Ward was found the fragment which follows. Diligent search failed
to discover any beginning or end to it. The probability is that it
consists of part of a paper intended to describe a comic trip round
England. To write a comic itinerary of an English tour was one of
the author's favorite ideas; and another favorite one was to travel
on the Continent and compile a comic "Murray's Guide." No interest
attaches to this mere scrap other than that it exemplifies what the
writer would have attempted had his life been longer.]
* * * * *
At North Berwick there was a maniacal stampede toward the little
house by the railside, where they sell such immense quantities of
sponge-cake, which is very sweet and very yellow, but which lies
rather more heavily on the stomach than raw turnips, as I
ascertained one day from actual experience. This is not stated
because I have any spite against this little house by the railside.
Their mince-pies are nobly made, and their apple-pies are
unsurpassed. Some years ago there used to be a very pretty girl at
this house, and one day, while I was struggling rapidly with a piece
of mince-pie, I was so unfortunate as to wink slightly at her. The
rash act was discovered by a yellow-haired party, who stated that
she was to be his wife ere long, and that he "expected" he could
lick any party who winked at her. A cursory examination of his
frame convinced me that he could lick me with disgustin ease, so I
told him it was a complaint of the eyes. "They are both so," I
added, "and they have been so from infancy's hour. See here!" And
I commenced winking in a frightful manner. I escaped, but it was
inconvenient for me for some time afterwards, because whenever I
passed over the road I naturally visited the refreshment house, and
was compelled to wink in a manner which took away the appetites of
other travellers, and one day caused a very old lady to state, with
her mouth full of sponge-cake, that she had cripples and drunkards
in her family, but thanks to the heavens above, no idiots without
any control over their eyes, looking sternly at me as she spoke.
That was years ago. Besides, the wink was a pure accident. I trust
that my unblemished character--but I will not detain you further
with this sad affair.
* * * * *
There have been several editions of the Works of Artemus Ward.
The Following appeared in THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ARTEMUS WARD, A New
Impression; Chatto & Windus, London 1922
Additional short pieces by A. Ward.
7.16. BRIGHAM YOUNG'S WIVES.
7.17. A. WARD'S FIRST UMBRELLA.
7.18. AN AFFECTING POEM.
7.19. MORMON BILL OF FARE.
A comtemporary review
7.20. "THE BABES IN THE WOOD."
Spurious pieces
7.21. MR. WARD ATTENDS A GRAFFICK (SOIREE.)
7.22. A. WARD AMONG THE MORMONS.--REPORTED BY HIMSELF
--OR SOMEBODY ELSE.
7.16. BRIGHAM YOUNG'S WIVES.
Frends and Feller Passingers.--I'm e'en a most tiard ov statin my
convicshuns regarden them Mormoness plooralyties, which sits
theirselves round Mister Yung's grate table when the dinner-bell
booms merryly thruout the long and short ov this ere land.
Heavy figgerin isn't my berthrite; it's the nobil contemplativ what's
the pecoolar offshute of these massiv brane.
"But how many wives has he?"
Wall, all A. W. nose abowt it is thet his luvly contemplativ wun day
used up the MulteplyKashun tabul in kountin the long Stockins on a
close line in Brigham's back yard--and he soddingly had to leave, fer
the site made him dizzy. It was too mutch for him.
-- Yures abstractid,
WARTEMUS DARD.
7.17. A. WARD'S FIRST UMBRELLA.
[A friend of Artemus Ward's sends the following, with the request
that it may be included in the present edition.]
The solumncholies hev bin on-to A. W. now and agin, as it dus to most
ov the four-lorned human naturs in this Vayl of Tares. She's tickled
me considerabull sumtims--only it was the wrong wa. Most human
naturs git tickled the wrong wa sumtims.
