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Title: The Complete Works of Artemus Ward (HTML edition)
Author: Artemus Ward
Release date: November 1, 2004 [eBook #6946]
Most recently updated: August 4, 2012
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6946
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ARTEMUS WARD (HTML EDITION) ***
Produced by Anonymous Volunteers and David Widger
THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ARTEMUS WARD
By Charles Farrar Browne (AKA Artemus Ward)
___________________________________
TABLE OF CONTENTS
___________________________________
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH by Melville D. Landon
PART I.
ESSAYS, SKETCHES, AND LETTERS.
Mr. Ward's first Business Letter
On "Forts"
The Shakers
High-handed Outrage at Utica
Atlantic Cable Celebration at Baldinsville
Among the Spirits
On the Wing
The Octoroon
Oberlin
The Showman's Courtship
The Crisis
Wax Figures vs. Shakspeare
Among the "Free Lovers"
A Visit to Brigham Young
The Press
Edwin Forrest as Othello
The Show Business and Popular Lectures
Woman's Rights
The Prince of Wales
Ossawatomie Brown
Joy in the House of Ward
Boston. (A. Ward to his Wife.)
How "Old Abe" received the News of his Nomination
Interview with President Lincoln
Interview with Prince Napoleon
Agriculture.
Busts
A Hard Case
Affairs around the Village Green
PART II.
WAR.
The Show is Confiscated.
Thrilling Scenes in Dixie.
Fourth of July Oration
The War Fever in Baldinsville.
A War Meeting.
The Draft in Baldinsville.
Surrender of Cornwallis.
Things in New York.
In Canada.
The Noble Red Man.
Artemus Ward in Richmond.
Artemus Ward to the Prince of Wales.
PART III.
STORIES AND ROMANCES.
Moses the Sassy; or, The Disguised Duke.
Marion: A Romance of the French School.
William Barker, the Young Patriot
A Romance--The Conscript.
A Romance--Only a Mechanic.
Roberto the Rover; A Tale of Sea and Shore.
Red Hand: A Tale of Revenge.
Pyrotechny: A Romance after the French.
A Mormon Romance--Reginald Gloverson.
PART IV.
TO CALIFORNIA AND RETURN.
On the Steamer.
The Isthmus.
Mexico.
California.
Washoe.
Mr. Pepper.
Horace Greeley's Ride to Placerville.
To Reese River.
Great Salt Lake City.
The Mountain Fever.
"I am Here."
Brigham Young.
Hurrah for the Road.
Very Much Married.
PART V.
THE LONDON PUNCH LETTERS.
Arrival in London.
Personal Recollections.
The Green Lion and Oliver Cromwell.
At the Tomb of Shakespeare.
Introduction to the Club.
The Tower of London.
Science and Natural History.
A Visit to the British Museum.
PART VI.
ARTEMUS WARD'S PANORAMA.
Prefactory Note.
The Egyptian Hall Lecture.
Program of the Egyptian Hall Lecture.
Program of the Dodworth Hall Lecture.
PART VII.
MISCELLANEOUS.
The Cruise of the Polly Ann.
Betsy-Jain Re-organized.
A. Ward's Autobiography.
The Serenade.
O'Bourcy's "Arrah-na-Pogue."
Artemus Ward among the Fenians.
Artemus Ward in Washington.
Scenes Outside the Fair Grounds.
The Negro Question.
Artemus Ward on Health.
A Fragment--At North Berwick.
____________________ CHAS. FARRAR BROWNE "ARTEMUS WARD"
____________________
A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH BY MELVILLE D. LANDON.
Charles Farrar Browne, better known to the world as "Artemus Ward," was
born at Waterford, Oxford County, Maine, on the twenty-sixth of April,
1834, and died of consumption at Southampton, England, on Wednesday, the
sixth of March, 1867.
His father, Levi Browne, was a land surveyor, and Justice of the Peace.
His mother, Caroline E. Brown, is still living, and is a descendant
from Puritan stock.
Mr. Browne's business manager, Mr. Hingston, once asked him about his
Puritanic origin, when he replied: "I think we came from Jerusalem, for
my father's name was Levi and we had a Moses and a Nathan in the
family, but my poor brother's name was Cyrus; so, perhaps, that makes us
Persians."
Charles was partially educated at the Waterford school, when family
circumstances induced his parents to apprentice him to learn the
rudiments of printing in the office of the "Skowhegan Clarion,"
published some miles to the north of his native village. Here he passed
through the dreadful ordeal to which a printer's "devil" is generally
subjected. He always kept his temper; and his eccentric boy jokes are
even now told by the residents of Skowhegan.
In the spring, after his fifteenth birthday, Charles Browne bade
farewell to the "Skowhegan Clarion;" and we next hear of him in
the office of the "Carpet-Bag," edited by B.P. Shillaber ("Mrs.
Partington"). Lean, lank, but strangely appreciative, young Browne
used to "set up" articles from the pens of Charles G. Halpine ("Miles
O'Reilly") and John G. Saxe, the poet. Here he wrote his first
contribution in a disguised hand, slyly put it into the editorial box,
and the next day disguised his pleasure while setting it up himself.
The article was a description of a Fourth of July celebration in
Skowhegan. The spectacle of the day was a representation of the
battle of Yorktown, with G. Washington and General Horace Cornwallis
in character. The article pleased Mr. Shillaber, and Mr. Browne,
afterwards speaking of it, said: "I went to the theatre that evening,
had a good time of it, and thought I was the greatest man in Boston."
While engaged on the "Carpet-Bag," the subject of our sketch closely
studied the theatre and courted the society of actors and actresses. It
was in this way that he gained that correct and valuable knowledge of
the texts and characters of the drama, which enabled him in after years
to burlesque them so successfully. The humorous writings of Seba Smith
were his models, and the oddities of "John Phoenix" were his especial
admiration.
Being of a roving temper Charles Browne soon left Boston, and,
after traveling as a journeyman printer over much of New York and
Massachusetts, he turned up in the town of Tiffin, Seneca County, Ohio,
where he became reporter and compositor at four dollars per week. After
making many friends among the good citizens of Tiffin, by whom he is
remembered as a patron of side shows and traveling circuses, our hero
suddenly set out for Toledo, on the lake, where he immediately made a
reputation as a writer of sarcastic paragraphs in the columns of
the Toledo "Commercial." He waged a vigorous newspaper war with the
reporters of the Toledo "Blade," but while the "Blade" indulged in
violent vituperation, "Artemus" was good-natured and full of humor.
His column soon gained a local fame and everybody read it. His fame
even traveled away to Cleveland, where, in 1858, when Mr. Browne was
twenty-four years of age, Mr. J.W. Gray of the Cleveland "Plaindealer"
secured him as local reporter, at a salary of twelve-dollars per week.
Here his reputation first began to assume a national character and it
was here that they called him a "fool" when he mentioned the idea of
taking the field as a lecturer. Speaking of this circumstance while
traveling down the Mississippi with the writer, in 1865, Mr. Browne
musingly repeated this colloquy:
WISE MAN:--"Ah! you poor foolish little girl--here is a dollar for you."
FOOLISH LITTLE GIRL:--"Thank you, sir; but I have a sister at home as
foolish as I am; can't you give me a dollar for her?"
Charles Browne was not successful as a NEWS reporter, lacking enterprise
and energy, but his success lay in writing up in a burlesque manner
well-known public affairs like prize-fights, races, spiritual meetings,
and political gatherings. His department became wonderfully humorous,
and was always a favorite with readers, whether there was any news in
it or not. Sometimes he would have a whole column of letters from young
ladies in reply to a fancied matrimonial advertisement, and then he
would have a column of answers to general correspondents like this:--
VERITAS:--Many make the same error. Mr. Key, who wrote the "Star
Spangled Banner," is not the author of Hamlet, a tragedy. He wrote the
banner business, and assisted in "The Female Pirate," BUT DID NOT WRITE
HAMLET. Hamlet was written by a talented but unscrupulous man named
Macbeth, afterwards tried and executed for "murdering sleep."
YOUNG CLERGYMAN:--Two pints of rum, two quarts of hot water, tea-cup
of sugar, and a lemon; grate in nutmeg, stir thoroughly and drink while
hot.
It was during his engagement on the "Plaindealer" that he wrote, dating
from Indiana, his first communication,--the first published letter
following this sketch, signed "Artemus Ward" a sobriquet purely
incidental, but borne with the "u" changed to an "a" by an American
revolutionary general. It was here that Mr. Browne first became, IN
WORDS, the possessor of a moral show "consisting of three moral bares,
the a kangaroo (a amoozing little rascal; 'twould make you larf yourself
to death to see the little kuss jump and squeal), wax figures of G.
Washington, &c. &c." Hundreds of newspapers copied this letter, and
Charles Browne awoke one morning to find himself famous.
In the "Plaindealer" office, his companion, George Hoyt, writes: "His
desk was a rickety table which had been whittled and gashed until it
looked as if it had been the victim of lightning. His chair was a fit
companion thereto,--a wabbling, unsteady affair, sometimes with four and
sometimes with three legs. But Browne saw neither the table, nor the
chair, nor any person who might be near, nothing, in fact, but the funny
pictures which were tumbling out of his brain. When writing, his gaunt
form looked ridiculous enough. One leg hung over the arm of his chair
like a great hook, while he would write away, sometimes laughing to
himself, and then slapping the table in the excess of his mirth."
While in the office of the "Plaindealer," Mr. Browne first conceived the
idea of becoming a lecturer. In attending the various minstrel shows and
circuses which came to the city, he would frequently hear repeated some
story of his own which the audience would receive with hilarity. His
best witticisms came back to him from the lips of another who made a
living by quoting a stolen jest. Then the thought came to him to
enter the lecture field himself, and become the utterer of his own
witticisms--the mouthpiece of his own jests.
On the 10th of November, 1860, Charles Browne, whose fame, traveling
in his letters from Boston to San Francisco, had now become national,
grasped the hands of his hundreds of New York admirers. Cleveland
had throned him the monarch of mirth, and a thousand hearts paid him
tributes of adulation as he closed his connection with the Cleveland
Press.
Arriving in the Empire City, Mr. Browne soon opened an engagement with
"Vanity Fair," a humorous paper after the manner of London "Punch,"
and ere long he succeeded Mr. Charles G. Leland as editor. Mr. Charles
Dawson Shanly says: "After Artemus Ward became sole editor, a position
which he held for a brief period, many of his best contributions were
given to the public; and, whatever there was of merit in the columns of
"Vanity Fair" from the time he assumed the editorial charge, emanated
from his pen." Mr. Browne himself wrote to a friend: "Comic copy is
what they wanted for "Vanity Fair." I wrote some and it killed it. The
poor paper got to be a conundrum, and so I gave it up."
The idea of entering the field as a lecturer now seized Mr. Browne
stronger than ever. Tired of the pen, he resolved on trying the
platform. His Bohemian friends agreed that his fame and fortune would
be made before intelligent audiences. He resolved to try it. What
should be the subject of my lecture? How shall I treat the subject?
These questions caused Mr. Browne grave speculations. Among other
schemes, he thought of a string of jests combined with a stream of
satire, the whole being unconnected--a burlesque upon a lecture. The
subject,--that was a hard question. First he thought of calling it "My
Seven Grandmothers," but he finally adopted the name of "Babes in
the Woods," and with this subject Charles Browne was introduced to a
metropolitan audience, on the evening of December 23d, 1861. The place
was Clinton Hall, which stood on the site of the old Astor Place Opera
House, where years ago occurred the Macready riot, and where now is
the Mercantile Library. Previous to this introduction, Mr. Frank Wood
accompanied him to the suburban town of Norwich, Connecticut, where he
first delivered his lecture, and watched the result. The audience was
delighted, and Mr. Browne received an ovation. Previous to his Clinton
Hall appearance the city was flooded with funny placards reading--
Owing to a great storm, only a small audience braved the elements, and
the Clinton Hall lecture was not a financial success. It consisted of
a wandering batch of comicalities, touching upon everything except "The
Babes." Indeed it was better described by the lecturer in London, when
he said, "One of the features of my entertainment is, that it contains
so many things that don't have anything to do with it."
In the middle of his lecture, the speaker would hesitate, stop, and say:
"Owing to a slight indisposition we will now have an intermission of
fifteen minutes." The audience looked in utter dismay at the idea of
staring at vacancy for a quarter of an hour, when, rubbing his hands,
the lecturer would continue: "but, ah--during the intermission I will go
on with my lecture!"
Mr. Browne's first volume, entitled "Artemus Ward; His Book," was
published in New York, May 17th, 1862. The volume was everywhere
hailed with enthusiasm, and over forty thousand copies were sold. Great
success also attended the sale of his three other volumes published in
'65, '67, and '69.
Mr. Browne's next lecture was entitled "Sixty Minutes in Africa," and
was delivered in Musical Fund Hall, Philadelphia. Behind him hung a
large map of Africa, "which region," said Artemus, "abounds in various
natural productions, such as reptiles and flowers. It produces the red
rose, the white rose, and the neg-roes. In the middle of the continent
is what is called a 'howling wilderness,' but, for my part, I have never
heard it howl, nor met with any one who has."
After Mr. Browne had created immense enthusiasm for his lectures and
books in the Eastern States, which filled his pockets with a handsome
exchequer, he started, October 3d, 1863, for California, a faithful
account of which trip is given by himself in this book. Previous
to starting, he received a telegram from Thomas Maguire, of the San
Francisco Opera House, inquiring "what he would take for forty nights in
Californis." Mr. Brown immediately telegraphed back,--
"Brandy and water.
A. Ward."
And, though Maguire was sorely puzzled at the contents of the dispatch,
the Press got hold of it, and it went through California as a capital
joke.
Mr. Browne first lectured in San Francisco on "The Babes in the Woods,"
November 13th, 1863, at Pratt's Hall. T. Starr King took a deep
interest in him, occupying the rostrum, and his general reception in San
Francisco was warm.
Returning overland, through Salt Lake to the States, in the fall of
1864, Mr. Browne lectured again in New York, this time on the "Mormons,"
to immense audiences, and in the spring of 1865 he commenced his tour
through the country, everywhere drawing enthusiastic audiences both
North and South.
It was while on this tour that the writer of this sketch again spent
some time with him. We met at Memphis and traveled down the Mississippi
together. At Lake Providence the "Indiana" rounded up to our landing,
and Mr. Browne accompanied the writer to his plantation, where he spent
several days, mingling in seeming infinite delight with the negroes.
For them he showed great fondness, and they used to stand around him in
crowds listening to his seemingly serious advice. We could not prevail
upon him to hunt or to join in any of the equestrian amusements with the
neighboring planters, but a quiet fascination drew him to the negroes.
Strolling through the "quarters," his grave words, too deep with humor
for darkey comprehension, gained their entire confidence. One day he
called up Uncle Jeff., an Uncle-Tom-like patriarch, and commenced in his
usual vein: "Now, Uncle Jefferson," he said, "why do you thus pursue the
habits of industry? This course of life is wrong--all wrong--all a base
habit, Uncle Jefferson. Now try to break it off. Look at me,--look
at Mr. Landon, the chivalric young Southern plantist from New York,
he toils not, neither does he spin; he pursues a career of contented
idleness. If you only thought so, Jefferson, you could live for months
without performing any kund of labor, and at the expiration of that time
feel fresh and vigorous enough to commence it again. Idleness refreshes
the physical organization--it is a sweet boon! Strike at the roots of
the destroying habit to-day, Jefferson. It tires you out; resolve to be
idle; no one should labor; he should hire others to do it for him;"
and then he would fix his mournful eyes on Jeff. and hand him a dollar,
while the eyes of the wonder-struck darkey would gaze in mute admiration
upon the good and wise originator of the only theory which the darkey
mind could appreciate. As Jeff. went away to tell the wonderful story
to his companions, and backed it with the dollar as material proof,
Artemus would cover his eyes, and bend forward on his elbows in a
chuckling laugh.
"Among the Mormons" was delivered through the States, everywhere drawing
immense crowds. His manner of delivering his discourse was grotesque
and comical beyond description. His quaint and sad style contributed
more than anything else to render his entertainment exquisitely funny.
The programme was exceedingly droll, and the tickets of admission
presented the most ludicrous of ideas. The writer presents a fac-simile
of an admission ticket which was presented to him in Natchez by Mr.
Browne:--
In the spring of 1866, Charles Browne first timidly thought of going to
Europe. Turning to Mr. Hingston one day he asked: "What sort of a man
is Albert Smith? Do you think the Mormons would be as good a subject to
the Londoners as Mont Blanc was?" Then he said: "I should like to go to
London and give my lecture in the same place. Can't it be done?"
Mr. Browne sailed for England soon after, taking with him his Panorama.
The success that awaited him could scarcely have been anticipated by his
most intimate friends. Scholars, wits, poets, and novelists came to
him with extended hands, and his stay in London was one ovation to
the genius of American wit. Charles Reade, the novelist, was his warm
friend and enthusiastic admirer; and Mr. Andrew Haliday introduced him
to the "Literary Club," where he became a great favorite. Mark Lemon
came to him and asked him to become a contributor to "Punch," which he
did. His "Punch" letters were more remarked in literary circles than
any other current matter. There was hardly a club-meeting or a dinner
at which they were not discussed. "There was something so grotesque in
the idea," said a correspondent, "of this ruthless Yankee poking
among the revered antiquities of Britain, that the beef-eating British
themselves could not restrain their laughter." The story of his Uncle
William who "followed commercial pursuits, glorious commerce--and sold
soap," and his letters on the Tower and "Chowser," were palpable hits,
and it was admitted that "Punch" had contained nothing better since
the days of "Yellowplush." This opinion was shared by the "Times," the
literary reviews, and the gayest leaders of society. The publishers
of "Punch" posted up his name in large letters over their shop in Fleet
Street, and Artemus delighted to point it out to his friends. About
this time Mr. Browne wrote to his friend Jack Rider, of Cleveland:
"This is the proudest moment of my life. To have been as well
appreciated here as at home; to have written for the oldest comic
Journal in the English language, received mention with Hood, with
Jerrold and Hook, and to have my picture and my pseudonym as common in
London as in New York, is enough for
"Yours truly,
"A. Ward."
England was thoroughly aroused to the merits of Artemus Ward, before
he commenced his lectures at Egyptian Hall, and when, in November, he
finally appeared, immense crowds were compelled to turn away. At every
lecture his fame increased, and when sickness brought his brilliant
success to an end, a nation mourned his retirement.
On the evening of Friday, the seventh week of his engagement at
Egyptian Hall, Artemus became seriously ill, an apology was made to
a disappointed audience, and from that time the light of one of the
greatest wits of the centuries commenced fading into darkness. The
Press mourned his retirement, and a funeral pall fell over London. The
laughing, applauding crowds were soon to see his consumptive form moving
towards its narrow resting-place in the cemetery at Kensal Green.
By medical advice Charles Browne went for a short time to the Island of
Jersey--but the breezes of Jersey were powerless. He wrote to London to
his nearest and dearest friends--the members of a literary club of which
he was a member--to complain that his "loneliness weighed on him."
He was brought back, but could not sustain the journey farther than
Southampton. There the members of the club traveled from London to see
him--two at a time--that he might be less lonely.
His remains were followed to the grave from the rooms of his friend
Arthur Sketchley, by a large number of friends and admirers, the
literati and press of London paying the last tribute of respect to their
dead brother. The funeral services were conducted by the Rev. M.D.
Conway, formerly of Cincinnati, and the coffin was temporarily placed in
a vault, from which it was removed by his American friends, and his body
now sleeps by the side of his father, Levi Browne, in the quiet cemetery
at Waterford, Maine. Upon the coffin is the simple inscription:--
His English executors were T.W. Robertson, the playwright, and his
friend and companion, E.P. Hingston. His literary executors were Horace
Greeley and Richard H. Stoddard. In his will, he bequeathed among other
things a large sum of money to his little valet, a bright little fellow;
though subsequent denouments revealed the fact that he left only a
six-thousand-dollar house in Yonkers. There is still some mystery
about his finances, which may one day be revealed. It is known that
he withdrew 10,000 dollars from the Pacific Bank to deposit it with a
friend before going to England; besides this, his London "Punch" letters
paid a handsome profit. Among his personal friends were George Hoyt,
the late Daniel Setchell, Charles W. Coe, and Mr. Mullen, the artist,
all of whom he used to style "my friends all the year round."
Personally Charles Farrar Browne was one of the kindest and most
affectionate of men, and history does not name a man who was so
universally beloved by all who knew him. It was remarked, and truly,
that the death of no literary character since Washington Irving caused
such general and widespread regret.
In stature he was tall and slender. His nose was prominent,--outlined
like that of Sir Charles Napier, or Mr. Seward; his eyes brilliant,
small, and close together; his mouth large, teeth white and pearly;
fingers long and slender; hair soft, straight, and blonde; complexion
florid; mustache large, and his voice soft and clear. In bearing,
he moved like a natural-born gentleman. In his lectures he never
smiled--not even while he was giving utterance to the most delicious
absurdities; but all the while the jokes fell from his lips as if he
was unconscious of their meaning. While writing his lectures, he would
laugh and chuckle to himself continually.
There was one peculiarity about Charles Browne--He never made an enemy.
Other wits in other times have been famous, but a satirical thrust now
and then has killed a friend. Diogenes was the wit of Greece, but when,
after holding up an old dried fish to draw away the eyes of Anaximenes'
audience, he exclaimed "See how an old fish is more interesting than
Anaximenes," he said a funny thing, but he stabbed a friend. When
Charles Lamb, in answer to the doting mother's question as to how he
liked babies, replied, "b-b-boiled, madam, boiled!" that mother loved
him no more: and when John Randolph said "thank you!" to his constituent
who kindly remarked that he had the pleasure of passing his house,
it was wit at the expense of friendship. The whole English school of
wits--with Douglas Jerrold, Hood, Sheridan, and Sidney Smith, indulged
in repartee. They were parasitic wits. And so with the Irish, except
that an Irishman is generally so ridiculously absurd in his replies as
to only excite ridicule. "Artemus Ward" made you laugh and love him
too.
The wit of "Artemus Ward" and "Josh Billings" is distinctively American.
