And, Moses, may she come ? I told her I would see 
 What you thought about it, and if we could agree 
 We'd send for her to-night; poor homeless little 
 
 thing, 
 By lending her a helping hand a blessing we may 
 
 bring." 
 
 " Yes," said the Bishop, "you may bring the girl, I 
 
 guess ; 
 Tho' to entertain a Grentile may add to my distress ; 
 
Little Gentile. 73 
 
 For envy and suspicion look round me day and night, 
 Watching every movement, my exaltedness to blight. 
 But the good Samaritan hand to the wanderer extend, 
 Since merciless old Babylon has ceased to be her 
 
 friend. 
 But does n't it seem queer that with us she would 
 
 abide, 
 When to all the world we are so scandalously belied. 
 
 But welcome the stranger in spite of threatening fates. 
 We may entertain an angel within our wretched gates. 
 If guileless, she may serve to save our little fold, 
 Like the Sodom and Gomorrah's good in the days of 
 
 old; 
 
 And tho'we victims fall 'neath Envy's two-edged sword, 
 Teach the little Gentile our 'Holiness to the Lord.' ' 
 
 Well done, Moses and Angelia ! Long may you live 
 "In the land the Lord thy God giveth thee." I can 
 not give 
 
74 Little Gentile. 
 
 A better blessing, for I am among Publicans and 
 sinners. 
 
 But, thro' your uncommon kindness to Isa, you are 
 winners 
 
 Of my esteem and gratitude, and if e'er I chance to be 
 
 In Zion I shall be pleased to call around and see 
 
 Her benefactors. 
 
 Though I abhor your marriage institution, 
 
 Like the seven righteous, you have made ample resti- 
 tution. 
 
 'Twas a redeeming deed, and could I command the 
 power, 
 
 I'd fix Envy and the Bishopric from this very hour. 
 
 And so it came to pass that the "deluded little mouse" 
 Was cosily ensconced in a Morman bishop's house. 
 The sad truth she had learned that her aunt and 
 
 Annabel 
 Had decoyed her from home ; but why she could not 
 
 tell. 
 
Little Gentile. 75 
 
 Pleading letters she had written, but answers never 
 came 
 
 From the loving cousin nor the sanctimonious dame. 
 
 She never wrote to others; she'd not make known th' 
 fact 
 
 That the Winsors would be guilty of such low decep- 
 tive act. 
 
 Proud as her ancestors, her closely guarded history 
 Was to the Warrens an unfathomable mystery. 
 So with her books and little Belle time went quickly by 
 And the night of sorrow vanished in contentment's 
 sunny sky. 
 
 "How very fortunate I met you," Angelia Warren 
 
 said 
 To Isaline. " At first, to tell the truth, I was really 
 
 afraid 
 
 The Bishop would refuse ; but when I said my say, 
 I was surprised to see his cold look pass away. 
 
76 Little Gentile. 
 
 And surprise became astonishment when his speech 
 
 Agreed with me precisely, to practice what we preach. 
 
 And yet I am not hinting that I took you in for 
 charity, 
 
 But a friendly hand to the enemy in Zion is a pity. 
 
 And I do believe, if I'd not been by your tears 
 attracted, 
 
 Your grief would have driven you plum, raving dis- 
 tracted. 
 
 Or if the River Jordan had been near as our ''inland 
 sea,' 
 
 You would have sent your weary soul from earthly 
 trials free. 
 
 But I chanced in the nick of time, my little girl to 
 save 
 
 From the house of crazy brains, or an untimely grave. 
 
 And you'll remain with us forever, won't you, Isaline? 
 You dislike, of course, th' Mormon faith ; but when 
 you've seen 
 
Little Gentile. 77 
 
 Ten thousand saints in the Tabernacle, listening to 
 th' voice 
 
 Of the Prophet, who reveals, and ten thousand tongues 
 rejoice, 
 
 Then from off your drowsy eyes the heavy scales will 
 fall; 
 
 Then all your G-entile views you'll penitently recall ; 
 
 Then the Church will sing hosanna for the rescued 
 lamb ; 
 
 Then with Israel's Holy Virgins you'll wave Salva- 
 tion's palm. 
 
 Plural marriage is the greatest fault sectarians find 
 
 with us, 
 The mighty bugbear over which they'll never cease to 
 
 fuss, 
 And hoot, and sneer, when from the fountain head we 
 
 get 
 
 The polygamous examples our good forefathers set. 
 Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, leading men of old, 
 Were, more or less, polygamous ; and yet we are told 
 
78 Little Gentile. 
 
 That we're an erring people, religiously benighted, 
 
 When we follow in the wake that God and angels 
 lighted. 
 
 And the New Jerusalem that John, the revelator, 
 saw, 
 
 Proves our sanctified religion without a single flaw 
 
 Especially polygamy. 
 
