AMONG THE PASTURES.—SUMMER EVENING DIALOGUE.

BISHOP PETE, BISHOP JOSS, STRANGER.

BISHOP PETE.

Ah, things down here, as you observe, are getting

more pernicious,

And Brigham's losing all his nerve, altho' the

fix is vicious.

Jest as we've rear'd a prosperous place and fill'd

our holy quivers,

The Yankee comes with dern'd long face to give

us all the shivers!

And on his jaws a wicked grin prognosticates

disaster,

And, jest as sure as sin is sin, he means to be

the master.

"Pack up your traps," I hear him cry, "for here

there's no remainin',"

And winks with his malicious eye, and progues

us out of Canaan.

BISHOP JOSS.

It ain't the Yankee that I fear, the neighbour

nor the stranger—

No, no, it's closer home, it's here, that I perceive

the danger.

The wheels of State has gather'd rust, the helm

wants hands to guide it,

Tain't from without the tiler'll bust, but 'cause

of steam inside it;

Yet if we went falootin' less, and made less

noise and flurry,

It isn't Jonathan, I guess, would hurt us in a

hurry.

But there's sedition east and west, and secret

revolution,

There's canker in the social breast, rot in the

constitution;

And over half of us, at least, are plunged in mad

vexation,

Forgetting how our race increased, our very

creed's foundation.

What's our religion's strength and force, its

substance, and its story?

STRANGER.

Polygamy, my friend, of course! the law of love

and glory!

BISHOP PETE.

Stranger, I'm with you there, indeed:—it's been

the best of nusses;

Polygamy is to our creed what meat and drink

to us is.

Destroy that notion any day, and all the rest is

brittle,

And Mormondom dies clean away like one in

want of vittle.

It's meat and drink, it's life, it's power! to

heaven its breath doth win us!

It warms our vitals every hour! it's Holy Ghost

within us!

Jest lay that notion on the shelf, and all life's

springs are frozen!

I've half-a-dozen wives myself, and wish I had a

dozen!

BISHOP JOSS.

If all the Elders of the State like you were sound

and holy,

P. Shufflebotham, guess our fate were far less

melancholy.

You air a man of blessed toil, far-shining and

discerning,

A heavenly lamp well trimm'd with oil, upon the

altar burning.

And yet for every one of us with equal resolu-

tion,

There's twenty samples of the Cuss, as mean as

Brother Clewson.

STRANGER.

St. Abe?

BISHOP JOSS.

Yes, him—the snivelling sneak—his very name

provokes me,—

Altho' my temper's milky-meek, he sours me

and he chokes me.

To see him going up and down with those meek

lips asunder,

Jest like a man about to drown, with lead to sink

him under,

His grey hair on his shoulders shed, one leg than

t'other shorter,

No end of cuteness in his head, and him—as

weak as water!

BISHOP PETE.

And yet how well I can recall the time when

Abe was younger—

Why not a chap among us all went for the

notion stronger.

When to the mother-country he was sent to wake

the sinning,

He shipp'd young lambs across the sea by flocks

—he was so winning;

O but he had a lively style, describing saintly

blisses!

He made the spirit pant and smile, and seek

seraphic kisses!

How the bright raptures of the Saint fresh lustre

seemed to borrow,

While black and awful he did paint the one-wived

sinner's sorrow!

Each woman longed to be his bride, and by his

side to slumber—

"The more the blesseder!" he cried, still adding

to the number.

STRANGER.

How did the gentleman contrive to change his

skin so quickly?

BISHOP JOSS.

The holy Spirit couldn't thrive because the Flesh

was sickly!

Tho' day by day he did increase his flock, his

soul was shallow,

His brains were only candle-grease, and wasted

down like tallow.

He stoop'd a mighty heap too much, and let his

household rule him,

The weakness of the man was such that any face

could fool him.

Ay! made his presence cheap, no doubt, and so

contempt grew quicker,—

Not measuring his notice out in smallish drams,

like liquor.