Lord Kames, in his "Elements of Criticism," makes no mention of this
species of wit, a lack which the future rhetorician should look to. We
look in vain for it in the English language of past ages, and in other
languages of modern time. It is the genus American. When Artemus
says in that serious manner, looking admiringly at his atrocious
pictures,--"I love pictures--and I have many of them--beautiful
photographs--of myself;" you smile; and when he continues, "These
pictures were painted by the Old Masters; they painted these pictures
and then they--they expired;" you hardly know what it is that makes you
laugh outright; and when Josh Billings says in his Proverbs, wiser than
Solomon's "You'd better not know so much, than know so many things that
ain't so;"--the same vein is struck, but the text-books fail to explain
scientifically the cause of our mirth.
The wit of Charles Browne is of the most exalted kind. It is only
scholars and those thoroughly acquainted with the subtilty of our
language who fully appreciate it. His wit is generally about historical
personages like Cromwell, Garrick, or Shakspeare, or a burlesque on
different styles of writing, like his French novel, when hifalutin
phrases of tragedy come from the clodhopper who--"sells soap and
thrice--refuses a ducal coronet."
Mr. Browne mingled the eccentric even in his business letters. Once he
wrote to his Publisher, Mr. G.W. Carleton, who had made some alterations
in his MSS.: "The next book I write I'm going to get you to write."
Again he wrote in 1863:
"Dear Carl:--You and I will get out a book next spring, which will knock
spots out of all comic books in ancient or modern history. And the fact
that you are going to take hold of it convinces me that you have one of
the most massive intellects of this or any other epoch.
"Yours, my pretty gazelle
"A. Ward."
When Charles F. Browne died, he did not belong to America, for, as with
Irving and Dickens, the English language claimed him. Greece alone did
not suffer when the current of Diogenes' wit flowed on to death. Spain
alone did not mourn when Cervantes, dying, left Don Quixote, the "knight
of la Mancha." When Charles Lamb ceased to tune the great heart of
humanity to joy and gladness, his funeral was in every English
and American household; and when Charles Browne took up his silent
resting-place in the sombre shades of Kensal Green, jesting ceased, and
one great Anglo-American heart,
Like a muffled drum went beating Funeral marches to his grave.
MELVILLE D. LANDON.
____________________
ONE OF MR. WARD'S BUSINESS LETTERS.
To the Editor of the----
Sir--I'm movin along--slowly along--down tords your place. I want you
should rite me a letter, sayin how is the show bizniss in your place.
My show at present consists of three moral Bares, a Kangaroo (a amoozin
little Raskal--t'would make you larf yerself to deth to see the little
cuss jump up and squeal) wax figgers of G. Washington Gen. Tayler John
Bunyan Capt Kidd and Dr. Webster in the act of killin Dr. Parkman,
besides several miscellanyus moral wax statoots of celebrated piruts
& murderers, &c., ekalled by few & exceld by none. Now Mr. Editor,
scratch orf a few lines sayin how is the show bizniss down to your
place. I shall hav my hanbills dun at your offiss. Depend upon it.
I want you should git my hanbills up in flamin stile. Also git up a
tremenjus excitemunt in yr. paper 'bowt my onparaleld Show. We must
fetch the public sumhow. We must wurk on their feelins. Cum the moral
on 'em strong. If it's a temperance community tell 'em I sined the
pledge fifteen minits arter Ise born, but on the contery ef your peple
take their tods, say Mister Ward is as Jenial a feller as we ever met,
full of conwiviality, &the life an sole of the Soshul Bored. Take,
don't you? If you say anythin abowt my show say my snaiks is as
harmliss as the new-born Babe. What a interestin study it is to see a
zewological animil like a snaik under perfeck subjecshun! My kangaroo
is the most larfable little cuss I ever saw. All for 15 cents. I am
anxyus to skewer your infloounce. I repeet in regard to them hanbills
that I shall git 'em struck orf up to your printin office. My
perlitercal sentiments agree with yourn exackly. I know thay do, becawz
I never saw a man whoos didn't.
Respectively yures, A. Ward.
P.S.--You scratch my back &Ile scratch your back.
____________________
ON "FORTS".
Every man has got a Fort. It's sum men's fort to do one thing, and
some other men's fort to do another, while there is numeris shiftliss
critters goin round loose whose fort is not to do nothin.
Shakspeer rote good plase, but he wouldn't hav succeeded as a Washington
correspondent of a New York aily paper. He lackt the rekesit fancy and
imagginashun.
That's so!
Old George Washington's Fort was not to hev eny public man of the
present day resemble him to eny alarmin extent. Whare bowts can George's
ekal be found? I ask, & boldly anser no whares, or eny whare else.
Old man Townsin's Fort was to maik Sassyperiller. "Goy to the world!
anuther life saived!" (Cotashun from Townsin's advertisemunt.)
Cyrus Field's Fort is to lay a sub-machine tellegraf under the boundin
billers of the Oshun, and then hev it Bust.
Spaldin's Fort is to maik Prepared Gloo, which mends everything. Wonder
ef it will mend a sinner's wickid waze? Impromptoo goak.
Zoary's Fort is to be a femaile circus feller.
My Fort is the grate moral show bizniss & ritin choice famerly
literatoor for the noospapers. That's what's the matter with ME.
&c., &c., &c. So I mite go on to a indefnit extent.
Twict I've endeverd to do things which thay wasn't my Fort. The fust
time was when I undertuk to lick a owdashus cuss who cut a hole in my
tent & krawld threw. Sez I, "my jentle Sir go out or I shall fall onto
you putty hevy." Sez he, "Wade in, Old wax figgers," whareupon I went
for him, but he cawt me powerful on the hed & knockt me threw the tent
into a cow pastur. He pursood the attack & flung me into a mud puddle.
As I aroze & rung out my drencht garmints I koncluded fitin wasn't my
Fort. Ile now rize the kurtin upon Seen 2nd: It is rarely seldum that
I seek consolation in the Flowin Bole. But in a sertin town in Injianny
in the Faul of 18--, my orgin grinder got sick with the fever & died.
I never felt so ashamed in my life, & I thowt I'd hist in a few swallows
of suthin strengthin. Konsequents was I histid in so much I dident
zackly know whare bowts I was. I turnd my livin wild beests of Pray
loose into the streets and spilt all my wax wurks. I then Bet I cood
play hoss. So I hitched myself to a Kanawl bote, there bein two other
hosses hitcht on also, one behind and anuther ahead of me. The driver
hollerd for us to git up, and we did. But the hosses bein onused to
sich a arrangemunt begun to kick & squeal and rair up. Konsequents
was I was kickt vilently in the stummuck & back, and presuntly I fownd
myself in the Kanawl with the other hosses, kickin & yellin like a tribe
of Cusscaroorus savvijis. I was rescood, & as I was bein carrid to the
tavern on a hemlock Bored I sed in a feeble voise, "Boys, playin hoss
isn't my Fort."
MORUL--Never don't do nothin which isn't your Fort, for ef you do you'll
find yourself splashin round in the Kanawl, figgeratively speakin.
____________________
THE SHAKERS.
The Shakers is the strangest religious sex I ever met. I'd hearn tell
of 'em and I'd seen 'em, with their broad brim'd hats and long wastid
coats; but I'd never cum into immejit contack with 'em, and I'd sot 'em
down as lackin intelleck, as I'd never seen 'em to my Show--leastways,
if they cum they was disgised in white peple's close, so I didn't know
'em.
But in the Spring of 18--, I got swampt in the exterior of New York
State, one dark and stormy night, when the winds Blue pityusly, and I
was forced to tie up with the Shakers.
I was toilin threw the mud, when in the dim vister of the futer I
obsarved the gleams of a taller candle. Tiein a hornet's nest to my off
hoss's tail to kinder encourage him, I soon reached the place. I knockt
at the door, which it was opened unto me by a tall, slick-faced, solum
lookin individooal, who turn'd out to be a Elder.
"Mr. Shaker," sed I, "you see before you a Babe in the woods, so to
speak, and he axes shelter of you."
"Yay," sed the Shaker, and he led the way into the house, another Shaker
bein sent to put my hosses and waggin under kiver.
A solum female, lookin sumwhat like a last year's beanpole stuck into a
long meal bag, cum in axed me was I athurst and did I hunger? to which
I urbanely anserd "a few." She went orf and I endeverd to open a
conversashun with the old man.
"Elder, I spect?" sed I.
"Yay," he said.
"Helth's good, I reckon?"
"Yay."
"What's the wages of a Elder, when he understans his bizness--or do you
devote your sarvices gratooitus?"
"Yay."
"Stormy night, sir."
"Yay."
"If the storm continners there'll be a mess underfoot, hay?"
"Yay."
"It's onpleasant when there's a mess underfoot?"
"Yay."
"If I may be so bold, kind sir, what's the price of that pecooler kind
of weskit you wear, incloodin trimmins?"
"Yay!"
I pawsd a minit, and then, thinkin I'd be faseshus with him and see how
that would go, I slapt him on the shoulder, bust into a harty larf, and
told him that as a yayer he had no livin ekal.
He jumpt up as if Bilin water had bin squirted into his ears, groaned,
rolled his eyes up tords the sealin and sed: "You're a man of sin!" He
then walkt out of the room.
Jest then the female in the meal bag stuck her hed into the room and
statid that refreshments awaited the weary travler, and I sed if it was
vittles she ment the weary travler was agreeable, and I follored her
into the next room.
I sot down to the table and the female in the meal bag pored out sum
tea. She sed nothin, and for five minutes the only live thing in that
room was a old wooden clock, which tickt in a subdood and bashful manner
in the corner. This dethly stillness made me oneasy, and I determined
to talk to the female or bust. So sez I, "marrige is agin your rules, I
bleeve, marm?"
"Yay."
"The sexes liv strickly apart, I spect?"
"Yay."
"It's kinder singler," sez I, puttin on my most sweetest look and
speakin in a winnin voice, "that so fair a made as thow never got
hitched to some likely feller." [N.B.--She was upards of 40 and homely
as a stump fence, but I thawt I'd tickil her.]
"I don't like men!" she sed, very short.
"Wall, I dunno," sez I, "they're a rayther important part of the
populashun. I don't scacely see how we could git along without 'em."
"Us poor wimin folks would git along a grate deal better if there was no
men!"
"You'll excoos me, marm, but I don't think that air would work. It
wouldn't be regler."
"I'm fraid of men!" she sed.
"That's onnecessary, marm. YOU ain't in no danger. Don't fret yourself
on that pint."
"Here we're shot out from the sinful world. Here all is peas. Here
we air brothers and sisters. We don't marry and consekently we hav no
domestic difficulties. Husbans don't abooze their wives--wives don't
worrit their husbans. There's no children here to worrit us. Nothin
to worrit us here. No wicked matrimony here. Would thow like to be a
Shaker?"
"No," sez I, "it ain't my stile."
I had now histed in as big a load of pervishuns as I could carry
comfortable, and, leanin back in my cheer, commenst pickin my teeth with
a fork. The female went out, leavin me all alone with the clock. I
hadn't sot thar long before the Elder poked his hed in at the door.
"You're a man of sin!" he sed, and groaned and went away.
Direckly thar cum in two young Shakeresses, as putty and slick lookin
gals as I ever met. It is troo they was drest in meal bags like the old
one I'd met previsly, and their shiny, silky har was hid from sight
by long white caps, sich as I spose female Josts wear; but their eyes
sparkled like diminds, their cheeks was like roses, and they was charmin
enuff to make a man throw stuns at his granmother if they axed him to.
They comenst clearin away the dishes, castin shy glances at me all the
time. I got excited. I forgot Betsy Jane in my rapter, and sez I, "my
pretty dears, how air you?"
"We air well," they solumly sed.
"Whar's the old man?" sed I, in a soft voice.
"Of whom dost thow speak--Brother Uriah?"
"I mean the gay and festiv cuss who calls me a man of sin. Shouldn't
wonder if his name was Uriah."
"He has retired."
"Wall, my pretty dears," sez I, "let's have sum fun. Let's play puss in
the corner. What say?"
"Air you a Shaker, sir?" they axed.
"Wall my pretty dears, I haven't arrayed my proud form in a long weskit
yit, but if they was all like you perhaps I'd jine 'em. As it is, I'm a
Shaker pro-temporary."
They was full of fun. I seed that at fust, only they was a leetle
skeery. I tawt 'em Puss in the corner and sich like plase, and we had
a nice time, keepin quiet of course so the old man shouldn't hear. When
we broke up, sez I, "my pretty dears, ear I go you hav no objections,
hav you, to a innersent kiss at partin?"
"Yay," they said, and I YAY'D.
I went up stairs to bed. I spose I'd bin snoozin half an hour when
I was woke up by a noise at the door. I sot up in bed, leanin on my
elbers and rubbin my eyes, and I saw the follerin picter: The Elder
stood in the doorway, with a taller candle in his hand. He hadn't no
wearin appeerel on except his night close, which flutterd in the breeze
like a Seseshun flag. He sed, "You're a man of sin!" then groaned and
went away.
I went to sleep agin, and drempt of runnin orf with the pretty little
Shakeresses mounted on my Californy Bar. I thawt the Bar insisted on
steerin strate for my dooryard in Baldinsville and that Betsy Jane cum
out and giv us a warm recepshun with a panfull of Bilin water. I was
woke up arly by the Elder. He said efreshments was reddy for me down
stairs. Then sayin I was a man of sin, he went groanin away.
As I was goin threw the entry to the room where the vittles was, I cum
across the Elder and the old female I'd met the night before, and what
d'ye spose they was up to? Huggin and kissin like young lovers in their
gushingist state. Sez I, "my Shaker friends, I reckon you'd better
suspend the rules and git married."
"You must excoos Brother Uriah," sed the female; "he's subjeck to fits
and hain't got no command over hisself when he's into 'em."
"Sartinly," sez I, "I've bin took that way myself frequent."
"You're a man of sin!" sed the Elder.
Arter breakfust my little Shaker frends cum in agin to clear away the
dishes.
"My pretty dears," sez I, "shall we YAY agin?"
"Nay," they sed, and I NAY'D.
The Shakers axed me to go to their meetin, as they was to hav sarvices
that mornin, so I put on a clean biled rag and went. The meetin house
was as neat as a pin. The floor was white as chalk and smooth as
glass. The Shakers was all on hand, in clean weskits and meal bags,
ranged on the floor like milingtery companies, the mails on one side of
the room and the females on tother. They commenst clappin their hands
and singin and dancin. They danced kinder slow at fust, but as they got
warmed up they shaved it down very brisk, I tell you. Elder Uriah,
in particler, exhiberted a right smart chance of spryness in his legs,
considerin his time of life, and as he cum a dubble shuffle near where
I sot, I rewarded him with a approvin smile and sed: "Hunky boy! Go it,
my gay and festiv cuss!"
"You're a man of sin!" he sed, continnerin his shuffle.
The Sperret, as they called it, then moved a short fat Shaker to say a
few remarks. He sed they was Shakers and all was ekal. They was the
purest and Seleckest peple on the yearth. Other peple was sinful as
they could be, but Shakers was all right. Shakers was all goin kerslap
to the Promist Land, and nobody want goin to stand at the gate to bar
'em out, if they did they'd git run over.
The Shakers then danced and sung agin, and arter they was threw, one of
'em axed me what I thawt of it.
Sez I, "What duz it siggerfy?"
"What?" sez he.
"Why this jumpin up and singin? This long weskit bizniss, and this
anty-matrimony idee? My frends, you air neat and tidy. Your lands is
flowin with milk and honey. Your brooms is fine, and your apple sass
is honest. When a man buys a keg of apple sass of you he don't find a
grate many shavins under a few layers of sass--a little Game I'm sorry
to say sum of my New Englan ancesters used to practiss. Your garding
seeds is fine, and if I should sow 'em on the rock of Gibralter probly
I should raise a good mess of garding sass. You air honest in your
dealins. You air quiet and don't distarb nobody. For all this I givs
you credit. But your religion is small pertaters, I must say. You
mope away your lives here in single retchidness, and as you air all by
yourselves nothing ever conflicks with your pecooler idees, except when
Human Nater busts out among you, as I understan she sumtimes do. [I giv
Uriah a sly wink here, which made the old feller squirm like a speared
Eel.] You wear long weskits and long faces, and lead a gloomy life
indeed. No children's prattle is ever hearn around your harthstuns--you
air in a dreary fog all the time, and you treat the jolly sunshine of
life as tho' it was a thief, drivin it from your doors by them weskits,
and meal bags, and pecooler noshuns of yourn. The gals among you, sum
of which air as slick pieces of caliker as I ever sot eyes on, air syin
to place their heds agin weskits which kiver honest, manly harts, while
you old heds fool yerselves with the idee that they air fulfillin their
mishun here, and air contented. Here you air all pend up by yerselves,
talkin about the sins of a world you don't know nothin of. Meanwhile
said world continners to resolve round on her own axletree onct in every
24 hours, subjeck to the Constitution of the United States, and is a
very plesant place of residence. It's a unnatral, onreasonable and
dismal life you're leadin here. So it strikes me. My Shaker frends,
I now bid you a welcome adoo. You hav treated me exceedin well. Thank
you kindly, one and all.
"A base exhibiter of depraved monkeys and onprincipled wax works!" sed
Uriah.
"Hello, Uriah," sez I, "I'd most forgot you. Wall, look out for them
fits of yourn, and don't catch cold and die in the flour of your youth
and beauty."
And I resoomed my jerney.
____________________
HIGH-HANDED OUTRAGE AT UTICA.
In the Faul of 1856, I showed my show in Uticky, a trooly grate sitty in
the State of New York.
The people gave me a cordyal recepshun. The press was loud in her
prases.
1 day as I was givin a descripshun of my Beests and Snaiks in my usual
flowry stile what was my skorn disgust to see a big burly feller walk
up to the cage containin my wax figgers of the Lord's Last Supper, and
cease Judas Iscarrot by the feet and drag him out on the ground. He
then commenced fur to pound him as hard as he cood.
"What under the son are you abowt?" cried I.
Sez he, "What did you bring this pussylanermus cuss here fur?" and he
hit the wax figger another tremenjis blow on the hed.
Sez I, "You egrejus ass, that air's a wax figger--a representashun of
the false 'Postle."
Sez he, "That's all very well fur you to say, but I tell you, old man,
that Judas Iscarrot can't show hisself in Utiky with impunerty by a darn
site!" with which observashun he kaved in Judassis hed. The young man
belonged to 1 of the first famerlies in Utiky. I sood him, and the
Joory brawt in a verdick of Arson in the 3d degree.
____________________
CELEBRATION AT BALDINSVILLE IN HONOR OF THE ATLANTIC CABLE.
Baldinsville, Injianny, Sep. the onct, 18&58.--I was summund home
from Cinsinnaty quite suddin by a lettur from the Supervizers of
Baldinsville, sayin as how grate things was on the Tappis in that air
town in refferunse to sellebratin the compleshun of the Sub-Mershine
Tellergraph & axkin me to be Pressunt. Lockin up my Kangeroo and wax
wurks in a sekure stile I took my departer for Baldinsville--"my own,
my nativ lan," which I gut intwo at early kandle litin on the follerin
night & just as the sellerbrashun and illumernashun ware commensin.
Baldinsville was trooly in a blaze of glory. Near can I forgit the
surblime speckticul which met my gase as I alited from the Staige with
my umbreller and verlis. The Tarvern was lit up with taller kandles all
over & a grate bon fire was burnin in frunt thareof. A Traspirancy
was tied onto the sine post with the follerin wurds--"Giv us Liberty or
Deth." Old Tompkinsis grosery was illumernated with 5 tin lantuns
and the follerin Transpirancy was in the winder--"The Sub-Mershine
Tellergraph & the Baldinsville and Stonefield Plank Road--the 2 grate
eventz of the 19th centerry--may intestines strife never mar their
grandjure." Simpkinsis shoe shop was all ablase with kandles and
lantuns. A American Eagle was painted onto a flag in a winder--also
these wurds, viz.--"The Constitooshun must be Presarved." The Skool
house was lited up in grate stile and the winders was filld with mottoes
amung which I notised the follerin--"Trooth smashed to erth shall rize
agin--YOU CAN'T STOP HER." "The Boy stood on the Burnin Deck whense
awl but him had Fled." "Prokrastinashun is the theaf of Time." "Be
virtoous & you will be Happy." "Intemperunse has cawsed a heap of
trubble--shun the Bole," an the follerin sentimunt written by the skool
master, who graduated at Hudson Kollige: "Baldinsville sends greetin
to Her Magisty the Queen, & hopes all hard feelins which has heretofore
previs bin felt between the Supervizers of Baldinsville and the British
Parlimunt, if such there has been, may now be forever wiped frum our
Escutchuns. Baldinsville this night rejoises over the gerlorious event
which sementz 2 grate nashuns onto one anuther by means of a elecktric
wire under the roarin billers of the Nasty Deep. QUOSQUE TANTRUM, A
BUTTER, CATERLINY, PATENT NOSTRUM!" Squire Smith's house was lited up
regardlis of expense. His little sun William Henry stood upon the roof
firin orf crackers. The old 'Squire hisself was dressed up in soljer
clothes and stood on his door-step, pintin his sword sollumly to a
American flag which was suspendid on top of a pole in frunt of his
house. Frequiently he wood take orf his cocked hat & wave it round in
a impressive stile. His oldest darter Mis Isabeller Smith, who has just
cum home from the Perkinsville Female Instertoot, appeared at the frunt
winder in the West room as the goddis of liberty, & sung "I see them
on their windin way." Booteus I, sed I to myself, "you air a angil &
nothin shorter. N. Boneparte Smith, the 'Squire's oldest sun,
drest hisself up as Venus the God of Wars and red the Decleration of
Inderpendunse from the left chambir winder. The 'Squire's wife didn't
jine in the festiverties. She sed it was the tarnulest nonsense she
ever seed. Sez she to the 'Squire, "Cum into the house and go to bed
you old fool, you. Tomorrer you'll be goin round half-ded with the
rumertism & won't gin us a minit's peace till you get well." Sez the
'Squire, "Betsy, you little appresiate the importance of the event which
I this night commererate." Sez she, "Commemerate a cat's tail--cum
into the house this instant, you pesky old critter." "Betsy," sez the
'Squire, wavin his sword, "retire." This made her just as mad as she
could stick. She retired, but cum out agin putty quick with a panfull
of Bilin hot water which she throwed all over the Squire, & Surs, you
wood have split your sides larfin to see the old man jump up and holler
& run into the house. Except this unpropishus circumstance all went as
merry as a carriage bell, as Lord Byrun sez. Doctor Hutchinsis offiss
was likewise lited up and a Transpirancy, on which was painted the Queen
in the act of drinkin sum of "Hutchinsis invigorater," was stuck into
one of the winders. The aldinsville Bugle of Liberty noospaper offiss
was also illumernated, & the follerin mottoes stuck out--"The Press is
the Arkermejian leaver which moves the world." "Vote Early." "Buckle
on your Armer." "Now is the time to Subscribe." "Franklin, Morse &
Field." "Terms 1.50 dollars a year--liberal reducshuns to clubs." In
short the villige of Baldinsville was in a perfect fewroar. I never
seed so many peple thar befour in my born days. Ile not attemp to
describe the seens of that grate night. Wurds wood fale me ef I shood
try to do it. I shall stop here a few periods and enjoy my "Oatem
cum dig the tates," as our skool master observes, in the buzzum of
my famerly, & shall then resume the show biznis, which Ive bin into
twenty-two (22) yeres and six (6) months."
