(ILLUSTRATED AS DELIVERED AT EGYPTIAN HALL, LONDON.)
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REFATORY NOTE BY MELVILLE D. LANDON.
The fame of Artemus Ward culminated in his last lectures at Egyptian
Hall, Piccadilly, the final one breaking off abruptly on the evening of
the 23d of January, 1867. That night the great humorist bade farewell
to the public, and retired from the stage to die! His Mormon lectures
were immensely successful in England. His fame became the talk of
journalists, savants, and statesmen. Every one seemed to be affected
differently, but every one felt and acknowledged his power. "The
Honorable Robert Lowe," says Mr. E.P. HINGSTON, Artemus Ward's bosom
friend, "attended the Mormon lecture one evening, and laughed as
hilariously as any one in the room. The next evening Mr. John Bright
happened to be present. With the exception of one or two occasional
smiles, he listened with grave attention."
The "London Standard," in describing his first lecture in London, aptly
said, "Artemus dropped his jokes faster than the meteors of last night
succeeded each other in the sky. And there was this resemblance between
the flashes of his humor and the flights of the meteors, that in each
case one looked for jokes or meteors, but they always came just in the
place that one least expected to find them. Half the enjoyment of
the evening lay, to some of those present, in listening to the hearty
cachinnation of the people, who only found out the jokes some two or
three minutes after they were made, and who laughed apparently at some
grave statements of fact. Reduced to paper, the showman's jokes are
certainly not brilliant; almost their whole effect lies in their seeming
impromptu character. They are carefully led up to, of course; but they
are uttered as if they are mere afterthoughts of which the speaker is
hardly sure."
His humor was so entirely fresh and unconventional, that it took his
hearers by surprise, and charmed them. His failing health compelled him
to abandon the lecture after about eight or ten weeks. Indeed,
during that brief period he was once or twice compelled to dismiss his
audience. Frequently he sank into a chair and nearly fainted from the
exertion of dressing. He exhibited the greatest anxiety to be at his
post at the appointed time, and scrupulously exerted himself to the
utmost to entertain his auditors. It was not because he was sick that
the public was to be disappointed, or that their enjoyment was to
be diminished. During the last few weeks of his lecture-giving, he
steadily abstained from accepting any of the numerous invitations he
received. Had he lived through the following London fashionable season,
there is little doubt that the room at the Egyptian Hall would have been
thronged nightly. The English aristocracy have a fine, delicate sense
of humor, and the success, artistic and pecuniary, of "Artemus Ward"
would have rivalled that of the famous "Lord Dundreary." There were
many stupid people who did not understand the "fun" of Artemus Ward's
books. There were many stupid people who did not understand the fun of
Artemus Ward's lecture on the Mormons. Highly respectable people--the
pride of their parish--when they heard of a lecture "upon the Mormons,"
expected to see a solemn person, full of old saws and new statistics,
who would denounce the sin of polygamy,--and rave without limit against
Mormons. These uncomfortable Christians do not like humor. They dread
it as a certain personage is said to dread holy water, and for the same
reason that thieves fear policemen--it finds them out. When these
good idiots heard Artemus offer if they did not like the lecture
in Piccadilly, to give them free tickets for the same lecture in
California, when he next visited that country, they turned to each other
indignantly, and said, "What use are tickets for California to us? WE
are not going to California. No! we are too good, too respectable to
go so far from home. The man is a fool!" One of these vestrymen
complained to the doorkeeper, and denounced the lecturer as an
impostor--"and," said the wealthy parishioner, "as for the panorama, it
is the worst painted thing I ever saw."
During the lecture Artemus was always as solemn as the grave. Sometimes
he would seem to forget his audience, and stand for several seconds
gazing intently at his panorama. Then he would start up and remark
apologetically, "I am very fond of looking at my pictures." His dress
was always the same--evening toilet. His manners were polished, and his
voice gentle and hesitating. Many who had read of the man who spelled
joke with a "g," looked for a smart old man with a shrewd cock eye,
dressed in vulgar velvet and gold, and they were hardly prepared to see
the accomplished gentleman with slim physique and delicate white hands.
The letters of Artemus Ward in "Punch" from the tomb of Shakspeare and
the London Tower, had made him famous in England, and in his audience
were the nobility of the realm. His first lecture in London was
delivered at Egyptian Hall, on Tuesday, November 13th, 1866. The room
used was that which had been occupied by Mr. Arthur Sketchley, adjoining
the one in which Mr. Arthur Smith formerly made his appearances. The
stage, with the curtain down, had this appearance while Artemus was
delivering his prologue:
Punctually at eight o'clock he would step hesitatingly before the
audience, and rubbing his hands bashfully, commence the lecture.
_______________
THE EGYPTIAN HALL LECTURE.
You are entirely welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to my little
picture-shop.
I couldn't give you a very clear idea of the Mormons--and Utah--and the
Plains--and the Rocky Mountains--without opening a picture-shop--and
therefore I open one.
I don't expect to do great things here--but I have thought that if I
could make money enough to by me a passage to New Zealand I should feel
that I had not lived in vain.
I don't want to live in vain.--I'd rather live in Margate-- or here.
But I wish when the Egyptians built this hall they had given it a little
more ventilation.
If you should be dissatisfied with anything here to-night--I will
admit you all free in New Zealand--if you will come to me there for
the orders. Any respectable cannibal will tell you where I live. This
shows that I have a forgiving spirit.
I really don't care for money. I only travel round to see the world and
to exhibit my clothes. These clothes I have on were a great success in
America.
How often do large fortunes ruin young men! I should like to be ruined,
but I can get on very well as I am.
I am not an Artist. I don't paint myself--though perhaps if I were a
middle-aged single lady I should--yet I have a passion for pictures--I
have had a great many pictures--photographs taken of myself. Some of
them are very pretty--rather sweet to look at for a short time--and as I
said before, I like them. I've always loved pictures.
I could draw on wood at a very tender age. When a mere child I once
drew a small cart-load of raw turnips over a wooden bridge.--The people
of the village noticed me. I drew their attention. They said I had a
future before me. Up to that time I had an idea it was behind me.
Time passed on. It always does, by the way. You may possibly have
noticed that Time passes on.--It is a kind of way Time has.
I became a man. I haven't distinguished myself at all as an artist--but
I have always been more or less mixed up with Art. I have an uncle who
takes photographs--and I have a servant who--takes anything he can get
his hands on.
When I was in Rome--Rome in New York State I mean--a distinguished
sculpist wanted to sculp me. But I said "No." I saw through the
designing man. My model once in his hands--he would have flooded the
market with my busts--and I couldn't stand it to see everybody going
round with a bust of me. Everybody would want one of course--and
wherever I should go I should meet the educated classes with my bust,
taking it home to their families. This would be more than my modesty
could stand--and I should have to return to America--where my creditors
are.
I like Art. I admire dramatic Art--although I failed as an actor.
It was in my schoolboy days that I failed as an actor.--The play
was "the Ruins of Pompeii."--I played the Ruins. It was not a very
successful performance--but it was better than the "Burning Mountain."
He was not good. He was a bad Vesuvius.
The remembrance often makes me ask--"Where are the boys of my youth?"--I
assure you this is not a conundrum.--Some are amongst you here--some in
America--some are in gaol.--
Hence arises a most touching question--"Where are the girls of my
youth?" Some are married--some would like to be.
Oh my Maria! Alas! she married another. They frequently do. I hope
she is happy--because I am.*--some people are not happy. I have noticed
that.
*(Spoken with a sigh. It was a joke which always told. Artemus never
failed to use it in his "Babes in the Wood" lecture, and the "Sixty
Minutes in Africa," as well as in the Mormon story.)
A gentleman friend of mine came to me one day with tears in his eyes.
I said, "Why these weeps?" He said he had a mortgage on his farm--and
wanted to borrow 200 pounds. I lent him the money--and he went away.
Some time after he returned with more tears. He said he must leave me
for ever. I ventured to remind him of the 200 pounds he borrowed. He
was much cut up. I thought I would not be hard upon him--so I told him
I would throw off one hundred pounds. He brightened--shook my hand--and
said--"Old friend--I won't allow you to outdo me in liberality--I'll
throw off the other hundred."
As a manager I was always rather more successful than as an actor.
Some years ago I engaged a celebrated Living American Skeleton for a
tour through Australia. He was the thinnest man I ever saw. He was
a splendid skeleton. He didn't weigh anything scarcely--and I said
to myself--the people of Australia will flock to see this tremendous
curiosity. It is a long voyage--as you know--from New York to
Melbourne--and to my utter surprise the skeleton had no sooner got out
to sea than he commenced eating in the most horrible manner. He had
never been on the ocean before--and he said it agreed with
him.--I thought so!--I never saw a man eat so much in my life.
Beef--mutton--pork--he swallowed them all like a shark--and between
meals he was often discovered behind barrels eating hard-boiled eggs.
The result was that when we reached Melbourne this infamous skeleton
weighed 64 pounds more than I did!
I thought I was ruined--but I wasn't. I took him on to
California--another very long sea voyage--and when I got him to San
Francisco I exhibited him as a Fat Man.
This story hasn't anything to do with my Entertainment, I know--but one
of the principal features of my Entertainment is that it contains so
many things that don't have anything to do with it.
My Orchestra is small--but I am sure it is very good--so far as it
goes. I give my pianist ten pounds a night--and his washing. I like
Music.--I can't sing. As a singist I am not a success. I am saddest
when I sing. So are those who hear me. They are sadder even than I am.
The other night some silver-voiced young men came under my window and
sang--"Come where my love lies dreaming."--I didn't go. I didn't think
it would be correct.
I found music very soothing when I lay ill with fever in Utah--and I was
very ill--I was fearfully wasted.--My face was hewn down to nothing--and
my nose was so sharp I didn't dare to stick it into other people's
business--for fear it would stay there--and I should never get it
again. And on those dismal days a Mormon lady--she was married--tho'
not so much so as her husband--he had fifteen other wives--she used to
sing a ballad commencing "Sweet bird--do not fly away!"--and I told her
I wouldn't.--She played the accordion divinely--accordionly I praised
her.
I met a man in Oregon who hadn't any teeth--not a tooth in his head--yet
that man could play on the bass drum better than any man I ever met.--He
kept a hotel. They have queer hotels in Oregon. I remember one where
they gave me a bag of oats for a pillow--I had nightmares of course. In
the morning the landlord said--How do you feel--old hoss--hay?--I told
him I felt my oats.
Permit me now to quietly state that altho' I am here with my cap
and bells I am also here with some serious descriptions of the
Mormons--their manners--their customs--and while the pictures I shall
present to your notice are by no means works of art--they are painted
from photographs actually taken on the spot--and I am sure I need not
inform any person present who was ever in the territory of Utah that
they are as faithful as they could possibly be. I went to California on
the steamer "Ariel."
This is the steamer "Ariel."
Oblige me by calmly gazing on the steamer "Ariel"--and when you go to
California be sure and go on some other steamer--because the Ariel isn't
a very good one.
When I reached the "Ariel"--at pier No. 4--New York--I found the
passengers in a state of great confusion about their things--which were
being thrown around by the ship's porters in a manner at once damaging
and idiotic.--So great was the excitement--my fragile form was smashed
this way--and jammed that way--till finally I was shoved into a
stateroom which was occupied by two middle-aged females--who said, "Base
man--leave us--O leave us!"--I left them--Oh--I left them!
We reach Acapulco on the coast of Mexico in due time. Nothing of
special interest occurred at Acapulco--only some of the Mexican ladies
are very beautiful. They all have brilliant black hair--hair "black
as starless night"--if I may quote from the "Family Herald". It
don't curl.--A Mexican lady's hair never curls--it is straight as an
Indian's. Some people's hair won't curl under any circumstances.--My
hair won't curl under two shillings.*
*(under two shillings)" Artemus always wore his hair straight until his
severe illness in Salt Lake City. So much of it dropped off during his
recovery that he became dissatisfied with the long meagre appearance his
countenance presented when he surveyed it in the looking-glass. After
his lecture at the Salt Lake City Theatre he did not lecture again
until we had crossed the Rocky Mountains and arrived at Denver City, the
capital of Colorado. On the afternoon he was to lecture there I met him
coming out of an ironmonger's store with a small parcel in his hand.
"I want you, old fellow," he said; "I have been all around the city
for them, and I've got them at last." "Got what?" I asked. "A pair
of curling-tongs. I am going to have my hair curled to lecture in
to-night. I mean to cross the plains in curls. Come home with me and
try to curl it for me. I don't want to go to any idiot of a barber to
be laughed at." I played the part of friseur. Subsequently he became
his own "curlist," as he phrased it. From that day forth Artemus was a
curly-haired man.
The Chinese form a large element in the population of San Francisco--and
I went to the Chinese Theatre.
A Chinese play often lasts two months. Commencing at the hero's birth,
it is cheerfully conducted from week to week till he is either killed or
married.
The night I was there a Chinese comic vocalist sang a Chinese comic
song. It took him six weeks to finish it--but as my time was limited, I
went away at the expiration of 215 verses. There were 11,000 verses to
this song--the chorus being "Tural lural dural, ri fol day"--which was
repeated twice at the end of each verse--making--as you will at
once see--the appalling number of 22,000 "tural lural dural, ri fol
days"--and the man still lives.
Virginia City--in the bright new State of Nevada.
A wonderful little city--right in the heart of the famous Washoe silver
regions--the mines of which annually produce over twenty-five millions
of solid silver. This silver is melted into solid bricks--about the
size of ordinary house-bricks--and carted off to San Francisco with
mules. The roads often swarm with these silver wagons.
One hundred and seventy-five miles to the east of this place are the
Reese River Silver Mines--which are supposed to be the richest in the
world.
The great American Desert in winter time--the desert which is so
frightfully gloomy always. No trees--no houses--no people--save the
miserable beings who live in wretched huts and have charge of the horses
and mules of the Overland Mail Company.
This picture is a great work of art.--It is an oil painting--done in
petroleum. It is by the Old Masters. It was the last thing they did
before dying. They did this and then they expired.
The most celebrated artists of London are so delighted with this picture
that they come to the Hall every day to gaze at it. I wish you were
nearer to it--so you could see it better. I wish I could take it to
your residences and let you see it by daylight. Some of the greatest
artists in London come here every morning before daylight with lanterns
to look at it. They say they never saw anything like it before--and they
hope they never shall again.
When I first showed this picture in New York, the audience were so
enthusiastic in their admiration of this picture that they called for
the Artist--and when he appeared they threw brickbats at him.
A bird's-eye view of Great Salt Lake City--the strange city in the
Desert about which so much has been heard--the city of the people who
call themselves Saints.
I know there is much interest taken in these remarkable people--ladies
and gentlemen--and I have thought it better to make the purely
descriptive part of my Entertainment entirely serious.--I will
not--then--for the next ten minutes--confine myself to my subject.
Some seventeen years ago a small band of Mormons--headed by Brigham
Young--commenced in the present thrifty metropolis of Utah.
The population of the territory of Utah is over 100,000--chiefly
Mormons--and they are increasing at the rate of from five to ten
thousand annually. The converts to Mormonism now are almost exclusively
confined to English and Germans--Wales and Cornwall have contributed
largely to the population of Utah during the last few years. The
population of Great Salt Lake City is 20,000.--The streets are eight
rods wide--and are neither flagged nor paved. A stream of pure mountain
spring water courses through each street--and is conducted into the
Gardens of the Mormons. The houses are mostly of adobe--or sun-dried
brick--and present a neat and comfortable appearance.--They are usually
a story and a half high. Now and then you see a fine modern house
in Salt Lake City--but no house that is dirty, shabby, and
dilapidated--because there are no absolutely poor people in Utah.
Every Mormon has a nice garden--and every Mormon has a tidy
dooryard.--Neatness is a great characteristic of the Mormons.
The Mormons profess to believe that they are the chosen people of
God--they call themselves Latter-day Saints--and they call us people
of the outer world Gentiles. They say that Mr. Brigham Young is a
prophet--the legitimate successor of Joseph Smith--who founded the
Mormon religion. They also say they are authorized--by special
revelation from Heaven--to marry as many wives as they can comfortably
support.
This wife-system they call plurality--the world calls it polygamy.
That at its best it is an accursed thing--I need not of course inform
you--but you will bear in mind that I am here as a rather cheerful
reporter of what I saw in Utah--and I fancy it isn't at all necessary
for me to grow virtuously indignant over something we all know is
hideously wrong.
You will be surprised to hear--I was amazed to see--that among the
Mormon women there are some few persons of education--of positive
cultivation. As a class the Mormons are not educated people--but they
are by no means the community of ignoramuses so many writers have told
us they were.
The valley in which they live is splendidly favored. They raise immense
crops. They have mills of all kinds. They have coal--lead--and silver
mines. All they eat--all they drink--all they wear they can produce
themselves--and still have a great abundance to sell to the gold regions
of Idaho on the one hand--and the silver regions of Nevada on the other.
The President of this remarkable community--the head of the Mormon
Church--is Brigham Young.--He is called President Young--and Brother
Brigham. He is about 54 years old--altho' he doesn't look to be over
45. He has sandy hair and whiskers--is of medium height--and is a
little inclined to corpulency. He was born in the State of Vermont.
His power is more absolute than that of any living sovereign--yet he
uses it with such consummate discretion that his people are almost
madly devoted to him--and that they would cheerfully die for him if they
thought the sacrifice were demanded--I cannot doubt.
He is a man of enormous wealth.--One-tenth of everything sold in the
territory of Utah goes to the Church--and Mr. Brigham Young is the
Church. It is supposed that he speculates with these funds--at all
events--he is one of the wealthiest men now living--worth several
millions--without doubt.--He is a bold--bad man--but that he is also
a man of extraordinary administrative ability no one can doubt who has
watched his astounding career for the past ten years. It is only fair
for me to add that he treated me with marked kindness during my sojourn
in Utah.
The West Side of Main Street--Salt Lake City--including a view of
the Salt Lake Hotel. It is a temperance hotel*. I prefer temperance
hotels--altho' they sell worse liquor than any other kind of hotels.
But the Salt Lake Hotel sells none--nor is there a bar in all Salt Lake
City--but I found when I was thirsty--and I generally am--that I could
get some very good brandy of one of the Elders--on the sly--and I never
on any account allow my business to interfere with my drinking.
*(At the date of our visit, there was only one place in Salt Lake City
where strong drink was allowed to be sold. Brigham Young himself owned
the property, and vended the liquor by wholesale, not permitting any
of it to be drunk on the premises. It was a coarse, inferior kind of
whisky, known in Salt Lake as "Valley Tan." Throughout the city there
was no drinking-bar nor billiard room, so far as I am aware. But a
drink on the sly could always be had at one of the hard-goods stores,
in the back office behind the pile of metal saucepans; or at one of
the dry-goods stores, in the little parlor in the rear of the bales of
calico. At the present time I believe that there are two or three open
bars in Salt Lake, Brigham Young having recognized the right of the
"Saints" to "liquor up" occasionally. But whatever other failings
they may have, intemperance cannot be laid to their charge. Among the
Mormons there are no paupers, no gamblers, and no drunkards.)
There is the Overland Mail Coach.--That is, the den on wheels in which
we have been crammed for the past ten days and ten nights.--Those of
you who have been in Newgate*
-----------------------------------------------------------and stayed
there any length of time--as visitors--can realize how I felt.
*(The manner in which Artemus uttered this joke was peculiarly
characteristic of his style of lecturing. The commencement of the
sentence was spoken as if unpremeditated; then when he had got as far as
the word "Newgate," he paused, as if wishing to call back that which he
had said. The applause was unfailingly uproarious.)
The American Overland Mail Route commences at
Sacramento--California--and ends at Atchison--Kansas. The distance is
two thousand two hundred miles--but you go part of the way by rail.
The Pacific Railway is now completed from Sacramento--California--to
Fulsom--California--which only leaves two thousand two hundred and
eleven miles, to go by coach. This breaks the monotony--it came very
near breaking my back.
This edifice is the exclusive property of Brigham Young. It will
comfortably hold 3,000 persons--and I beg you will believe me when
I inform you that its interior is quite as brilliant as that of any
theatre in London.
The actors are all Mormon amateurs, who charge nothing for their
services.
You must know that very little money is taken at the doors of this
theatre. The Mormons mostly pay in grain--and all sorts of articles.
The night I gave my little lecture there--among my receipts were
corn--flour--pork--cheese--chickens--on foot and in the shell.
One family went in on a live pig--and a man attempted to pass a "yaller
dog" at the Box Office--but my agent repulsed him. One offered me
a doll for admission--another infants' clothing.--I refused to take
that.--As a general rule I do refuse.
In the middle of the parquet--in a rocking chair--with his hat on--sits
Brigham Young. When the play drags--he either goes out or falls into a
tranquil sleep.
A portion of the dress-circle is set apart for the wives of Brigham
Young. From ten to twenty of them are usually present. His children
fill the entire gallery--and more too.
The East Side of Main Street--Salt Lake City--with a view of the
Council Building--The legislature of Utah meets there. It is like all
legislative bodies. They meet this winter to repeal the laws which they
met and made last winter--and they will meet next winter to repeal the
laws which they met and made this winter.
I dislike to speak about it--but it was in Utah that I made the great
speech of my life. I wish you could have heard it. I have a
fine education. You may have noticed it. I speak six different
languages--London--Chatham--and Dover----Margate--Brighton--and
Hastings. My parents sold a cow--and sent me to college when I
was quite young. During the vacation I used to teach a school of
whales--and there's where I learned to spout.--I don't expect applause
for a little thing like that. I wish you could have heard that
speech--however. If Cicero--he's dead now--he has gone from us--but
if old Ciss* could have heard that effort it would have given him the
rinderpest. I'll tell you how it was. There are stationed in Utah two
regiments of U.S. troops--the 21st from California--and the 37th from
Nevada. The 20-onesters asked me to present a stand of colors to the
37-sters--and I did it in a speech so abounding in eloquence of a
bold and brilliant character--and also some sweet talk--real pretty
shopkeeping talk--that I worked the enthusiasm of those soldiers up to
such a pitch--that they came very near shooting me on the spot.
*(Here again no description can adequately inform the reader of the
drollery which characterized the lecturer. His reference to Cicero was
made in the most lugubrious manner, as if he really deplored his death
and valued him as a schoolfellow loved and lost.)
Brigham Young's Harem.--These are the houses of Brigham Young. The
first on the right is the Lion House--so called because a crouching
stone lion adorns the central front window. The adjoining small
building is Brigham Young's office--and where he receives his
visitors.--The large house in the centre of the picture--which displays
a huge bee-hive--is called the Bee House--the bee-hive is supposed to
be symbolical of the industry of the Mormons.--Mrs. Brigham Young the
first--now quite an old lady--lives here with her children. None of the
other wives of the prophet live here. In the rear are the schoolhouses
where Brigham Young's children are educated.
Brigham Young has two hundred wives. Just think of that! Oblige me
by thinking of that. That is--he has eighty actual wives, and he is
spiritually married to one hundred and twenty more. These spiritual
marriages--as the Mormons call them--are contracted with aged
widows--who think it a great honor to be sealed--the Mormons call it
being sealed--to the Prophet.
So we may say he has two hundred wives. He loves not wisely--but two
hundred well. He is dreadfully married. He's the most married man I
ever saw in my life.
I saw his mother-in-law while I was there. I can't exactly tell you
how many there is of her--but it's a good deal. It strikes me that one
mother-in-law is about enough to have in a family--unless you're very
fond of excitement.
A few days before my arrival in Utah--Brigham was married again--to a
young and really pretty girl--but he says he shall stop now. He told me
confidentially that he shouldn't get married any more. He says that all
he wants now is to live in peace for the remainder of his days--and
have his dying pillow soothed by the loving hands of his family.
Well--that's all right--that's all right--I suppose--but if all his
family soothe his dying pillow--he'll have to go out-doors to die.
By the way--Shakespeare indorses polygamy.--He speaks of the Merry Wives
of Windsor. How many wives did Mr. Windsor have?--but we will let this
pass.
Some of these Mormons have terrific families. I lectured one night by
invitation in the Mormon village of Provost, but during the day I rashly
gave a leading Mormon an order admitting himself and family--It was
before I knew that he was much married--and they filled the room to
overflowing. It was a great success--but I didn't get any money.
Heber C. Kimball's Harem.--Mr. C. Kimball is the first vice-president
of the Mormon church--and would-- consequently--succeed to the full
presidency on Brigham Young's death.
Brother Kimball is a gay and festive cuss of some seventy summers--or
some'ers thereabout. He has one thousand head of cattle and a hundred
head of wives. He says they are awful eaters.
Mr. Kimball had a son--a lovely young man--who was married to ten
interesting wives. But one day--while he was absent from home--these
ten wives went out walking with a handsome young man--which so enraged
Mr. Kimball's son--which made Mr. Kimball's son so jealous--that he shot
himself with a horse pistuel.
The doctor who attended him--a very scientific man--informed me that
the bullet entered the inner parallelogram of his diaphragmatic
thorax, superinducing membranous hemorrhage in the outer cuticle of his
asiliconthamaturgist. It killed him. I should have thought it would.
*(Soft music.)
*(Here Artemus Ward's pianist [following instructions] sometimes played
the dead march from "Saul." At other times, the Welsh air of "Poor
Mary Anne;" or anything else replete with sadness which might chance to
strike his fancy. The effect was irresistibly comic.)
I hope his sad end will be a warning to all young wives who go out
walking with handsome young men. Mr. Kimball's son is now no more. He
sleeps beneath the cypress--the myrtle--and the willow. This music is a
dirge by the eminent pianist for Mr. Kimball's son. He died by request.
I regret to say that efforts were made to make a Mormon of me while I
was in Utah.
It was leap-year when I was there--and seventeen young widows--the wives
of a deceased Mormon--offered me their hearts and hands. I called on
them one day--and taking their soft white hands in mine--which made
eighteen hands altogether--I found them in tears.
And I said--"Why is this thus? What is the reason of this thusness?"
They hove a sigh--seventeen sighs of different size--They said--
"Oh--soon thou wilt be gonested away!"
I told them that when I got ready to leave a place I wentested.
They said--"Doth not like us?"
I said--"I doth--I doth!"
I also said--"I hope your intentions are honorable--as I am a lone
child--my parents being far--far away."
They then said--"Wilt not marry us?"
I said--"Oh--no--it cannot was."
Again they asked me to marry them--and again I declined. When they
cried--
"Oh--cruel man! This is too much--oh! too much!"
I told them that it was on account of the muchness that I declined.
This is the Mormon Temple.
It is built of adobe--and will hold five thousand persons quite
comfortably. A full brass and string band often assists the choir of
this church--and the choir--I may add--is a remarkably good one.
Brigham Young seldom preaches now. The younger elders--unless on some
special occasion--conduct the services. I only heard Mr. Young once.
He is not an educated man--but speaks with considerable force and
clearness. The day I was there there was nothing coarse in his remarks.
The foundations of the Temple.
These are the foundations of the magnificent Temple the Mormons are
building. It is to be built of hewn stone--and will cover several acres
of ground. They say it shall eclipse in splendor all other temples in
the world. They also say it shall be paved with solid gold.
It is perhaps worthy of remark that the architect of this contemplated
gorgeous affair repudiated Mormonism--and is now living in London.
The Temple as it is to be.
Should the Mormons continue unmolested--I think they will complete this
rather remarkable edifice.
Great Salt Lake.--The great salt dead sea of the desert.
I know of no greater curiosity than this inland sea of thick brine.
It is eighty miles wide--and one hundred and thirty miles long. Solid
masses of salt are daily washed ashore in immense heaps--and the Mormon
in want of salt has only to go to the shore of this lake and fill his
cart. Only--the salt for table use has to be subjected to a boiling
process.
These are facts--susceptible of the clearest possible proof. They tell
one story about this lake--however--that I have my doubts about. They
say a Mormon farmer drove forty head of cattle in there once--and they
came out first-rate pickled beef.--
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
I sincerely hope you will excuse my absence--I am a man short--and have
to work the moon myself*.
*(Here Artemus would leave the rostrum for a few moments, and pretend to
be engaged behind. The picture was painted for a night-scene, and the
effect intended to be produced was that of the moon rising over the lake
and rippling on the waters. It was produced in the usual dioramic way,
by making the track of the moon transparent and throwing the moon on
from the bull's eye of the lantern. When Artemus went behind, the moon
would become nervous and flickering, dancing up and down in the most
inartistic and undecided manner. The result was that, coupled with the
lecturer's oddly expressed apology, the "moon" became one of the best
laughed-at parts of the entertainment.)
I shall be most happy to pay a good salary to any respectable boy of
good parentage and education who is a good moonist.
The Endowment House.
In this building the Mormon is initiated into the mysteries of the
faith.
Strange stories are told of the proceedings which are held in this
building--but I have no possible means of knowing how true they may be.
Salt Lake City is fifty-five miles behind us--and this is Echo
Canyon--in reaching which we are supposed to have crossed the summit
of the Wahsatch Mountains. These ochre-colored bluffs--formed of
conglomerate sandstone--and full of fossils--signal the entrance to the
Canyon. At its base lies Weber Station.
Echo Canyon is about twenty-five miles long. It is really the sublimest
thing between the Missouri and the Sierra Nevada. The red wall to
the left develops farther up the Canyon into pyramids--buttresses--and
castles--honey-combed and fretted in nature's own massive magnificence
of architecture.
In 1856--Echo Canyon was the place selected by Brigham Young for the
Mormon General Wells to fortify and make impregnable against the advance
of the American army--led by General Albert Sidney Johnson. It was to
have been the Thermopylae of Mormondom--but it wasn't. General Wells was
to have done Leonidas--but he didn't.
A more cheerful view of the Desert.
The wild snowstorms have left us--and we have thrown our wolf-skin
overcoats aside. Certain tribes of far-western Indians bury their
distinguished dead by placing them high in air and covering them with
valuable furs--that is a very fair representation of these mid-air
tombs. Those animals are horses--I know they are--because my artist
says so. I had the picture two years before I discovered the fact.--The
artist came to me about six months ago--and said--"It is useless to
disguise it from you any longer--they are horses."
It was while crossing this desert that I was surrounded by a band of
Ute Indians. They were splendidly mounted--they were dressed in
beaver-skins--and they were armed with rifles--knives--and pistols.
What could I do?--What could a poor old orphan do? I'm a brave
man.--The day before the Battle of Bull's Run I stood in the highway
while the bullets--those dreadful messengers of death--were passing all
around me thickly--IN WAGONS--on their way to the battle-field.*
*(This was the great joke of Artemus Ward's first lecture, "The Babes in
the Wood." He never omitted it in any of his lectures, nor did it
lose its power to create laughter by repetition. The audiences at the
Egyptian Hall, London, laughed as immoderately at it, as did those of
Irving Hall, New York, or of the Tremont Temple in Boston.)
But there were too many of these Injuns--there were forty of them--and
only one of me--and so I said--
"Great Chief--I surrender." His name was Wocky-bocky.
He dismounted--and approached me. I saw his tomahawk glisten in the
morning sunlight. Fire was in his eye. Wocky-bocky came very close to
me and seized me by the hair of my head. He mingled his swarthy fingers
with my golden tresses--and he rubbed his dreadful Thomashawk across my
lily-white face. He said--
"Torsha arrah darrah mishky bookshean!"
I told him he was right.
Wocky-bocky again rubbed his tomahawk across my face, and
said--"Wink-ho--loo-boo!"
Says I--"Mr. Wocky-bocky"--says I--"Wocky--I have thought so for
years--and so's all our family."
He told me I must go to the tent of the Strong-Heart and eat raw dog*.
*("Raw dog." While sojourning for a day in a camp of Sioux Indians we
were informed that the warriors of the tribe were accustomed to eat
raw dog to give them courage previous to going to battle. Artemus was
greatly amused with the information. When, in after years, he became
weak and languid, and was called upon to go to lecture, it was a
favorite joke with him to inquire, "Hingston, have you got any raw
dog?")
It don't agree with me. I prefer simple food. I prefer
pork-pie--because then I know what I'm eating. But as raw dog was
all they proposed to give to me--I had to eat it or starve. So at the
expiration of two days I seized a tin plate and went to the chief's
daughter--and I said to her in a silvery voice--in a kind of
German-silvery voice--I said--
"Sweet child of the forest, the pale-face wants his dog."
There was nothing but his paws! I had paused too long! Which reminds
me that time passes. A way which time has.
I was told in my youth to seize opportunity. I once tried to seize
one. He was rich. He had diamonds on. As I seized him--he knocked me
down. Since then I have learned that he who seizes opportunity sees the
penitentiary.
The Rocky Mountains.
I take it for granted you have heard of these popular mountains. In
America they are regarded as a great success, and we all love dearly to
talk about them. It is a kind of weakness with us. I never knew but
one American who hadn't something--some time--to say about the Rocky
Mountains--and he was a deaf and dumb man, who couldn't say anything
about nothing.
But these mountains--whose summits are snow-covered and icy all the year
round--are too grand to make fun of. I crossed them in the winter of
'64--in a rough sleigh drawn by four mules.
This sparkling waterfall is the Laughing-Water alluded to by Mr.
Longfellow in his Indian poem--"Higher-Water." The water is higher up
there.
The plains of Colorado.
These are the dreary plains over which we rode for so many weary days.
An affecting incident occurred on these plains some time since, which I
am sure you will pardon me for introducing here.
On a beautiful June morning--some sixteen years ago--
(Music, very loud till the scene is off.)
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
--and she fainted on Reginald's breast!*
*"On Reginald's breast." (At this part of the lecture Artemus pretended
to tell a story--the piano playing loudly all the time. He continued
his narration in excited dumb-show--his lips moving as though he were
speaking. For some minutes the audience indulged in unrestrained
laughter.)
A prairie on fire is one of the wildest and grandest sights that can be
possibly imagined.
These fires occur--of course--in the summer--when the grass is dry
as tinder--and the flames rush and roar over the prairie in a manner
frightful to behold. They usually burn better than mine is burning
to-night. I try to make my prairie burn regularly--and not disappoint
the public--but it is not as high-principled as I am.*
*(The scene was a transparent one--the light from behind so managed as
to give the effect of the prairie on fire. Artemus enjoyed the joke of
letting the fire go out occasionally, and then allowing it to relight
itself.)
The last picture I have to show you represents Mr. Brigham Young in the
bosom of his family. His family is large--and the olive branches around
his table are in a very tangled condition. He is more a father than
any man I know. When at home--as you here see him--he ought to be very
happy with sixty wives to minister to his comforts--and twice sixty
children to soothe his distracted mind. Ah! my friends--what is home
without a family?
What will become of Mormonism? We all know and admit it to be a hideous
wrong--a great immoral strain upon the 'scutcheon of the United States.
My belief is that its existence is dependent upon the life of Brigham
Young. His administrative ability holds the system together--his
power of will maintains it as the faith of a community. When he
dies--Mormonism will die too. The men who are around him have neither
his talent nor his energy. By means of his strength it is held
together. When he falls--Mormonism will also fall to pieces.
That lion--you perceive--has a tail. It is a long one already. Like
mine--it is to be continued in our next.
THE END
(The curtain fell for the last time on Wednesday, the 23d of January
1867. Artemus Ward had to break off the lecture abruptly. He never
lectured again.)
________________________________________
PROGRAMME OF EGYPTIAN HALL LECTURE.
PROGRAMME USED AT EGYPTIAN HALL, PICCADILLY.
________________________________________
A person of long-established integrity will take excellent care of
Bonnets, Cloaks, etc., during the Entertainment; the Audience better
leave their money, however, with MR. WARD; he will return it to them in
a day or two, or invest it for them in America as they may think best.
"Nobody must say that he likes the Lecture unless he wishes to be
thought eccentric; and nobody must say that he doesn't like it unless he
really IS eccentric. (This requires thinking over, but it will amply
repay perusal.)
____________________
The Panorama used to Illustrate Mr. Ward's Narrative is rather more than
Panoramas usually are.
____________________
MR. WARD will not be responsible for any debts of his own contracting.
____________________
nbsp;
I.
APPEARANCE Of ARTEMUS WARD,
Who will be greeted with applause. "> The stall-keeper is particularly
requested to attend to this. When quiet has been restored, the Lecturer
will present a rather frisky prologue, of about ten minutes in length,
and of nearly the same width. It perhaps isn't necessary to speak of
the depth.
II.
THE PICTURES COMMENCE HERE, the first one being a view of the California
Steamship. Large crowd of citizens on the wharf, who appear to be
entirely willing that ARTEMUS WARD shall go. "Bless you, Sir!" they
say. "Don't hurry about coming back. Stay away for years, if you want
to!" It was very touching. Disgraceful treatment of the passengers,
who are obliged to go forward to smoke pipes, while the steamer herself
is allowed 2 Smoke Pipes amidships. At Panama. A glance at Mexico.
III.
THE LAND OF GOLD
Montgomery Street, San Francisco. The Gold Bricks. Street Scenes.
"The Orphan Cabman, or the Mule Driver's Step-Father." The Chinese
Theatre. Sixteen square yards of a Chinese Comic Song.
IV.
THE LAND Of SILVER. Virginia City, the wild young metropolis of the
new Silver State. Fortunes are made there in a day. There are
instances on record of young men going to this place without a shilling-
-poor and friendless--yet by energy, intelligence, and a careful
disregard to business, they have been enabled to leave there, owing
hundreds of pounds.
V.
THE GREAT DESERT AT NIGHT.
A dreary waste of Sand. The Sand isn't worth saving, however. Indians
occupy yonder mountains. Little Injuns seen in the distance trundling
their war-hoops.
VI.
A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF GREAT SALT LAKE CITY.
With some entirely descriptive talk.
VII.
MAIN STREET, EAST SIDE.
The Salt Lake Hotel, which is conducted on Temperance principles. The
landlord sells nothing stronger than salt butter.
VIII.
THE MORMON THEATRE.
The Lady of Lyons was produced here a short time since, but failed to
satisfy a Mormon audience, on account of there being only one Pauline in
it. The play was revised at once. It was presented the next night, with
fifteen Paulines in the cast, and was a perfect success. ">All these
statements may be regarded as strictly true. Mr. Ward would not deceive
an infant.
IX.
MAIN STREET, WEST SIDE.
This being a view of Main Street, West side, it is naturally a view of
the West side of Main Street.
X.
BRIGHAM YOUNG'S HAREM.
Mr. Young is an indulgent father, and a numerous husband. For further
particulars call on Mr. WARD, at Egyptian Hall, any Evening this week.
This paragraph is intended to blend business with amusement.
XI.
HEBER C. KIMBALL'S HAREM.
We have only to repeat here the pleasant remarks above in regard to
Brigham.
____________________
INTERMISSION OF FIVE MINUTES.
____________________
XII.
THE TABERNACLE.
XIII.
THE TEMPLE AS IT IS.
XIV.
THE TEMPLE AS IT IS TO BE.
XV.
THE GREAT SALT LAKE.
XVI.
THE ENDOWMENT HOUSE.
The Mormon is initiated into the mysteries of his faith here. The
Mormon's religion is singular and his wives are plural.
XVII.
ECHO CANYON.
XVIII.
THE DESERT AGAIN.
A more cheerful view. The Plains of Colorado. The Colorado Mountains
"might have been seen" in the distance, if the Artist had painted 'em.
But he is prejudiced against mountains, because his uncle once got lost
on one.
XIX.
BRIGHAM YOUNG AND HIS WIVES.
The pretty girls of Utah mostly marry Young.
XX.
THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.
XXI.
THE PLAINS OF NEBRASKA.
XXII.
THE PRAIRIE ON FIRE.
____________________
RECOMMENDATIONS.
TOTNESS, Oct. 20th, 1866.
MR. ARTEMUS WARD:
My dear Sir,--My wife was dangerously unwell for over sixteen years.
She was so weak that she could not lift a teaspoon to her mouth. But in
a fortunate moment she commenced reading one of your lectures. She
got better at once. She gained strength so rapidly that she lifted the
cottage piano quite a distance from the floor, and then tipped it over
on to her mother-in-law, with whom she had some little trouble. We like
your lectures very much. Please send me a barrel of them. If you should
require any more recommendations, you can get any number of them in this
place, at two shillings each, the price I charge for this one, and I
trust you may be ever happy.
I am, Sir,
Yours truly, and so is my wife,
R. SPRINGERS.
____________________
An American correspondent of a distinguished journal in Yorkshire thus
speaks of Mr. WARD'S power as an Orator:--
"It was a grand scene, Mr. ARTEMUS WARD standing on the platform,
talking; many of the audience sleeping tranquilly in their seats; others
leaving the room and not returning; others crying like a child at some
of the jokes--all, all formed a most impressive scene, and showed the
powers of this remarkable orator. And when he announced that he
should never lecture in that town again, the applause was absolutely
deafening."
Doors open at Half-past Seven, commence at Eight.
Conclude at Half-past Nine.
EVERY EVENING EXCEPT SATURDAY.
SATURDAY AFTERNOONS AT 3 P.M.
________________________________________
PROGRAMME OF THE DODWORTH HALL LECTURE
________________________________________
1.--- Introduction.
2.--- The Steamer Ariel, en route.
3.--- San Francisco.
4.--- The Washoe Silver Region.
5.--- The Plains.
6.--- The City of Saints.
7.--- A Mormon Hotel.
8.--- Brigham Young's Theatre.
9.--- The Council-House.
10.--- The Home of Brigham Young.
11.--- Heber C. Kimball's Seraglio.
12.--- The Mormon House of Worship.
13.--- Foundations of the New Temple.
14.--- Architect's View of the Temple when finished.
15.--- The Great Dead Sea of the Desert.
16.--- The House of Mystery.
17.--- The Canyon.
18.--- Mid-Air Sepulture.
19.--- A Nice Family Party at Brigham Young's.
It requires a large number of Artists to produce this Entertainment.
The casual observer can form no idea of the quantity of unfettered
genius that is soaring, like a healthy Eagle, round this Hall, in
connection with this Entertainment. In fact, the following gifted
persons compose the
Secretary of the
Exterior.....................................................Mr. E.P.
Hingston.
Secretary of the Treasury................Herr Max Field, (Pupil of
Signor Thomaso Jacksoni.)
Mechanical Director and Professor of Carpentry..................Signor
G. Wilsoni.
Crankist.....................................................................................Mons. Aleck.
Assistant
Crankist.......................................................................Boy
(orphan).
Artists....................................................................Messrs.
Hilliard & Maeder.
Reserved
Chairists...................................................Messrs.
Persee & Jerome.
Moppist...........................................................................Signorina O'Flaherty.
Broomist.................................................................Mlle.
Topsia de St. Moke.
Hired
Man...............................................................................................John.
Fighting
Editor...................................................................Chevalier
McArone.
Dutchman............................................By a Polish Refugee,
named McFinnigin.
Doortendist...................................................................Mons.
Jacques Ridera.
Gas
Man..................................................................................Artemus
Ward.
This Entertainment will open with music. The soldiers' Chorus from
"Faust." "> First time in this city.
*
* *
Next comes a jocund and discursive preamble, calculated to show what a
good education the Lecturer has
*
* *
View the first is a sea-view.--Ariel navigation.--Normal school of
whales in the distance.--Isthmus of Panama.--Interesting interview with
Old Panama himself, who makes all the hats.--Old Pan is a likely sort of
man.
*
* *
San Francisco.--City with a vigilant government.--Miners allowed to
vote. Old inhabitants so rich that they have legs with golden calves to
them.
*
* *
Town in the Silver region.--Good quarters to be found there.--Playful
population, fond of high-low-jack and homicide.--Silver lying around
loose.--Thefts of it termed silver-guilt.
*
* *
The plains in Winter.--A wild Moor, like Othello.--Mountains in the
distance forty thousand miles above the level of the highest sea
(Musiani's chest C included).--If you don't believe this you can go
there and measure them for yourself.
*
* *
Mormondom, sometimes called the City of the Plain, but wrongly; the
women are quite pretty.--View of Old Poly Gamy's house, &c.
*
* *
The Salt Lake Hotel.--Stage just come in from its overland route and
retreat from the Indians.--Temperance house.--No bar nearer than Salt
Lake sand-bars.--Miners in shirts like Artemus Ward his Programme--they
are read and will wash.
*
* *
Mormon Theatre, where Artemus Ward lectured.--Mormons like theatricals,
and had rather go to the Playhouse than to the Workhouse, any time.
Private boxes reserved for the ears of Brother Brigham's wives.
*
* *
Intermission of Five Minutes.
*
* *
Territorial State-House.--Seat of the Legislature.--About as fair a
collection as that at Albany--and "we can't say no fairer than that."
*
* *
Residence of Brigham Young and his wives.--Two hundred souls with but a
single thought, Two hundred hearts that beat as one.
*
* *
Seraglio of Heber C. Kimball.--Home of the Queens of Heber.--No
relatives of the Queen of Sheba.--They are a nice gang of darlings.
*
* *
Mormon Tabernacle, where the men espouse Mormonism and the women espouse
Brother Brigham and his Elders as spiritual Physicians, convicted of bad
doct'rin.
*
* *
Foundations of the Temple.--Beginning of a healthy little job.--Temple
to enclose all out-doors, and be paved with gold at a premium.
*
* *
The Temple when finished.--Mormon-idea of a meeting-house.--N.B. It
will be bigger, probably, than Dodworth Hall.--one of the figures in
the foreground is intended for Heber C. Kimball.--You can see, by the
expression of his back, that he is thinking what a great man Joseph
Smith was.
*
* *
The Great Salt Lake.--Water actually thick with salt--too saline to
sail in.--Mariners rocked on the bosom of this deep with rock salt.--The
water isn't very good to drink.
*
* *
House where Mormons are initiated.--Very secret and mysterious
ceremonies.--Anybody can easily find out all about them though, by going
out there and becoming a Mormon.
*
* *
Echo Canyon.--A rough bluff sort of affair.--Great Echo.--When Artemus
Ward went through, he heard the echoes of some things the Indians said
there about four years and a half ago.
*
* *
The Plains again, with some noble savages, both in the live and dead
state.--The dead one on the high shelf was killed in a Fratricidal
Struggle.--They are always having Fratricidal Struggles out in that line
of country.--It would be a good place for an enterprising Coroner to
locate.
*
* *
Brigham Young surrounded by his wives--Those ladies are simply too
numerous to mention.
*
* *
"> Those of the Audience who do not feel offended with Artemus Ward are
cordially invited to call upon him, often, at his fine new house in
Brooklyn. His house is on the right hand side as you cross the Ferry,
and may be easily distinguished from the other houses by its having a
Cupola and a Mortgage on it.
*
* *
"Soldiers on the battle-field will be admitted to this Entertainment
gratis.
*
* *
*
* *
"The Indians on the Overland Route live on Routes and Herbs. They are
an intemperate people. They drink with impunity, or anybody who invites
them.
*
* *
"Artemus Ward delivered Lectures before
ALL THE CROWNED HEADS OF EUROPE
ever thought of delivering lectures.
TICKETS, 50 CTS.
RESERVED CHAIRS, $1
Doors open at 7.30 P.M.;
Entertainment to commence at 8.
____________________
ARTEMUS WARD