She was heviest onter me the fust yeer I ever owned a Umbrellar. I
was going on 18 yeer old then, and praid for rane as bad as any
dride-up farmer. I wantid to show that umBrellar--I wantid to mak
sum persnul apeerents with that brellar--I desirud Jim parker and
Hiram Goss to witness the site--I felt my birthWrite was bowned up in
that brellar--I wantid to be a MAN!
I'd un-hook'd frum Betsy Jain fur a spell--(canfidenshal, leastways,
I hadn't commenced cortin up to her rite down in ernest then)--and
kum evenin I went over to the Widder Blakes. I'd the umBrellar
along, and opun'd it outside the door--pretendin I couldn't klose it
like, so that the dawter could hev a good Luke at my property. But
it wuz no use; the new Brellar didn't take, and Sally sed she thort I
"needn't cum agin !"
I hev bin many wheres, and seen sum few in this erthly Tavernknuckle,
but ov all the solum hours I ever speeriunsed the 1 ockepied in going
hum that partickler nite frum the Widders was the most solumm.
I'd a mind to throw awa that Brellar more'n onct as I went along.
7.18. AN AFFECTING POEM.
"POOR Jonathan Snow
Away did go
All on the ragen mane,
With other males,
All for to ketch wales,
& nere come back agen.
The wind bloo high,
The billers tost,
All hands were lost,
And he was one,
A spritely lad,
Nigh 21."
7.19. MORMON BILL OF FARE
BRIGHAM YOUNG'S HOUSES.
BRIGHAM'S Wives live in these houses. They live well at Brigham's,
the following being the usual
BILL OF FARE.
SOUPS, ETC.
Matrimonial Stews (with pretty Pickles).
FISH.
Salt Lake Gudgeon.
ROAST.
Brigham's Lambs (Sauce piquante).
Minced Heart (Mormon style).
BROILED.
Domestic Broils (Family style)
ENTREES.
Little Deers.
COLD.
Raw Dog (a la Injun).
Tongue (lots of it).
VEGETABLES.
Cabbage-head, Some Pumpkins, &c.
DESSERT.
Apples of Discord, a great many Pairs;
Mormon Sweet-Hearts, Jumbles, &c.
7.20. "THE BABES IN THE WOOD."
[The following amusing critique or report of Artemus Ward's favourite
lecture entitled "The Babes in the wood" was written the day after
its first delivery in San Francisco, California, by one of the
contributors to the Golden Era. As an imitation of A. Ward's
burlesque orthography it is somewhat overdone; but it has,
nevertheless, certain touches of humour which will amuse the English
reader. Why the lecture is called "The Babes in the Wood" is not
known, unless it is because they are WARDS. -- ED.]
Nite befoar larst was an Erer in the annals of Sand Francisco; yis,
an Erer; I sa it, and I guess I know what a Erer is! I gess I do!
It's something like this noosepaper, for instance; something that's
gut a big Injin onto it; though the Big Injin Fryday Nite had his
close on, which this moril Jernal's Injin hasn't, bein intended to
represent that nobil read man of the forrist, of hoom the poet
sweetly sings:
"Low, the poor Injin! hoose untootered mind
Clothes him in frunt--Butt leaves him bare behind!"
However, let that parse.
I hearn thare was to be a show up to Mr Platt's Haul on the occashun
allewded to; so I took Maria An an' the children--with the excepshun
of the smollest wun, which, under the inflewence of tired Nachure's
sweet restorer, Missis Winslow's Soothin Syrup, was rapped in barmy
slumbers--up to prayer meetin; and after havin excoosed myself to the
pardner of my boosom, on the plee of havin swallered a boks of
Bristol's Sugar-Coated Pills, I slipt out and went down to the Haul,
thinkin I would have a little relaxation. Prubably Mariar An thought
so too. (That are a double entender, but I didn't intend it.)
Although I arrove quite airly, I found a few Individools I mean to sa
I found but few who ware not--already in the Haul. I would not on no
account whatsumdever, no how you can fix it, deceeve nobody nor
nothin', for I am a pieus man, and send my wife to church, and
addhere to the trooth; and yit, I ventoor to assurt, that I never in
all my born dase beheld so menny fokes befoar--stop, I er slitely-- I
had a seat in the rear.