____________________
AMONG THE SPIRITS.
My naburs is mourn harf crazy on the new-fangled ideas about
Sperrets. Sperretooul Sircles is held nitely & 4 or 5 long hared fellers
has settled here and gone into the Sperret biznis excloosively. A atemt
was made to git Mrs. A. Ward to embark into the Sperret biznis but the
atemt faled. 1 of the long hared fellers told her she was a ethereal
creeter & wood make a sweet mejium, whareupon she attact him with a mop
handle & drove him out of the house. I will hear obsarve that Mrs.
Ward is a invalerble womum--the partner of my goys & the shairer of my
sorrers. In my absunse she watchis my interests & things with a Eagle
Eye & when I return she welcums me in afectionate stile. Trooly it is
with us as it was with Mr. & Mrs. INGOMER in the Play, to whit,--
2 soles with but a single thawt 2 harts which beet as 1.
My naburs injooced me to attend a Sperretooul Sircle at Squire Smith's.
When I arrove I found the east room chock full includin all the old
maids in the villige & the long hared fellers a4sed. When I went in
I was salootid with "hear cums the benited man"-- "hear cums the
hory-heded unbeleever"-- "hear cums the skoffer at trooth, " etsettery,
etsettery.
Sez I, "my frens, it's troo I'm hear, & now bring on your Sperrets."
1 of the long hared fellers riz up and sed he would state a few
remarks. He sed man was a critter of intelleck & was movin on to a
Gole. Sum men had bigger intellecks than other men had and thay wood
git to the Gole the soonerest. Sum men was beests & wood never git into
the Gole at all. He sed the Erth was materiel but man was immaterial,
and hens man was different from the Erth. The Erth, continnered the
speaker, resolves round on its own axeltree onct in 24 hours, but as man
haint gut no axeltree he cant resolve. He sed the ethereal essunce of
the koordinate branchis of super-human natur becum mettymorfussed as
man progrest in harmonial coexistunce & eventooally anty humanized
theirselves & turned into reglar sperretuellers. (This was
versifferusly applauded by the cumpany, and as I make it a pint to get
along as pleasant as possible, I sung out "bully for you, old boy.")
The cumpany then drew round the table and the Sircle kommenst to go it.
Thay axed me if thare was an body in the Sperret land which I wood like
to convarse with. I sed if Bill Tompkins, who was onct my partner in
the show biznis, was sober, I should like to convarse with him a few
periods.
"Is the Sperret of William Tompkins present?" sed 1 of the long hared
chaps, and there was three knox on the table.
Sez I, "William, how goze it, Old Sweetness?"
"Pretty ruff, old hoss," he replide.
That was a pleasant way we had of addressin each other when he was in
the flesh.
"Air you in the show bizniz, William?" sed I.
He sed he was. He sed he & John Bunyan was travelin with a side show
in connection with Shakspere, Jonson & Co.'s Circus. He sed old Bun
(meanin Mr. Bunyan,) stired up the animils & ground the organ while he
tended door. Occashunally Mr. Bunyan sung a comic song. The Circus
was doin middlin well. Bill Shakspeer had made a grate hit with old Bob
Ridley, and Ben Jonson was delitin the peple with his trooly grate ax of
hossmanship without saddul or bridal. Thay was rehersin Dixey's Land &
expected it would knock the peple.
Sez I, "William, my luvly friend, can you pay me that 13 dollars you owe
me?" He sed no with one of the most tremenjis knox I ever experiunsed.
The Sircle sed he had gone. "Air you gone, William?" I axed.
"Rayther," he replide, and I knowd it as no use to pursoo the subjeck
furder.
I then called fur my farther.
"How's things, daddy?"
"Middlin, my son, middlin."
"Ain't you proud of your orfurn boy?"
"Scacely."
"Why not, my parient?"
"Becawz you hav gone to writin for the noospapers, my son. Bimeby
you'll lose all your character for trooth and verrasserty. When I helpt
you into the show biznis I told you to dignerfy that there profeshun.
Litteratoor is low."
He also statid that he was doin middlin well in the peanut biznis &
liked it putty well, tho' the climit was rather warm.
When the Sircle stopt thay axed me what I thawt of it.
Sez I, "My frends I've bin into the show biznis now goin on 23 years.
Theres a artikil in the Constitooshun of the United States which sez in
effeck that everybody may think just as he darn pleazes, & them is my
sentiments to a hare. You dowtlis beleeve this Sperret doctrin while I
think it is a little mixt. Just so soon as a man becums a reglar out &
out Sperret rapper he leeves orf workin, lets his hare grow all over his
fase & commensis spungin his livin out of other peple. He eats all the
dickshunaries he can find & goze round chock full of big words, scarein
the wimmin folks & little children & destroyin the piece of mind of evry
famerlee he enters. He don't do nobody no good & is a cuss to society &
a pirit on honest peple's corn beef barrils. Admittin all you say
abowt the doctrin to be troo, I must say the reglar perfessional Sperrit
rappers--them as makes a biznis on it--air abowt the most ornery set of
cusses I ever enkountered in my life. So sayin I put on my surtoot and
went home.
Respectably Yures,
Artemus Ward.
____________________
ON THE WING.
Gents of the Editorial Corpse.--
Since I last rit you I've met with immense success a showin my show in
varis places, particly at Detroit. I put up at Mr. Russel's tavern, a
very good tavern too, but I am sorry to inform you that the clerks
tried to cum a Gouge Game on me. I brandished my new sixteen dollar
huntin-cased watch round considerable, & as I was drest in my store
clothes & had a lot of sweet-scented wagon-grease on my hair, I am free
to confess that I thought I lookt putty gay. It never once struck me
that I lookt green. But up steps a clerk & axes me hadn't I better put
my watch in the Safe. "Sir," sez I, "that watch cost sixteen dollars!
Yes, Sir, every dollar of it! You can't cum it over me, my boy! Not
at all, Sir." I know'd what the clerk wanted. He wanted that watch
himself. He wanted to make believe as tho he lockt it up in the safe,
then he would set the house a fire and pretend as tho the watch was
destroyed with the other property! But he caught a Tomarter when he
got hold of me. From Detroit I go West'ard hoe. On the cars was
a he-lookin female, with a green-cotton umbreller in one hand and a
handful of Reform tracks in the other. She sed every woman should have
a Spear. Them as didn't demand their Spears, didn't know what was good
for them. "What is my Spear?" she axed, addressing the people in the
cars. "Is it to stay at home & darn stockins & be the ser-LAVE of a
domineerin man? Or is it my Spear to vote & speak & show myself the
ekal of a man? Is there a sister in these keers that has her proper
Spear?" Sayin which the eccentric female whirled her umbreller round
several times, & finally jabbed me in the weskit with it.
"I hav no objecshuns to your goin into the Spear bizness," sez I, "but
you'll please remember I ain't a pickeril. Don't Spear me agin, if you
please." She sot down.
At Ann Arbor, bein seized with a sudden faintness, I called for a drop
of suthin to drink. As I was stirrin the beverage up, a pale-faced man
in gold spectacles laid his hand upon my shoulder, & sed, "Look not upon
the wine when it is red!"
Sez I, "This ain't wine. This is Old Rye."
"'It stingeth like a Adder and biteth like a Sarpent!'" sed the man.
"I guess not," sed I, "when you put sugar into it. That's the way I
allers take mine."
"Have you sons grown up, sir?" the man axed.
"Wall," I replide, as I put myself outside my beverage, "my son Artemus
junior is goin on 18."
"Ain't you afraid if you set this example be4 him he'll cum to a bad
end?"
"He's cum to a waxed end already. He's learnin the shoe makin
bizness," I replide. "I guess we can both on us git along without your
assistance, Sir," I obsarved, as he was about to open his mouth agin.
"This is a cold world!" sed the man.
"That's so. But you'll get into a warmer one by and by if you don't
mind your own bizness better." I was a little riled at the feller,
because I never take anythin only when I'm onwell. I arterwards learned
he was a temperance lecturer, and if he can injuce men to stop settin
their inards on fire with the frightful licker which is retailed round
the country, I shall hartily rejoice. Better give men Prusick Assid to
onct, than to pizen 'em to deth by degrees.
At Albion I met with overwhelmin success. The celebrated Albion Female
Semenary is located here, & there air over 300 young ladies in the
Institushun, pretty enough to eat without seasonin or sass. The young
ladies was very kind to me, volunteerin to pin my handbills onto the
backs of their dresses. It was a surblime site to see over 300 young
ladies goin round with a advertisement of A. Ward's onparaleld show,
conspickusly posted onto their dresses.
They've got a Panick up this way and refooze to take Western money.
It never was worth much, and when western men, who knows what it is,
refooze to take their own money it is about time other folks stopt
handlin it. Banks are bustin every day, goin up higher nor any balloon
of which we hav any record. These western bankers air a sweet & luvly
set of men. I wish I owned as good a house as some of 'em would break
into!
Virtoo is its own reward.
A. Ward.
____________________
THE OCTOROON.
It is with no ordernary feelins of Shagrin & indignashun that I rite
you these here lines. Sum of the hiest and most purest feelins whitch
actoate the humin hart has bin trampt onto. The Amerycan flag has bin
outrajed. Ive bin nussin a Adder in my Boozum. The fax in the kase is
these here:
A few weeks ago I left Baldinsville to go to N.Y.fur to git out my
flamin yeller hanbills fur the Summer kampane, & as I was peroosin a
noospaper on the kars a middel aged man in speckterkuls kum & sot down
beside onto me. He was drest in black close & was appeerently as fine a
man as ever was.
"A fine day, Sir," he did unto me strateway say.
"Middlin," sez I, not wishin to kommit myself, tho he peered to be
as fine a man as there was in the wurld--"It is a middlin fine day,
Square," I obsarved.
Sez he, "How fares the Ship of State in yure regine of country?"
Sez I, "We don't hav no ships in our State--the kanawl is our best
holt."
He pawsed a minit and then sed, "Air yu aware, Sir, that the krisis is
with us?"
"No," sez I, getting up and lookin under the seet, "whare is she?"
"It's hear--it's everywhares," he sed.
Sez I, "Why how you tawk!" and I gut up agin & lookt all round. "I must
say, my fren," I continnered, as I resoomed my seet, "that I kan't see
nothin of no krisis myself." I felt sumwhat alarmed, & arose & in a
stentoewrian voice obsarved that if any lady or gentleman in that there
kar had a krisis consealed abowt their persons they'd better projuce it
to onct or suffer the konsequences. Several individoouls snickered rite
out, while a putty little damsell rite behind me in a pinc gown made the
observashun, "He, he."
"Sit down, my fren," sed the man in black close, "yu miskomprehend me.
I meen that the perlittercal ellermunts are orecast with black klouds,
4boden a friteful storm."
"Wall," replide I, "in regard to perlittercal ellerfunts I don't know
as how but what they is as good as enny other kind of ellerfunts. But
I maik bold to say thay is all a ornery set & unpleasant to hav around.
they air powerful hevy eaters & take up a right smart chans of room, &
besides thay air as ugly and revenjeful, as a Cusscaroarus Injun, with
13 inches of corn whisky in his stummick." The man in black close
seemed to be as fine a man as ever was in the wurld. He smilt & sed
praps I was rite, tho it was ellermunts instid of ellerfunts that he was
alludin to, & axed me what was my prinserpuls?
"I haint gut enny," sed I--"not a prinserpul. Ime in the show biznis."
The man in black close, I will hear obsarve, seemed to be as fine a man
as ever was in the wurld.
"But," sez he, "you hav feelins into you? You cimpathize with the
misfortunit, the loly & the hart-sick, don't you?" He bust into teers
and axed me ef I saw that yung lady in the seet out yender, pintin to as
slick a lookin gal as I ever seed.
Sed I, "2 be shure I see her--is she mutch sick?" The man in black
close was appeerently as fine a man as ever was in the wurld ennywhares.
"Draw closter to me," sed the man in black close. "Let me git my mowth
fernenst yure ear. Hush--SHESE A OCTOROON!"
"No!" sez I, gittin up in a exsited manner, "yu don't say so! How long
has she bin in that way?"
"Frum her arliest infuncy," sed he.
"Wall, whot upon arth duz she doo it fur?" I inquired.
"She kan't help it," sed the man in black close. "It's the brand of
Kane."
"Wall, she'd better stop drinkin Kane's brandy," I replide.
"I sed the brand of Kane was upon her--not brandy, my fren. Yure very
obtoose."
I was konsiderbul riled at this. Sez I, "My gentle Sir, Ime a
nonresistanter as a ginral thing, & don't want to git up no rows with
nobuddy, but I kin nevertheles kave in enny man's hed that calls me
a obtoos," with whitch remarks I kommenst fur to pull orf my extry
garmints. "Cum on," sez I--"Time! hear's the Beniki Boy fur ye!" &
I darnced round like a poppit. He riz up in his seet & axed my
pardin--sed it was all a mistake--that I was a good man, etsettery,
& sow 4th, & we fixt it all up pleasant. I must say the man in black
close seamed to be as fine a man as ever lived in the wurld. He sed a
Octoroon was the 8th of a negrow. He likewise statid that the female
he was travlin with was formurly a slave in Mississippy; that she'd
purchist her freedim & now wantid to purchiss the freedim of her poor
old muther, who (the man in black close obsarved) was between 87 years
of age & had to do all the cookin & washin for 25 hired men, whitch it
was rapidly breakin down her konstitushun. He sed he knowed the minit he
gazed onto my klassic & beneverlunt fase that I'd donate librully & axed
me to go over & see her, which I accordingly did. I sot down beside her
and sed, "yure Sarvant, Marm! How do yer git along?"
She bust in 2 teers & sed, "O Sur, I'm so retchid--I'm a poor unfortunit
Octoroon."
"So I larn. Yure rather more Roon than Octo, I take it," sed I, fur I
never seed a puttier gal in the hull endoorin time of my life. She had
on a More Antic Barsk & a Poplin Nubier with Berage trimmins onto it,
while her ise & kurls was enuff to make a man jump into a mill pond
without biddin his relashuns good-by. I pittid the Octoroon from the
inmost recusses of my hart & hawled out 50 dollars kerslap, & told her
to buy her old muther as soon as posserbul. Sez she "kine sir mutch
thanks." She then lade her hed over onto my showlder & sed I was "old
rats." I was astonished to heer this obsarvation, which I knowd was
never used in refined society & I perlitely but emfattercly shovd her
hed away.
Sez I "Marm, I'm trooly sirprized."
Sez she, "git out. Yure the nicist old man Ive seen yit. Give
us anuther 50!" Had a seleck assortment of the most tremenjious
thunderbolts descended down onto me I couldn't hav bin more takin
aback. I jumpt up, but she ceased my coat tales & in a wild voise
cride, "No, Ile never desart you--let us fli together to a furrin
shoor!"
Sez I, "not mutch we wont," and I made a powerful effort to get awa from
her. "This is plade out," I sed, whereupon she jerkt me back into the
seet. "Leggo my coat, you scandaluss female," I roared, when she set up
the most unarthly yellin and hollerin you ever heerd. The passinjers
& the gentlemunly konducter rusht to the spot, & I don't think I ever
experiunsed sich a rumpus in the hull coarse of my natral dase. The man
in black close rusht up to me & sed "How dair yu insult my neece, you
horey heded vagabone. You base exhibbiter of low wax figgers--yu woolf
in sheep's close," & sow 4th.
I was konfoozed. I was a loonytick fur the time bein, and offered 5
dollars reward to enny gentleman of good morrul carracter who wood tell
me whot my name was & what town I livd into. The konducter kum to me &
sed the insultid parties wood settle for 50 dollars, which I immejitly
hawled out, & agane implored sumbuddy to state whare I was prinsipully,
& if I shood be thare a grate while my self ef things went on as
they'd bin goin fur sum time back. I then axed if there was enny more
Octoroons present, "becawz," sez I, "ef there is, let um cum along, fur
Ime in the Octoroon bizniss." I then threw my specterculs out of the
winder, smasht my hat wildly down over my Ise, larfed highsterically &
fell under a seet. I lay there sum time & fell asleep. I dreamt
Mrs. Ward & the twins had bin carried orf by Ryenosserhosses & that
Baldinsville had bin captered by a army of Octoroons. When I awoked
the lamps was a burnin dimly. Sum of the passinjers was a snorein like
pawpusses & the little damsell in the pinc gown was a singin "Oft in
the Silly nite." The onprinsipuld Octoroon & the miserbul man in black
close was gone, & all of a suddent it flasht ore my brane that I'de bin
swindild.
____________________
OBERLIN.
About two years ago I arrove in Oberlin, Ohio. Oberlin is whare the
celebrated college is. In fack, Oberlin IS the college, everything else
in that air vicinity resolvin around excloosivly for the benefit of that
institution. It is a very good college, too, & a grate many wurthy yung
men go there annooally to git intelleck into 'em. But its my onbiassed
'pinion that they go it rather too strong on Ethiopians at Oberlin. But
that's nun of my bisniss. I'm into the Show bizness. Yit as a faithful
historan I must menshun the fack that on rainy dase white peple can't
find their way threw the streets without the gas is lit, there bein such
a numerosity of cullerd pussons in the town.
As I was sayin, I arroved at Oberlin, and called on Perfesser Peck for
the purpuss of skewerin Kolonial Hall to exhibit my wax works and
beests of Pray into. Kolonial Hall is in the college and is used by the
stujents to speak peaces and read essays into.
Sez Perfesser Peck, "Mister Ward, I don't know 'bout this bizniss. What
are your sentiments?"
Sez I, "I hain't got any."
"Good God!" cried the Perfesser, "did I understan you to say you hav no
sentiments!"
"Nary a sentiment!" sez I.
"Mister Ward, don't your blud bile at the thawt that three million and a
half of your culled brethren air a clankin their chains in the South?"
Sez I, "Not a bile! Let 'em clank!"
He was about to continner his flowry speech when I put a stopper on
him. Sez I, "Perfesser Peck, A. Ward is my name & Americky is my
nashun; I'm allers the same, tho' humble is my station, and I've bin in
the show bizniss goin on 22 years. The pint is, can I hav your Hall by
payin a fair price? You air full of sentiments. That's your lay, while
I'm a exhibiter of startlin curiosities. What d'ye say?"
"Mister Ward, you air endowed with a hily practical mind, and while I
deeply regret that you air devoid of sentiments I'll let you hav the
hall provided your exhibition is of a moral & elevatin nater."
Sez I, "Tain't nothin shorter."
So I opened in Kolonial Hall, which was crowded every nite with
stujents, &c. Perfesser Finny gazed for hours at my Kangaroo, but when
that sagashus but onprincipled little cuss set up one of his onarthly
yellins and I proceeded to hosswhip him, the Perfesser objected.
"Suffer not your angry pashums to rise up at the poor annimil's little
excentrissities," said the Perfesser.
"Do you call such conduck as THOSE a little excentrissity?" I axed.
"I do," sed he; sayin which he walked up to the cage and se zhe, "let's
try moral swashun upon the poor creeter." So he put his hand upon the
Kangeroo's hed and sed, "poor little fellow--poor little fellow--your
master is very crooil, isn't he, my untootered frend," when the
Kangaroo, with a terrific yell, grabd the Perfesser by the hand and cum
very near chawin it orf. It was amoozin to see the Perfesser jump up
and scream with pane. Sez I, "that's one of the poor little fellow's
excentrissities!"
Sez he, "Mister Ward, that's a dangerous quadruped. He's totally
depraved. I will retire and do my lasserated hand up in a rag, and
meanwhile I request you to meat out summery and severe punishment to the
vishus beest," I hosswhipt the little cuss for upwards of 15 minutes.
Guess I licked sum of his excentrissity out of him.
Oberlin is a grate plase. The College opens with a prayer and then
the New York Tribune is read. A kolleckshun is then taken up to buy
overkoats with red horn buttons onto them for the indignant cullured
people of Kanady. I have to contribit librally two the glowrius work,
as they kawl it hear. I'm kompelled by the Fackulty to reserve front
seets in my show for the cullered peple. At the Boardin House the
cullered peple sit at the first table. What they leeve is maid into
hash for the white peple. As I don't like the idee of eatin my vittles
with Ethiopians, I sit at the seckind table, and the konsequence is I've
devowered so much hash that my inards is in a hily mixt up condishun.
Fish bones hav maid their appearance all over my boddy and pertater
peelins air a springin up through my hair. Howsever I don't mind it.
I'm gittin along well in a pecunery pint of view. The College has
konfired upon me the honery title of T.K., of which I'm suffishuntly
prowd.
____________________
THE SHOWMAN'S COURTSHIP.
Thare was many affectin ties which made me hanker arter Betsy Jane. Her
father's farm jined our'n; their cows and our'n squencht their thurst
at the same spring; our old mares both had stars in their forreds;
the measles broke out in both famerlies at nearly the same period; our
parients (Betsy's and mine) slept reglarly every Sunday in the same
meetin house, and the nabers used to obsarve, "How thick the Wards and
Peasleys air!" It was a surblime site, in the Spring of the year, to
see our sevral mothers (Betsy's and mine) with their gowns pin'd up so
thay couldn't sile 'em, affecshuntly Bilin sope together & aboozin the
nabers.