 The eternal city had twelve gates, 
 
 Representing the twelve tribes of Israel ; and on golden 
 plates, 
 
 Wrought in pearls and precious stones, the twelve 
 names 
 
 Of Jacob's sons were seen, amid the transcendent 
 flames 
 
 Of heavenly light, looking from above each holy arch- 
 way high, 
 
 And ' saluting, as it were, the different quarters of the 
 
 *%;' 
 
 Proving to all ages, and they who run may read, 
 That we are not astray from the established creed. 
 
Little Gentile. 79 
 
 And, Isa, if ye are not married on the judgment day, 
 Do you know your doom ? The good angels will con- 
 vey 
 
 Your little soul to Paradise, a place for lost spirits 
 Set apart, where it will remain till it inherits 
 Celestial glory. 
 
 'Mong the Saints, all can be married, 
 Tho' to the eleventh hour in single life they've tarried : 
 But our girls rarely wait until they're old to wed; then 
 They will not choose the most exalted brethren. 
 When the rose and lily blend in bloom, we choose our 
 
 lot, 
 And none but an apostate breaks the blest hymeneal 
 
 knot ; 
 Tho' a tale goes round .in Babylon as false as it is 
 
 rife 
 That when we women wed we enslave ourselves for 
 
 life. 
 
 'Tis a ridiculous idea of the most wretched kind, 
 For happier wives than we on earth you cannot find. 
 
80 Little Gentile. 
 
 Tho' we've tares among the wheat; oft a jealous- 
 hearted puss 
 
 Weds into a happy family to create domestic fuss. 
 
 Our lost Magdalenes are they, and their evil ways 
 
 Do our Church more harm than all Gentile dispraise. 
 
 Our greatest mischief-maker was Ann Eliza Young. 
 
 See what she has done with her false, deceitful 
 tongue ! 
 
 Not satisfied with lecturing scandal into every nook, 
 
 But she must up and write the most sacrilegious 
 
 book. 
 
 
 
 She entered the harem blindly she thought it was 
 
 her duty 
 A victim of a prophet false, and of her own great 
 
 beauty ! 
 The modest plaintiff tells, when the poor disconsolate 
 
 dove 
 Would not have flown if she had got a new cooking 
 
 stove. 
 
Little Gentile. 81 
 
 Dear me ! how I've been talking ! And yet I have 
 
 not said 
 
 What I wished, so many things crowd into my head 
 When I talk of our blest religion. What I meant to say 
 Is this : You are fair and good, my child, and the day 
 Is not far distant when " 
 
 What she tried in vain to tell lies in Lethe's stream. 
 The announcement of callers changed th' irksome 
 
 theme ; 
 
 And I am spared narrating what can readily be guessed, 
 And Isa was relieved pro tern, of the "religion blest." 
 * # * * * * * 
 
 Since this tale began, full five months have flown, 
 
 And Genevieve and Isaline th' fondest friends have 
 grown. 
 
 For good behavior partial freedom was allotted Gene- 
 vieve; 
 
 And now the friends inseparable meet morning, noon 
 and eve. 
 
82 Little Gentile. 
 
 Like a traveler on a burning desert, ere he droops and 
 
 dies, 
 
 An oasis of fruit and fountains before his vision lies ; 
 Ere he tastes the cooling waters, ere he plucks the 
 
 laden vine, 
 His swooning hope revives, and sees the Providing 
 
 hand Divine. 
 
 And fickle Faith, departed, now flies back to tell, 
 "As I told thee, spirit, 'He doeth all things well.' ' 
 
 Blest with her sweet associate, Genevieve now owns 
 That for every sorrow we endure some certain joy 
 
 atones ; 
 That when by strong adversity we bow and kiss the 
 
 rod, 
 'Tis that we may see and own our eternal Crod. 
 
 Alas for Genevieve ! for whoever yet has known 
 Hope's blooms to live where weeds of doubt have 
 grown ? 
 
Little Gentile. 83 
 
 A precious boon is perfect faith, and yet I am inclined 
 To think that perfect faith ne'er reposed in mortal mind. 
 
 When deep autumnal dyes glowed in EphraMs vales, 
 And Flora s sad adieus were borne on Deseret gales 
 To Zion, the Prophet lifted up his voice and cried 
 
 aloud, 
 *' Prepare the way, for lo ! there comes a Babylonian 
 
 crowd 
 
 With truce and peace offering a once high-handed foe ! 
 Throw wide the gates and let the blood of vintage flow, 
 And let the flesh of fatted calf supply each saintly 
 
 board, 
 And share with the friendly G-entiles the bounties of 
 
 the Lord ! 
 
 Tho' they drove us from our Cana into the desert wild, 
 Because our Revelation their systems pure defiled ! 
 But when we show the sinners that we are Saints in- 
 deed, 
 It will be well with us and our persecuted creed." 
 
