you keep her under."
Well! then I went to Sister Anne, my inmost
heart unclothing,
Told her my feelings like a man, concealing
next to nothing,
Explain'd the various characters of those I had
already,
The various tricks and freaks and stirs peculiar
to each lady,
And, finally, when all was clear, and hope
seem'd to forsake me,
"There! it's a wretched chance, my dear—you
leave me, or you take me."
Well, Sister Annie look'd at me, her inmost
heart revealing
(Women are very weak, you see, inferior, full of
feeling),
Then, thro' her tears outshining bright, "I'll
never never leave you!
"O Abe," she said, "my love, my light, why
should I pain or grieve you?
I do not love the way of life you have so sadly
chosen,
I'd rather be a single wife than one in half a
dozen;
But now you cannot change your plan, tho'
health and spirit perish,
And I shall never see a man but you to love and
cherish.
Take me, I'm yours, and O, my dear, don't
think I miss your merit,
I'll try to help a little here your true and loving
spirit."
"Reflect, my love," I said, "once more," with
bursting heart, half crying,
"Two of the girls cut very sore, and most of
them are trying!"
And then that' gentle-hearted maid kissed me
and bent above me,
"O Abe," she said, "don't be afraid,—I'll try to
make them love me!"
Ah well! I scarcely stopt to ask myself, till all
was over,
How precious tough would be her task who
made those dear souls love her!
But I was seal'd to Sister Anne, and straight-
way to my wonder
A series of events began which showed me all
my blunder.
Brother, don't blame the souls who erred thro'
their excess of feeling—
So angrily their hearts were stirred by my last
act of sealing;
But in a moment they forgot the quarrels they'd
been wrapt in,
And leagued together in one lot, with Tabby for
the Captain.
Their little tiffs were laid aside, and all com-
bined together,
Preparing for the gentle Bride the blackest sort
of weather.
It wasn't feeling made them flout poor Annie in
that fashion,
It wasn't love turn'd inside out, it wasn't jealous
passion,
It wasn't that they cared for me, or any other
party,
Their hearts and sentiments were free, their ap-
petites were hearty.
But when the pretty smiling face came blossom-
ing and blooming,
Like sunshine in a shady place the fam'ly Vault
illuming,
It naturally made them grim to see its sunny
colour,
While like a row of tapers dim by daylight, they
grew duller.
She tried her best to make them kind, she
coaxed and served them dumbly,
She watch'd them with a willing mind, deferred
to them most humbly;
Tried hard to pick herself a friend, but found her
arts rejected,
And fail'd entirely in her end, as one might
have expected.
But, Brother, tho' I'm loathe to add one word to
criminate them,
I think their conduct was too bad,—it almost
made me hate them.
Ah me, the many nagging ways of women are
amazing,
Their cleverness solicits praise, their cruelty is
crazing!
And Sister Annie hadn't been a single day their
neighbour,
Before a baby could have seen her life would be
a labour.
But bless her little loving heart, it kept its
sorrow hidden,
And if the tears began to start, suppressed the
same unbidden.
She tried to smile, and smiled her best, till I
thought sorrow silly,
And kept in her own garden nest, and lit it like
a lily.
O I should waste your time for days with talk
like this at present,
If I described her thousand ways of making
things look pleasant!
But, bless you, 'twere as well to try, when
thunder's at its dire work,
To clear the air, and light the sky, by penny-
worths of firework.
These gentle ways to hide her woe and make
my life a blessing,
Just made the after darkness grow more gloomy
and depressing.
Taunts, mocks, and jeers, coldness and sneers,
insult and trouble daily,
A thousand stabs that brought the tears, all
these she cover'd gaily;
But when her fond eyes fell on me, the light of
love to borrow,
And Sister Anne began to see I knew her secret
sorrow,
All of a sudden like a mask the loving cheat
forsook her,
And reckon I had all my task, for illness over-
took her.
She took to bed, grew sad and thin, seem'd like
a spirit flying,
Smiled thro' her tears when I went in, but when
I left fell crying;
And as she languish'd in her bed, as weak and
wan as water,
I thought of what her father said, "Take care of
my dear daughter!"
