 | Artemus Ward, his book ; with many comic
illustrations |  |
MISCELLANEOUS.
MOSES, THE SASSY; OR, THE DISGUISED
DUKE.
1. CHAPTER I. — Elizy.
My story opens in the classic presinks of Bostin
In the parler of a bloated aristocratic mansion on
Bacon street sits a luvly young lady, whose hair is
cuverd ore with the frosts of between 17 Summers.
She has just sot down to the piany, and is warblin
the poplar ballad called "Smells of the Notion,"
in which she tells how with pensive thought, she
wandered by a C beat shore. The son is settin in
its horizon, and its gorjus light pores in a golden
meller flud through the winders, and makes the
young lady twict as beautiful nor what she was before,
which is onnecessary. She is magnificently
dressed up in a Berago basque, with poplin trimmins,
Also, considerable gauze. Her dress contains
16 flounders and her shoes is red morocker,
with gold spangles onto them. Presently she
jumps up with a wild snort, and pressin her hands
to her brow, she exclaims: “Methinks I see a
voice!”
A noble youth of 27 summers enters. He is attired
in a red shirt and black trowsis, which last air
turned up over his boots; his hat, which it is a
plug, being cockt onto one side of his classical hed.
In sooth, he was a heroic lookin person, with a fine
shape. Grease, in its barmiest days near projuced
a more hefty cavileer. Gazin upon him admirinly
for a spell, Elizy (for that was her name) organized
herself into a tabloo, and stated as follers.
“Ha! do me eyes deceive me earsight? Is it
some dreams? No, I reckon not! That frame!
them store close! those nose! Yes, it is me own,
me only Moses!”
He (Moses) folded her to his hart, with the remark
that he was “a hunkey boy.”
2. CHAPTER II. — Was Moses of Noble Birth?
Moses was foreman of Engine Co. No. 40.
Forty's fellers had just bin havin an annual reunion
with Fifty's fellers, on the day I introjuce
Moses to my readers, and Moses had his arms full
of trofees, to wit: 4 scalps, 5 eyes, 3 fingers, 7
ears, (which he chawed off) and several half and
quarter sections of noses. When the fair Elizy recovered
from her delight at meetin Moses, she
said: — “How hast the battle gonest? Tell me!”
“We chawed 'em up — that's what we did!”
said the bold Moses.
“I thank the gods!” sed the fair Elizy. “Thou
did'st excellent well. And, Moses,” she continnered,
layin her hed confidinly agin his weskit, “dost know
I sumtimes think thou istest of noble birth?”
“No!” said he, wildly ketchin hold of hisself.
“You don't say so!”
“Indeed do I! Your dead grandfather's sperrit
comest to me the tother night.”
“Oh no, I guess it's a mistake,” sed Moses.
“I'll bet two dollars and a quarter he did!” replied
Elizy. “He said, `Moses is a Disguised
Juke!' ”
“You mean Duke,” said Moses.
“Dost not the actors all call it Juke!” said she.
That settled the matter.
“I hav thought of this thing afore,” said Moses,
abstractedly. “If it is so, then thus it must be!
2 B or not 2 B! Which? Sow, sow! But enuff.
O life! life!—you're too many for me!” He
tore out some of his pretty yeller hair, stampt on
the floor sevril times, and was gone.
3. CHAPTER III.—The Pirut Folled.
Sixteen long and weary years has elapst since the
seens narrated in the last chapter took place. A
noble ship, the Sary June, is a sailin from France to
Ameriky via the Wabash Canal. A pirut ship is in
hot pursoot of the Sary. The pirut capting isn't a
man of much principle and intends to kill all the
people on bored the Sary and confiscate the wallerbles.
The capting of the S. J. is on the pint of
a buffalo overcoat rushes forored and obsarves:
“Old man! go down stairs! Retire to the starbud
bulk-hed! I'll take charge of this Bote!”
“Owdashus cuss!” yelled the capting, “away
with thee or I shall do mur-rer-der-r-r!”
“Skurcely,” obsarved the stranger, and he drew
a diamond-hilted fish-knife and cut orf the capting's
hed. He expired shortly, his last words bein, “we
are governed too much.”
“People!” sed the stranger, “I'm the Juke
d'Moses!”
“Old hoss!” sed a passenger, “methinks thou
art blowin!” whareupon the Juke cut orf his hed
also.
“Oh that I should live to see myself a ded
body!” screamed the unfortnit man. “But don't
print any verses about my deth in the newspapers,
for if you do I'll haunt ye!”
“People!” sed the Juke, “I alone can save you
from yon bloody pirut! Ho! a peck of oats!”
The oats was brought, and the Juke, boldly mountin
pirut rapidly approached, chucklin with fiendish delight
at the idee of increasin his ill-gotten gains.
But the leadin hoss of the pirut ship stopt suddent
on comin to the oats, and commenst for to devour
them. In vain the piruts swore and throwd stones
and bottles at the hoss—he wouldn't budge a
inch. Meanwhile the Sary Jane, her hosses on the
full jump, was fast leavin the pirut ship!
“Onct agin do I escape deth!” sed the Juke between
his clencht teeth, still on the jibpoop.
4. CHAPTER IV.—The Wanderer's Return.
The Juke was Moses the Says! Yes, it was!
He had bin to France and now he was home agin
in Bostin, which gave birth to a Bunker Hill!!
He had some trouble in gitting hisself acknowledged
as Juke in France, as the Orleans Dienasty
and Borebones were fernest him, but he finally conkered.
Elizy knowd him right off, as one of his
ears and a part of his nose had bin chawed off in
his fights with opposition firemen durin boyhood's
by all, both grate and small. Their children,
of which they have numerous, often go up onto the
Common and see the Fountain squirt.
This is my 1st attempt at writin a Tail & it is far
from bein perfeck, but if I have indoosed folks to
see that in 9 cases out of 10 they can either make
Life as barren as the Dessert of Sarah, or as joyyus
as a flower garding, my objeck will have bin
accomplished, and more too.
THE PRINCE OF WALES.
I rite these lines on British sile. I've bin follerin
Mrs. Victory's hopeful sun Albert Edward threw
Kanady with my onparaleled Show, and tho I haint
made much in a pecoonery pint of vew, I've lernt
sumthin new, over hear on British Sile, whare they
bleeve in Saint Gorge and the Dragoon. Previs to
cumin over hear I tawt my organist how to grind
Rule Brittanny and other airs which is poplar on
British Sile. I likewise fixt a wax figger up to represent
Sir Edmun Hed the Govner Ginral. The
statoot I fixt up is the most versytile wax statoot I
ever saw. I've showd it as Wm. Penn, Napoleon
Bonypart, Juke of Wellington, the Beneker Boy,
Mrs. Cunningham & varis other notid persons, &
also for a sertin pirut named Hix. I've bin so long
the tastes of folks, & with sum paints I hav I kin
giv their facis a beneverlent or fiendish look as the
kase requires. I giv Sir Edmun Hed a beneverlent
look, & when sum folks who thawt they was smart
sed it didn't look like Sir Edmun Hed anymore
than it did anybody else, I sed, “That's the pint.
That's the beauty of the Statoot. It looks like Sir
Edmun Hed or any other man. You may kall it
what you pleese. Ef it don't look like anybody that
ever lived, then it's sertinly a remarkable Statoot &
well worth seein. I kall it Sir Edmun Hed. You
may kall it what you darn pleese!” [I had 'em
thare.]
At larst I've had a interview with the Prince, tho
it putty nigh cost me my vallerble life. I cawt a
glimps of him as he sot on the Pizarro of the hotel
in Sarnia, & elbowd myself threw a crowd of wimin,
children, sojers & Injins that was hangin round the
tavern. I was drawin near to the Prince when a
red faced man in Millingtery close grabd holt of me
and axed me whare I was goin all so bold?
“To see Albert Edard the Prince of Wales,” sez
I; “who are you?”
He sed he was Kurnel of the Seventy Fust Regiment,
Her Magisty's troops. I told him I hoped
the Seventy Onesters was in good helth, and was
passin by when he ceased hold of me agin, and sed
in a tone of indigent cirprise:
“What? Impossible! It kannot be! Blarst
my hize, sir, did I understan you to say that you
was actooally goin into the presents of his Royal
Iniss?”
“That's what's the matter with me,” I replide.
“But blarst my hize, sir, its onprecedented. It's
orful, sir. Nothin' like it hain't happened sins the
Gun Power Plot of Guy Forks. Owdashus man,
who air yu?”
“Sir,” sez I, drawin myself up & puttin on a
defiant air, “I'm a Amerycan sitterzen. My name
is Ward. I'm a husband & the father of twins,
which I'm happy to state thay look like me. By
perfeshun I'm a exhibiter of wax works & sich.”
“Good God!” yelled the Kurnal, “the idee of
Royalty! The British Lion may well roar with
raje at the thawt!”
Sez I, “Speakin of the British Lion, Kurnal,
I'd like to make a bargin with you fur that beast
fur a few weeks to add to my Show.” I didn't
meen nothin by this. I was only gettin orf a goak,
but you orter hev seen the Old Kurnal jump up &
howl. He actooally fomed at the mowth.
“This can't be real,” he showtid. “No, no.
It's a horrid dream. Sir, you air not a human bein—you
hav no existents—yure a Myth!”
“Wall,” sez I, “old hoss, yule find me a ruther
onkomfortable Myth ef you punch my inards in that
way agin.” I began to git a little riled, fur when
he called me a Myth he puncht me putty hard.
The Kurnal now commenst showtin fur the Seventy
Onesters. I at fust thawt I'd stay & becum a Marter
to British Outraje, as sich a course mite git my
name up & be a good advertisement fur my Show,
but it occurred to me that ef enny of the Seventy
Onesters shood happen to insert a barronet into my
of runnin orf when the Prince hisself kum up &
axed me what the matter was. Sez I, “Albert
Edard is that you?” & he smilt & sed it was.
Sez I, “Albert Edard, hears my keerd. I cum to
pay my respecks to the futer King of Ingland.
The Kurnal of the Seventy Onesters hear is ruther
smawl pertaters, but of course you ain't to blame
fur that. He puts on as many airs as tho he was
the Bully Boy with the glass eye.”
“Never mind,” sez Albert Edard, “I'm glad to
see you, Mister Ward, at all events,” & he tuk my
hand so plesunt like & larfed so sweet that I fell in
love with him to onct. He handid me a segar & we
sot down on the Pizarro & commenst smokin rite
cheerful. “Wall,” sez I, “Albert Edard, how's
the old folks?”
“Her Majesty & the Prince are well,” he sed.
“Duz the old man take his Lager beer reglar?”
I inquired.
The Prince larfed & intermatid that the old man
didn't let many kegs of that bevridge spile in the
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.”
The time hevin arove fur me to take my departer
I rose up & sed: “Albert Edard, I must go, but
previs to doin so I will obsarve that you soot me.
Yure a good feller Albert Edard, & tho I'm agin
Princes as a gineral thing, I must say I like the cut
of your Gib. When you git to be King try and be
as good a man as yure muther has bin.! Be just &
be Jenerus, espeshully to showmen, who hav allers
bin aboozed sins the dase of Noah, who was the fust
man to go into the Menagery bizniss, & ef the daily
papers of his time air to be beleeved Noah's colleckshun
of livin wild beests beet ennything ever seen
sins, tho I make bold to dowt ef his snaiks was
ahead of mine. Albert Edard, adoo!” I tuk his
hand which he shook warmly, & givin him a perpetooal
free pars to my show, & also parses to take hum
for the Queen & Old Albert, I put on my hat and
walkt away
“Mrs. Ward,” I solilerquized, as I walkt along,
“Mrs. Ward, ef you could see your husband now,
just as he prowdly emerjis from the presunts of the
futur King of Ingland, you'd be sorry you called
and wantid to go to bed without takin orf his boots.