84 Little Gentile. 
 
 Throngs of visitors and tourists from every section 
 came. 
 
 To behold the modern Canaan, of Patriarchal fame; 
 
 And Columbia to. the Zionites paid the highest com- 
 pliment 
 
 When her Chief Ruler called upon the Mormon Presi- 
 dent, 
 
 " Bring the wounded man in here, for on suffering 
 
 humanity 
 My doors are never closed !" 
 
 With religious vanity 
 
 Bishop Warren spoke, as he quickly led the way 
 For strangers who bore the unconscious form oiRay 
 Ray Hamlin, for whom Madam Winsor banished 
 Isaline. But now at last her cherished hopes are van- 
 ished, 
 For the maids attended when they chanced th' sad 
 
 case to discover, 
 
 And Isa swooned when she beheld Annabels recreant 
 lover ! 
 
Little Gentile. 85 
 
 So pale and still, in death he seemed giving no sign 
 Of life laid low, they said, by William's foul design. 
 " Bear the drooping lily out. What does she here ? 
 And you, Genevieve, away at once ! Do you not fear 
 A gory spectacle ? Some women are so weak they 
 
 can't endure 
 A petty sting or pain or scratch on the hand, but 
 
 they must cure 
 
 It with a faint. Fallen from his pocket, what is this ? 
 Bless me, brethren, 'tis a likeness of the swooning miss! 
 Ah, fast my eyes are opening ! and I now behold 
 In this little case of velvet, gems and gold, 
 The Little Gentile's story. She has long concealed 
 What Tragedy and Accident have generously revealed. 
 The unfortunate Babylonian and " Pansey Eye" are 
 
 lovers, 
 
 And he will carry her away as soon as he recovers. 
 He revives ! The laying on of hands I wouldn't give 
 For all the 'learned physicians' that are allowed to 
 
 live!" 
 
86 Little Gentile. 
 
 And the enthusiastic bishop spoke in such excited 
 
 way 
 That he awoke, as from a sleep, the unconscious 
 
 Ray, 
 Who, looking up, inquired at once if he was badly 
 
 hurt. 
 
 u No, my friend," replied the bishop ; " a little blood 
 
 and dirt 
 
 Shows you in a sorry plight. It was a stunning blow 
 The ruffian gave, but nothing more ; in a day or s*o 
 You'll be sound as a dollar, and meanwhile 
 Keep the room you have ; though our Western style 
 May fail to please. 'A low church and high steeple ' 
 Illy represents the aims of the Mormon people. 
 
 Here's a miniature that from your pocket fell, 
 Unclasped ; I picked it up, and, very strange to tell, 
 It is a perfect likeness of our little governess, 
 Who soon as she heheld you lost her consciousness. 
 
Little Gentile. 87 
 
 Ah, you're worse; your pillow ;" thus went on th' cun- 
 ning Saint, 
 
 " It was the sight of blood, of course, that caused the 
 girl to faint." 
 
 "What is the young lady's name?'' asked Hamlin, 
 in confusion. 
 
 "It cannot be," he murmured. "It must be a delu- 
 sion." 
 
 "Her name ? Well, now, I do declare, I can't call it 
 
 to mind. 
 I always call her Puss or Pug, or something of the 
 
 kind. 
 
 But Angelia knows. Angelia, what is Puggy's name ? 
 I vow I've never spoken it once since the day she 
 
 came.". 
 
 " Moses, you astonish me!" the ^mm'-cultured woman 
 
 said, 
 And her white cheeks glowed with a sudden dash of red. 
 
88 Little Gentile. 
 
 " Your domestic privilege of unrebuked familiarity 
 Is certainly to the stranger's ear an absolute vulgarity. 
 This vase of fresh flowers, the young ladies send ; 
 And what delicious fragrance the Phlox roses lend." 
 
 "'But your rebuke and roses are not answering me, 
 
 by far. 
 
 What stubborn, willful creatures all these women are," 
 The irate bishop interrupted. " But now her name 
 Burns in my memory like Inspiration's flame. 
 Isaline! Strange I should forget when I hear 
 It every day. 
 
 Sir, the loss of blood weakens you, I fear, 
 Worse than we thought; but consider yourself our 
 
 guest, 
 And recovery will follow sufficient care and rest." 
 
 "Annabel, entreat Isa's quick return. I yet may live 
 To regain her presence and complete confession give. 
 
Little Gentile. 
 
