VI—LAST EPISTLE OF ST. ABE TO THE POLYGAMISTS.
O Brother, Prophet of the Light!—don't let my
state distress you,
While from the depths of darkest night I cry,
"Farewell! God bless you!"
I don't deserve a parting tear, nor even a male-
diction,
Too weak to fill a saintly sphere, I yield to my
affliction;
Down like a cataract I shoot into the depths
below you,
While you stand wondering and mute, my last
adieu I throw you;
Commending to your blessed care my well-be-
loved spouses,
My debts (there's plenty and to spare to pay
them), lands, and houses,
My sheep, my cattle, farm and fold, yea, all by
which I've thriven:
These to be at the auction sold, and to my
widows given.
Bless them! to prize them at their worth was
far beyond my merit,
Just make them think me in the earth, a poor
departed spirit.
I couldn't bear to say good-bye, and see their
tears up-starting;
I thought it best to pack and fly without the
pain of parting!
O tell Amelia, if she can, by careful educa-
tion,
To make her boy grow up a man of strength
and saintly station!
Tell Fanny to beware of men, and say I'm still
her debtor—
Tho' she cut sharpish now and then, I think it
made me better!
Let Emily still her spirit fill with holy consola-
tions—
Seraphic soul, I hear her still a-reading "Reve-
lations!"
Bid Mary now to dry her tears—she's free of her
chief bother;
And comfort Sarah—I've my fears she's going to
be a mother;
And to Tabitha give for me a tender kiss of
healing—
Guilt wrings my soul—I seem to see that well-
known face appealing!
And now,—before my figure fades for ever from
your vision,
Before I mingle with the shades beyond your
light Elysian,
Now, while your faces all turn pale, and you
raise eyes and shiver,
Let me a round unvarnish'd tale (as Shakspere
says) deliver;
And let there be a warning text in my most
shameful story,
When some poor sheep, perplext and vext, goes
seeking too much glory.
O Brigham, think of my poor fate, a scandal to
beholders,
And don't again put too much weight before
you've tried the shoulders!
Though I'd the intellectual gift, and knew the
rights and reasons;
Though I could trade, and save, and shift,
according to the seasons;
Though I was thought a clever man, and was at
spouting splendid,—
Just think how finely I began, and see how all
has ended!
In principle unto this hour I'm still a holy
being—
But oh, how poorly is my power proportion'd to
my seeing!
You've all the logic on your side, you're right in
each conclusion,
And yet how vainly have I tried, with eager
resolution!
My will was good, I felt the call, although my
strength was meagre,
There wasn't one among you all to serve the
Lord more eager!
I never tired in younger days of drawing lambs
unto me,
My lot was one to bless and praise, the fire of
faith thrill'd through me.
And you, believing I was strong, smiled on me
like a father,—
Said, "Blessëd be this man, though young, who
the sweet lambs doth gather! "
At first it was a time full blest, and all my
earthy pleasure
Was gathering lambs unto my breast to cherish
and to treasure;
Ay, one by one, for heaven's sake, my female
flock I found me,
Until one day I did awake and heard them
bleating round me,
And there was sorrow in their eyes, and mute
reproach and wonder,
For they perceived to their surprise their Shep-
herd was a blunder.
O Brigham, think of it and weep, my firm and
saintly Master—
The Pastor trembled at his Sheep, the Sheep despised
the Pastor!
O listen to the tale of dread, thou Light that
shines so brightly—
Virtue's a horse that drops down dead if over-
loaded slightly!
She's all the will, she wants to go, she'd carry
every tittle;
But when you see her flag and blow, just ease
her of a little!
One wife for me was near enough, two might
have fixed me neatly,
Three made me shake, four made me puff, five
settled me completely,—
But when the sixth came, though I still was
glad and never grumbled,
I took the staggers, kick'd, went ill, and in the
traces tumbled!