Then I look'd round with secret eye upon her
many Sisters,
And close at hand I saw them lie, ready for use
—like blisters;
They seemed with secret looks of glee, to keep
their wifely station;
They set their lips and sneer'd at me, and
watch'd the situation.
O Brother, I can scarce express the agony of
those moments,
1 fear your perfect saintliness, and dread your
cutting comments!
I prayed, I wept, I moan'd, I cried, I anguish'd
night and morrow,
I watch'd and waited, sleepless-eyed, beside
that bed of sorrow.
At last I knew, in those dark days of sorrow
and disaster,
Mine wasn't soil where you could raise a Saint
up, or a Pastor;
In spite of careful watering, and tilling night
and morning,
The weeds of vanity would spring without a
word of warning.
I was and ever must subsist, labell'd on every
feature,
A wretched poor Monogamist, a most inferior
creature—
Just half a soul, and half a mind, a blunder and
abortion,
Not finish'd half till I could find the other
missing portion!
And gazing on that missing part which I at last
had found out,
I murmur'd with a burning heart, scarce strong
to get the sound out,
"If from the greedy clutch of Fate I save this
chief of treasures,
I will no longer hesitate, but take decided mea-
sures!
A poor monogamist like me can not love half a
dozen,
Better by far, then, set them free! and take the
Wife I've chosen!
Their love for me, of course, is small, a very
shadowy tittle,
They will not miss my face at all, or miss it very
little.
I can't undo what I have done, by my forlorn
embraces,
And call the brightness of the sun again into
their faces;
But I can save one spirit true, confiding and
unthinking,
From slowly curdling to a shrew or into swine-
dom sinking."
These were my bitter words of woe, my fears
were so distressing,
Not that I would reflect—O no!—on any living
blessing.
Thus, Brother, I resolved, and when she rose,
still frail and sighing,
I kept my word like better men, and bolted,—
and I'm flying.
Into oblivion I haste, and leave the world be-
hind me,
Afar unto the starless waste, where not a soul
shall find me.
I send my love, and Sister Anne joins cordially,
agreeing
I never was the sort of man for your high state
of being;
Such as I am, she takes me, though; and after
years of trying,
From Eden hand in hand we go, like our first
parents flying;
And like the bright sword that did chase the
first of sires and mothers,
Shines dear Tabitha's flaming face, surrounded
by the others:
Shining it threatens there on high, above the
gates of heaven,
And faster at the sight we fly, in naked shame,
forth-driven.
Nothing of all my worldly store I take, 'twould
be improper,
I go a pilgrim, strong and poor, without a single
copper.
Unto my Widows I outreach my property com-
pletely.
There's modest competence for each, if it is
managed neatly.
That, Brother, is a labour left to your sagacious
keeping;—
Comfort them, comfort the bereft! I'm good as
dead and sleeping!
A fallen star, a shooting light, a portent and an
omen,
A moment passing on the sight, thereafter seen
by no men!
I go, with backward-looking face, and spirit
rent asunder.
O may you prosper in your place, for you're a
shining wonder!
So strong, so sweet, so mild, so good!—by
Heaven's dispensation,
Made Husband to a multitude and Father to a
nation!
May all the saintly life ensures increase and
make you stronger!
Humbly and penitently yours,
A. Clewson (Saint no longer).
Still the saintly City stands,
Wondrous work oF busy hands;
Still the lonely City thrives,
Rich in worldly goods and wives,
And with thrust-out jaw and set
Teeth, the Yankee threatens yet—
Half admiring and half riled,
Oft by bigger schemes beguiled,
Turning off his curious stare
To communities elsewhere.
Always with unquiet eye
Watching Utah on the sly.
Long the City of the Plain
Left its image on my brain:
White kiosks and gardens bright
Rising in a golden light;
Busy figures everywhere
Bustling bee-like in the glare;
And from dovecots in green places,
Peep'd out weary women's faces,
Flushing faint to a thin cry
From the nursery hard by.