 What matters now all the wealth the world bestows, 
 When the soul is racked in death by penitential throes. 
 Eternal justice pleads, but a swift approaching pall 
 Spares time but for remorse for a deed beyond 
 
 recall. 
 But, no ; it must not be ! The good messenger, beg 
 
 him 
 To make all haste. Tho' my lamp of life burns 
 
 dim, 
 
 Hope's gleams illume the darksome vale, and I behold 
 The girl whom I exchanged for alluring gold, 
 That proved a gilded grief; for they came from th' 
 
 dead, 
 Isa's parents, in phantom form, following with noiseless 
 
 tread 
 My every footstep. 
 
 And should Ray Hamlin e'er return 
 And behold my fallen snare, pray bid him not spurn 
 My plea for pardon. Dear Heaven, had I th' power 
 To undo the wretched work of one ill-guarded hour ! " 
 
90 Little Gentile. 
 
 Futile prayer and penitence ; for soon unwelcome came 
 
 Death's blighting breath, extinguishing th' feebly 
 flutt'ring flame. 
 
 Whilst 'neath th' purple horizon its beams of day 
 descend, 
 
 The Mortal with Immortal for victory contend. 
 
 But ere Night o'ershadowed Eve's golden glory 
 spread, 
 
 Th' regal Madam Winsor was numb Yd with the dead; 
 
 And whilst yet on th' sinless clay sentineled tapers 
 burn, 
 
 Hamlin and the exiled girl unexpectedly return. 
 
 Joy and Grief blend in embrace. Mournful Annabel 
 is glad. 
 
 Th' heart that late to sorrow bowed is now with rap- 
 ture mad. 
 
 Unmindful of decorous rule, or the ogling eye of 
 pride, 
 
 She hailed with joy triumphant Ray and his beau- 
 teous bride. 
 
Little Gentile. 91 
 
 "Welcome, birdling, to th' home nest from which you 
 
 have been flown ; 
 Welcome, wanderer, to a heritage that was and is 
 
 your own." 
 (Here, sudden retrospection showed an evil, by-gone 
 
 day, 
 A cruel deed, and the vain regret of a soul just passed 
 
 away.) 
 "And, oh, forgive the dead!" she cried. "I to th' 
 
 dead am true ! 
 The prayer my penitent mother prayed I quickly 
 
 pray to you ! 
 'Tis th' burden of her latest thought, the echo of 
 
 dying breath 
 The tongue that pray'd your pardon is scarcely cold 
 
 in death. 
 The sin half mine, but from the blame I would th' 
 
 dead release 
 Forgive but her, victorious girl, and I depart in 
 
 peace ! " 
 
92 Little Gentile. 
 
 \ 
 
 Kissing the weeping Annabel, Isa answered through 
 
 her tears : 
 "No offense of yours, my cousin, in past or future 
 
 years, 
 
 Can turn my love to hate, or bid you from me depart. 
 Half of Winsor is your own ; nestle safely by my 
 
 heart." 
 And bending o'er th' dead she murmured, u Auntie is 
 
 forgiven." 
 Surely angels do not always stay exclusively in heaven. 
 
 Genevieve is married, too; yes, married and gone, 
 And I must not forget to tell how the thing was done. 
 It came to pass oh, what a funny thing to "come 
 
 to pass," 
 The elopement of a Gentile with a lovely Mormon 
 
 lass ! 
 Eloped ! It was their only chance. Broke a lock and 
 
 skipped ; 
 Took the first train to the Golden Gate and shipped 
 
Little Gentile. 93 
 
 Heaven knows where. 'Twas th' night th' Prophet 
 
 died, 
 
 And all was lamentation when men and women cried, 
 And had not their wits about them. " Oh, propitious 
 
 eve," 
 Mused the love-sick Babylonian, " to bear my Gene- 
 
 vieve 
 From her prison home. To-night th j Bishop smotes 
 
 his breast, 
 And thinks, of course, his captive girl is sinfully at 
 
 rest. 
 Til seize the prize, oblivious he of growling dog or 
 
 dicky gate, 
 
 As he howling piles the ashes on his bald and brainless 
 
 pate!" 
 
 So said, so done; and, strange to say, on that very 
 
 night 
 The old Bishop had a vision. He saw th' lovers 
 
 flight, 
 
94 Little Gentile. 
 
 Just as it was, but only thought his visions were de- 
 ceiving ; 
 
 That this no evil did foreshow, and was not worth 
 believing. 
 
 But when next mofn Angelia ran to and fro and said, 
 "/ told you so ; the lock is broke, and Genevieve is 
 
 fled!" 
 "My vision told me so," he raved; " it is a Gentile's 
 
 trick. 
 
 My kingdom's gone ! I am undone ! Oh, my 
 Bishopric ! " 
 
 Th' Bishop holds th' Priesthood still with Gene- 
 vieve all is well 
 
 But who the "Babylonian" was, I know, but will 
 not tell ; 
 
 Tho' I've yet a truth from Zion, that fiction cannot 
 equal, 
 
 And the choice gem is found in "Little G-entiles 1 
 sequel. 
 
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