Ah, well may I compare my state unto a beast's
position—
Unfit to bear a saintly weight, I sank and lost
condition;
I lack'd the moral nerve and thew, to fill so fine
a station—
Ah, if I'd had a head like you, and your deter-
mination!
Instead of going in and out, like a superior
party,
I was too soft of heart, no doubt, too open, and
too hearty.
When I began with each young sheep I was too
free and loving,
Not being strong and wise and deep, I set her
feelings moving;
And so, instead of noticing the gentle flock in
common,
I waken'd up that mighty thing—the Spirit of a
Woman.
Each got to think me, don't you see,—so foolish
was the feeling,—
Her own especial property, which all the rest
were stealing!
And, since I could not give to each the whole of
my attention,
All came to grief, and parts of speech too deli-
cate to mention!
Bless them! they loved me far too much, they
erred in their devotion,
I lack'd the proper saintly touch, subduing mere
emotion:
The solemn air sent from the skies, so cold, so
tranquillising, .
That on the female waters lies, and keeps the
same from rising,
But holds them down all smooth and bright,
and, if some wild wind storms 'em,
Comes like a cold frost in the night, and into ice
transforms 'em!
And there, between ourselves, I see the diffi-
culty growing,
Since most men are as meek as me, too pas-
sionate and glowing;
They cannot in your royal way dwell like a
guest from Heaven
Within this tenement of clay, which for the Soul
is given;
They cannot like a blessed guest come calm and
strong into it,
Eating and drinking of its best, and calmly
gazing thro' it.
No, every mortal's not a Saint, and truly very
few are,
So weak they are, they cannot paint what holy
men like you are.
Instead of keeping well apart the Flesh and
Spirit, brother,
And making one with cunning art the nigger of
the other,
They muddle and confuse the two, they mix and
twist and mingle,
So that it takes a cunning view to make out
either single.
The Soul gets mingled with the Flesh beyond all
separation,
The Body holds it in a mesh of animal sensa-
tion;
The poor bewilder'd Being, grown a thing in
nature double,
Half light and soul, half flesh and bone, is given
up to trouble.
He thinks the instinct of the clay, the glowings
of the Spirit,
And when the Spirit has her say, inclines the
Flesh to hear it.
The slave of every passing whim, the dupe of
every devil,
Inspired by every female limb to love, and light,
and revel,
Impulsive, timid, weak, or strong, as Flesh or
Spirit makes him,
The lost one wildly moans along till mischief
overtakes him;
And when the Soul has fed upon the Flesh till
life's spring passes,
Finds strength and health and comfort gone—
the way of last year's grasses,
And the poor Soul is doom'd to bow, in deep
humiliation,
Within a place that isn't now a decent habitation.
No! keep the Soul and Flesh apart in pious
resolution,
Don't let weak flutterings of the heart lead you
to my confusion!
But let the Flesh be as the horse, the Spirit as
the rider,
And use the snaffle first of course, and ease her
up and guide her;
And if she's going to resist, and won't let none
go past her,
Just take the curb and give a twist, and show
her you're the Master.
The Flesh is but a temporal thing, and Satan's
strength is in it,
Use it, but conquer it, and bring its vice dowN
every minute!
Into a woman's arms don't fall, as if you meant
to stay there,
Just come as if you'd made a call\ and idly found
your way there;
Don't praise her too much to her face, but keep
her calm and quiet,—
Most female illnesses take place thro' far too
warm a diet;
Unto her give your fleshly kiss, calm, kind, and
patronising,
Then—soar to your own sphere of bliss, before
her heart gets rising!
Don't fail to let her see full clear, how in your
saintly station
The Flesh is but your nigger here obeying your
dictation;
And tho' the Flesh be e'er so warm, your Soul
the weakness smothers
Of loving any female form much better than the
others!
O Brigham, I can see you smile to hear the
Devil preaching;—
Well, I can praise your perfect style, tho' far
beyond my reaching.
Forgive me, if in shame and grief I vex you with
digression,
And let me come again in brief to my own dark
confession.
