 | Artemus Ward, his book ; with many comic
illustrations |  |
A VISIT TO BRIGHAM YOUNG.
It is now goin on 2 (too) yeres, as I very well,
remember, since I crossed the Planes for Kaliforny,
the Brite land of Jold. While crossin the Planes
all so bold I fell in with sum noble red men of the
forest (N. B. This is rote Sarcasticul. Injins is
Pizin, whar ever found,) which thay Sed I was their
Brother, & wantid for to smoke the Calomel of
Peace with me. Thay then stole my jerkt beef,
blankits, etsettery, skalpt my orgin grinder & scooted
with a Wild Hoop. Durin the Cheaf's techin
speech he sed he shood meet me in the Happy Huntin
Grounds. If he duz thare will be a fite. But
enuff of this ere. Reven Noose Muttons, as our
skoolmaster, who has got Talent into him, cussycally
obsarve.
I arrove at Salt Lake in doo time. At Camp
Scott there was a lot of U. S. sojers, hosstensibly
eat Salt vittles & play poker & other beautiful but
sumwhat onsartin games. I got acquainted with sum
of the officers. Thay lookt putty scrumpshus in
their Bloo coats with brass buttings onto um & ware
very talented drinkers, but so fur as fitin is consarned
I'd willingly put my wax figgers agin the hull
party.
My desire was to exhibit my grate show in Salt
Lake City, so I called on Brigham Yung, the grate
mogull amung the mormins, and axed his permishun
to pitch my tent and onfurl my banner to the jentle
breezis. He lookt at me in a austeer manner for a
few minits, and sed:
“Do you bleeve in Solomon, Saint Paul, the immaculateness
of the Mormin Church and the Latterday
Revelashuns?”
Sez I, “I'm on it!” I make it a pint to git
along plesunt, tho I didn't know what under the Son
the old feller was drivin at. He sed I mite show.
“You air a marridman, Mister Yung, I bleeve?”
sez I, preparin to rite him sum free parsis.
“I hev eighty wives, Mister Ward. I sertinly
am marrid.”
“How do you like it as far as you hev got?”
sed I.
He sed “middlin,” and axed me wouldn't I like
to see his famerly, to which I replide that I wouldn't
mind minglin with the fair Seck & Barskin in the
winnin smiles of his interestin wives. He accordingly
tuk me to his Scareum. The house is powerful
big & in a exceedin large room was his wives &
children, which larst was squawkin and hollerin enuff
to take the roof rite orf the house. The wimin
was of all sizes and ages. Sum was pretty & sum
was plane—sum was helthy and sum was on the
Wayne—which is verses, tho sich was not my intentions,
as I don't 'prove of puttin verses in Proze
rittins, tho ef occashun requires I can Jerk a Poim
ekal to any of them Atlantic Munthly fellers.
“My wives, Mister Ward,” sed Yung.
“Your sarvant, marms,” sed I, as I sot down in
a cheer which a red-heded female brawt me.
“Besides these wives you see here, Mister Ward,”
consecrated land which air Sealed to me.”
“Which?” sez I, gittin up & starin at him.
“Sealed, Sir! sealed.”
“Whare bowts?” sez I.
“I sed, Sir, that they was sealed!” He spoke
in a traggerdy voice.
“Will they probly continner on in that stile to
any grate extent, Sir?” I axed.
“Sir,” sed he furnin as red as a biled beet,
“don't you know that the rules of our Church is
that I, the Profit, may hev as meny wives as I
wants?”
“Jes so,” I sed. “You are old pie, ain't you?”
“Them as is Sealed to me—that is to say, to be
mine when I wants um—air at present my sperretooul
wives,” sed Mister Yung.
“Long may thay wave!” sez I, seein I shood git
into a scrape ef I didn't look out.
In a privit conversashun with Brigham I learnt
the follerin fax: It takes him six weeks to kiss his
wives. He don't do it only onct a yere & sez it is
his children, thare is so many of um, tho they all
know him. He sez about every child he meats call
him Par, & he takes it for grantid it is so. His
wives air very expensiv. Thay allers want suthin
& ef he don't buy it for um thay set the house in a
uproar. He sez he don't have a minit's peace. His
wives fite amung theirselves so much that he has
bilt a fitin room for thare speshul benefit, & when too
of'em get into a row he has em turnd loose into
that place, whare the dispoot is settled accordin to
the rules of the London prize ring. Sumtimes thay
abooz hisself individooally. Thay hev pulled the
most of his hair out at the roots & he wares meny
a horrible scar upon his body, inflicted with mophandles,
broom-sticks and sich. Occashunly they
git mad & scald him with bilin hot water. When
he got eny waze cranky thay'd shut him up in a
dark closit, previsly whippin him arter the stile of
muthers when thare orfsprings git onruly. Sumtimes
when he went in swimmin thay'd go to the
banks of the Lake & steal all his close, thereby compellin
in the Skanderlus stile of the Greek Slaiv. “I
find that the keers of a marrid life way hevy onto
me,” sed the Profit, “& sumtimes I wish I'd remaned
singel.” I left the Profit and startid for the
tavern whare I put up to. On my way I was overtuk
by a lurge krowd of Mormons, which they surroundid
me & statid that they were goin into the
Show free.
“Wall,” sez I, “ef I find a individooal who is
goin round lettin folks into his show free, I'll let
you know.”
“We've had a Revelashun biddin us go into A.
Ward's Show without payin nothin!” thay showtid.
“Yes,” hollered a lot of femaile Mormonesses,
ceasin me by the cote tales & swingin me round very
rapid, “we're all goin in free! So sez the Revelashun!”
“What's Old Revelashun got to do with my
Show?” sez I, gittin putty rily. “Tell Mister
Revelashun,” sed I, drawin myself up to my full
hite and lookin round upon the ornery krowd with a
mind his own bizness, subject only to the Konstitushun
of the Unitid States!”
“Oh now let us in, that's a sweet man,” sed several
femails, puttin thare arms rownd me in luvin
stile. “Becum 1 of us. Becum a Preest & hav
wives Sealed to you.”
“Not a Seal!” sez I, startin back in horror at
the idee.
“Oh stay, Sir, stay,” sed a tall, gawnt femaile,
ore whoos hed 37 summirs must hev parsd, “stay,
& I'll be your Jentle Gazelle.”
“Not ef I know it, you won't,” sez I. “Awa
you skanderlus femaile, awa! Go & be a Nunnery!”
That's what I sed, jes so.
“& I,” sed a fat chunky femaile, who must hev
wade more than too hundred lbs., “I will be your
sweet gidin Star!”
Sez I, “Ile bet two dollers and a half you
won't!” Whare ear I may Rome Ile still be troo
2 thee, Oh Betsy Jane! [N. B. Betsy Jane is my
wife's Sir naime.]
“Wiltist thou not tarry hear in the Promist
Land?” sed several of the miserabil critters.
“Ile see you all essenshally cussed be 4 I wiltist!”
roared I, as mad as I cood be at thare infernul noncents.
I girdid up my Lions & fled the Seen. I
packt up my duds & left Salt Lake, which is a 2nd
Soddum & Germorrer, inhabitid by as theavin &
onprinoipled a set of retchis as ever drew Breth in
eny spot on the Globe.
| Artemus Ward, his book ; with many comic
illustrations | |