Altho I hankerd intensly arter the objeck of my affecshuns, I darsunt
tell her of the fires which was rajin in my manly Buzzum. I'd try to
do it but my tung would kerwollup up agin the roof of my mowth & stick
thar, like deth to a deseast Afrikan or a country postmaster to his
offiss, while my hart whanged agin my ribs like a old fashioned wheat
Flale agin a barn floor.
'Twas a carm still nite in Joon. All nater was husht and nary a zeffer
disturbed the sereen silens. I sot with Betsy Jane on the fense of
her farther's pastur. We'd bin rompin threw the woods, kullin flours
& drivin the woodchuck from his Nativ Lair (so to speak) with long
sticks. Wall, we sot thar on the fense, a swingin our feet two and fro,
blushin as red as the Baldinsville skool house when it was fust painted,
and lookin very simple, I make no doubt. My left arm was ockepied in
ballunsin myself on the fense, while my rite was woundid luvinly round
her waste.
I cleared my throat and tremblin sed, "Betsy, you're a Gazelle."
I thought that air was putty fine. I waitid to see what effeck it would
hav upon her. It evidently didn't fetch her, for she up and sed,
"You're a sheep!"
Sez I, "Betsy, I think very muchly of you."
"I don't b'leeve a word you say--so there now cum!" with which
obsarvashun she hitched away from me.
"I wish thar was winders to my Sole," sed I, "so that you could see some
of my feelins. There's fire enuff in here," sed I, strikin my buzzum
with my fist, "to bile all the corn beef and turnips in the naberhood.
Versoovius and the Critter ain't a circumstans!"
She bowd her hed down and commenst chawin the strings to her sun bonnet.
"Ar could you know the sleeplis nites I worry threw with on your
account, how vittles has seized to be attractiv to me & how my lims has
shrunk up, you wouldn't dowt me. Gase on this wastin form and these
'ere sunken cheeks"--
I should have continnered on in this strane probly for sum time, but
unfortnitly I lost my ballunse and fell over into the pastur ker smash,
tearin my close and seveerly damagin myself ginerally.
Betsy Jane sprung to my assistance in dubble quick time and dragged me
4th. Then drawin herself up to her full hite she sed:
"I won't listen to your noncents no longer. Jes say rite strate out
what you're drivin at. If you mean gettin hitched, I'M IN!"
I considered that air enuff for all practicul purpusses, and we
proceeded immejitely to the parson's, & was made 1 that very nite.
(Notiss to the Printer: Put some stars here.)
* * * * * * * *
I've parst threw many tryin ordeels sins then, but Betsy Jane has bin
troo as steel. By attendin strickly to bizniss I've amarsed a handsum
Pittance. No man on this footstool can rise & git up & say I ever
knowinly injered no man or wimmin folks, while all agree that my Show
is ekalled by few and exceld by none, embracin as it does a wonderful
colleckshun of livin wild Beests of Pray, snaix in grate profushun, a
endliss variety of life-size wax figgers, & the only traned kangaroo in
Ameriky--the most amoozin little cuss ever introjuced to a discriminatin
public.
____________________
THE CRISIS.
[This Oration was delivered before the commencement of the war.]
On returnin to my humsted in Baldinsville, Injianny, resuntly, my feller
sitterzens extended a invite for me to norate to 'em on the Krysis. I
excepted & on larst Toosday nite I peared be4 a C of upturned faces in
the Red Skool House. I spoke nearly as follers:
Baldinsvillins: Hearto4, as I hav numerously obsarved, I have abstrained
from having any sentimunts or principles, my pollertics, like my
religion, bein of a exceedin accommodatin character. But the fack can't
be no longer disgised that a Krysis is onto us, & I feel it's my dooty
to accept your invite for one consecutive nite only. I spose the
inflammertory individooals who assisted in projucing this Krysis
know what good she will do, but I ain't 'shamed to state that I don't
scacely. But the Krysis is hear. She's bin hear for sevral weeks, &
Goodness nose how long she'll stay. But I venter to assert that she's
rippin things. She's knockt trade into a cockt up hat and chaned
Bizness of all kinds tighter nor I ever chaned any of my livin wild
Beests. Alow me to hear dygress & stait that my Beests at presnt is as
harmless as the newborn Babe. Ladys & gentlemen needn't hav no fears on
that pint. To resoom--Altho I can't exactly see what good this Krysis
can do, I can very quick say what the origernal cawz of her is. The
origernal cawz is Our Afrikan Brother. I was into BARNIM'S Moozeum down
to New York the other day & saw that exsentric Etheopian, the What Is
It. Sez I, "Mister What Is It, you folks air raisin thunder with
this grate country. You're gettin to be ruther more numeris than
interestin. It is a pity you coodent go orf sumwhares by yourselves, &
be a nation of What Is Its, tho' if you'll excoose me, I shooden't care
about marryin among you. No dowt you're exceedin charmin to hum, but
your stile of luvliness isn't adapted to this cold climit. He larfed
into my face, which rather Riled me, as I had been perfeckly virtoous
and respectable in my observashuns. So sez I, turnin a leetle red in
the face, I spect, "Do you hav the unblushin impoodents to say you folks
haven't raised a big mess of thunder in this brite land, Mister What Is
It?" He larfed agin, wusser nor be4, whareupon I up and sez, "Go home,
Sir, to Afriky's burnin shores & taik all the other What Is Its along
with you. Don't think we can spair your interestin picters. You What
Is Its air on the pint of smashin up the gratest Guv'ment ever erected
by man, & you actooally hav the owdassity to larf about it. Go home,
you low cuss!"
I was workt up to a high pitch, & I proceeded to a Restorator & cooled
orf with some little fishes biled in ile--I b'leeve thay call 'em
sardeens.
Feller Sitterzuns, the Afrikan may be Our Brother. Sevral hily
respectyble gentlemen, and sum talentid females tell us so, & fur
argyment's sake I mite be injooced to grant it, tho' I don't beleeve it
myself. But the Afrikan isn't our sister & our wife & our uncle. He
isn't sevral of our brothers & all our fust wife's relashuns. He
isn't our grandfather, and our grate grandfather, and our Aunt in the
country. Scacely. & yit numeris persons would have us think so. It's
troo he runs Congress & sevral other public grosserys, but then he ain't
everybody & everybody else likewise. [Notiss to bizness men of VANITY
FAIR: Extry charg fur this larst remark. It's a goak.--A.W.]
But we've got the Afrikan, or ruther he's got us, & now what air we
going to do about it? He's a orful noosanse. Praps he isn't to blame
fur it. Praps he was creatid fur sum wise purpuss, like the measles and
New Englan Rum, but it's mity hard to see it. At any rate he's no good
here, & as I statid to Mister What Is It, it's a pity he cooden't go orf
sumwhares quietly by hisself, whare he cood wear red weskits & speckled
neckties, & gratterfy his ambishun in varis interestin wase, without
havin a eternal fuss kickt up about him.
Praps I'm bearin down too hard upon Cuffy. Cum to think on it, I am.
He woodn't be sich a infernal noosanse if white peple would let him
alone. He mite indeed be interestin. And now I think of it, why can't
the white peple let him alone. What's the good of continnerly stirrin
him up with a ten-foot pole? He isn't the sweetest kind of Perfoomery
when in a natral stait.
Feller Sitterzens, the Union's in danger. The black devil Disunion is
trooly here, starein us all squarely in the face! We must drive him
back. Shall we make a 2nd Mexico of ourselves? Shall we sell our
birthrite for a mess of potash? Shall one brother put the knife to the
throat of anuther brother? Shall we mix our whisky with each other's
blud? Shall the star spangled Banner be cut up into dishcloths?
Standin here in this here Skoolhouse, upon my nativ shor so to speak, I
anser--Nary!
Oh you fellers who air raisin this row, & who in the fust place startid
it, I'm 'shamed of you. The Showman blushes for you, from his boots to
the topmost hair upon his wenerable hed.
Feller Sitterzens: I am in the Sheer & Yeller leaf. I shall peg out 1
of these dase. But while I do stop here I shall stay in the Union. I
know not what the supervizers of Baldinsville may conclude to do, but
for one, I shall stand by the Stars & Stripes. Under no circumstances
whatsomever will I sesesh. Let every Stait in the Union sesesh & let
Palmetter flags flote thicker nor shirts on Square Baxter's close line,
still will I stick to the good old flag. The country may go to the
devil, but I won't! And next Summer when I start out on my campane with
my Show, wharever I pitch my little tent, you shall see floatin prowdly
from the center pole thereof the Amerikan Flag, with nary a star wiped
out, nary a stripe less, but the same old flag that has allers flotid
thar! & the price of admishun will be the same it allers was--15 cents,
children half price.
Feller Sitterzens, I am dun. Accordinly I squatted.
____________________
WAX FIGURES VS. SHAKESPEARE.
ONTO THE WING----1859.
Mr. Editor:
I take my Pen in hand to inform yu that I'm in good helth and trust
these few lines will find yu injoyin the same blessins. I wood also
state that I'm now on the summir kampane. As the Poit sez--
ime erflote, ime erflote On the Swift rollin tied An the Rovir is
free. Bizness is scacely middlin, but Sirs I manige to pay for my foode
and raiment puncktooally and without no grumblin. The barked arrers of
slandur has bin leviled at the undersined moren onct sins heze bin into
the show bizness, but I make bold to say no man on this footstule kan
troothfully say I ever ronged him or eny of his folks. I'm travelin
with a tent, which is better nor hirin hauls. My show konsists of a
serious of wax works, snakes, a paneramy kalled a Grand Movin Diarea of
the War in the Crymear, komic songs and the Cangeroo, which larst
little cuss continners to konduct hisself in the most outrajus stile. I
started out with the idear of makin my show a grate Moral Entertainment,
but I'm kompeled to sware so much at that air infurnal Kangeroo that I'm
frade this desine will be flustratid to some extent. And while speakin
of morrality, remines me that sum folks turn up their nosis at shows
like mine, sayin they is low and not fit to be patrernized by peplpeple
of high degree. Sirs, I manetane that this is infernul nonsense.
I manetane that wax figgers is more elevatin than awl the plays ever
wroten. Take Shakespeer for instunse. Peple think heze grate things,
but I kontend heze quite the reverse to the kontrary. What sort of
sense is thare to King Leer, who goze round cussin his darters, chawin
hay and throin straw at folks, and larfin like a silly old koot and
makin a ass of hisself ginerally? Thare's Mrs. Mackbeth--sheze a nise
kind of woomon to have round ain't she, a puttin old Mack, her husband,
up to slayin Dunkan with a cheeze knife, while heze payin a frendly
visit to their house. O its hily morral, I spoze, when she larfs wildly
and sez, "gin me the daggurs--Ile let his bowels out," or wurds to
that effeck--I say, this is awl, strickly, propper I spoze? That Jack
Fawlstarf is likewise a immoral old cuss, take him how ye may, and
Hamlick is as crazy as a loon. Thare's Richurd the Three, peple think
heze grate things, but I look upon him in the lite of a monkster. He
kills everybody he takes a noshun to in kold blud, and then goze to
sleep in his tent. Bimeby he wakes up and yells for a hoss so he kan
go orf and kill some more peple. If he isent a fit spesserman for the
gallers then I shood like to know whare you find um. Thare's Iargo
who is more ornery nor pizun. See how shameful he treated that hily
respecterble injun gentlemun, Mister Otheller, makin him for to beleeve
his wife was too thick with Casheo. Obsarve how Iargo got Casheo
drunk as a biled owl on corn whiskey in order to karry out his sneekin
desines. See how he wurks Mister Otheller's feelins up so that he goze
and makes poor Desdemony swaller a piller which cawses her deth. But
I must stop. At sum futur time I shall continner my remarks on the
drammer in which I shall show the varst supeeriority of wax figgers and
snakes over theater plays, in a interlectooal pint of view.
Very Respectively yures, A WARD, T.K.
____________________
AMONG THE FREE LOVERS.
(Some queer people, calling themselves "Free Lovers," and possessing
very original ideas about life and morality, established themselves
at Berlin Heights, in Ohio, a few years since. Public opinion was
resistlessly against them, however, and the association was soon
disbanded.)
Some years ago I pitched my tent and onfurled my banner to the breeze,
in Berlin Hites, Ohio. I had hearn that Berlin Hites was ockepied by a
extensive seck called Free Lovers, who beleeved in affinertys and sich,
goin back on their domestic ties without no hesitation whatsomever.
They was likewise spirit rappers and high presher reformers on gineral
principles. If I can improve these 'ere misgided peple by showin them
my onparalleld show at the usual low price of admitants, methunk, I
shell not hav lived in vane. But bitterly did I cuss the day I ever sot
foot in the retchid place. I sot up my tent in a field near the
Love Cure, as they called it, and bimeby the free lovers begun for to
congregate around the door. A onreer set I have never sawn. The men's
faces was all covered with hare and they lookt half-starved to deth.
They didn't wear no weskuts for the purpose (as they sed) of allowin the
free air of hevun to blow onto their boozums. Their pockets was filled
with tracks and pamplits and they was bare-footed. They sed the
Postles didn't wear boots, & why should they? That was their stile of
argyment. The wimin was wuss than the men. They wore trowsis, short
gownds, straw hats with green ribbins, and all carried bloo cotton
umbrellers.
Presently a perfeckly orful lookin female presented herself at the
door. Her gownd was skanderlusly short and her trowsis was shameful to
behold.
She eyed me over very sharp, and then startin back she sed, in a wild
voice:
"Ah, can it be?"
"Which?" sed I.
"Yes, 'tis troo, O 'tis troo!"
"15 cents, marm," I anserd.
She bust out a cryin & sed:
"And so I hav found you at larst--at larst, O at larst!"
"Yes," I anserd, "you hav found me at larst, and you would hav found me
at fust, if you had cum sooner."
She grabd me vilently by the coat collar, and brandishin her umbreller
wildly round, exclaimed:
"Air you a man?"
Sez I, "I think I air, but if you doubt it, you can address Mrs. A.
Ward, Baldinsville, Injianny, postage pade, & she will probly giv you
the desired informashun."
"Then thou ist what the cold world calls marrid?"
"Madam, I istest!"
The exsentric female then clutched me franticly by the arm and hollered:
"You air mine, O you air mine!"
"Scacely," I sed, endeverin to git loose from her. But she clung to me
and sed:
"You air my Affinerty!"
"What upon arth is that?" I shouted.
"Dost thou not know?"
"No, I dostent!"
"Listin man, & I'll tell ye!" sed the strange female; "for years I hav
yearned for thee. I knowd thou wast in the world, sumwhares, tho I
didn't know whare. My hart sed he would cum and I took courage. He HAS
cum--he's here--you air him--you air my Affinerty! O 'tis too mutch! too
mutch!" and she sobbed agin.
"Yes," I anserd, "I think it is a darn site too mutch!"
"Hast thou not yearned for me?" she yelled, ringin her hands like a
female play acter.
"Not a yearn!" I bellerd at the top of my voice, throwin her away from
me.
The free lovers who was standin round obsarvin the scene commenst for to
holler "shame" "beast," etsettery, etsettery.
I was very mutch riled, and fortifyin myself with a spare tent stake, I
addrest them as follers: "You pussylanermus critters, go way from me and
take this retchid woman with you. I'm a law-abidin man, and beleeve in
good, old-fashioned institutions. I am marrid & my orfsprings resemble
me if I am a showman! I think your Affinity bizniss is cussed noncents,
besides bein outrajusly wicked. Why don't you behave desunt like other
folks? Go to work and earn a honist livin and not stay round here
in this lazy, shiftless way, pizenin the moral atmosphere with your
pestifrous ideas! You wimin folks go back to your lawful husbands if
you've got any, and take orf them skanderlous gownds and trowsis,
and dress respectful like other wimin. You men folks, cut orf them
pirattercal whiskers, burn up them infurnel pamplits, put sum weskuts
on, go to work choppin wood, splittin fence rales, or tillin the sile."
I pored 4th my indignashun in this way till I got out of breth, when I
stopt. I shant go to Berlin Hites agin, not if I live to be as old as
Methooseler.
____________________
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, & wanted 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. sogers, hosstensibly sent out there to smash the Mormons but really
to 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 Latter-day 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 marrid man, Mister Yung, I bleeve?" sez I, preparin to rite
him sum free parsis.
"I hev eighty wives, Mister Ward. I sertinly am married."
"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 mine 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," sed Yung, "I hav eighty
more in varis parts of this 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, turnin 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 wuss nor cleanin house. He don't pretend to know 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 their selves 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. Sum times 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 mop-handles, 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. Sumptimes when he went in swimmin
thay'd go to the banks of the Lake & steal all his close, thereby
compellin him to sneek home by a sircootius rowt, drest 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. Wards'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 prowd & defiant mean,
"tell Mister Revelashun to mind his own bizness, subject only to the
Konstitushun of the United States!"
"Oh now let us in, that's a sweet man," sed several femails, puttin
thare arms round me in luvin style. "Become 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 tell, 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 here in the promist Land?" sed several of the
miserabil critters.
"Ile see you all essenshally cussed be4 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 & onprincipled a set of retchis as
ever drew Breth in eny spot on the Globe.
____________________
THE PRESS.
I WANT the editors to cum to my Show free as the flours of May, but I
don't want um to ride a free hoss to deth. Thare is times when Patience
seizes to be virtoous. I hev "in my mind's eye, Hurrashio " (cotashun
from Hamlick) sum editers in a sertin town which shall be nameless, who
air Both sneakin and ornery. They cum in krowds to my Show and then axt
me ten sents a lines for Puffs. I objectid to payin, but they sed ef
I didn't down with the dust thay'd wipe my Show from the face of the
earth! Thay sed the Press was the Arkymedian Leaver which moved the
wurld. I put up to their extorshuns until thay'd bled me so I was a
meer shadder, and left in disgust.
It was in a surtin town in Virginny, the Muther of Presidents & things,
that I was shaimfully aboozed by a editor in human form. He set my Show
up steep & kalled me the urbane bane & gentlemunly manajer, but when I,
fur the purpuss of showin fair play all around, went to anuther offiss
to git my handbills printed, what duz this pussillanermus editer do but
change his toon & abooze me like a Injun. He sed my wax works was a
humbug & called me a horey-heded itinerent vagabone. I thort at fust
Ide pollish him orf ar-lar the Beneshy Boy, but on reflectin that he
cood pollish me much wuss in his paper, I giv it up. & I wood here
take occashun to advise peple when thay run agin, as thay sumtimes will,
these miserable papers, to not pay no attenshun to um. Abuv all, don't
assault a editer of this kind. It only gives him a note rosity, which
is jest what he wants, & don't do you no more good than it wood to jump
into enny other mud puddle. Editers are generally fine men, but there
must be black sheep in every flock.
____________________
EDWIN FOREST AS OTHELLO.
Durin a recent visit to New York the undersined went to see Edwin
Forrest. As I'm into the moral show bizness myself, I ginrally go to
Barnum's moral Museum, where only moral peple air admitted, pertickly on
Wednesday arternoons. But this time I thot I'd go & see Ed. Ed has bin
actin out on the stage for many years. There is varis 'pinions about
his actin, Englishmen ginrally bleevin that he is far superior to Mister
Macready; but on one pint all agree, & that is that Ed draws like a six
ox team. Ed was actin at Niblo's Garding, which looks considerable more
like a parster, than a garding, but let that pars. I sot down in the
pit, took out my spectacles & commenced peroosin the evenin's bill. The
awjince was all-fired large & the boxes was full of the elitty of
New York. Several opery glasses was leveld at me by Gothum's farest
darters, but I didn't let on as tho I noticed it, tho mebby I did take
out my sixteen-dollar silver watch & brandish it round more than was
necessary. But the best of us has our weaknesses & if a man has gewelry
let him show it. As I was peroosin the bill a grave young man who
sot near me axed me if I'd ever seen Forrest dance the Essence of Old
Virginny? "He's immense in that," sed the young man. "He also does a
fair champion jig," the young man continnerd, "but his Big Thing is the
Essence of Old Virginny." Sez I, "Fair youth, do you know what I'd do
with you if you was my sun?"
"No," sez he.
"Wall," sez I, "I'd appint your funeral tomorrow arternoon, & the KORPS
SHOULD BE READY! You're too smart to live on this yearth." He
didn't try any more of his capers on me. But another pussylanermus
individooul, in a red vest & patent lether boots, told me his name was
Bill Astor & axed me to lend him 50 cents till early in the mornin.
I told him I'd probly send it round to him before he retired to his
virtoous couch, but if I didn't he might look for it next fall, as soon
as I cut my corn. The Orchestry was now fiddling with all their
might, & as the peple didn't understan anything about it they applaudid
versifrussly. Presently, Old Ed cum out. The play was Otheller or More
of Veniss. Otheller was writ by Wm. Shakspeer. The scene is laid in
Veniss. Otheller was a likely man & was a ginral in the Veniss army.
He eloped with Desdemony, a darter of the Hon. Mister Brabantio, who
represented one of the back districks in the Veneshun legislater. Old
Brabantio was as mad as thunder at this & tore round considerable, but
finally cooled down, tellin Otheller, howsever, that Desdemony had come
it over her Par, & that he had better look out or she'd come it over
him likewise. Mr. & Mrs. Otheller git along very comfortable like for a
spell. She is sweet-tempered and luvin--a nice, sensible female, never
goin in for he-female conventions, green cotton umbrellers, and pickled
beats. Otheller is a good provider and thinks all the world of his
wife. She has a lazy time of it, the hired girl doin all the cookin and
washin. Desdemony, in fact, don't have to git the water to wash her
own hands with. But a low cuss named Iago, who I bleeve wants to git
Otheller out of his snug government birth, now goes to work & upsets
the Otheller family in the most outrajus stile. Iago falls in with a
brainless youth named Roderigo & wins all his money at poker.