His house became a troublous house, with mis-

chief overbrimmin',

And he went creeping like a mouse among the

cats of women.

Ah, womenfolk are hard to rule, their tricks is

most surprising,

It's only a dern'd spoony fool goes sentimental-

ising!

But give'em now and then a bit of notice and a

present,

And lor, they're just like doves, that sit on one

green branch, all pleasant!

But Abe's love was a queer complaint, a sort of

tertian fever,

Each case he cured of thought the Saint a

thorough-paced deceiver;

And soon he found, he did indeed, with all their

whims to nourish,

That Mormonism ain't a creed where fleshly

follies flourish.

BISHOP PETE.

Ah, right you air! A creed it is demandin' iron

mettle!

A will that quells, as soon as riz, the biling of

the kettle!

With wary eye, with manner deep, a spirit

overbrimmin',

Like to a shepherd 'mong his sheep, the Saint is

'mong his women;

And unto him they do uplift their eyes in awe

and wonder;

His notice is a blessed gift, his anger is blue

thunder.

No n'ises vex the holy place where dwell those

blessed parties;

Each missus shineth in her place, and blithe and

meek her heart is!

They sow, they spin, they darn, they hem, their

blessed babes they handle,

The Devil never comes to them, lit by that holy

candle!

When in their midst serenely walks their

Master and their Mentor,

They're hush'd, as when the Prophet stalks down

holy church's centre!

They touch his robe, they do not move, those

blessed wives and mothers,

And, when on one he shineth love, no envy fills

the others;

They know his perfect saintliness, and honour

his affection—

And, if they did object, I guess he'd settle that

objection!

BISHOP JOSS

It ain't a passionate flat like Abe can manage

things in your way!

They teased that most etarnal babe, till things

were in a poor way.

I used to watch his thorny bed, and bust my

sides with laughter,

Once give a female hoss her head you'll never

stop her after.

It's one thing getting seal'd, and he was mighty

fond of Sealing,

He'd all the human heat, d'ye see, without the

saintly feeling.

His were the wildest set of gals that ever drove

man silly,

Each full of freaks and fal-de-lals, as frisky as a

filly.

One pull'd this way, and t'other that, and made

his life a mockery,

They'd all the feelings of a cat scampaging

'mong the crockery.

I saw Abe growing pale and thin, and well I

knew what ail'd him—

The skunk went stealing out and in, and all his

spirit failed him;

And tho' the tanning-yard paid well, and he

was money-making,

His saintly home was hot as Hell, and, ah!

how he was baking!

Why, now and then at evening-time, when his

day's work was over,

Up this here hill he used to climb and squat

among the clover,

And with his fishy eye he'd glare across the

Rocky Mountains,

And wish he was away up there, among the

heavenly fountains!

I had an aunt, Tabitha Brooks, a virgin under

fifty,

She warn't so much for pretty looks, but she

was wise and thrifty;

She'd seen the vanities of life, was good at

'counts and brewin'—

Thinks I, "Here's just the sort of Wife to save

poor Abe from ruin."

So, after fooling many a week, and showing

him she loved him,

And seeing he was shy to speak, whatever

feelings moved him,

At last I took her by the hand, and led her to

him straightway,

One day when we could see him stand jest close

unto the gateway.

My words were to the p'int and brief: says I,

"My brother Clewson,

There'll be an end to all your grief, if you've got

resolution.

Where shall you find a house that thrives without

a head that's ruling?

Here is the paragon of wives to teach those

others schooling!

She'll be to you not only wife, but careful as a

mother—

A little property for life is hers; you'll share it,

brother.

I've seen the question morn and eve within your

eyes unspoken,

You're slow and nervous I perceive, but now—the

ice is broken.

Here is a guardian and a guide to bless a man

and grace him;"

And then I to Tabitha cried, "Go in, old gal-

embrace him!"

STRANGER.

Why, that was acting fresh and fair;—but Abe,

was he as hearty?

BISHOP JOSS.