It seemed as tho the hole populashun had turned out en massy to
welcum the gratist wit of his age.--He is older than me.
The curtin roze--no, I do not desire to misrepresent fax--there was
no curtin--I think thare should have bin!
The lectoor commenced at a few minutes past ate--precisely. The gay
and gifted Artemus stepped to his place, and after acknowledging my
presence by a polite bow, prooeeded to define the platform on which
he stood--Oregon pine. The papers, with thare usuil fidelity to fax,
had stated that the entertainment would consist only of a lectoor, &
that the kangaroo & wax-figgers would not be introdooced--"dooced
queer," thinks I, and I soon discovered the telegram; for Mr. Ward
used a number of figgers--of speech.
Thare ware also severeil animils thare, thare was, tho I don't know
whether they belonged to him, as they was scattered thro the
ordgunce, and was boysterous to a degre--yis, two degrese.
Some of the funniest of the fundymentall principles of the lectoor
escaped me--rather I escaped them--partly owin to the fokes squeeging
in at the dore, and partly owin to a pretty but frail gurl wayin all
the way from 200 up to 250 lbs. avoirdoopois, which sot herself rite
onto my lap.
Mr Ward statid that he would not give a fillosoffical lectoor--nor an
astronomical lectoor--nor--did he say what kind of lectoor he would
give. The subjec was, however, the "Babes in the Wood." He has had
the Babes in the Wood sum time. Mr. Ward is not rich--but is doin--
as well as could be expected.
It is one of the lectoors you read about, you know--here. Yis, I sa
it's a great moril lectoor; I sa it boldly, because I've heerd--of
it.
The structoor of the lectoor was as they sa in architectoor of the
compost like ordoor; first a stratter of this, then a stratter of
that; that is to sa--kinder mixed, you know. It was on the
aneckdotale plan, and speakin of aneckdotes reminds me of a little
story--it is wun of Mr Ward's, by the way; it will bare repitition--
it lass, so far, stood it very well. It is of a young made, hoose
name it was Mehitabull--some of it, at least--enuff--for the present
porpussus--and of a nobil and galyunt lovyier, which his naim it was
John Jones. This young man was a patrut, tho oppoged to coershun.
The enrolin officer going his rounds was beheld by this young man
wile yit he was afar off, the site was not a welcum wun to John, and
it propelled him to seek proteekshun of his plited wun, in hoose hous
he was at that critical moment. Time was preshus. What was too be
dun? The enemy was now neer at hand. "Git under my hoops," sez
Mehitabull. The heroick youth obade.
After a pause the offisser hentered the manshun.
"Is thare any men in this 'ere hous?" sez he.
"Not as I nose--on," replied the damsell.
"Then," sez the offisser, "I gess I'll stop awhile myself."
He stopped a our. After witch he stopped anuther our; after witch he
continuood to stop.
During this time John Jones was garspin for breath. At last he felt
he cood endoor it no longer, without--ingoory to his helth. He put
his hed out of his strong hold and sed to the amazed offisser, "I
think the draft will doo me good--I mean the draft of are."
"You air in favor of the Proclamashun!" red the offisser.
"Yis, and of ventilation."
The young man was not drafted, but he is still single--single-ar to
say.
The abov is a correct report of the story as I heern it--I only heern
the naims, fancy has supplide the rest.
P.S.--I larfed all the wa home; observin witch severil peple gave me
the hole walk, evidently taking me for a hilarious loonatic.
A. Ward will shortly lecshoor on Asstronmy, I heer, partickly upon
the Konstlashun ov the Suthern Cross, which he portends he found out
to be a MULATTO.