(Iago allers played foul.) He thus got money enuff to carry out his
onprincipled skeem. Mike Cassio, a Irishman, is selected as a tool by
Iago. Mike was a clever feller & orficer in Otheller's army. He liked
his tods too well, howsever, & they floored him, as they have many other
promisin young men. Iago injuces Mike to drink with him, Iago slyly
throwin his whiskey over his shoulder. Mike gits as drunk as a biled
owl & allows that he can lick a yard full of the Veneshun fancy before
breakfast, without sweatin a hair. He meets Roderigo & proceeds for to
smash him. A feller named Montano undertakes to slap Cassio, when that
infatooated person runs his sword into him. That miserble man, Iago,
pretents to be very sorry to see Mike conduck hisself in this way &
undertakes to smooth the thing over to Otheller, who rushes in with a
drawn sword & wants to know what's up. Iago cunningly tells his story,
& Otheller tells Mike that he thinks a good deal of him, but he can't
train no more in his regiment. Desdemony sympathizes with poor Mike &
interceeds for him with Otheller. Iago makes him bleeve she does this
because she thinks more of Mike than she does of hisself. Otheller
swallers Iago's lyin tail & goes to makin a noosence of hisself
ginrally. He worries poor Desdemony terrible by his vile insinuations,
& finally smothers her to deth with a piller. Mrs. Iago cums in just as
Otheller has finished the fowl deed & givs him fits right & left, showin
him that he has bin orfully gulled by her miserble cuss of a husband.
Iago cums in, & his wife commences rakin him down also, when he stabs
her. Otheller jaws him a spell & then cuts a small hole in his stummick
with his sword. Iago pints to Desdemony's deth bed & goes orf with a
sardonic smile onto his countenance. Otheller tells the peple that he
has dun the state sum service & they know it; axes them to do as fair a
thing as they can for him under the circumstances, & kills hisself with
a fish-knife, which is the most sensible thing he can do. This is a
breef skedule of the synopsis of the play.
Edwin Forrest is a grate acter. I thot I saw Otheller before me all
the time he was actin, & when the curtin fell, I found my spectacles was
still mistened with salt-water, which had run from my eyes while poor
Desdemony was dyin. Betsy Jane--Betsy Jane! let us pray that our
domestic bliss may never be busted up by a Iago!
Edwin Forrest makes money actin out on the stage. He gits five-hundred
dollars a nite & his board & washin. I wish I had such a Forrest in my
Garding!
____________________
THE SHOW BUSINESS AND POPULAR LECTURES.
I feel that the Show Bizniss, which Ive stroven to ornyment, is bein
usurpt by Poplar Lecturs, as thay air kalled, tho in my pinion thay air
poplar humbugs. Individoouls, who git hard up, embark in the lecturin
biznis. They cram theirselves with hi-sounding frazis, frizzle up their
hare, git trustid for a soot of black close & cum out to lectur at 50
dollers a pop. Thay aint over stockt with branes, but thay hav brass
enuff to make suffishunt kittles to bile all the sope that will be
required by the ensooin sixteen ginerashuns. Peple flock to heer um in
krowds. The men go becawz its poplar & the wimin folks go to see what
other wimin folks have on. When its over the lecturer goze & ragales
hisself with oysters and sich, while the peple say, "What a charmin
lectur that air was," etsettery, etsettery, when 9 out of 10 of um don't
have no moore idee of what the lecturer sed than my kangeroo has of the
sevunth speer of hevun. Thare's moore infurmashun to be gut out of a
well conductid noospape--price 3 sents--than thare is out of ten poplar
lectures at 25 or 50 dollers a pop, as the kase may be. These same
peple, bare in mind, stick up their nosis at moral wax figgers &
sagashus beests. Thay say these things is low. Gents, it greeves my
hart in my old age, when I'm in "the Sheer & yeller leef" (to cote frum
my Irish frend Mister McBeth) to see that the Show biznis is pritty much
plade out; howsomever I shall chance it agane in the Spring.
____________________
WOMAN'S RIGHTS.
I pitcht my tent in a small town in Injianny one day last seeson, &
while I was standin at the dore takin money, a deppytashun of ladies
came up & sed they wos members of the Bunkumville Female Moral Reformin
& Wimin's Rite's Associashun, and thay axed me if they cood go in
without payin.
"Not exactly," sez I, "but you can pay without goin in."
"Dew you know who we air?" sed one of the wimin--a tall and feroshus
lookin critter, with a blew kotton umbreller under her arm--"do you know
who we air, Sir?"
"My impreshun is," sed I, "from a kersery view, that you air females."
"We air, Sur," sed the feroshus woman--"we belong to a Society whitch
beleeves wimin has rites--whitch beleeves in razin her to her proper
speer--whitch beleeves she is indowed with as much intelleck as man
is--whitch beleeves she is trampled on and aboozed--& who will resist
henso4th & forever the incroachments of proud & domineering men."
Durin her discourse, the exsentric female grabed me by the coat-kollor &
was swinging her umbreller wildly over my hed.
"I hope, marm," sez I, starting back, "that your intensions is
honorable! I'm a lone man hear in a strange place. Besides, I've a
wife to hum."
"Yes," cried the female, "& she's a slave! Doth she never dream of
freedom--doth she never think of throwin off the yoke of tyrrinny
& thinkin & votin for herself?--Doth she never think of these here
things?"
"Not bein a natral born fool," sed I, by this time a little riled, "I
kin safely say that she dothunt."
"Oh whot--whot!" screamed the female, swingin her umbreller in the
air.--"O, what is the price that woman pays for her expeeriunce!"
"I don't know," sez I; "the price of my show is 15 cents pur
individooal."
"& can't our Soisety go in free?" asked the female.
"Not if I know it," sed I.
"Crooil, crooil man!" she cried, & bust into teers.
"Won't you let my darter in?" sed anuther of the exsentric wimin, taken
me afeckshunitely by the hand. "O, please let my darter in,--shee's a
sweet gushin child of natur."
"Let her gush!" roared I, as mad as I cood stick at their tarnal
nonsense; "let her gush!" Where upon they all sprung back with the
simultanious observashun that I was a Beest.
"My female friends," sed I, "be4 you leeve, I've a few remarks
to remark; wa them well. The female woman is one of the greatest
institooshuns of which this land can boste. Its onpossible to get
along without her. Had there bin no female wimin in the world, I should
scarcely be here with my unparalleld show on this very occashun. She is
good in sickness--good in wellness--good all the time. O woman, woman!"
I cried, my feelins worked up to a hi poetick pitch, "you air a angle
when you behave yourself; but when you take off your proper appairel
& (mettyforically speaken)--get into pantyloons--when you desert your
firesides, & with your heds full of wimin's rites noshuns go round like
roarin lions, seekin whom you may devour someboddy--in short, when
you undertake to play the man, you play the devil and air an emfatic
noosance. My female friends," I continnered, as they were indignantly
departin, "wa well what A. Ward has sed!" ____________________
THE PRINCE OF WALES
To my friends of the Editorial Corpse:
I rite these lines on British sile. I've bin follerin Mrs. Victory's
hopeful sun Albert Edward threw Kanady with my onparaleled Show, and tho
I haint made much in a pecoonary pint of vew, I've lernt sumthin new,
over hear on British Sile, whare they bleeve in Saint George and the
Dragoon. Previs to cumin over hear I tawt my organist how to grind Rule
Brittany and other airs which is poplar on British Sile. I likewise
fixt a wax figger up to represent Sir Edmun Hed the Govner Ginral. The
statoot I fixt up is the most versytile wax statoot I ever saw. I've
showd it as Wm. Penn, Napoleon Bonypart, Juke of Wellington, the Beneker
Boy, Mrs. Cunningham & varis other notid persons, and also for a sertin
pirut named Hix. I've bin so long amung wax statoots that I can fix 'em
up to soot the tastes of folks, & with sum paints I hav I kin giv their
facis a beneverlent or fiendish look as the kase requires. I giv Sir
Edmun Hed a beneverlent look, & when sum folks who thawt they was smart
sed it didn't look like Sir Edmun Hed anymore than it did anybody else,
I sed, "That's the pint. That's the beauty of the Statoot. It looks
like Sir Edmun Hed or any other man. You may kall it what you pleese.
Ef it don't look like anybody that ever lived, then it's sertinly a
remarkable Statoot & well worth seein. I kall it Sir Edmun Hed. You
may kall it what you pleese!" [I had 'em thare.]
At larst I've had a interview with the Prince, tho it putty nigh cost me
my vallerble life. I cawt a glimpse of him as he sot on the Pizarro of
the hotel in Sarnia, & elbowd myself threw a crowd of wimin, children,
sojers & Injins that was hangin round the tavern. I was drawin near to
the Prince when a red-faced man in Millingtery close grabd holt of me
and axed me whare I was goin all so bold?
"To see Albert Edard the Prince of Wales," sez I; "who are you?"
He sed he was Kurnel of the Seventy Fust Regiment, Her Magisty's
troops. I told him I hoped the Seventy Onesters was in good helth,
and was passin by when he ceased hold of me agin, and sed in a tone of
indigent cirprise:
"What? Impossible! It kannot be! Blarst my hize, sir, did I understan
you to say that you was actooally goin into the presents of his Royal
Iniss?"
"That's what's the matter with me," I replide.
"But blarst my hize, sir, its onprecedented. It's orful, sir. Nothin'
like it hain't happened sins the Gun Powder Plot of Guy Forks. Owdashus
man, who air you?"
"Sir," sez I, drawin myself up & puttin on a defiant air, "I'm a
Amerycan sitterzen. My name is Ward. I'm a husband & the father of
twins, which I'm happy to state thay look like me. By perfeshun I'm a
exhibiter of wax works & sich."
"Good God!" yelled the Kurnal, "the idee of a exhibiter of wax figgers
goin into the presents of Royalty! The British Lion may well roar with
raje at the thawt!"
Sez I, "Speakin of the British Lion, Kurnal, I'd like to make a bargin
with you fur that beast fur a few weeks to add to my Show." I didn't
meen nothin by this. I was only gettin orf a goak, but you roter hev
seen the Old Kurnal jump up & howl. He actooally fomed at the mowth.
"This can't be real," he showtid. "No, no. It's a horrid dream. Sir,
you air not a human bein--you hav no existents--yure a Myth!"
"Wall," sez I, "old hoss, yule find me a ruther onkomfortable Myth ef
you punch my inards in that way agin." I began to git a little riled,
fur when he called me a Myth he puncht me putty hard. The Kurnal now
commenst showtin fur the Seventy Onesters. I at fust thawt I'd stay &
becum a Marter to British Outraje, as sich a course mite git my name
up & be a good advertisement fur my Show, but it occurred to me that ef
enny of the Seventy Onesters shood happen to insert a barronet into my
stummick it mite be onplesunt, & I was on the pint of runnin orf when
the Prince hisself kum up & axed me what the matter was. Sez I, "Albert
Edard, is that you?" & he smilt & sed it was. Sez I, "Albert Edard,
hears my keerd. I cum to pay my respecks to the futer King of Ingland.
The Kurnal of the Seventy Onesters hear is ruther smawl pertaters, but
of course you ain't to blame fur that. He puts on as many airs as tho
he was the Bully Boy with the glass eye."
"Never mind," sez Albert Edard, "I'm glad to see you, Mister Ward, at
all events," & he tuk my hand so plesunt like & larfed so sweet that I
fell in love with him to onct. He handid me a segar & we sot down on
the Pizarro & commenst smokin rite cheerful. "Wall," sez I, "Albert
Edard, how's the old folks?"
"Her Majesty & the Prince are well," he sed.
"Duz the old man take his Lager beer reglar?" I inquired.
The Prince larfed & intermatid that the old man didn't let many kegs
of that bevridge spile in the sellar in the coarse of a year. We sot &
tawked there sum time abowt matters & things, & bimeby I axed him how he
liked bein Prince as fur as he'd got.
"To speak plain, Mister Ward," he sed, "I don't much like it. I'm sick
of all this bowin & scrapin & crawlin & hurrain over a boy like me.
I would rather go through the country quietly & enjoy myself in my own
way, with the other boys, & not be made a Show of to be garped at by
everybody. When the PEPLE cheer me I feel pleesed, fur I know they meen
it; but if these one-horse offishuls cood know how I see threw all their
moves & understan exackly what they air after, & knowd how I larft at
'em in private, thayd stop kissin my hands & fawnin over me as thay now
do. But you know, Mr. Ward, I can't help bein a Prince, & I must do all
I kin to fit myself fur the persishun I must sumtime ockepy."
"That's troo," sez I; "sickness and the docters will carry the Queen orf
one of these dase, sure's yer born."
The time hevin arove fur me to take my departer I rose up & sed: "Albert
Edard, I must go, but previs to doin so I will obsarve that you soot
me. Yure a good feller, Albert Edard, & tho I'm agin Princes as a
gineral thing, I must say I like the cut of your Gib. When you git to
be King try and be as good a man as yure muther has bin! Be just & be
Jenerus, espeshully to showmen, who hav allers bin aboozed sins the dase
of Noah, who was the fust man to go into the Menagery bizniss, & ef the
daily papers of his time air to be beleeved Noah's colleckshun of livin
wild beests beet ennything ever seen sins, tho I make bold to dowt ef
his snaiks was ahead of mine. Albert Edard, adoo!" I tuk his hand
which he shook warmly, & givin him a perpetooal free pars to my show, &
also parses to take hum for the Queen & old Albert, I put on my hat and
walkt away.
"Mrs. Ward," I solilerquized, as I walkt along, "Mrs. Ward, ef you could
see your husband now, just as he prowdly emerjis from the presunts of
the futur King of Ingland, you'd be sorry you called him a Beest jest
becaws he cum home tired 1 nite and wantid to go to bed without takin
orf his boots. You'd be sorry for tryin to deprive yure husband of the
priceliss Boon of liberty, Betsy Jane!"
Jest then I met a long perseshun of men with gownds onto 'em. The
leader was on horseback, & ridin up to me he sed, "Air you Orange?"
Sez I, "Which?"
"Air you a Orangeman?" he repeated, sternly.
"I used to peddle lemins," sed I, "but I never delt in oranges. They
are apt to spile on yure hands. What particler Loonatic Asylum hev you
& yure frends escaped frum, ef I may be so bold?" Just then a suddent
thawt struck me & I sed, "Oh yure the fellers who air worryin the Prince
so & givin the Juke of Noocastle cold sweats at nite, by yure infernal
catawalins, air you? Wall, take the advice of a Amerykin sitterzen,
take orf them gownds & don't try to get up a religious fite, which is 40
times wuss nor a prize fite, over Albert Edard, who wants to receive you
all on a ekal footin, not keerin a tinker's cuss what meetin house you
sleep in Sundays. Go home & mind yure bisness & not make noosenses of
yourselves." With which observashuns I left 'em.
I shall leeve British sile 4thwith.
____________________
OSSAWATOMIE BROWN.
I don't portend to be a cricket & consekently the reader will not regard
this 'ere peace as a Cricketcism. I cimply desine givin the pints
& Plot of a play I saw actid out at the theater t'other nite, called
Ossywattermy Brown or the Hero of Harper's Ferry. Ossywattermy had
varis failins, one of which was a idee that he cood conker Virginny with
a few duzzen loonatics which he had pickt up sumwhares, mercy only nose
wher. He didn't cum it, as the sekel showed. This play was jerkt by a
admirer of Old Ossywattermy.
First akt opens at North Elby, Old Brown's humsted. Tare's a weddin
at the house. Amely, Old Brown's darter, marrys sumbody, and they all
whirl in the Messy darnce. Then Ossywattermy and his 3 sons leave fur
Kansis. Old Mrs. Ossywattermy tells 'em thay air goin on a long jurny &
Blesses 'em to slow fiddlin. Thay go to Kansis. What upon arth thay
go to Kansis fur when thay was so nice & comfortable down there to North
Elby, is more'n I know. The suns air next seen in Kausis at a tarvern.
Mister Blanc, a sinister lookin man with his Belt full of knives & hoss
pistils, axes one of the Browns to take a drink. Brown refuzis, which
is the fust instance on record whar a Brown deklined sich a invite.
Mister Blane, who is a dark bearded feroshus loohin person, then axis
him whether he's fur or fernenst Slavery. Yung Brown sez he's agin it,
whareupon Mister Blanc, who is the most sinisterest lookin man I ever
saw, sez Har, har, har I (that bein his stile of larfin wildly) & ups &
sticks a knife into yung Brown. Anuther Brown rushes up & sez, "you has
killed me Ber-ruther!" Moosic by the Band & Seen changes. The stuck
yung Brown enters supported by his two brothers. Bimeby he falls
down, sez he sees his Mother, & dies. Moosic by the Band. I lookt but
couldn't see any mother. Next Seen reveels Old Brown's cabin. He's
readin a book. He sez freedum must extend its Area & rubs his hands
like he was pleesed abowt it. His suns come in. One of 'em goes out &
cums in ded, havin bin shot while out by a Border Ruffin. The ded yang
Brown sez he sees his mother and tumbles down. The Border Ruffins then
surround the cabin & set it a fire. The Browns giv theirselves up for
gone coons, when the hired gal diskivers a trap door to the cabin & thay
go down threw it & cum up threw the bulkhed. Their merraklis 'scape
reminds me of the 'scape of De Jones, the Coarsehair of the Gulf--a tail
with a yaller kiver, that I onct red. For sixteen years he was confined
in a loathsum dunjin, not tastin of food durin all that time. When
a lucky thawt struck him! He opend the winder and got out. To
resoom--Old Brown rushes down to the footlites, gits down on his nees &
swares he'll hav revenge. The battle of Ossawatermy takes place. Old
Brown kills Mister Blanc, the sinister individooal aforesed. Mister
Blane makes a able & elerquent speech, sez he don't see his mother much,
and dies likes the son of a gentleman, rapt up in the Star Spangled
banner. Moosic by the Band. Four or five other Border ruffins air
killed, but thay don't say nothin abowt seein their mothers. From
Kansis to Harper's Ferry. Picter of a Arsenal is represented. Sojers
cum & fire at it. Old Brown cums out & permits hisself to be shot. He
is tride by two soops in milingtery Jose, and sentenced to be hung on
the gallus. Tabloo--Old Brown on a platform, pintin upards the staige
lited up with red fire. Goddiss of Liberty also on platform, pintin
upards. A dutchman in the orkestry warbles on a base drum. Curtin
falls. Moosic by the Band.
____________________
JOY IN THE HOUSE OF WARD.
Dear Sirs
I take my pen in hand to inform you that I am in a state of grate bliss,
and trust these lines will find you injoyin the same blessins. I'm
reguvinated. I've found the immortal waters of yooth, so to speak, and
am as limber and frisky as a two-year-old steer, and in the futur them
boys which sez to me "go up, old Bawld hed," will do so at the peril of
their hazard, individooally. I'm very happy. My house is full of joy,
and I have to git up nights and larf! Sumtimes I ax myself "is it not a
dream?" & suthin withinto me sez "it air;" but when I look at them sweet
little critters and hear 'em squawk, I know it is a reality--2 realitys,
I may say--and I feel gay.
I returnd from the Summer Campane with my unparaleld show of wax works
and livin wild Beests of Pray in the early part of this munch. The
peple of Baldinsville met me cordully and I immejitly commenst restin
myself with my famerly, The other nite while I was down to the tavurn
tostin my shins agin the bar room fire & amuzin the krowd with sum of
my adventurs, who shood cum in bare heded & terrible excited but Bill
Stokes, who sez, sez he, "Old Ward, there's grate doing up to your
house."
Sez I, "William, how so?"
Sez he, "Bust my gizzud, but its grate doins," & then larfed as if heed
kill hisself.
Sez I, risin and puttin on a austeer look, "William, I woodnut be a fool
if I had common cents."
But he kept on larfin till he was black in the face, when he fell over
on the bunk where the hostler sleeps, and in a still small voice sed,
"Twins!" I ashure you gents that the grass didn't grow under my feet
on my way home, & I was followed by a enthoosiastic throng of my feller
sitterzens, who hurrard for Old Ward at the top of their voises. I
found the house chock full of peple. Thare was Mrs. Square Baxter and
her three grown-up darters, lawyer Perkinses wife, Taberthy Ripley,
young Eben Parsuns, Deakun Simmuns folks, the Skoolmaster, Doctor
Jordin, etsetterry, etsetterry. Mis Ward was in the west room, which
jines the kitchin. Mis Square Baxter was mixin suthin in a dipper
before the kitchin fire, & a small army of female wimin were rushin
wildly round the house with bottles of camfire, peaces od flannil, &c.
I never seed such a hubbub in my natral born dase. I cood not stay in
the west room only a minit, so strong was my feelings, so I rusht out
and ceased my dubbel barrild gun
"What on airth ales the man?" sez Taberthy Ripley. "Sakes alive, what
air you doin?" & she grabd me by the tales. "What's the matter with
you?" she continnered.
"Twins, Marm," sez I, "twins!"
"I know it," sez she, coverin her pretty face with her aprun.
"Wall," sez I, "that's what's the matter with me!"
"Wall, put down that air gun, you pesky old fool," sed she.
"No, morra," sez I, "this is a Nashunal day. The glory of this here day
isn't confined to Baldinsville by a darn site. On yonder woodshed," sed
I, drawin myself up to my full hite and speakin in a show-actin voice,
"will I fire a Nashunal saloot!" sayin whitch I tared myself from her
grasp and rush to to the top of the shed whare I blazed away until
Square Baxter's hired man and my son Artemus Juneyer cum and took me
down by mane force.
On returnin to the Kitchin I found quite a lot of people sealed be4 the
fire, a talkin the event over. They made room for me & I sot down.
"Quite a eppisode," sed Docter Jordin, litin his pipe with a red-hot
coal.
"Yes," sed I, "2 eppisodes, waying abowt 18 pounds jintly."
"A perfeck coop de tat," sed the skoolmaster.
"E pluribus unum, in proprietor persony," sed I, thinking I'd let him
know I understood furrin langwidges as well as he did, if I wasn't a
skoolmaster.
"It is indeed a momentious event," sed young Eben Parsuns, who has been
2 quarters to the Akademy.
"I never heard twins called by that name afore," sed I, "but I spose
it's all rite."
"We shall soon have Wards enuff," sed the editer of the Baldinsville
Bugle of Liberty, who was lookin over a bundle of exchange papers in the
corner, "to apply to the legislator for a City Charter?"
"Good for you, old man!" sed I; "iv that air a conspickius place in the
next Bugle."
"How redicklus," sed pretty Susan Fletcher, coverin her face with her
knittin work & larfin like all possest.
"Wall, for my part," sed Jane Maria Peasley, who is the crossest old
made in the world, "I think you all act like a pack of fools."
Sez I, "Mis. Peasly, air you a parent?"