And the City in my thought
Slept fantastically wrought,
Till the whole began to seem
Like a curious Eastern dream,
Like the pictures strange we scan
In the tales Arabian:
Tales of magic art and sleight,
Cities rising in a night,
And of women richly clad,
Dark-eyed, melancholy, sad,
Ever with a glance uncertain,
Trembling at the purple curtain,
Lest behind the black slave stand
With the bowstring in his hand
Happy tales, within whose heart
Founts of weeping eyes upstart,
Told, to save her pretty head,
By Scheherazad in bed!
All had faded and grown faint,
Save the figure of the Saint
Who that memorable night
Left the Children of the Light,
Flying o'er the lonely plain
From his lofty sphere of pain
Oft his gentle face would flit
O'er my mind and puzzle it,
Ever waking up meanwhile
Something of a merry smile,
Whose quick light illumined me
During many a reverie,
When I puffed my weed alone.
Faint and strange the face had grown,
Tho' for five long years or so
I had watched it come and go,
When, on busy thoughts intent,
I into New England went,
And one evening, riding slow
By a River that I know,
(Gentle stream! I hide thy name,
Far too modest thou for fame!)
I beheld the landscape swim
In the autumn hazes dim,
And from out the neighbouring dales
Heard the thumping of the flails.
All was hush'd; afar away
(As a novelist would say)
Sank the mighty orb of day,
Staring with a hazy glow
On the purple plain below,
Where (like burning embers shed
From the sunset's glowing bed,
Dying out or burning bright,
Every leaf a blaze of light)
Ran the maple swamps ablaze;
Everywhere amid the haze,
Floating strangely in the air,
Farms and homesteads gather'd fair;
And the River rippled slow
Thro' the marshes green and low,
Spreading oft as smooth as glass
As it fringed the meadow grass,
Making 'mong the misty fields
Pools like golden gleaming shields.
Thus I walked my steed along,
Humming a low scrap of song,
Watching with an idle eye
White clouds in the dreamy sky
Sailing with me in slow pomp.
In the bright flush of the swamp,
While his dogs bark'd in the wood,
Gun in hand the sportsman stood;
And beside me, wading deep,
Stood the angler half asleep,
Figure black against the gleam
Of the bright pools of the stream;
Now and then a wherry brown
With the current drifted down
Sunset-ward, and as it went
Made an oar-splash indolent;
While with solitary sound,
Deepening the silence round,
In a voice of mystery
Faintly cried the chickadee-
Suddenly the River's arm
Rounded, and a lonely Farm
Stood before me blazing red
To the bright blaze overhead;
In the homesteads at its side,
Cattle lowed and voices cried,
And from out the shadows dark
Came a mastiff's measured bark.
Fair and fat stood the abode
On the path by which I rode,
And a mighty orchard, strown
Still with apple-leaves wind-blown,
Raised its branches gnarl'd and bare
Black against the sunset air,
And with greensward deep and dim,
Wander'd to the River's brim.
Close beside the orchard walk
Linger'd one in quiet talk
With a man in workman's gear.
As my horse's feet drew near,
The labourer nodded rough "good-day,"
Turned his back and loung'd away.
Then the first, a plump and fat
Yeoman in a broad straw hat,
Stood alone in thought intent,
Watching while the other went,
And amid the sunlight red
Paused, with hand held to his head.
In a moment, like a word
Long forgotten until heard,
Like a buried sentiment
Born again to some stray scent,
Like a sound to which the brain
Gives familiar refrain,
Something in the gesture brought
Things forgotten to my thought;
Memory, as I watched the sight.
Flashed from eager light to light
Remember'd and remember'd not,
Half familiar, half forgot.
Stood the figure, till at last,
Bending eyes on his, I passed,
Gazed again, as loth to go,
Drew the rein, stopt short, and so
Rested, looking back; when he,
The object of my scrutiny,
Smiled and nodded, saying, "Yes!
Stare your fill, young man! I guess
You'll know me if we meet again!"
In a moment all my brain
Was illumined at the tone,
All was vivid that had grown
Faint and dim, and straight I knew; him,
Holding out my hand unto him,
Smiled, and called him by his name.
Wondering, hearing me exclaim.