7.21. MR. WARD ATTENDS A GRAFFICK (SOIREE.)
[Shortly after the publication in this country of "Artemus Ward His
Book," I received from a friend the following article, purporting to
have been written by Mr. W. during a stay in Bristol. The sketch
appeared in the "Bristol Record,"* and upon writing to the editor for
further information concerning it, I received from that gentleman
such a cautious reply as confirmed a previous suspicion that "the
showman" had not visited the great western city, and that the article
was either a concoction in Mr. Ward's style, or one of the papers of
Josh Billings, an imitator of Mr. W., slightly altered to suit the
locality of its republication. Whether these conjectures are correct
or not, the article is here given for the English reader's criticism,
and, although not equal in humour to A. Ward's more successful
pieces, certain pleasantries of expression and droll extravagances
observable in it will, at least, repay perusal.]
Prefixed to the article in the Record was the following:-" A letter
has just been shown to us, of which we subjoin a portion, from which
it will appear that Mr. -- (we suppress the name for obvious reasons)
is not the only illustrious American who is sojourning at present at
Clifton. Artemus Ward has retired for the present from his
professional duties, in consequence of the rough treatment which he
lately received in the Southern States. His admirers have sent him
to England to recruit, and he was last week at Clifton, and dined
with Mr. --. We are violating no literary confidence in mentioning
the above, as Mr. Ward is combining business with pleasure, and his
letters will appear in the New York Tribune, to which journal he has
temporarily attached himself as special European correspondent.--Ed.
B. R.
WALL, we had a just sittled down to our wine, when sez the Squire
soddenlick, "Mr. W., would you like to go to a Graffick?"
"What's a Graffick?" sed I.
"A Pictur-shew," sed he, "with a swoiree between, and all the
fashionables of this interestin location there."
"Don't care if I duz," sed I, "perwided u go the Ticket."
"Sertingly," sed he. "Mr. Ward, you are my guest for the evening."
So we put on our go-to-meetings, and yaller kid-skins, and sot off.
There was a purty tidy fixin of shrubs and statooary as we went in
(but nuthin ekal to the Bowery Saloon, New York!), and stairs up and
stairs down, and gals in opera clokes ascendin and D-scendin.
First we go up into a big room with a blaze o' lite and a crowd of
cumpany. The Squire whispers to me, and sez he'll pint out the
lokial celebrities. At the end of the room is a great pictur,
representin a stout femail on a tarnation dark back-ground. The
critters scrowded up to it, and looked on in hor. Presently I feels
the Squire nudging me.
"Do you see that individooal," sed he, "with Hyacinthian curls, and
his eye in a fine frenzy rollin! That's the great art critic, who
lays down the lor for Bristol and ets vicinity."
So I pushed up cloas, and sed I to the creteck, "Wall, Mister, what
dew think of that air piece of canvas staining?"
At first he Ide me loftily, and made no reply. At last he spoak
(with grate deliberashun). "Not yet have I mastered the pictur. I'm
a studyin of the onperfectly-seen vizionoimies behind. Them guards
is a phernomenon. The soul of the painter has projected itself
thrugh the august glooms."
"Don't see it," sez I. "Them shadders want glazin--and the
middletints is no whur. Guess if Hiram Applesquash (our 'domestic
decorator' to hum) had pertrayed them guards, he would hev slicked
off their Uniforms as bright as a New England tulip."
The creteck regarded me With Contemptoous indignashun.
"Hullo!" sed I next, "whose been and stolen a signboard, and stuck
it up in this refined society?"
"To what do you defer?" sez he, still very fridgid.
"To that corpulent figgur," sez I, "in military fixins."
"That, sair," sez he, with severity, "is a portrait of his Majusty
the King of Denmark, lately disEased."
"A portraickt of his cloze, you mean," sez I. "Is that sprorling
pictur a work of art? (N.B.--This I sed sarcasticul.) Hiram A.
touched off a new Sign for the Tavern at Baldinsville jest before
I saled, and his 'President's Head' would bete this by a long chalk
any day." With that I scowled at the Creteck, and left him looking
considerable smawl pertaters.