Sez she, "No, I aint."
Sez I, "Mis. Peasly, you never will be."
She left.
We sot there talkin & larfin until "the switchin hour of nite, when
grave yards yawn & Josts troop 4th," as old Bill Shakepire aptlee
obsarves in his dramy of John Sheppard, esq, or the Moral House Breaker,
when we broke up & disbursed.
Muther & children is a doin well; & as Resolushuns is the order of the
day I will feel obleeged if you'll insurt the follerin--
Whereas, two Eppisodes has happined up to the undersined's house, which
is Twins; & Whereas I like this stile, sade twins hero of the male
perswashun & both boys ; there4 Be it Resolved, That to them nabers who
did the fare thing by sade Eppisodes my hart felt thanks is doo.
Resolved, That I do most hartily thank Engine Ko. No. 17, who, under the
impreshun from the fuss at my house on that auspishus nite that thare
was a konflagration goin on, kum galyiantly to the spot, but kindly
refraned frum squirtin.
Resolved, That frum the Bottum of my Sole do I thank the Baldinsville
brass band fur givin up the idea of Sarahnadin me, both on that great
nite & sinse.
Resolved, That my thanks is doo several members of the Baldsinville
meetin house who fur 3 whole dase hain't kalled me a sinful skoffer or
intreeted me to mend my wicked wase and jine sade meetin house to onct.
Resolved, That my Boozum teams with meny kind emoshuns towards the
follerin individoouls, to whit namelee--Mis. Square Baxter, who
Jenerusly refoozed to take a sent for a bottle of camfire; lawyer
Perkinses wife who rit sum versis on the Eppisodes; the Editer of the
Baldinsville Bugle of Liberty, who nobly assisted me in wollupin my
Kangeroo, which sagashus little cuss seriusly disturbed the Eppisodes by
his outrajus screetchins & kickins up; Mis. Hirum Doolittle, who kindly
furnisht sum cold vittles at a tryin time, when it wasunt konvenient to
cook vittles at my hous; & the Peasleys, Par Parsunses & Watsunses fur
there meny ax of kindness.
Trooly yures, ARTEMUS WARD.
____________________
BOSTON.
(A. WARD TO HIS WIFE.)
Dear Betsy: I write you this from Boston, "the Modern Atkins," as it
is denomyunated, altho' I skurcely know what those air. I'll giv you
a kursoory view of this city. I'll klassify the paragrafs under seprit
headins, arter the stile of those Emblems of Trooth and Poority, the
Washinton correspongdents!
COPP'S HILL.
The winder of my room commands a exileratin view of Copps' Hill, where
Cotton Mather, the father of the Reformers and sich, lies berrid. There
is men even now who worship Cotton, and there is wimin who wear him next
their harts. But I do not weep for him. He's bin ded too lengthy. I
ain't going to be absurd, like old Mr. Skillins, in our naberhood, who
is ninety-six years of age, and gets drunk every 'lection day, and weeps
Bitturly because he haint got no Parents. He's a nice Orphan, he is.
BUNKER HILL.
Bunker Hill is over yonder in Charleston. In 1776 a thrillin dramy
was acted out over there, in which the "Warren Combination" played star
parts.
MR. FANUEL.
Old Mr. Fanuel is ded, but his Hall is still into full blarst. This
is the Cradle in which the Goddess of Liberty was rocked, my Dear. The
Goddess hasn't bin very well durin' the past few years, and the num'ris
quack doctors she called in didn't help her any; but the old gal's
physicians now are men who understand their bizness, Major-generally
speakin', and I think the day is near when she'll be able to take her
three meals a day, and sleep nights as comf'bly as in the old time.
THE COMMON.
It is here, as ushil; and the low cuss who called it a Wacant Lot,
and wanted to know why they didn't ornament it with sum Bildins', is a
onhappy Outcast in Naponsit.
THE LEGISLATUR.
The State House is filled with Statesmen, but sum of 'em wear queer
hats. They buy 'em, I take it, of hatters who carry on hat stores
down-stairs in Dock Square, and whose hats is either ten years ahead of
the prevailin' stile, or ten years behind it--jest as a intellectooal
person sees fit to think about it. I had the pleasure of talkin' with
sevril members of the legislatur. I told 'em the Eye of 1000 ages was
onto we American peple of to-day. They seemed deeply impressed by the
remark, and wantid to know if I had seen the Grate Orgin?
HARVARD COLLEGE.
This celebrated institootion of learnin is pleasantly situated in the
Bar-room of Parker's in School street, and has poopils from all over the
country.
I had a letter yes'd'y, by the way, from our mootual son, Artemus, Jr.,
who is at Bowdoin College in Maine. He writes that he's a Bowdoin Arab.
& is it cum to this? Is this Boy as I nurtered with a Parent's care
into his childhood's hour--is he goin' to be a Grate American humorist?
Alars! I fear it is too troo. Why didn't I bind him out to the Patent
Travellin Vegetable Pill Man, as was struck with his appearance at our
last County Fair, & wanted him to go with him and be a Pillist? Ar,
these Boys--they little know how the old folks worrit about 'em. But
my father he never had no occasion to worrit about me. You know,
Betsy, that when I fust commenced my career as a moral exhibitor with
a six-legged cat and a Bass drum, I was only a simple peasant
child--skurce 15 Summers had flow'd over my yoothful hed. But I had sum
mind of my own. My father understood this. "Go," he sed--"go, my son,
and hog the public!" (he ment, "knock em," but the old man was allus
a little given to slang). He put his withered han' tremblinly onto my
hed, and went sadly into the house. I thought I saw tears tricklin down
his venerable chin, but it might hav been tobacker jooce. He chaw'd.
LITERATOOR.
The "Atlantic Monthly," Betsy, is a reg'lar visitor to our westun home.
I like it because it has got sense. It don't print stories with piruts
and honist young men into 'em, makin' the piruts splendid fellers and
the honist young men dis'gree'ble idiots--so that our darters very
nat'rally prefer the piruts to the honist young idiots; but it gives
us good square American literatoor. The chaps that write for the
"Atlantic," Betsy, understand their bizness. They can sling ink, they
can. I went in and saw 'em. I told 'em that theirs was a high and holy
mission. They seemed quite gratified, and asked me if I had seen the
Grate Orgin.
WHERE THE FUST BLUD WAS SPILT.
I went over to Lexington yes'd'y. My Boozum hove with sollum emotions.
"& this," I sed to a man who was drivin' a yoke of oxen, "this is where
our revolutionary forefathers asserted their independence and spilt
their Blud. Classic ground!"
"Wall," the man sed, "it's good for white beans and potatoes, but was
regards raisin' wheat, t'ain't worth a damn. But hav' you seen the
Grate Orgin?"
THE POOTY GIRL IN SPECTACLES.
I returned in the Hoss Cars, part way. A pooty girl in spectacles sot
near me, and was tellin' a young man how much he reminded her of a man
she used to know in Walthan. Pooty soon the young man got out, and,
smilin' in a seductive manner, I said to the girl in spectacles, "Don't
I remind you of somebody you used to know?"
"Yes," she sed, "you do remind me of one man, but he was sent to the
penitentiary for stealin' a Bar'l of mackril--he died there, so I
conclood you ain't HIM." I didn't pursoo the conversation. I only
heard her silvery voice once more durin' the remainder of the jerney.
Turnin' to a respectable lookin' female of advanced summers, she asked
her if she had seen the Grate Orgin.
We old chaps, my dear, air apt to forget that it is sum time since we
was infants, and et lite food. Nothin' of further int'rist took place
on the cars excep' a colored gentleman, a total stranger to me, asked if
I'd lend him my diamond Brestpin to wear to a funeral in South Boston.
I told him I wouldn't--not a purpuss.
COMMON SKOOLS.
A excellent skool sistim is in vogy here. John Slurk, my old pardner,
has a little son who has only bin to skool two months, and yet he
exhibertid his father's performin' Bear in the show all last summer. I
hope they pay partic'lar 'tention to Spelin in these Skools, because if
a man can't Spel wel he's of no 'kount.
SUMMIN' UP.
I ment to have allooded to the Grate Orgin in this letter, but I haven't
seen it. Mr. Reveer, whose tavern I stop at, informed me that it can
be distinctly heard through a smoked glass in his nativ town in New
Hampshire, any clear day. But settin' the Grate Orgin aside (and
indeed, I don't think I heard it mentioned all the time I was there),
Boston is one of the grandest, sure-footedest, clear headedest,
comfortablest cities on the globe. Onlike ev'ry other large city I
was ever in, the most of the hackmen don't seem to hav' bin speshully
intended by natur for the Burglery perfession, and it's about the only
large city I know of where you don't enjoy a brilliant opportunity of
bein swindled in sum way, from the Risin of the sun to the goin down
thereof. There4 I say, loud and continnered applaus' for Boston!
DOMESTIC MATTERS.
Kiss the children for me. What you tell me 'bout the Twins greeves me
sorely. When I sent 'em that Toy Enjine I had not contempyulated that
they would so fur forgit what wos doo the dignity of our house as to
squirt dishwater on the Incum Tax Collector. It is a disloyal act, and
shows a prematoor leanin' tords cussedness that alarms me. I send to
Amelia Ann, our oldest dawter, sum new music, viz. "I am Lonely sints My
Mother-in-law Died"; "Dear Mother, What tho' the Hand that Spanked me
in my Childhood's Hour is withered now?" &c. These song writers, by the
way, air doin' the Mother Bizness rather too muchly.
Your Own Troo husban', Artemus Ward.
____________________
HOW OLD ABE RECEIVED THE NEWS OF HIS NOMINATION.
There are several reports afloat as to how "Honest Old Abe" received the
news of his nomination, none of which are correct. We give the correct
report.
The Official Committee arrived in Springfield at dewy eve, and went to
Honest Old Abe's house. Honest Old Abe was not in. Mrs. Honest Old
Abe said Honest Old Abe was out in the woods splitting rails. So the
Official Committee went out into the woods, where sure enough they found
Honest Old Abe splitting rails with his two boys. It was a grand, a
magnificent spectacle. There stood Honest Old Abe in his shirt-sleeves,
a pair of leather home-made suspenders holding up a pair of home-made
pantaloons, the seat of which was neatly patched with substantial cloth
of a different color. "Mr Lincoln, Sir, you've been nominated, Sir, for
the highest office, Sir--." "Oh, don't bother me," said Honest Old Abe;
"I took a stent this mornin' to split three million rails afore night,
and I don't want to be pestered with no stuff about no Conventions till
I get my stent done. I've only got two hundred thousand rails to split
before sundown. I kin do it if you'll let me alone." And the great
man went right on splitting rails, paying no attention to the Committee
whatever. The Committee were lost in admiration for a few moments,
when they recovered, and asked one of Honest Old Abe's boys whose boy he
was? "I'm my parent's boy," shouted the urchin, which burst of wit
so convulsed the Committee that they came very near "gin'in eout"
completely. In a few moments Honest Ole Abe finished his task, and
received the news with perfect self-possession. He then asked them up
to the house, where he received them cordially. He said he split three
million rails every day, although he was in very poor health. Mr.
Lincoln is a jovial man, and has a keen sense of the ludicrous. During
the evening he asked Mr. Evarts, of New York, "why Chicago was like a
hen crossing the street?" Mr. Evarts gave it up. "Because," said Mr.
Lincoln, "Old Grimes is dead, that good old man!" This exceedingly
humorous thing created the most uproarious laughter.
____________________
INTERVIEW WITH PRESIDENT LINCOLN.
I hav no politics. Not a one. I'm not in the bisiness. If I was I
spose I should holler versiffrusly in the streets at nite and go home to
Betsy Jane smellen of coal ile and gin, in the mornin. I should go to
the Poles arly. I should stay there all day. I should see to it that
my nabers was thar. I should git carriges to take the kripples, the
infirm and the indignant thar. I should be on guard agin frauds and
sich. I should be on the look out for the infamus lise of the enemy,
got up jest be4 elecshun for perlitical effeck. When all was over and
my candydate was elected, I should move heving & erth so to speak until
I got orfice, which if I didn't git a orfice I should turn round and
abooze the Administration with all my mite and maine. But I'm not in
the bizniss. I'm in a far more respectful bizniss nor what pollertics
is. I wouldn't giv two cents to be a Congresser. The wuss insult I
ever received was when sertin citizens of Baldinsville axed me to run
fur the Legislater. Sez I, "My frends, dostest think I'd stoop to that
there?" They turned as white as a sheet. I spoke in my most orfullest
tones & they knowed I wasn't to be trifled with. They slunked out of
site to onct.
There4, havin no politics, I made bold to visit Old Abe at his humstid
in Springfield. I found the old feller in his parler, surrounded by a
perfeck swarm of orfice seekers. Knowin he had been capting of a flat
boat on the roarin Mississippy I thought I'd address him in sailor
lingo, so sez I, "Old Abe, ahoy! Let out yer main-suls, reef hum the
forecastle & throw yer jib-poop over-board! Shiver my timbers, my
harty!" [N.B. This is ginuine mariner langwidge. I know, becawz I've
seen sailor plays acted out by them New York theatre fellers.] Old
Abe lookt up quite cross & sez, "Send in yer petition by & by. I can't
possibly look at it now. Indeed, I can't. It's onpossible, sir!"
"Mr. Linkin, who do you spect I air?" sed I.
"A orfice-seeker, to be sure," sed he.
"Wall, sir," sed I, "you's never more mistaken in your life. You hain't
gut a orfiss I'd take under no circumstances. I'm A. Ward. Wax figgers
is my perfeshun. I'm the father of Twins, and they look like me both
of them. I cum to pay a friendly visit to the President eleck of the
United States. If so be you wants to see me, say so, if not, say so &
I'm orf like a jug handle."
"Mr. Ward, sit down. I am glad to see you, Sir."
"Repose in Abraham's Buzzum!" sed one of the orfice seekers, his idee
bein to git orf a goak at my expense.
"Wall," sez I, "ef all you fellers repose in that there Buzzum thar'll
be mity poor nussin for sum of you!" whereupon Old Abe buttoned his
weskit clear up and blusht like a maidin of sweet 16. Jest at this pint
of the conversation another swarm of orfice-seekers arrove & cum pilin
into the parler. Sum wanted post orfices, sum wanted collectorships,
sum wantid furrin missions, and all wanted sumthin. I thought Old Abe
would go crazy. He hadn't more than had time to shake hands with 'em,
before another tremenjis crowd cum porein onto his premises. His house
and dooryard was now perfeckly overflowed with orfice seekers, all
clameruss for a immejit interview with with Old Abe. One man from Ohio,
who had about seven inches of corn whisky into him, mistook me for Old
Abe and addrest me as "The Pra-hayrie Flower of the West!" Thinks I you
want a offiss putty bad. Another man with a gold-heded cane and a
red nose told Old Abe he was "a seckind Washington & the Pride of the
Boundliss West."
Sez I, "Square, you wouldn't take a small post-offiss if you could git
it, would you?"
Sez he, "A patrit is abuv them things, sir!"
"There's a putty big crop of patrits this season, ain't there, Squire?"
sez I, when another crowd of offiss seekers pored in. The house,
dooryard, barng & woodshed was now all full, and when another crowd
cum I told 'em not to go away for want of room as the hog-pen was still
empty. One patrit from a small town in Michygan went up on top the
house, got into the chimney and slid into the parler where Old Abe was
endeverin to keep the hungry pack of orfice-seekers from chawin him up
alive without benefit of clergy. The minit he reached the fireplace he
jumpt up, brusht the soot out of his eyes, and yelled: "Don't make eny
pintment at the Spunkville postoffiss till you've read my papers. All
the respectful men in our town is signers to that there dockyment!"
"Good God!" cried Old Abe, "they cum upon me from the skize down the
chimneys, and from the bowels of the yerth!" He hadn't more'n got
them words out of his delikit mouth before two fat offiss-seekers from
Winconsin, in endeverin to crawl atween his legs for the purpuss of
applyin for the tollgateship at Milwawky, upsot the President eleck, &
he would hev gone sprawlin into the fireplace if I hadn't caught him in
these arms. But I hadn't more'n stood him up strate before another man
cum crashing down the chimney, his head strikin me viliently again the
inards and prostratin my voluptoous form onto the floor. "Mr. Linkin,"
shoutid the infatooated being, "my papers is signed by every clergyman
in our town, and likewise the skoolmaster!"
Sez I, "You egrejis ass," gittin up & brushin the dust from my eyes,
"I'll sign your papers with this bunch of bones, if you don't be a
little more keerful how you make my bread basket a depot in the futur.
How do you like that air perfumery?" sez I, shuving my fist under his
nose. "Them's the kind of papers I'll give you! Them's the papers you
want!"
"But I workt hard for the ticket; I toiled night and day! The patrit
should be rewarded!"
"Virtoo," sed I, holdin' the infatooated man by the coat-collar,
"virtoo, sir, is its own reward. Look at me!" He did look at me, and
qualed be4 my gase. "The fact is," I continued, lookin' round on the
hungry crowd, "there is scacely a offiss for every ile lamp carrid
round durin' this campane. I wish thare was. I wish thare was furrin
missions to be filled on varis lonely Islands where eppydemics rage
incessantly, and if I was in Old Abe's place I'd send every mother's
son of you to them. What air you here for?" I continnered, warmin up
considerable, "can't you giv Abe a minit's peace? Don't you see he's
worrid most to death? Go home, you miserable men, go home & till
the sile! Go to peddlin tinware--go to choppin wood--go to bilin'
sope--stuff sassengers--black boots--git a clerkship on sum respectable
manure cart--go round as original Swiss Bell Ringers--becum 'origenal
and only' Campbell Minstrels--go to lecturin at 50 dollars a
nite--imbark in the peanut bizniss--write for the Ledger--saw off your
legs and go round givin concerts, with tuchin appeals to a charitable
public, printed on your handbills--anything for a honest living, but
don't come round here drivin Old Abe crazy by your outrajis cuttings
up! Go home. Stand not upon the order of your goin,' but go to onct!
Ef in five minits from this time," sez I, pullin' out my new sixteen
dollar huntin cased watch and brandishin' it before their eyes, "Ef in
five minits from this time a single sole of you remains on these here
premises, I'll go out to my cage near by, and let my Boy Constructor
loose! & ef he gits amung you, you'll think old Solferino has cum again
and no mistake!" You ought to hev seen them scamper, Mr. Fair. They
run ort as tho Satun hisself was arter them with a red hot ten pronged
pitchfork. In five minits the premises was clear.
"How kin I ever repay you, Mr. Ward, for your kindness?" sed Old Abe,
advancin and shakin me warmly by the hand. "How kin I ever repay you,
sir?"
"By givin the whole country a good, sound administration. By poerin'
ile upon the troubled waturs, North and South. By pursooin' a
patriotic, firm, and just course, and then if any State wants to secede,
let 'em Sesesh!"
"How 'bout my Cabinit, Mister Ward?" sed Abe.
"Fill it up with Showmen, sir! Showmen, is devoid of politics. They
hain't got any principles. They know how to cater for the public.
They know what the public wants, North & South. Showmen, sir, is honest
men. Ef you doubt their literary ability, look at their posters, and
see small bills! Ef you want a Cabinit as is a Cabinit fill it up with
showmen, but don't call on me. The moral wax figger perfeshun musn't be
permitted to go down while there's a drop of blood in these vains! A.
Linkin, I wish you well! Ef Powers or Walcutt wus to pick out a model
for a beautiful man, I scarcely think they'd sculp you; but ef you do
the fair thing by your country you'll make as putty a angel as any of
us! A. Linkin, use the talents which Nature has put into you judishusly
and firmly, and all will be well! A. Linkin, adoo!"
He shook me cordyully by the hand--we exchanged picters, so we could
gaze upon each other's liniments, when far away from one another--he at
the hellum of the ship of State, and I at the hellum of the show bizniss
admittance only 15 cents.
____________________
INTERVIEW WITH THE PRINCE NAPOLEON.
Notwithstandin I hain't writ much for the papers of late, nobody needn't
flatter theirselves that the undersined is ded. On the contry, "I still
live," which words was spoken by Danyil Webster, who was a able man.
Even the old-line whigs of Boston will admit that. Webster is ded now,
howsever, and his mantle has probly fallen into the hands of sum dealer
in 2nd hand close, who can't sell it. Leastways nobody pears to be goin
round wearin it to any perticler extent, now days. The rigiment of whom
I was kurnel, finerly concluded they was better adapted as Home Gards,
which accounts for your not hearin of me, ear this, where the bauls is
the thickest and where the cannon doth roar. But as a American citizen
I shall never cease to admire the masterly advance our troops made on
Washinton from Bull Run, a short time ago. It was well dun. I spoke to
my wife 'bout it at the time. My wife sed it was well dun.
It havin there4 bin detarmined to pertect Baldinsville at all hazzuds,
and as there was no apprehensions of any immejit danger, I thought I
would go orf onto a pleasure tower. Accordinly I put on a clean
Biled Shirt and started for Washinton. I went there to see the Prints
Napoleon, and not to see the place, which I will here take occasion to
obsarve is about as uninterestin a locality as there is this side of
J. Davis's future home, if he ever does die, and where I reckon they'll
make it so warm for him that he will si for his summer close. It
is easy enough to see why a man goes to the poor house or the
penitentiary. It's becawz he can't help it. But why he should
woluntarily go and live in Washinton, is intirely beyond my
comprehension, and I can't say no fairer nor that.
I put up to a leadin hotel. I saw the landlord and sed, "How d'ye do,
Square?"
"Fifty cents, sir," was his reply.
"Sir?"
"Half-a-dollar. We charge twenty-five cents for lookin at the landlord
and fifty cents for speakin to him. If you want supper, a boy will
show you to the dinin-room for twenty-five cents. Your room bein in the
tenth story, it will cost you a dollar to be shown up there."
"How much do you ax for a man breathin in this equinomikal tarvun?" sed
I.
"Ten cents a Breth," was his reply.
Washinton hotels is very reasonable in their charges. [N.B. This is
Sarkassum.]
I sent up my keerd to the Prints, and was immejitly ushered before him.
He received me kindly, and axed me to sit down.
"I hav cum to pay my respecks to you, Mister Napoleon, hopin I see you
hale and harty."
"I am quite well," he sed. "Air you well, sir?"
"Sound as a cuss!" I answerd.