We...ll! Abe was never anywhere against a

female party!

At first he seemed about to run, and then we

might have missed him;

But Tabby was a tender one, she collar'd him

and kissed him.

And round his neck she blushing hung, part

holding, part caressing,

And murmur'd, with a faltering tongue, "O, Abe,

I'll be a blessing."

And home they walk'd one morning, he just

reaching to her shoulders,

And sneaking at her skirt, while she stared

straight at all beholders.

Swinging her bonnet by the strings, and setting

her lips tighter,

In at his door the old gal springs, her grim eyes

growing brighter;

And, Lord! there was the devil to pay, and

lightning and blue thunder,

For she was going to have her way, and hold

the vixens under;

They would have torn old Abe to bits, they

were so anger-bitten,

But Tabby saved him from their fits, as a cat

saves her kitten.

STRANGER.

It seems your patriarchal life has got its

botherations,

And leads to much domestic strife and infinite

vexations!

But when the ladies couldn't lodge in peace one

house-roof under,

I thought that 'twas the saintly dodge to give

them homes asunder?

BISHOP JOSS.

And you thought right; it is a plan by many

here affected—

Never by me—I ain't the man—I'll have my will

respected.

BISHOP JOSS'S OWN DOMESTIC SYSTEM.

If all the women of my house can't fondly pull

together,

And each as meek as any mouse, look out for

stormy weather!—

No, no, I don't approve at all of humouring my

women,

And building lots of boxes small for each one

to grow grim in.

I teach them jealousy's a sin, and solitude's just

bearish,

They nuss each other lying-in, each other's babes

they cherish;

It is a family jubilee, and not a selfish plea-

sure,

Whenever one presents to me another infant

treasure!

All ekal, all respected, each with tokens of

affection,

They dwell together, soft of speech, beneath their

lord's protection;

And if by any chance I mark a spark of shindy

raising,

I set my heel upon that spark,—before the house

gets blazing!

Now that's what Clewson should have done, but

couldn't, thro' his folly,

For even when Tabby's help was won, he wasn't

much more jolly.

Altho' she stopt the household fuss, and husht

the awful riot,

The old contrairy stupid Cuss could not enj'y

the quiet.

His house was peaceful as a church, all solemn,

still, and saintly;

And yet he'd tremble at the porch, and look

about him faintly;

And tho' the place was all his own, with hat in

hand he'd enter,

Like one thro' public buildings shown, soft

treading down the centre.

Still, things were better than before, though

somewhat trouble-laden,.

When one fine day unto his door there came a

Yankee maiden.

"Is Brother Clewson in?" she says; and when

she saw and knew him,

The stranger gal to his amaze scream'd out and

clung unto him.

Then in a voice all thick and wild, exclaim'd that

gal unlucky,

"O Sir, I'm Jason Jones's child—he's dead—

stabb'd in Kentucky!

And father's gone, and O I've come to you

across the mountains."

And then the little one was dumb, and Abe's

eyes gushed like fountains....

He took that gal into his place, and kept her as

his daughter—

Ah, mischief to her wheedling face and the bad

wind that brought her!

BISHOP PETE.

I knew that Jones;—used to faloot about Emanci-

pation—

It made your very toe-nails shoot to hear his

declamation.

And when he'd made all bosoms swell with

wonder at his vigour,

He'd get so drunk he couldn't tell a white man

from a nigger!

Was six foot high, thin, grim, and pale,—his

troubles can't be spoken—

Tarred, feathered, ridden on a rail, left beaten,

bruised, and broken;

But nothing made his tongue keep still, or stopt

his games improper,

Till, after many an awkward spill, he came the

final cropper.

BISHOP JOSS.

... That gal was fourteen years of age, and sly

with all her meekness;

It put the fam'ly in a rage, for well they knew

Abe's weakness.

But Abe (a cuss, as I have said, that any fool

might sit on)

Was stubborn as an ass's head, when once he

took the fit on!

