 | Artemus Ward, his book ; with many comic
illustrations |  |
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
"Shall the Star Spangled Banner be cut up into dishcloths?" [See Page 80.]
[Description: 482EAF. Image of Artemus Ward giving a great lecture on secession to a noisy crowd. He is standing in front of a table that holds a glass and pitcher, with his arms outstretched and glasses on his forehead.]
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 new-born
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
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't 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 &
& 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 man 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 wooden't be sich a
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 tenfoot
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
others' blud? Shall the star spangled Banner be
cut up into dishcloths? Standin here in this here
Skoolhouse, upon my nativ shore 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
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.
| Artemus Ward, his book ; with many comic
illustrations | |