He seemed to be pleased with my ways, and we entered into conversation
to onct.
"How's Lewis?" I axed, and he sed the Emperor was well. Eugeny was
likewise well, he sed. Then I axed him was Lewis a good provider? did
he cum home arly nites? did he perfoom her bedroom at a onseasonable
hour with gin and tanzy? Did he go to "the Lodge" on nites when there
wasn't any Lodge? did he often hav to go down town to meet a friend? did
he hav a extensiv acquaintance among poor young widders whose husbands
was in Californy? to all of which questions the Prints perlitely
replide, givin me to understand that the Emperor was behavin well.
"I ax these question, my royal duke and most noble hiness and imperials,
becaws I'm anxious to know how he stands as a man. I know he's smart.
He is cunnin, he is long-heded, he is deep--he is grate. But onless he
is good he'll come down with a crash one of these days and the Bonyparts
will be Bustid up agin. Bet yer life!"
"Air you a preacher, sir?" he inquired slitely sarkasticul.
"No, sir. But I bleeve in morality. I likewise bleeve in Meetin
Houses. Show me a place where there isn't any Meetin Houses and where
preachers is never seen, and I'll show you a place where old hats air
stuffed into broken winders, where the children air dirty and ragged,
where gates have no hinges, where the wimin are slipshod, and where
maps of the devil's "wild land" air painted upon men's shirt bosums with
tobacco-jooce! That's what I'll show you. Let us consider what the
preachers do for us before we aboose 'em."
He sed he didn't mean to aboose the clergy. Not at all, and he was
happy to see that I was interested in the Bonypart family.
"It's a grate family," sed I. "But they scooped the old man in."
"How, Sir?"
"Napoleon the Grand. The Britishers scooped him at Waterloo. He wanted
to do too much, and he did it! They scooped him in at Waterloo, and he
subsekently died at St. Heleny! There's where the gratest military man
this world ever projuced pegged out. It was rather hard to consine such
a man as him to St. Heleny, to spend his larst days in catchin mackeril,
and walkin up and down the dreary beach in a military cloak drawn titely
round him, (see picter-books), but so it was. 'Hed of the Army!' Them
was his larst words. So he had bin. He was grate! Don't I wish we had
a pair of his old boots to command sum of our Brigades!"
This pleased Jerome, and he took me warmly by the hand.
"Alexander the Grate was punkins," I continnered, "but Napoleon was
punkinser! Alic wept becaws there was no more worlds to scoop, and then
took to drinkin. He drowndid his sorrers in the flowin bole, and the
flowin bole was too much for him. It ginerally is. He undertook to
give a snake exhibition in his boots, but it killed him. That was a bad
joke on Alic!"
"Since you air so solicitous about France and the Emperor, may I ask you
how your own country is getting along?" sed Jerome, in a pleasant voice.
"It's mixed," I sed. But I think we shall cum out all right."
"Columbus, when he diskivered this magnificent continent, could hav had
no idee of the grandeur it would one day assoom," sed the Prints.
"It cost Columbus twenty thousand dollars to fit out his explorin
expedition," sed I. "If he had bin a sensible man he'd hav put the
money in a hoss railroad or a gas company, and left this magnificent
continent to intelligent savages, who when they got hold of a good thing
knew enuff to keep it, and who wouldn't hav seceded, nor rebelled, nor
knockt Liberty in the hed with a slungshot. Columbus wasn't much of a
feller, after all. It would hav bin money in my pocket if he'd staid
at home. Chris. ment well, but he put his foot in it when he saled for
America."
We talked sum more about matters and things, and at larst I riz to
go. "I will now say good-bye to you, noble sir, and good luck to you.
Likewise the same to Clotildy. Also to the gorgeous persons which
compose your soot. If the Emperor's boy don't like livin at the
Tooleries, when he gits older, and would like to imbark in the show
bizness, let him come with me and I'll make a man of him. You find us
sumwhat mixed, as I before obsarved, but come again next year and you'll
find us clearer nor ever. The American Eagle has lived too sumptuously
of late his stummic becum foul, and he's takin a slite emetic. That's
all. We're getting ready to strike a big blow and a sure one. When we
do strike, the fur will fly and secession will be in the hands of the
undertaker, sheeted for so deep a grave that nothin short of Gabriel's
trombone will ever awaken it! Mind what I say. You've heard the
showman!"
Then advisin him to keep away from the Peter Funk sections of the East,
and the proprietors of corner-lots in the West, I bid him farewell, and
went away.
There was a levee at Senator What's-his-name's, and I thought I'd jine
in the festivities for a spell. Who should I see but she that was Sarah
Watkins, now the wife of our Congresser, trippin in the dance, dressed
up to kill in her store close. Sarah's father use to keep a little
grosery store in our town and she used to clerk it for him in busy
times. I was rushin up to shake hands with her when she turned on her
heel, and tossin her hed in a contemptooious manner, walked away from me
very rapid. "Hallo, Sal," I hollered, "can't you measure me a quart of
them best melasses? I may want a codfish, also!" I guess this reminded
her of the little red store, and "the days of her happy childhood."
But I fell in love with a nice little gal after that, who was much
sweeter then Sally's father's melasses, and I axed her if we shouldn't
glide in the messy dance. She sed we should, and we Glode.
I intended to make this letter very seris, but a few goaks may have
accidentally crept in. Never mind. Besides, I think it improves a
komick paper to publish a goak once in a while.
Yures Muchly,
WARD, (Artemus)
____________________
AGRICULTURE.
The Barclay County Agricultural Society having seriously invited the
author of this volume to address them on the occasion of their next
annual Fair, he wrote the President of that Society as follows:
New York. June 12, 1865,
Dear Sir:
I have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of the
5th inst., in which you invite me to deliver an address before your
excellent agricultural society.
I feel flattered, and think I will come.
Perhaps, meanwhile, a brief history of my experience as an agriculturist
will be acceptable; and as that history no doubt contains suggestions of
value to the entire agricultural community, I have concluded to write to
you through the Press.
I have been an honest old farmer for some four years.
My farm is in the interior of Maine. Unfortunately my lands are eleven
miles from the railroad. Eleven miles is quite a distance to haul
immense quantities of wheat, corn, rye, and oats; but as I hav'n't any
to haul, I do not, after all, suffer much on that account.
My farm is more especially a grass farm.
My neighbors told me so at first, and as an evidence that they were
sincere in that opinion, they turned their cows on to it the moment I
went off "lecturing."
These cows are now quite fat. I take pride in these cows, in fact, and
am glad I own a grass farm.
Two years ago I tried sheep-raising.
I bought fifty lambs, and turned them loose on my broad and beautiful
acres.
It was pleasant on bright mornings to stroll leisurely out on to the
farm in my dressing-gown, with a cigar in my mouth, and watch those
innocent little lambs as they danced gayly o'er the hillside. Watching
their saucy capers reminded me of caper sauce, and it occurred to me I
should have some very fine eating when they grew up to be "muttons."
My gentle shepherd, Mr. Eli Perkins, said, "We must have some shepherd
dogs."
I had no very precise idea as to what shepherd dogs were, but I assumed
a rather profound look, and said:
"We must, Eli. I spoke to you about this some time ago!"
I wrote to my old friend, Mr. Dexter H. Follett, of Boston, for two
shepherd dogs. Mr. F. is not an honest old farmer himself, but I
thought he knew about shepherd dogs. He kindly forsook far more
important business to accommodate, and the dogs came forthwith. They
were splendid creatures snuff-colored, hazel-eyed, long-tailed, and
shapely-jawed.
We led them proudly to the fields.
"Turn them in, Eli," I said.
Eli turned them in.
They went in at once, and killed twenty of my best lambs in about four
minutes and a half.
My friend had made a trifling mistake in the breed of these dogs.
These dogs were not partial to sheep.
Eli Perkins was astonished, and observed:
"Waal! DID you ever?"
I certainly never had.
There were pools of blood on the greensward, and fragments of wool and
raw lamb chops lay round in confused heaps.
The dogs would have been sent to Boston that night, had they not
suddenly died that afternoon of a throat-distemper. It wasn't a
swelling of the throat. It wasn't diptheria. It was a violent opening
of the throat, extending from ear to ear.
Thus closed their life-stories. Thus ended their interesting tails.
I failed as a raiser of lambs. As a sheepist, I was not a success.
Last summer Mr. Perkins, said, "I think we'd better cut some grass this
season, sir."
We cut some grass.
To me the new-mown hay is very sweet and nice. The brilliant George
Arnold sings about it, in beautiful verse, down in Jersey every summer;
so does the brilliant Aldrich, at Portsmouth, N.H. And yet I doubt
if either of these men knows the price of a ton of hay to-day. But
new-mown hay is a really fine thing. It is good for man and beast.
We hired four honest farmers to assist us, and I led them gayly to the
meadows.
I was going to mow, myself.
I saw the sturdy peasants go round once ere I dipped my flashing scythe
into the tall green grass.
"Are you ready?" said E. Perkins.
"I am here!"
"Then follow us."
I followed them.
Followed them rather too closely, evidently, for a white-haired old man,
who immediately followed Mr. Perkins, called upon us to halt. Then in
a low firm voice he said to his son, who was just ahead of me, "John,
change places with me. I hain't got long to live, anyhow. Yonder
berryin' ground will soon have these old bones, and it's no matter
whether I'm carried there with one leg off and ter'ble gashes in the
other or not! But you, John you are young."
The old man changed places with his son. A smile of calm resignation
lit up his wrinkled face, as he sed, "Now, sir, I am ready!"
"What mean you, old man!" I sed.
"I mean that if you continner to bran'ish that blade as you have been
bran'ishin' it, you'll slash hout of some of us before we're a hour
older!"
There was some reason mingled with this white-haired old peasant's
profanity. It was true that I had twice escaped mowing off his son's
legs, and his father was perhaps naturally alarmed.
I went and sat down under a tree. "I never know'd a literary man in my
life," I overheard the old man say, "that know'd anything."
Mr. Perkins was not as valuable to me this season as I had fancied he
might be. Every afternoon he disappeared from the field regularly, and
remained about some two hours. He sed it was headache. He inherited it
from his mother. His mother was often taken in that way, and suffered a
great deal.
At the end of the two hours Mr. Perkins would reappear with his head
neatly done up in a large wet rag, and say he "felt better."
One afternoon it so happened that I soon followed the invalid to the
house, and as I neared the porch I heard a female voice energetically
observe, "You stop!" It was the voice of the hired girl, and she added,
"I'll holler for Mr. Brown!"
"Oh no, Nancy," I heard the invalid E. Perkins soothingly say, "Mr.
Brown knows I love you. Mr. Brown approves of it!"
This was pleasant for Mr. Brown!
I peered cautiously through the kitchen-blinds, and, however unnatural
it may appear, the lips of Eli Perkins and my hired girl were very near
together. She sed, "You shan't do so," and he do-soed. She also said
she would get right up and go away, and as an evidence that she was
thoroughly in earnest about it, she remained where she was.
They are married now, and Mr. Perkins is troubled no more with the
headache.
This year we are planting corn. Mr. Perkins writes me that "on accounts
of no skare krows bein put up krows cum and digged fust crop up but soon
got nother in. Old Bisbee who was frade youd cut his sons leggs off
Ses you bet go an stan up in feeld yrself with dressin gownd on & gesses
krows will keep way. This made Boys in store larf. no More terday from
"Yours "respecful "Eli Perkins,"
"his letter."
My friend Mr. D.T.T. Moore, of the "Rural New Yorker," thinks if I "keep
on" I will get in the Poor House in about two years.
If you think the honest old farmers of Barclay County want me, I will
come.
Truly Yours, Charles F. Browne.
____________________
BUSTS.
There are in this city several Italian gentlemen engaged in the bust
business. They have their peculiarities and eccentricities. They are
swarthy-faced, wear slouched caps and drab pea-jackets, and smoke bad
cigars. They make busts of Webster, Clay, Bonaparte, Douglas, and other
great men, living and dead. The Italian buster comes upon you solemnly
and cautiously. "Buy Napoleon?" he will say, and you may probably
answer "not a buy." "How much giv-ee?" he asks, and perhaps you will
ask him how much he wants. "Nine dollar," he will answer always.
We are sure of it. We have observed this peculiarity in the busters
frequently. No matter how large or small the bust may be, the first
price is invariably "nine dollar." If you decline paying this price, as
you undoubtedly will if you are right in your head, he again asks, "how
much giv-ee?" By way of a joke you say "a dollar," when the buster
retreats indignantly to the door, saying in a low, wild voice, "O dam!"
With his hand upon the door-latch, he turns and once more asks, "how
much giv-ee?" You repeat the previous offer, when he mutters, "O ha!"
then coming pleasantly towards you, he speaks thus: "Say! how much
giv-ee?" Again you say a dollar, and he cries, "take 'um take 'um!"
thus falling eight dollars on his original price.
Very eccentric is the Italian buster, and sometimes he calls his busts
by wrong names. We bought Webster (he called him Web-STAR) of him the
other day, and were astonished when he called upon us the next day with
another bust of Webster, exactly like the one we had purchased of him,
and asked us if we didn't want to buy "Cole, the wife-pizener!" We
endeavored to rebuke the depraved buster, but our utterance was
choked, and we could only gaze upon him in speechless astonishment and
indignation.
____________________
A HARD CASE.
We have heard of some very hard cases since we have enlivened this world
with our brilliant presence. We once saw an able-bodied man chase a
party of little school-children and rob them of their dinners. The man
who stole the coppers from his deceased grandmother's eyes lived in our
neighborhood, and we have read about the man who went to church for the
sole purpose of stealing the testaments and hymn-books. But the hardest
case we ever heard of lived in Arkansas. He was only fourteen years
old. One night he deliberately murdered his father and mother in cold
blood, with a meat-axe. He was tried and found guilty. The Judge drew
on his black cap, and in a voice choked with emotion asked the young
prisoner if he had anything to say before the sentence of the Court was
passed on him. The court-room was densely crowded and there was not a
dry eye in the vast assembly. The youth of the prisoner, his beauty
and innocent looks, the mild, lamblike manner in which he had conducted
himself during the trial all, all had thoroughly enlisted the sympathy
of the spectators, the ladies in particular. And even the Jury, who had
found it to be their stern duty to declare him guilty of the appalling
crime even the Jury now wept aloud at this awful moment.
"Have you anything to say?" repeated the deeply moved Judge.
"Why, no," replied the prisoner, "I think I haven't, though I hope yer
Honor will show some consideration for the feelings of a poor orphan!"
The Judge sentenced the perfect young wretch without delay.
____________________
AFFAIRS AROUND THE VILLAGE GREEN.
It isn't every one who has a village green to write about. I have one,
although I have not seen much of it for some years past. I am back
again, now. In the language of the duke who went around with a motto
about him, "I am here!" and I fancy I am about as happy a peasant of the
vale as ever garnished a melodrama, although I have not as yet danced on
my village green, as the melodramatic peasant usually does on his. It
was the case when Rosina Meadows left home.
The time rolls by serenely now so serenely that I don't care what time
it is, which is fortunate, because my watch is at present in the hands
of those "men of New York who are called rioters." We met by chance,
the usual way certainly not by appointment and I brought the interview
to a close with all possible despatch. Assuring them that I wasn't
Mr. Greeley, particularly, and that he had never boarded in the private
family where I enjoy the comforts of a home, I tendered them my watch,
and begged they would distribute it judiciously among the laboring
classes, as I had seen the rioters styled in certain public prints.
Why should I loiter feverishly in Broadway, stabbing the hissing hot
air with the splendid gold-headed cane that was presented to me by
the citizens of Waukegan, Illinois, as a slight testimonial of their
esteem? Why broil in my rooms? You said to me, Mrs. Gloverson, when I
took possession of these rooms, that no matter how warm it might be, a
breeze had a way of blowing into them, and that they were, withal,
quite countryfied; but I am bound to say, Mrs. Gloverson, that there
was nothing about them that ever reminded me, in the remotest degree, of
daisies or new-mown hay. Thus, with sarcasm, do I smash the deceptive
Gloverson.
Why stay in New York when I had a village green? I gave it up, the same
as I would an intricate conundrum and, in short, I am here.
Do I miss the glare and crash of the imperial thoroughfare? The
milkman, the fiery, untamed omnibus horses, the soda fountains, Central
Park, and those things? Yes I do; and I can go on missing 'em for quite
a spell, and enjoy it.
The village from which I write to you is small. It does not contain
over forty houses, all told; but they are milk-white, with the greenest
of blinds, and for the most part are shaded with beautiful elms and
willows. To the right of us is a mountain to the left a lake. The
village nestles between. Of course it does, I never read a novel in my
life in which the villages didn't nestle. Villages invariably nestle.
It is a kind of way they have.
We are away from the cars. The iron-horse, as my little sister aptly
remarks in her composition On Nature, is never heard to shriek in our
midst; and on the whole I am glad of it.
The villagers are kindly people. They are rather incoherent on
the subject of the war, but not more so, perhaps, then are people
elsewhere. One citizen, who used to sustain a good character,
subscribed for the Weekly New York Herald a few months since, and
went to studying the military maps in that well-known journal for the
fireside. I need not inform you that his intellect now totters, and
he has mortgaged his farm. In a literary point of view we are rather
bloodthirsty. A pamphlet edition of the life of a cheerful being, who
slaughtered his wife and child, and then finished himself, is having an
extensive sale just now.
We know little of Honore de Balzac, and perhaps care less for Victor
Hugo. M. Claes's grand search for the Absolute doesn't thrill us in the
least; and Jean Valjean, gloomily picking his way through the sewers of
Paris, with the spooney young man of the name of Marius upon his back,
awakens no interest in our breasts. I say Jean Valjean picked his way
gloomily, and I repeat it. No man, under these circumstances, could
have skipped gayly. But this literary business, as the gentleman who
married his colored chambermaid aptly observed, "is simply a matter of
taste."
The store I must not forget the store. It is an object of great
interest to me. I usually encounter there, on sunny afternoons, an
old Revolutionary soldier. You may possibly have read about "Another
Revolutionary Soldier gone," but this is one who hasn't gone, and,
moreover, one who doesn't manifest the slightest intention of going. He
distinctly remembers Washington, of course; they all do; but what I
wish to call special attention to, is the fact that this Revolutionary
soldier is one hundred years old, that his eyes are so good that he can
read fine print without spectacles--he never used them, by the way and
his mind is perfectly clear. He is a little shaky in one of his legs,
but otherwise he is as active as most men of forty-five, and his general
health is excellent. He uses no tobacco, but for the last twenty years
he has drunk one glass of liquor every day no more, no less. He says
he must have his tod. I had begun to have lurking suspicions about
this Revolutionary soldier business, but here is an original Jacobs.
But because a man can drink a glass of liquor a day, and live to be a
hundred years old, my young readers must not infer that by drinking two
glasses of liquor a day a man can live to be two hundred. "Which, I
meanter say, it doesn't foller," as Joseph Gargery might observe.
This store, in which may constantly be found calico and nails, and
fish, and tobacco in kegs, and snuff in bladders, is a venerable
establishment. As long ago as 1814 it was an institution. The county
troops, on their way to the defence of Portland, then menaced by British
ships-of-war, were drawn up in front of this very store, and treated at
the town's expense. Citizens will tell you how the clergyman refused
to pray for the troops, because he considered the war an unholy one; and
how a somewhat eccentric person, of dissolute habits, volunteered his
services, stating that he once had an uncle who was a deacon, and he
thought he could make a tolerable prayer, although it was rather out
of his line; and how he prayed so long and absurdly that the Colonel
ordered him under arrest, but that even while soldiers stood over him
with gleaming bayonets, the reckless being sang a preposterous song
about his grandmother's spotted calf, with its Ri-fol-lol-tiddery-i-do;
after which he howled dismally.
And speaking of the store, reminds me of a little story. The author
of "several successful comedies" has been among us, and the store was
anxious to know who the stranger was. And therefore the store asked
him.
"What do you follow, sir?" respectfully inquired the tradesman.
"I occasionally write for the stage, sir."
"Oh!" returned the tradesman, in a confused manner.
"He means," said an honest villager, with a desire to help the puzzled
tradesman out, "he means that he writes the handbills for the stage
drivers!"
I believe that story is new, although perhaps it is not of an
uproariously mirthful character; but one hears stories at the store
that are old enough, goodness knows stories which, no doubt, diverted
Methuselah in the sunny days of his giddy and thoughtless boyhood.
There is an exciting scene at the store occasionally. Yesterday an
athletic peasant, in a state of beer, smashed in a counter and emptied
two tubs of butter on the floor. His father a white-haired old man,
who was a little boy when the Revolutionary war closed, but who doesn't
remember Washington much, came round in the evening and settled for the
damages. "My son," he said, "has considerable originality." I will
mention that this same son once told me that he could lick me with one
arm tied behind him, and I was so thoroughly satisfied he could, that I
told him he needn't mind going for a rope.
Sometimes I go a-visiting to a farmhouse, on which occasions the parlor
is opened. The windows have been close-shut ever since the last visitor
was there, and there is a dingy smell that I struggle as calmly as
possible with, until I am led to the banquet of steaming hot biscuit and
custard pie. If they would only let me sit in the dear old-fashioned
kitchen, or on the door-stone if they knew how dismally the new black
furniture looked but, never mind, I am not a reformer. No, I should
rather think not.
Gloomy enough, this living on a farm, you perhaps say, in which case you
are wrong. I can't exactly say that I pant to be an agriculturist, but
I do know that in the main it is an independent, calmly happy sort of
life. I can see how the prosperous farmer can go joyously a-field
with the rise of the sun, and how his heart may swell with pride over
bounteous harvests and sleek oxen. And it must be rather jolly for him
on winter evenings to sit before the bright kitchen fire and watch his
rosy boys and girls as they study out the charades in the weekly paper,
and gradually find out why my first is something that grows in a garden,
and my second is a fish.
On the green hillside over yonder there is a quivering of snowy drapery,
and bright hair is flashing in the morning sunlight. It is recess, and
the Seminary girls are running in the tall grass.
A goodly seminary to look at outside, certainly, although I am pained
to learn, as I do on unprejudiced authority, that Mrs. Higgins, the
Principal, is a tyrant, who seeks to crush the girls and trample upon
them; but my sorrow is somewhat assuaged by learning that Skimmerhorn,
the pianist, is perfectly splendid.
