“Wall,” says I calmly and reasonably, but with quite a lot of dignity, “we’ll see.” And I was risin’ up to go and get the Bible offen the stand, for I was determined he should see ’em in black and white, when he spoke out haughtily and proudly:
“Keep your seat, mum; keep your seat. I have the Bible here in my breast pocket. Our church bein’ foundered on the Commandments, leanin’ up aginst ’em as we do for all our strength and safety, I don’t depend on Bibles layin’ round loose on stands, and so forth. I carry a copy all the time right over my heart, or pretty near over it—on the left side of my vest, anyway.”
Says I: “There is different ways of carryin’ things in the heart. But that is a deep subject, and I will not begin to episode upon it, for if I should begin, no knowin’ how fur I should episode to, but will merely say that there is other ways of carryin’ things in your heart besides carryin’ ’em in your vest pocket. But howsumever, read off the first one.” And he read it:
“Thou shalt have no other Gods before me.”
He read it off jest like a text. And the minute he stopped I begun to talk on it a good deal like preachin’, only shorter; but with jest about the same dignity and mean that preachers have.
Says I, in that firm, preachin’ tone: “You have made Brigham Young a God. Your preacher, whom you call a ‘model saint,’ openly avowed that he was God. You have pretended to believe, and have taught to the people his blasphemus doctrine that he had power to save souls in the heavenly kingdom, or to shut ’em out of it.” Says I: “I could spread out this awful idee, and cover hours with it, and then not make it very thin, either; there is so much that could be said on the awfulness of it. But I have got nine more jobs jest like it ahead on me to tackle, so enough, and suffice it to say, fetch on your next one.
He was goin’ to branch out and say sunthin’, but I held to my first idee, and wouldn’t let him. I told him if I argued with him at all, he had got to read those Commandments off jest like texts, and let me preach on ’em. I told him after I had got through with ’em, then he could rise up and explain his mind, and talk; but jest at present it was the commands of God I wanted to hear—not the words of Elder Judas Wart. And I held firm, and made him. And when he would begin to argue I would call for another one, and kep’ him at it.
“Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image * * * * thou shalt not bow down to them, nor serve them”—
Says I: “You have done that and worse. You have worshipped and revered an image of clay—rather weak clay, too, though held up by a mighty will and ambition. Why, most anybody would say that a graven image would be sounder than he was—more sort o’ solid and substantial. Anyway, it wouldn’t wobble round as he wobbled, preachin’ one thing to-day, and denyin’ it to-morrow, jest as his own interests dictated. And the graven image wouldn’t have been so selfish and graspin’ and unscrupulus. It would have been fur honester, and wouldn’t have wanted more’n a hundred wives. But that image of clay, such as it was, you sot up and worshipped, and you needn’t deny it.”
He didn’t try to. He knew it wouldn’t be no use to, and says he: