'Tis Mouse's place to yield him food- 'Tis his to feed and fatten, But Mice are small quick-witted wights, They met in corners and in holes, Their projects mar. Mere Common Sense Many must die, ere ends our wrong; The plans were ripe. The dozing Cats, A needle through the cushion pokes ; And now, a coat of furry silk, Is dabb'd with pitch; and now, of milk And now a snow-white paw, that yet Up went the lordly backs with rage: So, ho! the pigmies dare to wage A war with us!" they mutter'd. "Quick, measures prompt we'll make suffice"Their claws they sharpen'd in a trice; A thousand palpitating Mice About their court-yards flutter'd. But little Mice have kindreds wide. A score of bead-like eyes burnt bright From far and near, the myriads came. Pressed by the madd'ning noise on. The Mice were freed! The Cats who fled, The marrow of my story. The Terriers met them on the shore: Answer'd the Cats, "Nay, marvel we, How you the Rats can master- The Cats in chorus mew'd, "Explain, And, faith, those Mice shall rue it!" And this is how we do it. "When game and birds are far from cheap, And we, a little extra deep Are forced, for private eating, With reeds and spear-grass meeting,) "We beckon out the biggest rat, We teach him how to bark; with shears (By kind permission of J. C. Brough, Esq.) 20 A MORMON ROMANCE.-REGINALD GLOVERSON. ARTEMUS Ward. CHAPTER I. THE MORMON'S DEPARTURE. THE morning on which Reginald Gloverson was to leave Great Salt Lake City with a mule-train, dawned beautifully. Reginald Gloverson was a young and thrifty Mormon, with an interesting family of twenty young and handsome wives. His unions had never been blessed with children. As often as once a year he used to go to Omaha, in Nebraska, with a mule-train for goods; but although he had performed the rather perilous journey many times with entire safety, his heart was strangely sad on this particular morning, and filled with gloomy forebodings. The time for his departure had arrived. The highspirited mules were at the door, impatiently champing their bits. The Mormon stood sadly among his weeping wives. "Dearest ones," he said, "I am singularly sad at heart, this morning; but do not let this depress you. The journey is a perilous one, but-pshaw! I have always come back safely heretofore, and why should I fear? Besides, I know that every night, as I lie down on the broad starlit prairie, your bright faces will come to me in my dreams, and make my slumbers sweet and gentle. You, Emily, with your mild blue eyes; and you, Henrietta, with your splendid black hair; and you, Nelly, with your hair so brightly, beautifully golden; and you, Mollie, with your cheeks so downy; and you, Betsy, with your wine-red lips-far more delicious, though, than any wine I ever tasted-and you, Maria, with your winsome voice; and you, Susan, with your-with your-that is to say, Susan, with your-and the other thirteen of you, each so good and beautiful, will come to me in sweet dreams, will you not, Dearestists ?" "Our own," they lovingly chimed, "we will !" "And so farewell!" cried Reginald. "Come to my arms, my own!" he said; "that is, as many of you as can do it conveniently at once, for I must away." He folded several of them to his throbbing breast, and drove sadly away. But he had not gone far when the trace of the offhind mule became unhitched. Dismounting, he essayed to adjust the trace; but ere he had fairly commenced the task, the mule, a singularly refractory animal, snorted wildly, and kicked Reginald frightfully in the stomach. He arose with difficulty, and tottered feebly towards his mother's house, which was near by, falling dead in her yard, with the remark, "Dear Mother, I've come home to die!" "So I see," she said; "where's the mules?" Alas! Reginald Gloverson could give no answer. In vain the heart-stricken mother threw herself upon his inanimate form, crying, "Oh, my son-my son! only tell me where the mules are, and then you may die if you want to." In vain-in vain! Reginald had passed on. CHAPTER II. FUNERAL TRAPPINGS. THE mules were never found. Reginald's heart-broken mother took the body home to her unfortunate son's widows. But before her arrival she indiscreetly sent a boy to bust the news gently to the afflicted wives, which he did by informing them, in a hoarse whisper, that their "old man had gone in." The wives felt very badly indeed. "He was devoted to me," sobbed Emily. |