Looking at these girls reminds me that I, too, was once young and where
are the friends of my youth? I have found one of 'em, certainly. I saw
him ride in the circus the other day on a bareback horse, and even now
his name stares at me from yonder board-fence, in green, and blue, and
red, and yellow letters. Dashington, the youth with whom I used to read
the able orations of Cicero, and who, as a declaimer on exhibition days,
used to wipe the rest of us boys pretty handsomely out--well, Dashington
is identified with the halibut and cod interest--drives a fish cart,
in fact, from a certain town on the coast, back into the interior.
Hurbertson, the utterly stupid boy the lunkhead, who never had his
lesson he's about the ablest lawyer a sister State can boast. Mills is
a newspaper man, and is just now editing a Major-General down South.
Singlinson, the sweet-voiced boy, whose face was always washed and who
was real good, and who was never rude--he is in the penitentiary for
putting his uncle's autograph to a financial document. Hawkins, the
clergyman's son, is an actor, and Williamson, the good little boy who
divided his bread and butter with the beggarman, is a failing merchant,
and makes money by it. Tom Slink, who used to smoke short-sixes and get
acquainted with the little circus boys, is popularly supposed to be
the proprietor of a cheap gaming establishment in Boston, where the
beautiful but uncertain prop is nightly tossed. Be sure, the Army is
represented by many of the friends of my youth, the most of whom have
given a good account of themselves. But Chalmerson hasn't done much.
No, Chalmerson is rather of a failure. He plays on the guitar and sings
love songs. Not that he is a bad man. A kinder-hearted creature never
lived, and they say he hasn't yet got over crying for his little curly
haired sister who died ever so long ago. But he knows nothing about
business, politics, the world, and those things. He is dull at trade
indeed, it is a common remark that "everybody cheats Chalmerson."
He came to the party the other evening, and brought his guitar. They
wouldn't have him for a tenor in the opera, certainly, for he is shaky
in his upper notes; but if his simple melodies didn't gush straight from
the heart, why were my trained eyes wet? And although some of the
girls giggled, and some of the men seemed to pity him I could not help
fancying that poor Chalmerson was nearer heaven than any of us all!
____________________
THE SHOW IS CONFISCATED.
You hav perhaps wondered wharebouts I was for these many dase gone and
past.
Perchans you sposed I'd gone to the Tomb of the Cappylets, tho I don't
know what those is.
It's a popler noospaper frase.
Listen to my tail, and be silent that ye may here I've been among the
Seseshers, a earnin my daily peck by my legitimit perfeshun, and havn't
had no time to weeld my facile quill for "the Grate Komick paper," if
you'll allow me to kote from your troothful advertisement.
My success was skaly, and I likewise had a narrer scape of my life.
If what I've bin threw is "Suthren hosspitality," 'bout which we've
hearn so much, then I feel bound to obsarve that they made two much of
me.
They was altogether two lavish with their attenshuns.
I went amung the Seseshers with no feelins of annermosity.
I went in my perfeshernal capacity.
I was actooated by one of the most Loftiest desires which can swell the
human Buzzum, viz.:--to giv the peeple their money's worth, by showin
them Sagashus Beests, and Wax Statoots, which I venter to say air
onsurpast by any other statoots anywheres.
I will not call that man who sez my statoots is humbugs a lier and a
hoss thief, but bring him be4 me and I'll wither him with one of my
scornful frowns.
But to proseed with my tail.
In my travels threw the Sonny South I heared a heap of talk about
Seceshon and bustin up the Union, but I didn't think it mounted to
nothin.
The politicians in all the villages was swearin that Old Abe (sometimes
called the Prahayrie flower) shouldn't never be noggerated.
They also made fools of theirselves in varis ways, but as they was
used to that I didn't let it worry me much, and the Stars and Stripes
continued for to wave over my little tent.
Moor over, I was a Son of Malty and a member of several other Temperance
Societies, and my wife she was a Dawter of Malty, an I sposed these fax
would secoor me the infloonz and pertectiun of all the fust families.
Alas! I was dispinted.
State arter State seseshed and it growed hotter and hotter for the
undersined.
Things came to a climbmacks in a small town in Alabamy, where I was
premtorally ordered to haul down the Stars & Stripes.
A deppytashun of red-faced men cum up to the door of my tent ware I
was standin takin money (the arternoon exhibishun had commenst, an'
my Italyun organist was jerkin his sole-stirrin chimes.) "We air cum,
Sir," said a millingtary man in a cockt hat, "upon a hi and holy mishun.
The Southern Eagle is screamin threwout this sunny land--proudly and
defiantly screamin, Sir!"
"What's the matter with him?" sez I; "don't his vittles sit well on his
stummick?"
"That Eagle, Sir, will continner to scream all over this Brite and
tremenjus land!"
"Wall, let him scream. If your Eagle can amuse hisself by screamin, let
him went!" The men anoyed me, for I was Bizzy makin change.
"We are cum, Sir, upon a matter of dooty--"
"You're right, Capting. It's every man's dooty to visit my show," said
I.
"We air cum--"
"And that's the reason you are here!" sez I, larfin one of my silvery
larfs. I thawt if he wanted to goak I'd giv him sum of my sparklin
eppygrams.
"Sir, you're inserlent.
The plain question is, will you haul down the Star-Spangled Banner, and
hist the Southern flag!"
"Nary hist!" Those was my reply.
"Your wax works and beests is then confisticated, & you air arrested as
a Spy!"
Sez I, "My fragrant roses of the Southern clime and Bloomin daffodils,
what's the price of whisky in this town, and how many cubic feet of that
seductive flooid can you individooally hold?"
They made no reply to that, but said my wax figgers was confisticated.
I axed them if that was ginerally the stile among thieves in that
country, to which they also made no reply, but said I was arrested as a
Spy, and must go to Montgomry in iuns. They was by this time jined by a
large crowd of other Southern patrits, who commenst hollerin "Hang the
baldheaded aberlitionist, and bust up his immoral exhibition!" I
was ceased and tied to a stump, and the crowd went for my tent--that
water-proof pavilion, wherein instruction and amoosment had been so
muchly combined, at 15 cents per head--and tore it all to pieces.
Meanwhile dirty-faced boys was throwin stuns and empty beer bottles
at my massiv brow, and takin other improper liberties with my person.
Resistance was useless, for a varity of reasons, as I readily obsarved.
The Seseshers confisticated my statoots by smashin them to attums. They
then went to my money box and confisticated all the loose change therein
contaned. They then went and bust in my cages, lettin all the animils
loose, a small but helthy tiger among the rest. This tiger has a
excentric way of tearin dogs to peaces, and I allers sposed from his
gineral conduck that he'd hav no hesitashun in servin human beins in
the same way if he could get at them. Excuse me if I was crooil, but I
larfed boysterrusly when I see that tiger spring in among the people.
"Go it, my sweet cuss!" I inardly exclaimed. "I forgive you for bitin
off my left thum with all my heart! Rip 'em up like a bully tiger whose
Lare has bin inwaded by Seseshers!"
I can't say for certain that the tiger serisly injured any of them, but
as he was seen a few days after, sum miles distant, with a large and
well selected assortment of seats of trowsis in his mouth, and as he
lookt as tho he'd been havin sum vilent exercise, I rayther guess he
did. You will therefore perceive that they didn't confisticate him
much.
I was carried to Montgomry in iuns and placed in durans vial. The jail
was a ornery edifiss, but the table was librally surplied with Bakin an
Cabbidge. This was a good variety, for when I didn't hanker after Bakin
I could help myself to the cabbige.
I had nobody to talk to nor nothin to talk about, howsever, and I was
very lonely, specially on the first day; so when the jailer parst my
lonely sell I put the few stray hairs on the back part of my hed (I'm
bald now, but thare was a time when I wore sweet auburn ringlets) into
as dish-hevild a state as possible, & rollin my eyes like a manyyuck, I
cride: "Stay, jaler, stay! I am not mad, but soon shall be if you
don't bring me suthin to Talk!" He brung me sum noospapers, for which I
thanked him kindly.
At larst I got a interview with Jefferson Davis, the President of the
Southern Conthieveracy.
He was quite perlite, and axed me to sit down and state my case.
I did it, when he larfed and said his gallunt men had been a little 2
enthoosiastic in confisticatin my show.
"Yes," sez I, "they confisticated me too muchly. I had sum hosses
confisticated in the same way onct, but the confisticaters air now
poundin stun in the States Prison in Injinnapylus."
"Wall, wall Mister Ward, you air at liberty to depart; you air friendly
to the South, I know. Even now we hav many frens in the North, who
sympathize with us, and won't mingle with this fight."
"J. Davis, there's your grate mistaik.
Many of us was your sincere frends, and thought certin parties amung us
was fussin about you and meddlin with your consarns intirely too much.
But J. Davis, the minit you fire a gun at the piece of dry-goods called
the Star-Spangled Banner, the North gits up and rises en massy, in
defence of that banner. Not agin you as individooals,--not agin the
South even--but to save the flag. We should indeed be weak in the
knees, unsound in the heart, milk-white in the liver, and soft in the
hed, if we stood quietly by, and saw this glorus Govyment smashed to
pieces, either by a furrin or a intestine foe. The gentle-harted mother
hates to take her naughty child across her knee, but she knows it is her
dooty to do it. So we shall hate to whip the naughty South, but we must
do it if you don't make back tracks at onct, and we shall wallup you out
of your boots! J. Davis, it is my decided opinion that the Sonny South
is makin a egrejus mutton-hed of herself!"
"Go on, sir, you're safe enuff. You're two small powder for me!" sed
the President of the Southern Conthieveracy.
"Wait till I go home and start out the Baldinsville Mounted Hoss
Cavalry! I'm Capting of that Corpse, I am, and J. Davis, beware!
Jefferson D., I now leave you! Farewell my gay Saler Boy! Good-bye, my
bold buccaneer! Pirut of the deep blue sea, adoo! adoo!"
My tower threw the Southern Conthieveracy on my way home was thrillin
enuff for yeller covers. It will form the subjeck of my next. Betsy
Jane and the projeny air well.
Yours Respectably,
A. Ward.
____________________
THRILLING SCENES IN DIXIE.
I had a narrer scape from the sonny South. "The swings and arrers of
outrajus fortin," alluded to by Hamlick, warn't nothin in comparison to
my trubles. I come pesky near swearin sum profane oaths more'n onct,
but I hope I didn't do it, for I've promist she whose name shall be
nameless (except that her initials is Betsy J.) that I'll jine the
Meetin House at Baldinsville, jest as soon as I can scrape money enuff
together so I can 'ford to be piuss in good stile, like my welthy
nabers. But if I'm confisticated agin I'm fraid I shall continner on in
my present benited state for sum time.
I figgered conspicyusly in many thrillin scenes in my tower from
Montgomry to my humsted, and on sevril occasions I thought "the grate
komick paper" wouldn't be inriched no more with my lubrications. Arter
biddin adoo to Jefferson D. I started for the depot. I saw a nigger
sittin on a fence a playin on a banjo, "My Afrikan Brother," sed I,
coting from a Track I onct red, "you belong to a very interestin race.
Your masters is goin to war excloosively on your account."
"Yes, boss," he replied, "an' I wish 'em honorable graves!" and he went
on playin the banjo, larfin all over and openin his mouth wide enuff to
drive in an old-fashioned 2 wheeled chaise.
The train of cars in which I was to trust my wallerable life, was the
scaliest, rickytiest lookin lot of consarns that I ever saw on wheels
afore. "What time does this string of second-hand coffins leave?" I
inquired of the depot master. He sed direckly, and I went in & sot
down. I hadn't more'n fairly squatted afore a dark lookin man with a
swinister expression onto his countenance entered the cars, and lookin
very sharp at me, he axed what was my principles?
"Secesh!" I ansered. "I'm a Dissoluter. I'm in favor of Jeff Davis,
Bowregard, Pickens, Capt. Kidd, Bloobeard, Munro Edards, the devil, Mrs.
Cunningham and all the rest of 'em."
"You're in favor of the war?"
"Certingly. By all means. I'm in favor of this war and also of the
next war. I've been in favor of the next war for over sixteen years!"
"War to the knife!" sed the man.
"Blud, Eargo, Blud!" sed I, tho them words isn't orrigernal with me,
them words was rit by Shakspeare, who is ded. His mantle fell onto the
author of "The Seven Sisters," who's goin to hav a Spring overcoat made
out of it.
We got under way at larst, an' proceeded on our jerney at about the
rate of speed which is ginrally obsarved by properly-conducted funeral
processions. A hansum yung gal, with a red musketer bar on the back
side of her hed, and a sassy little black hat tipt over her forrerd, sot
in the seat with me. She wore a little Sesesh flag pin'd onto her hat,
and she was a goin for to see her troo love, who had jined the Southern
army, all so bold and gay. So she told me. She was chilly and I
offered her my blanket.
"Father livin?" I axed.
"Yes, sir."
"Got any Uncles?"
"A heap. Uncle Thomas is ded, tho."
"Peace to Uncle Thomas's ashes, and success to him! I will be your
Uncle Thomas! Lean on me, my pretty Secesher, and linger in Blissful
repose!" She slept as secoorly as in her own housen, and didn't disturb
the sollum stillness of the night with 'ary snore!
At the first station a troop of Sojers entered the cars and inquired if
"Old Wax Works" was on bored. That was the disrespectiv stile in which
they referred to me. "Becawz if Old Wax Works is on bored," sez a man
with a face like a double-breasted lobster, "we're going to hang Old Wax
Works!"
"My illustrious and patriotic Bummers!" sez I, a gittin up and takin orf
my Shappo, "if you allude to A. Ward, it's my pleasin dooty to inform
you that he's ded. He saw the error of his ways at 15 minutes parst 2
yesterday, and stabbed hisself with a stuffed sled-stake, dyin in five
beautiful tabloos to slow moosic! His last words was: 'My perfeshernal
career is over! I jerk no more!'"
"And who be you?"
"I'm a stoodent in Senator Benjamin's law offiss. I'm going up North
to steal some spoons and things for the Southern Army." This was
satisfactory and the intossicated troopers went orf. At the next
station the pretty little Secessher awoke and sed she must git out
there. I bid her a kind adoo and giv her sum pervisions. "Accept my
blessin and this hunk of ginger bred!" I sed. She thankt me muchly and
tript galy away. There's considerable human nater in a man, and I'm
afraid I shall allers giv aid and comfort to the enemy if he cums to me
in the shape of a nice young gal.
At the next station I didn't get orf so easy. I was dragged out of the
cars and rolled in the mud for several minits, for the purpose of "takin
the conseet out of me," as a Secesher kindly stated. I was let up
finally, when a powerful large Secesher came up and embraced me, and to
show that he had no hard feelins agin me, put his nose into my mouth.
I returned the compliment by placin my stummick suddenly agin his right
foot, when he kindly made a spittoon of his able-bodied face. Actooated
by a desire to see whether the Secesher had bin vaxinated I then
fastened my teeth onto his left coat-sleeve and tore it to the
shoulder. We then vilently bunted out heads together for a few minutes,
danced around a little, and sot down in a mudpuddle. We riz to our feet
agin and by a sudden and adroit movement I placed my left eye agin the
Secesher's fist. We then rushed into each other's arms and fell under a
two-hoss wagon. I was very much exhaustid and didn't care about gettin
up agin, but the man sed he reckoned I'd better, and I conclooded I
would. He pulled me up, but I hadn't bin on my feet more'n two seconds
afore the ground flew up and hit me in the hed. The crowd sed it was
high old sport, but I couldn't zackly see where the lafture come in. I
riz and we embraced agin. We careered madly to a steep bank, when I got
the upper hands of my antaggernist and threw him into the raveen. He
fell about forty feet, striking a grindstone pretty hard. I understood
he was injured. I haven't heard from the grindstone.
A man in a cockt hat cum up and sed he felt as though a apology was doo
me. There was a mistake. The crowd had taken me for another man! I
told him not to mention it, and axed him if his wife and little ones was
so as to be about, and got on bored the train, which had stopped at that
station "20 minits for refreshments." I got all I wantid. It was the
hartiest meal I ever et.
I was rid on a rale the next day, a bunch of blazin fire crackers bein
tied to my coat tales. It was a fine spectycal in a dramatic pint of
view, but I didn't enjoy it. I had other adventers of a startlin kind,
but why continner? Why lasserate the Public Boozum with these here
things? Suffysit to say I got across Mason & Dixie's line safe at
last. I made tracks for my humsted, but she to whom I'm harnist for
life failed to recognize, in the emashiated bein who stood before her,
the gushin youth of forty-six summers who had left her only a few months
afore. But I went into the pantry, and brought out a certin black
bottle. Raisin it to my lips, I sed "Here's to you, old gal!" I did it
so natral that she knowed me at once. "Those form! Them voice! That
natral stile of doin things! 'Tis he!" she cried, and rushed into my
arms. It was too much for her & she fell into a swoon. I cum very near
swoundin myself.
No more to-day from yours for the Pepetration of the Union, and the
bringin of the Goddess of Liberty out of her present bad fix.
____________________
FOURTH OF JULY ORATION.
Delivered July 4th, at Weathersfield, Connecticut, 1859.
____________________
[I delivered the follerin, about two years ago, to a large and
discriminating awjince. I was 96 minits passin a givin pint. I have
revised the orashun, and added sum things which makes it approposser
to the times than it otherwise would be. I have also corrected the
grammers and punktooated it. I do my own punktooatin now days. The
Printers in "Vanity Fair" offiss can't punktooate worth a cent.]
FELLER CITIZENS: I've bin honored with a invite to norate before you
to-day; and when I say that I skurcely feel ekal to the task, I'm sure
you will believe me.
Weathersfield is justly celebrated for her onyins and patritism the
world over, and to be axed to paws and address you on this my fust
perfeshernal tower threw New Englan, causes me to feel--to feel--I may
say it causes me to FEEL. (Grate applaws. They thought this was one of
my eccentricities, while the fact is I was stuck. This between you and
I.)
I'm a plane man. I don't know nothin about no ded languages and am a
little shaky on livin ones. There4, expect no flowry talk from me.
What I shall say will be to the pint, right strate out.
I'm not a politician and my other habits air good. I've no enemys
to reward, nor friends to sponge. But I'm a Union man. I luv the
Union--it is a Big thing--and it makes my hart bleed to see a lot of
ornery peple a-movin heaven--no, not heaven, but the other place--and
earth, to bust it up. Toe much good blud was spilt in courtin and
marryin that hily respectable female the Goddess of Liberty, to git
a divorce from her now. My own State of Injianny is celebrated for
unhitchin marrid peple with neatness and dispatch, but you can't get a
divorce from the Goddess up there. Not by no means. The old gal has
behaved herself too well to cast her off now. I'm sorry the picters
don't give her no shoes or stockins, but the band of stars upon her hed
must continner to shine undimd, forever. I'm for the Union as she air,
and withered be the arm of every ornery cuss who attempts to bust her
up. That's me. I hav sed! [It was a very sweaty day, and at this pint
of the orashun a man fell down with sunstroke. I told the awjince that
considerin the large number of putty gals present I was more afraid of
a DAWTER STROKE. This was impromptoo, and seemed to amoose them very
much.]
Feller Citizens--I hain't got time to notis the growth of Ameriky frum
the time when the Mayflowers cum over in the Pilgrim and brawt Plymouth
Rock with them, but every skool boy nose our kareer has been tremenjis.
You will excuse me if I don't prase the erly settlers of the Kolonies.
Peple which hung idiotic old wimin for witches, burnt holes in Quakers'
tongues and consined their feller critters to the tredmill and pillery
on the slitest provocashun may hav bin very nice folks in their way,
but I must confess I don't admire their stile, and will pass them by.
I spose they ment well, and so, in the novel and techin langwidge of the
nusepapers, "peas to their ashis." Thare was no diskount, however, on
them brave men who fit, bled and died in the American Revolushun. We
needn't be afraid of setting 'em up two steep. Like my show, they will
stand any amount of prase. G. Washington was abowt the best man this
world ever sot eyes on. He was a clear-heded, warm-harted, and stiddy
goin man. He never slopt over! The prevailin weakness of most public
men is to SLOP OVER! [Put them words in large letters--A. W.] They git
filled up and slop. They Rush Things. They travel too much on the
high presher principle. They git on to the fust poplar hobbyhoss whitch
trots along, not carin a sent whether the beest is even goin, clear
sited and sound or spavined, blind and bawky. Of course they git
throwed eventooally, if not sooner. When they see the multitood goin it
blind they go Pel Mel with it, instid of exerting theirselves to set
it right. They can't see that the crowd which is now bearin them
triumfantly on its shoulders will soon diskiver its error and cast
them into the hoss pond of Oblivyun, without the slitest hesitashun.
Washington never slopt over. That wasn't George's stile. He luved his
country dearly. He wasn't after the spiles. He was a human angil in a
3 kornerd hat and knee britches, and we shan't see his like right away.
My frends, we can't all be Washingtons but we kin all be patrits &
behave ourselves in a human and a Christian manner. When we see a
brother goin down hill to Ruin let us not give him a push, but let us
seeze rite hold of his coat tails and draw him back to Morality.
Imagine G. Washington and P. Henry in the character of seseshers! As
well fancy John Bunyan and Dr. Watts in spangled tites, doin the trapeze
in a one-horse circus! I tell you, feller-citizens, it would have bin
ten dollars in Jeff Davis's pocket if he'd never bin born!
* * * * * * * *
Be shure and vote at leest once at all elecshuns. Buckle on yer armer
and go to the Poles. See two it that your naber is there. See that
the kripples air provided with carriages. Go to the poles and stay all
day. Bewair of the infamous lise whitch the Opposishun will be sartin
to git up fur perlitical effek on the eve of eleckshun. To the
poles and when you git there vote jest as you darn please. This is a
privilege we all persess, and it is 1 of the booties of this grate and
free land.
I see mutch to admire in New Englan. Your gals in partickular air abowt
as snug bilt peaces of Calliker as I ever saw. They air fully equal to
the corn fed gals of Ohio and Injianny and will make the bestest kind of
wives. It sets my Buzzum on fire to look at 'em.
Be still, my sole, be still, & you, Hart, stop cuttin up!
I like your skool houses, your meetin houses, your enterprise, gumpshun
&c., but your fav
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