About six hours before I arrived an elder died.I think his name was Smith.You may have heard that name before; but it isn't the Smith you know--it is quite another Smith.Well, this defunct elder left a small assortment of wives behind him--I think there were seventeen--of all ages, from seventeen to seventy.This miscellaneous gathering included three grandmothers, a fact which lent a venerable sanctity to the affair.I received an invitation--I went--and was introduced to the whole seventeen widows at once.Sam Weller or Dr.
Shelton Mackenzie--I forget which--says, "One widow is dangerous;"but, perhaps, there is safety in a multitude of them.All I know is, that they made the tenderest appeals to me, as a man and a brother;but I threw myself upon their mercy--I told them I was far away from my parents and my Sainted Maria, and that I was a good young man;and finally, I begged to know if their intentions were honourable?
One said:
"Young man, dash not the cup of happiness from your life!"I said:
"I have no objection to a cup, but I cannot stand an entire hogshead!"They grew more and more tender--two put their arms around me and pinioned me, while the other fifteen drew large shears from their pockets, and, under pretence of getting a lock of hair for each, they left me as bare as a goose-egg.Indians couldn't have scalped me closer.I made Samson-like my escape from these Delilahs by stratagem.I assured them that I was sickening for the measles, which, like love, is always the more fatal the later it comes in life.I also told them that my friend Hingston was a much better looking man than I was; also that he was an Englishman, and that, according to that nation's creed, every Englishman is equal to five Americans and five hundred Frenchmen: consequently there would be some to spare of him.This happy thought saved me.I was let off upon solemnly promising to deliver Hingston into their arms, bound, Laocoon-like, by the serpent spells of their charms, or, like Regulus, potted and preserved in a barrel of fingernails, for their especial scratching.
Hingston, little dreaming of the sale I had made of him, went on the pretended errand of conveying to these seventeen beauties a farewell bouquet.Poor fellow! that is the last I ever saw of him--he was never heard of again.
The gentleman who acts as my manager is somebody else.I must ask the indulgence of the audience for twenty minutes, while I drop a few tears to his memory.(Here Artemus holds his head over a barrel, and the distinct dripping of a copious shower is heard.)As I feel a little better, I will recommence my lecture--I don't mean to defend Mormonism--indeed, I have no hesitation in affirming, and Iaffirm it boldly, and I would repeat the observation to my own wife's face, if I had one, but as I haven't one, I'll say it boldly to every other man's wife, that I don't think it wise to marry more than one wife at a time, without it is done to oblige the ladies, and then it should be done sparingly, and not oftener than three times a day, for the marriage ceremony isn't lightly to be repeated.But I want to tell you what Brigham Young observed to me.
"Artemus, my boy," said he, "you don't know how often a man marries against his will.Let me recite one case out of a hundred that has happened to myself.About three months ago a family arrived here--they were from Hoboken--everybody knows how beautiful the Jersey girls are--with the exception of applejack, they are the nicest things Jersey produces.Well, this family consisted of four daughters, a mother and two grandmothers, one with teeth, the other without.I took a fancy to the youngest of the girls, and proposed.
After considerable reflection she said: 'I can't think of marrying you without you marry my three sisters as well.'
"After some considerable hesitation I agreed, and went to the girl's mother for her consent: 'No objection to your marrying my four girls, but you'll have to take me as well.' After a little reflection, Iconsented, and went to the two grandmothers for their consent:--'No objection,' said the old dames in a breath, 'but you'll have to marry us as well.We cannot think of separating the family.' After a little cosy hesitation on my part, I finally agreed to swallow the two old venerable antiquities as a sort of sauce to the other five."Under these circumstances, who can wonder at Brigham Young being the most highly married man in the Republic? In a word, he is too much married--indeed, if I were he, I should say two hundred and too much married.
As I see my esteemed friend Joe Whitton, of Niblo's Garden, sitting right before me, I will give him an anecdote which he will appreciate.There is considerable barter in Salt Lake City--horses and cows are good for hundred-dollar greenbacks, while pigs, dogs, cats, babies, and pickaxes are the fractional currency.I dare say my friend Joe Whitton would be as much astonished as I was after my first lecture.Seeing a splendid house I naturally began to reckon my spondulics.Full of this Pactolean vision, I went into my treasurer's room.
"Now, Hingston, my boy, let us see what the proceeds are! We shall soon make a fortune at this rate."Hingston with the solemnity of a cashier, then read the proceeds of the lecture:
"Three cows, one with horns, and two without, but not a stumptail;fourteen pigs, alive and grunting; seventeen hams, sugar cured; three babies in arms, two of them cutting their teeth, and the other sickening with the chicken-coop, or some such disease." There were no end of old hats, ladies' hoops, corsets, and another article of clothing, generally stolen from the husband.There was also a secondhand coffin, three barrels of turnips, and a peck of coals;there was likewise a footless pair of stockings without the legs, and a pair of embroidered gaiters, a little worn.If I could find the legs belonging to them--well, I won't say what I'd do now--but leave all ladies in that pleasing state of expectation which is true happiness.Ladies and gentlemen, my lecture is done--if you refuse to leave the hall, you'll be forcibly ejected.
End
