THE MEXICAN CAN SWEAR.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XI, Issue 46, 18 November 1893, Page 409

THE MEXICAN CAN SWEAR.

New Mexico, is the native heath of profanity. I have heard with interest the oratory of those who, elsewhere, enjoy an undeserved repute for their ability to swing the dictionary around by the tail and shake all the swear-words loose. But, bless you, they don’t know their ‘a, b, abs.’ The most unambitious paisano can swear around them and past them and over them with the easy grace of a greyhound circumnavigating a tortoise. It was a New Mexican who was the only man I ever heard divorce a polysyllable with an oath. I obligingly brought him word that a certain desperado was * bunting ’ him. ‘ Wall ?’ he growled. ‘ Wall ?’ I retorted. 1 I’ve ridden twenty miles to tell you.’ ‘ Wall, I’m under no obli-by-God-gation to you, sir, if you did, blankety blank !’ But be was only an Eastern man New Mexicanized. The natives are not guilty of such vague and meaningless blas-

phemy. They swear methodically, gracefully, fluently, comprehensively, homogeneously, eloquently, thoughtfully —I had almost said prayerfully. They curse everything an inch high. They ransack the archives of history, and send forward a search-warrant into the dim halls of futurity to make sure that nothing curseworthy escapes. But there is nothing brutal about it. It is courteous, tactful, musical, rapt—at times majestic. It carries with it a sense of artistic satisfaction. It was providential that I had now scraped some approximate acquaintance with that melodious tongue, for my Jehu knew not a word of English. All went well until we came to cross the tiny arroyo in the Portecito. Here we slumped suddenly in a quicksand. The hind wheels went down almost from sight; the front wheels and the oxen bung on the bluff farther bank, —and then Tircio let go. A perfect gentleman, Tircio. A quiet, hard-working, honest boy, whose dimpled babes at home tweak his thin beard by hours unchidden, and whose heart and home are open as the soul of New Mexican hospitality. But as an exhorter of cattle—well, I believe the Recording Angel must have just given it up, after a bit, ami dropped the ledger and gone away to rest. And the substance of his oration was in words and figures as follows, to wit: • Maid it os bueyes ! Of ill-said sires and dams ! (Nothing intentional here.) Malaya your faces! Also your souls, bodies and tails ! (Grack!) That your fathers be accursed, and your mothers three times! (Crack!) Jump then!

May condemnation overtake your ears, and your brandmarks tambien ! (Crack !) The Evil One take away your sisters and brothers, and the cousin of your grandmother ! (Crack ! Crack !) That the coyotes may eat your uncles and aunts! Diablos (Crack!) Get out of this! Go, sons of sleeping mothers that were too tired to eat 1 Como : (Crack ! Crack !) The fool that broke you, would that he had to drive you in inferno, with all your cousins and relations by marriage! (Crack !) 111-said family, that wear out the yoke with no ding in it! Curse your tallow hoofs ! Would that I had a chicote of all your hides at once, to give you blows ! (Crack !) Malaya your ribs and your kneejoints, and any other bones I may forget ! Anathema npt n your great-great-grandfathers, and everything else that ever wore horns ! Mai ■’ Here I interposed, for I was slowly freezing, and Tircio was just beginning to get interested. There was no telling when he would recover from his outburst. He seemed to be easing bis own mind, but it hardly satisfied mine. Business before pleasure, always ; and the first business was to send him for assistance. The last words I caught, as he trudged off to San Mateo through the storm were : * —and your dewlaps and livers !

And curse everything from here to Albuquerque ami back our times ! Anil ’ Then he faded into the night, while I tried to remember his ad jectives to keep warm, for there was nothing wherewith to build a fire.