University of Virginia Library

‘'Twas jest a week after thet day
When down I druv again this way.
My heart was light; and 'neath the box
I'd got a shawl and two fine frocks
For Cissy. On in spanking style
The hosses went mile arter mile;
The sun was blazing golden bright,
The sunflowers burning in the light,
The cattle in the golden gleer
Wading for coolness everywheer
Among the shinin' ponds, with flies
As thick as pepper round their eyes
And on their heads. See! as I went
Whistling like mad and waal content,
Altho' 'twas broad bright day all round,
A cock crow'd, and I thought the sound
Seem'd pleasant. Twice or thrice he crow'd,
And then up to the ranche I rode.
Since then I've often heerd folk say
When a cock crows in open day
It's a bad sign, announcin' clear
Black luck or death to those thet hear.

‘When I drew up, all things were still.
I saw the boys far up the hill
Tos in’ the hay; but at the door
No Cissy stood as oft afore.
No, not a soul there, left nor right,
Her very chicks were out o' sight.
So down I jump'd, and “Ciss!” I cried,
But not a sign of her outside.
With thet into the house I ran,
But found no sight of gel or man—
All empty. Thinks I, “This is queer!”—
Look'd in the dairy—no one theer;
Then loiter'd round the kitchen track
Into the orchard at the back:
Under the fruit-trees' shade I pass'd, . . .
Thro' the green bushes, . . . and at last
Found, as the furthest path I trode,
The gel I wanted. Ye . . . s! by—!

‘The gel I wanted—ay, I found
More than I wanted, you'll be bound!
Theer, seated on a wooden cheer,
With bows and ribbons in her heer,
Her hat a-swinging on a twig
Close by, sat Ciss in her best rig,
And at her feet that knowing one,
The Apostle Hiram Higginson!
They were too keen to notice me,
So I held back behind a tree
And watch'd 'em. Never night nor day
Did I see Cissy look so gay,
Her eyes all sparkling blue and bright,
Her face all sanctified delight.
She hed her gown tuck'd up to show
Embrider'd petticoat below,
And jest a glimpse, below the white,
Of dainty leg in stocking tight
With crimson clocks; and on her knee
She held an open book, which he,
Thet dern'd Apostle at her feet,
With her low milking-stool for seat
Was reading out all clear and pat
Keeping the place with finger fat;
Creeping more close to book and letter
To feel the warmth of his text better
His crimson face like a cock's head
With his emotion as he read,
And now and then his eyes he'd close
Jest like a cock does when he crows
Above the heads of thet strange two
The shade was deep, the sky was blue,
The place was full of warmth and smell,
All round the fruit and fruit-leaves fell,
And that Saint's voice, when all was still,
Was like the groanin' of a mill.

‘At last he stops for lack of wind,
And smiled with sarcy double-chinn'd
Fat face at Cissy, while she cried,
Rocking herself from side to side,
“O Bishop, them are words of bliss!”
And then he gev a long fat kiss
On her warm hand, and edged his stool
Still closer. Could a man keep cool
And see it? Trembling thro' and thro’
I walked right up to thet theer two,
And caught the dern'd old lump of duff
Jest by the breeches and the scruff,
And chuck'd him off, and with one kick
Sent his stool arter him right slick—
While Cissy scream'd with frighten'd face,
“Spare him! O spare that man of grace!”

‘“Spare him!” I cried, and gev a shout,
“What's this yer shine you air about—
What cuss is this that I jest see
With that big book upon your knee,
Cuddling up close and making sham
To read a heap of holy flam?”
Then Cissy clasp'd her hands, and said,
While that dern'd Saint sat fierce and red,
Mopping his brow with a black frown,
And squatting where I chuck'd him down,
“Joe Wilson, stay your hand so bold,
Come not a wolf into the fold;
Forbear to touch that holy one—
The Apostle Hiram Higginson.”
“Touch him!” said I; “for half a pin
I'd flay and quarter him and skin!
Waal may he look so white and skeer'd,
For of his doings I have heerd;
Five wives he hev already done,
And him—not half the man for one!”
‘And then I stoop'd and took a peep
At what they'd studied at so deep,
And read, for I can read a bit,
“The Book of Mormon”—what was writ
By the first Saint of all the lot,
Mad Joseph, him the Yankees shot.
“What's the contents of this yer book?”
Says I, and fixed her with a look.
“O Joe,” she answered, “read aright,
It is a book of blessed light—
Thet holy man expounds it clear;
Edification great is theer!”
Then, for my blood was up, I took
One kick at thet infernal book,
And tho' the Apostle guv a cry,
Into the well I made it fly,
And turning to the Apostle cried,
“Tho' thet theer Scriptur' is your guide,
You'd best depart without delay,
Afore you sink in the same way!
And sure as fate you'll wet your skin
If you come courting yer agin!”