Arter this we went down into the Cole-hole, wich they had cleaned
out for the night and white-washed. Here I own was buties of natur.
I always had a liken for water-colar paintin, and sometimes take a
sketcht in that way myself. Me and Squire tried to get a good look,
but was engulphed in an oshun of hot galls, who kinder steamed again.
The gas, close over our heads, nigh made our brains bile over, so
sez I, "Let's make tracks out of this, Squire. It ain't civet
(Schakspar) here. This parfume of humanity is horrid unhandsome."
"Let's have a cup of corfy," says he, "to repare exhorsted natur."
"A sherry cobbler would be more to the purpose," says I, "but if they
hev none of them coolin drinks at art sworricks, here goes for the
Moky." (N.B.--This I sed ironical. Korfy at sworricks is usually
burnt beans.)
So we med our way into another room, with 2 bar-counters, and a crowd
of people pushin and drivin to get forrerd. They knocked and elbered
me about till I felt my dander riz. "Come on, Squire," sez I,
setting my arms a kimber; "take care, my old coons, of your tendur
Korns and Bunyans. Look out for your ribs, for I've crooked my
elbers," and forrerd I goes with Squire follerin' in my wake. Bimeby
a woman's long skirt gets between my legs, and I spins round and goes
kerslash into the stumuck of a fat old gentleman, who was just blowin
his third cup. He med a spaired his breath though! kerslap I goes
into his wastecote, and kesouse goes his coffy over his shoulders
onto hed and neck of a bony old made with a bird of Pardice in her
artificial locks.
"Beg your pardon, marm," sez I, as soon as I could speak.
She looked imprekashuns, and turned away ortily, mopping herself down
with a laced nose-rag.
The Old gentleman was more cholerick. "Cuss your clumsiness," says
he, "can't you come to a graffick without punching your ugly hed Into
other people's stumucks?"
"I didn't go for to do it," sez I, "and jest put the Sadll on the
right hoss, mister," I continerred. "If this femail behind didn't
carry so much slack foresail, she wuddn't hev entangled my spars and
careened me over."
Arter this I would try no more of their all-fired corfy. Squire--
had had enough of the Sworrick, so we made tracks for the Ho-tell.
"Bring-up a quart of brandy," sez the Squire, "and a bilin o' lemons
and sugar. Mr. W.," sez he, "there's not much of me left. Let's
liquor up! Let's have a smoke and a cocktail." So we mixes, and
had an entertaining discorse on polite literatoor. "Dod-rabbit the
sworrick," says Squire. "Say no more about it. I was a fool, Mr
Ward, to prefare it to your amusin an inshstructive conversashun."
After a while we got cheerful and sung "ale Columby" (it's a fine
voice the Squire has for a doo-et). Respect for the soshul Borde
makes me now cave in and klose my commoonication. Squire -- is a
grate filantherpist, but he's not grate at stowing away his lick-er.
I tuk him to bed after the 3d tumbler, that the cuss of a british
Waiter might not see one of us free & enlightened citizens onable to
walk strate. He said it was a wet night, and demanded his umburella.
Likewise he wouldn't hev his boots off, for fere of catchin cold. I
put the candle in the wash-basan that the critter mightn't set
hisself on fire, and left him in bed with his umburella up, singing
"Ale columby."
Arter that I went down and finished the mahogany. (Brandy and water,
the ruddy appearance of which indicates that very little of the
latter has been used in its composition. Spanish is the stronger,
and Honduras the milder mixture.)
A. WARD.
7.22. A. WARD AMONG THE MORMONS.--REPORTED BY HIMSELF--OR SOMEBODY
ELSE.
(The following rough report of Artemus Ward's Lecture in California
Appeared in the "San Francisco Era," during the lecturer's visit to
that city. It has been thought worthy of preservation in the form
of a supplementary paper to the present little volume.