The world of men divided is into two portions,
brother,
The first are Saints, so high in bliss that they the
Flesh can smother;
God meant them from fair flower to flower to
flutter, smiles bestowing,
Tasting the sweet, leaving the sour, just hover-
ing,—and going.
The second are a different set, just halves of
perfect spirits,
Going about in bitter fret, of uncompleted
merits,
Till they discover, here or there, their other half
(or woman),
Then these two join, and make a Pair, and so
increase the human.
The second Souls inferior are, a lower spirit-
order,
Born 'neath a less auspicious star, and taken by
soft sawder;—
And if they do not happen here to find their fair
Affinity,
They come to grief and doubt and fear, and end
in asininity;
And if they try the blessed game of those
superior to them,
They're very quickly brought to shame,—their
passions so undo them.
In some diviner sphere, perhaps, they'll look and
grow more holy,—
Meantime they're vessels Sorrow taps and grim
Remorse sucks slowly.
Now, Brigham, I was made, you see, one of
those lower creatures,
Polygamy was not for me, altho' I joined its
preachers.
Instead of, with a wary eye, seeking the one
who waited,
And sticking to her, wet or dry, because the
thing was fated,
I snatch'd the first whose beauty stirred my soul
with tender feeling!
And then another! then a third! and so con-
tinued Sealing!
And duly, after many a smart, discovered,
sighing faintly,
I hadn't found my missing part, and wasn't
strong and saintly!
O they were far too good for me, altho' their
zeal betrayed them;—
Unfortunately, don't you see, heaven for some
other made them:
Each would a downright blessing be, and Peace
would pitch the tent for her,
If "she" could only find the "he" originally
meant for her!
Well, Brother, after many years of bad domestic
diet,
One morning I woke up in tears, still weary and
unquiet,
And (speaking figuratively) lo! beside my bed
stood smiling
The Woman, young and virgin snow, but beckon-
ing and beguiling.
I started up, my wild eyes rolled, I knew her,
and stood sighing,
My thoughts throng'd up like bees of gold out of
the smithy flying.
And as she stood in brightness there, familiar,
tho' a stranger,
I looked at her in dumb despair, and trembled
at the danger.
But, Brother Brigham, don't you think the
Devil could so undo me,
That straight I rushed the cup to drink too late
extended to me.
No, for I hesitated long, ev'n when I found she
loved me,
And didn't seem to think it wrong when love
and passion moved me.
O Brigham, you're a Saint above, and know not
the sensation
The ecstasy, the maddening love, the rapturous
exultation,
That fills a man of lower race with wonder past
all speaking,
When first he finds in one sweet face the Soul he
has been seeking!
When two immortal beings glow in the first
fond revealing,
And their inferior natures know the luxury of
feeling!
But ah, I had already got a quiver-full of bless-
ing,
Had blundered, tho' I knew it not, six times
beyond redressing,
And surely it was time to stop, tho' still my lot
was lonely:
My house was like a cobbler's shop, full, tho'
with "misfits" only.
And so I should have stopt, I swear, the
wretchedest of creatures,
Rather than put one mark of care on her
belovéd features:
But that it happen'd Sister Anne (ah, now the
secret's flitted!)
Was left in this great world of man unto my
care committed.
Her father, Jason Jones, was dead, a man whose
faults were many,
"O, be a father, Abe," he said, "to my poor
daughter, Annie!"
And so I promised, so she came an Orphan to
this city,
And set my foolish heart in flame with mingled
love and pity;
And as she prettier grew each day, and throve
'neath my protection,
I saw the Saints did cast her way some tokens of
affection.
O, Brigham, pray forgive me now;—envy and
love combining,
I hated every saintly brow, benignantly in-
clining!
Sneered at their motives, mocked the cause,
went wild and sorrow-laden,
And saw Polygamy's vast jaws a-yawning for
the maiden.