And, once he fixed the gal to take, in spite of

their vexation,

Not all the rows on earth would break his firm

determination.

He took the naggings as they came, he bowed

his head quite quiet,

Still mild he was and sad and tame, and ate the

peppery diet;

But tho' he seemed so crush'd to be, when this

or that one blew up,

He stuck to Jones's Legacy and school'd her till

she grew up.

Well! there! the thing was said and done, and

so far who could blame him?

But O he was a crafty one, and sorrow couldn't

shame him!

That gal grew up, and at eighteen was prettier

far and neater—

There were not many to be seen about these

parts to beat her;

Peart, brisk, bright-eyed, all trim and tight, like

kittens fond of playing,

A most uncommon pleasant sight at pic-nic or

at praying.

Then it became, as you'll infer, a simple public

duty,

To cherish and look after her, considering her

beauty;

And several Saints most great and blest now

offer'd their protection,

And I myself among the rest felt something of

affection.

But O the selfishness of Abe, all things it beats

and passes!

As greedy as a two-year babe a-grasping at

molasses!

When once those Shepherds of the flock began

to smile and beckon,

He screamed like any lighting cock, and raised

his comb, I reckon!

First one was floor'd, then number two, she

wouldn't look at any;

Then my turn came, although I knew the

maiden's faults were many.

"My brother Abe," says I, "I come untoe your

house at present

To offer sister Anne a home which she will find

most pleasant.

You know I am a saintly man, and all my ways

are lawful"—

And in a minute he began abusing me most

awful.

"Begone," he said, "you're like the rest,—

wolves, Wolves with greedy clutches!

Poor little lamb; but in my breast I'll shield her

from your touches!"

"Come, come," says I, "a gal can't stay a child

like that for ever,

You'll hev to seal the gal some day; " but Abe

cried fiercely, "Never!"

Says I, "Perhaps it's in your view yourself this

lamb to gather?"

And "If it is, what's that to you?" he cried;

"but I'm her father!

You get along, I know your line, it's crushing,

bullying, wearing,

You'll never seal a child of mine, so go, and

don't stand staring!"

This was the man once mild in phiz as any

farthing candle—

A hedgehog now, his quills all riz, whom no

one dared to handle!

But O I little guessed his deal, nor tried to

circumvent it,

I never thought he'd dare to seal another; but

he meant it!

Yes, managed Brigham on the sly, for fear his

plans miscarried,

And long before we'd time to cry, the two were

sealed and married.

BISHOP PETE.

Well, you've your consolation now—he's pun-

ished clean, I'm thinking,

He's ten times deeper in the slough, up to his

neck and sinking.

There's vinegar in Abe's pale face enough to

sour a barrel,

Goes crawling up and down the place, neglect-

ing his apparel,

Seems to have lost all heart and soul, has fits of

absence shocking—

His home is like a rabbit's hole when weasels

come a-knocking.

And now and then, to put it plain, while falling

daily sicker,

I think he tries to float his pain by copious goes

of liquor.

BISHOP JOSS.

Yes, that's the end of selfishness, it leads to

long vexation—

No man can pity Abe, I guess, who knows his

situation;

And, Stranger, if this man you meet, don't take

him for a sample,

Although he speaks you fair and sweet, he's set

a vile example.

Because you see him ill at ease, at home, and

never hearty,

Don't think these air the tokens, please, of a

real saintly party!

No, he's a failure, he's a sham, a scandal to our

nation,

Not fit to lead a single lamb, unworthy of his

station;

No! if you want a Saint to see, who rules lambs

when he's got 'em,

Just cock your weather-eye at me, or Brother

Shufflebotham.

We don't go croaking east and west, afraid of

women's faces,

We bless and we air truly blest in our domestic

places;

We air religious, holy men, happy our folds to

gather,

Each is a loyal citizen, also a husband—rather.

But now with talk you're dry and hot, and

weary with your ride here.

Jest come and see my fam'ly lot,—they're waiting

tea inside here.