FELLER-CITIZENS AND FELLER-CITIZENESSES,--I feel truly glad to see
you here to-night, more especially those who have paid, although I am
too polite to say how many are here who have not paid, but who take a
base advantage of the good-nature of my friend and manager, Hingston,
bothering him to give them free tickets, gratis, and also for
nothing; and my former friend and manager, Rosenberg, assures me that
the best way to prevent a person from enjoying any entertainment is
to admit them without the equivalent spondulics. What a man gets for
nothing he don't care for.
Talking of free tickets, my first lecture was a wonderful success--
house so full that everybody who could pay turned from the doors. It
happened thus:
Walking about Salt Lake City on the morning before the lecture, I met
Elder Kimball. Well, I most imprudently gave him a family ticket.
That ticket filled the house, and left about a dozen of the young
Kimballs howling in the cold. After that I limited my family tickets
to "Admit Elder Jones, ten wives, and thirty children."
You may perhaps be astonished that I, a rather fascinating bachelor,
escaped from Salt Lake City without the loss of my innocence. Well I
will confess, confidentially, that was only by the skin of my teeth,
and thanks to the virtuous lecturing of my friend Hingston, whose
British prejudices amainst Bigamy, Trigamy, and Brighamy, saying
nothing of Ninnygavigamy, could not be overcome.
My narrowest escape was this:
About six hours before I arrived an elder died. I think his name
was Smith. You may have heard that name before; but it isn't the
Smith you know--it is quite another Smith. Well, this defunct elder
left a small assortment of wives behind him--I think there were
seventeen--of all ages, from seventeen to seventy. This miscellaneous
gathering included three grandmothers, a fact which lent a venerable
sanctity to the affair. I received an invitation--I went--and was
introduced to the whole seventeen widows at once. Sam Weller or Dr.
Shelton Mackenzie--I forget which--says, "One widow is dangerous;"
but, perhaps, there is safety in a multitude of them. All I know is,
that they made the tenderest appeals to me, as a man and a brother;
but I threw myself upon their mercy--I told them I was far away from
my parents and my Sainted Maria, and that I was a good young man;
and finally, I begged to know if their intentions were honourable?
One said:
"Young man, dash not the cup of happiness from your life!"
I said:
"I have no objection to a cup, but I cannot stand an entire
hogshead!"
They grew more and more tender--two put their arms around me and
pinioned me, while the other fifteen drew large shears from their
pockets, and, under pretence of getting a lock of hair for each,
they left me as bare as a goose-egg. Indians couldn't have scalped
me closer. I made Samson-like my escape from these Delilahs by
stratagem. I assured them that I was sickening for the measles,
which, like love, is always the more fatal the later it comes in
life. I also told them that my friend Hingston was a much better
looking man than I was; also that he was an Englishman, and that,
according to that nation's creed, every Englishman is equal to five
Americans and five hundred Frenchmen: consequently there would be
some to spare of him. This happy thought saved me. I was let off
upon solemnly promising to deliver Hingston into their arms, bound,
Laocoon-like, by the serpent spells of their charms, or, like
Regulus, potted and preserved in a barrel of fingernails, for their
especial scratching.
Hingston, little dreaming of the sale I had made of him, went on the
pretended errand of conveying to these seventeen beauties a farewell
bouquet. Poor fellow! that is the last I ever saw of him--he was
never heard of again.
The gentleman who acts as my manager is somebody else. I must ask
the indulgence of the audience for twenty minutes, while I drop a few
tears to his memory. (Here Artemus holds his head over a barrel, and
the distinct dripping of a copious shower is heard.)
As I feel a little better, I will recommence my lecture--I don't mean
to defend Mormonism--indeed, I have no hesitation in affirming, and I
affirm it boldly, and I would repeat the observation to my own wife's
face, if I had one, but as I haven't one, I'll say it boldly to every
other man's wife, that I don't think it wise to marry more than one
wife at a time, without it is done to oblige the ladies, and then it
should be done sparingly, and not oftener than three times a day, for
the marriage ceremony isn't lightly to be repeated. But I want to
tell you what Brigham Young observed to me.