Why not, you say? Ah, yes, why not, from
your high point of vision;
But I'm of an inferior lot, beyond the light
Elysian.
I tore my hair, whined like a whelp, I loved her
to distraction,
I saw the danger, knew the help, yet trembled
at the action.
At last I came to you, my friend, and told my
tender feeling;
You said, "Your grief shall have an end—this is
a case for Sealing;
And since you have deserved so well, and made
no heinous blunder,
Why, brother Abraham, take the gel, but mind
you keep her under."
Well! then I went to Sister Anne, my inmost
heart unclothing,
Told her my feelings like a man, concealing
next to nothing,
Explain'd the various characters of those I had
already,
The various tricks and freaks and stirs peculiar
to each lady,
And, finally, when all was clear, and hope
seem'd to forsake me,
"There! it's a wretched chance, my dear—you
leave me, or you take me."
Well, Sister Annie look'd at me, her inmost
heart revealing
(Women are very weak, you see, inferior, full of
feeling),
Then, thro' her tears outshining bright, "I'll
never never leave you!
"O Abe," she said, "my love, my light, why
should I pain or grieve you?
I do not love the way of life you have so sadly
chosen,
I'd rather be a single wife than one in half a
dozen;
But now you cannot change your plan, tho'
health and spirit perish,
And I shall never see a man but you to love and
cherish.
Take me, I'm yours, and O, my dear, don't
think I miss your merit,
I'll try to help a little here your true and loving
spirit."
"Reflect, my love," I said, "once more," with
bursting heart, half crying,
"Two of the girls cut very sore, and most of
them are trying!"
And then that' gentle-hearted maid kissed me
and bent above me,
"O Abe," she said, "don't be afraid,—I'll try to
make them love me!"
Ah well! I scarcely stopt to ask myself, till all
was over,
How precious tough would be her task who
made those dear souls love her!
But I was seal'd to Sister Anne, and straight-
way to my wonder
A series of events began which showed me all
my blunder.
Brother, don't blame the souls who erred thro'
their excess of feeling—
So angrily their hearts were stirred by my last
act of sealing;
But in a moment they forgot the quarrels they'd
been wrapt in,
And leagued together in one lot, with Tabby for
the Captain.
Their little tiffs were laid aside, and all com-
bined together,
Preparing for the gentle Bride the blackest sort
of weather.
It wasn't feeling made them flout poor Annie in
that fashion,
It wasn't love turn'd inside out, it wasn't jealous
passion,
It wasn't that they cared for me, or any other
party,
Their hearts and sentiments were free, their ap-
petites were hearty.
But when the pretty smiling face came blossom-
ing and blooming,
Like sunshine in a shady place the fam'ly Vault
illuming,
It naturally made them grim to see its sunny
colour,
While like a row of tapers dim by daylight, they
grew duller.
She tried her best to make them kind, she
coaxed and served them dumbly,
She watch'd them with a willing mind, deferred
to them most humbly;
Tried hard to pick herself a friend, but found her
arts rejected,
And fail'd entirely in her end, as one might
have expected.
But, Brother, tho' I'm loathe to add one word to
criminate them,
I think their conduct was too bad,—it almost
made me hate them.
Ah me, the many nagging ways of women are
amazing,
Their cleverness solicits praise, their cruelty is
crazing!
And Sister Annie hadn't been a single day their
neighbour,
Before a baby could have seen her life would be
a labour.
But bless her little loving heart, it kept its
sorrow hidden,
And if the tears began to start, suppressed the
same unbidden.
She tried to smile, and smiled her best, till I
thought sorrow silly,
And kept in her own garden nest, and lit it like
a lily.
O I should waste your time for days with talk
like this at present,
If I described her thousand ways of making
things look pleasant!
But, bless you, 'twere as well to try, when
thunder's at its dire work,
To clear the air, and light the sky, by penny-
worths of firework.
These gentle ways to hide her woe and make
my life a blessing,
Just made the after darkness grow more gloomy
and depressing.
