 | Artemus Ward, his book ; with many comic
illustrations |  |
ON THE WING.
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 wagongrease
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
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
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, addressin 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 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 b4 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
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 know what it is, refooze
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.
| Artemus Ward, his book ; with many comic
illustrations | |