 | Artemus Ward, his book ; with many comic
illustrations |  |
AMONG THE FREE LOVERS.[1]
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
shall 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
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 purpuss (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 have found me at larst,
and you would have 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 hollerd:
“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
man, and bleeve 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 idees! 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.
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 h'ed
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.”
my Gase. I hope two be dodrabbertid if them
afoursed raskals hadent gone and put a old kaved in
hat onter George Washington's hed and shuved a
short black klay pipe inter his mouth. His noze
thay had painted red and his trowsis legs thay had
shuvd inside his butes. My wax figger of Napoleon
Boneypart was likewise mawltreatid. His
sword wus danglin tween his legs, his cockd hat was
drawn klean down over his ize, and he was plased in
a stoopin posishun lookin zactly as tho he was as
drunk as a biled owl. Ginral Tayler was a standin
on his hed and Wingfield Skott's koat tales ware
pind over his hed and his trowsis ware kompleetly
torn orf frum hisself. My wax works representin the
Lord's Last Supper was likewise aboozed. Three
of the Postles ware under the table and two of um
had on old tarpawlin hats and raggid pee jackits
and ware smokin pipes. Judus Iskarriot had on a
cocked hat and was appeerently drinkin, as a Bottle
of whisky sot befour him. This ere specktercal
was too much fur me. I klosed the show and then
drowndid my sorrers in the flowin Bole.
| Artemus Ward, his book ; with many comic
illustrations | |