Taunts, mocks, and jeers, coldness and sneers,
insult and trouble daily,
A thousand stabs that brought the tears, all
these she cover'd gaily;
But when her fond eyes fell on me, the light of
love to borrow,
And Sister Anne began to see I knew her secret
sorrow,
All of a sudden like a mask the loving cheat
forsook her,
And reckon I had all my task, for illness over-
took her.
She took to bed, grew sad and thin, seem'd like
a spirit flying,
Smiled thro' her tears when I went in, but when
I left fell crying;
And as she languish'd in her bed, as weak and
wan as water,
I thought of what her father said, "Take care of
my dear daughter!"
Then I look'd round with secret eye upon her
many Sisters,
And close at hand I saw them lie, ready for use
—like blisters;
They seemed with secret looks of glee, to keep
their wifely station;
They set their lips and sneer'd at me, and
watch'd the situation.
O Brother, I can scarce express the agony of
those moments,
1 fear your perfect saintliness, and dread your
cutting comments!
I prayed, I wept, I moan'd, I cried, I anguish'd
night and morrow,
I watch'd and waited, sleepless-eyed, beside
that bed of sorrow.
At last I knew, in those dark days of sorrow
and disaster,
Mine wasn't soil where you could raise a Saint
up, or a Pastor;
In spite of careful watering, and tilling night
and morning,
The weeds of vanity would spring without a
word of warning.
I was and ever must subsist, labell'd on every
feature,
A wretched poor Monogamist, a most inferior
creature—
Just half a soul, and half a mind, a blunder and
abortion,
Not finish'd half till I could find the other
missing portion!
And gazing on that missing part which I at last
had found out,
I murmur'd with a burning heart, scarce strong
to get the sound out,
"If from the greedy clutch of Fate I save this
chief of treasures,
I will no longer hesitate, but take decided mea-
sures!
A poor monogamist like me can not love half a
dozen,
Better by far, then, set them free! and take the
Wife I've chosen!
Their love for me, of course, is small, a very
shadowy tittle,
They will not miss my face at all, or miss it very
little.
I can't undo what I have done, by my forlorn
embraces,
And call the brightness of the sun again into
their faces;
But I can save one spirit true, confiding and
unthinking,
From slowly curdling to a shrew or into swine-
dom sinking."
These were my bitter words of woe, my fears
were so distressing,
Not that I would reflect—O no!—on any living
blessing.
Thus, Brother, I resolved, and when she rose,
still frail and sighing,
I kept my word like better men, and bolted,—
and I'm flying.
Into oblivion I haste, and leave the world be-
hind me,
Afar unto the starless waste, where not a soul
shall find me.
I send my love, and Sister Anne joins cordially,
agreeing
I never was the sort of man for your high state
of being;
Such as I am, she takes me, though; and after
years of trying,
From Eden hand in hand we go, like our first
parents flying;
And like the bright sword that did chase the
first of sires and mothers,
Shines dear Tabitha's flaming face, surrounded
by the others:
Shining it threatens there on high, above the
gates of heaven,
And faster at the sight we fly, in naked shame,
forth-driven.
Nothing of all my worldly store I take, 'twould
be improper,
I go a pilgrim, strong and poor, without a single
copper.
Unto my Widows I outreach my property com-
pletely.
There's modest competence for each, if it is
managed neatly.
That, Brother, is a labour left to your sagacious
keeping;—
Comfort them, comfort the bereft! I'm good as
dead and sleeping!
A fallen star, a shooting light, a portent and an
omen,
A moment passing on the sight, thereafter seen
by no men!
I go, with backward-looking face, and spirit
rent asunder.
O may you prosper in your place, for you're a
shining wonder!
So strong, so sweet, so mild, so good!—by
Heaven's dispensation,
Made Husband to a multitude and Father to a
nation!
May all the saintly life ensures increase and
make you stronger!
Humbly and penitently yours,
A. Clewson (Saint no longer).