Though most of us, at any rate,
Have not acquired the plural habits,
Which we are apt to delegate
To Eastern potentates,—or rabbits;
We should regard with open mind
The more uxoriously inclined.
In Salt Lake City dwells a man
Who deems monogamy a myth;
(One of that too prolific clan
Which glories in the name of Smith);
A "Prophet, Seer, and Revelator,"
With the appearance of a waiter.
This hoary patriarch contrives
To thrive in manner most bewild'rin',
With close on half a dozen wives,
And nearly half a hundred children;
And views with unaffrighted eyes
The burden of domestic ties.
To him all spouses seem the same—
Each one a model of the Graces;
He knows his children all by name,
But cannot recollect their faces;
A minor point, since, I suppose,
Each one has got its popper's nose!
They are denied to me and you:
Such old-world luxuries as his,
When, after work, he hastens to
The bosoms of his families
(Each offspring joining with the others
In, "What is Home without five Mothers?").
Such strange surroundings would retard
Most ordinary men's digestions;
Five ladies all conversing hard,
And fifty children asking questions!
Besides (the tragic final straw),
Five se-pa-rate mamas-in-law!
What difficulties there must be
To find a telescopic mansion;
For each successive family
The space sufficient for expansion.
("But that," said Kipling, in his glory—
"But that is quite another storey!")
The sailor who, from lack of thought,
Or else a too diffuse affection,
Has, for a wife in ev'ry port,
An unappeasing predilection,
Would designate as "simply great!"
The mode of life in Utah State.