Abraham Clewson (for'twas he)
Came more close and gazed at me,
As he gazed, a merry grin
Brighten'd down from eyes to chin:
In a moment he, too, knew me,
Reaching out his hand unto me,
Crying "Track'd, by all that's blue
Who'd have thought of seeing you?
Then, in double quicker time
Than it takes to make the rhyme,
Abe, with face of welcome bright,
Made me from my steed alight;
Call'd a boy, and bade him lead
The beast away to bed and feed;
And, with hand upon my arm,
Led me off into the Farm,
Where, amid a dwelling-place
Fresh and bright as her own face,
With a gleam of shining ware
For a background everywhere,
Free as any summer breeze,
With a bunch of huswife's keys
At her girdle, sweet and mild
Sister Annie blush'd and smiled,—
While two tiny laughing girls,
Peeping at me through their curls,
Hid their sweet shamefacëdness
In the skirts of Annie's dress.
That same night the Saint and I
Sat and talked of times gone by,
Smoked our pipes and drank our grog
By the slowly smouldering log,
While the clock's hand slowly crept
To midnight, and the household slept
"Happy?" Abe said with a smile,
"Yes, in my inferior style,
Meek and humble, not like them
In the New Jerusalem."
Here his hand, as if astray,
For a moment found its way
To his forehead, as he said,
"Reckon they believe I'm dead?
Ah, that life of sanctity
Never was the life for me.
Couldn't stand it wet nor dry,
Hated to see women cry;
Couldn't bear to be the cause
Of tiffs and squalls and endless jaws
Always felt amid the stir
Jest a whited sepulchre;
And I did the best I could
When I ran away for good.
Yet, for many a night, you know
(Annie, too, would tell you so),
Couldn't sleep a single wink,
Couldn't eat, and couldn't drink,
Being kind of conscience-cleft
For those poor creatures I had left,
Not till I got news from there,
And I found their fate was fair,
Could I set to work, or find
Any comfort in my mind.
Well (here Abe smiled quietly),
Guess they didn't groan for me!
Fanny and Amelia got
Sealed to Brigham on the spot;
Emmy soon consoled herself
In the arms of Brother Delf;
And poor Mary one fine day
Packed her traps and tript away
Down to Fresco with Fred Bates,
A young player from the States:
While Sarah,'twas the wisest plan,
Pick'd herself a single man—
A young joiner fresh come down
Out of Texas to the town—
And he took her with her baby,
And they're doing well as maybe.'"
Here the Saint with quiet smile,
Sipping at his grog the while,
Paused as if his tale was o'er,
Held his tongue and said no more.
"Good," I said, "but have you done?
You have spoke of all save one—
All your Widows, so bereft,
Are most comfortably left,
But of one alone you said
Nothing. Is the lady dead?"
Then the good man's features broke
Into brightness as I spoke,
And with loud guffaw cried he,
"What, Tabitha? Dead! Not she.
All alone and doing splendid—
Jest you guess, now, how she's ended!
Give it up? This very week
I heard she's at Oneida Creek,
All alone and doing hearty,
Down with Brother Noyes's party.
Tried the Shakers first, they say,
Tired of them and went away,
Testing with a deal of bother
This community and t'other,
Till she to Oneida flitted,
And with trouble got admitted.
Bless you, she's a shining lamp,
Tho' I used her like a scamp,
And she's great in exposition
Of the Free Love folk's condition,
Vowing, tho' she found it late,
Tis the only happy state....
"As for me," added the speaker,
"I'm lower in the scale, and weaker;
Polygamy's beyond my merits,
Shakerism wears the spirits,
And as for Free Love, why you see
(Here the Saint wink'd wickedly)
With my whim it might have hung
Once, when I was spry and young;
But poor Annie's love alone
Keeps my mind in proper tone,
And tho' my spirit mayn't be strong,
I'm lively—as the day is long."
As he spoke with half a yawn,
Half a smile, I saw the dawn
Creeping faint into the gloom
Of the quickly-chilling room.
On the hearth the wood-log lay,
With one last expiring ray;
Draining off his glass of grog,
Clewson rose and kick'd the log;
As it crumbled into ashes,
Watched the last expiring flashes,
Gave another yawn and said,
"Well! I guess it's time for bed!"