‘At first he stared and puff'd and blew,—
“Git out!” I cried, and off he flew,
And not till he was out o' reach
Shook his fat fist and found his speech.
I turned to Cissy. “Cicely Dunn,”
Ses I, “is this a bit of fun
Or eernest?” Reckon 'twas a sight
To see the way she stood upright,
Rolled her blue eyes up, tried to speak,
Made fust a giggle, then a squeak,
And said half crying, “I despise
Your wicked calumnies and lies,
And what you would insinuate
Won't move me from my blessed state.
Now I perceive in time, thank hiven,
You are a man to anger given,
Jealous and vi'lent. Go away!
And when you recollect this day,
And those bad words you've said to me,
Blush if you kin. Tehee! tehee!”
And then she sobbed, and in her cheer
Fell crying: so I felt quite queer,
And stood like a dern'd fool, and star'd
Watchin' the pump a-going hard;
And then at last, I couldn't stand
The sight no more, but slipt my hand
Sharp into hers, and said quite kind,
“Say no more, Cissy—never mind;
I know how queer you women's ways is—
Let the Apostle go to blazes!”
Now thet was plain and fair. With this
I would have put my arm round Ciss.
But Lord! you should have seen her face,
When I attempted to embrace;
Sprang to her feet and gev a cry,
Her back up like a cat's, her eye
All blazing, and cried fierce and clear,
“You villain, touch me if you deer!”
And jest then in the distance, fur
From danger, a voice echoed her,—
The dern'd Apostle's, from some place
Where he had hid his ugly face,—
Crying out faint and thick and clear,
“Yes, villain, touch her if you deer!”

‘So riled I was, to be so beat,
I could have struck her to my feet.
I didn't tho', tho’ sore beset—
I never struck a woman yet.

‘But off I walked right up the pass,
And found the men among the grass,
And when I came in sight said flat,
“What's this yer game Cissy is at?
She's thrown me off, and taken pity
On an Apostle from the City.
Five wives already, too, has he—
Poor cussed things as e'er I see—
Does she mean mischief or a lark?”
Waal, all the men at thet look'd dark,
And scratch'd their heads and seem'd in doubt.
At last her brother Jim spoke out—
“Joe, don't blame us—by George, it's true,
We're chawed by this as much as you;
We've done our best and tried and tried,
But Ciss is off her head with pride.
And all her thoughts, both night and day,
Are with the Apostles fur away.
‘O that I were in bliss with them
Theer in the new Jerusalem!’
She says; and when we laugh and sneer,
Ses we're jest raging wolves down here.
She's a bit dull at home d'ye see,
Allays liked heaps of company,
And now the foolish critter paints
A life of larks among the Saints.
We've done our best, don't hev a doubt,
To keep the old Apostle out:
We've trained the dogs to seize and bite him,
We've got up ghosts at night to fright him,
Doctor'd his hoss and so upset him,
Put tickle-grass in bed to fret him,
Jalap'd his beer and snuffed his tea too,
Gunpowder in his pipe put free too;
A dozen times we've well-nigh kill'd him,
We've skeer'd him, shaken him, and spill'd him;
In fact, done all we deer,” said Jim,
“Against a powerful man like him;
But all in vain we've hed our sport;
Jest like a cat that can't be hurt,
With nine good lives if he hev one,
Is this same Hiram Higginson!”’