You'd be sorry for tryin to deprive yure husband of
the priceliss Boon of liberty, Betsy Jane!”
Jest then I met a long perseshun of men with
gownds onto 'em. The leader was on horseback, &
ridin up to me he sed, “Air you Orange?”
Sez I, “Which?”
“Air you a Orangeman?” he repeated, sternly.
“I used to peddle lemins,” sed I, “but I never
delt in oranges. They are apt to spile on yure
hands. What particler Loonatic Asylum hev you
& yure frends escaped frum, ef I may be so bold?”
Just then a suddent thawt struck me & I sed, “Oh
yure the fellers who air worryin the Prince so &
givin the Juke of Noocastle cold sweats at nite, by
yure infernal catawalins, air you? Wall, take the
advice of a Amerykin sitterzen, take orf them
gownds & don't try to get up a religious fite, which
is 40 times wuss nor a prize fite, over Albert Edard,
who wants to receive you all on a ekal footin, not
keerin a tinker's cuss what meetin house you sleep
make noosenses of yourselves.” With which observashuns
I left 'em.
I shall leeve British sile 4thwith.
OSSAWATOMIE BROWN.
I don't pertend to be a cricket & consekently the
reader will not regard this 'ere peace as a Cricketcism.
I cimply desine givin the pints & Plot of a
play I saw actid out at the theater t'other nite,
called Ossywattermy Brown or the Hero of Harper's
Ferry. Ossywattermy had varis failins, one of
which was a idee that he cood conker Virginny with
a few duzzen loonatics which he had pickt up sumwhares,
mercy only nose wheu. He didn't cum it,
as the sekel showed. This play was jerkt by a
admirer of Old Ossywattermy.
First akt opens at North Elby, Old Brown's
humsted. Thare's a weddin at the house. Amely,
Old Brown's darter, marrys sumbody, and they all
whirl in the Messy darnce. Then Ossywattermy
and his 3 suns leave fur Kansis. Old Mrs. Ossywattermy
Blesses 'em to slow fiddlin. Thay go to Kansis.
What upon arth thay go to Kansis fur when thay
was so nice & comfortable down there to North
Elby, is more'n I know. The suns air next seen in
Kansis at a tarvern. Mister Blane, a sinister
lookin man with his Belt full of knives & hoss
pistils, axes one of the Browns to take a drink.
Brown refuzis, which is the fust instance on record
whar a Brown deklined sich a invite. Mister Blane,
who is a dark bearded feroshus lookin person, then
axis him whether he's fur or fernenst Slavery. Yung
Brown sez he's agin it, whareupon Mister Blane,
who is the most sinisterest lookin man I ever saw,
sez Har, har, har! (that bein his stile of larfin wildly)
& ups & sticks a knife into yung Brown. Anuther
Brown rushes up & sez, “you has killed me
Ber-ruther!” Moosic by the Band & Seen changes.
The stuck yung Brown enters supported by his two
brothers. Bimeby he falls down, sez he sees his
Mother, & dies. Moosic by the Band. I lookt but
couldn't see any mother. Next Seen reveels Old
must extend its Area & rubs his hands like he
was pleesed abowt it. His suns come in. One of
'em goes out & cums in ded, havin bin shot while
out by a Border Ruffin. The ded yung Brown sez
he sees his mother and tumbles down. The Border
Ruffins then surround the cabin & set it a fire.
The Browns giv theirselves up for gone coons, when
the hired gal diskivers a trap door to the cabin &
thay go down threw it & cum up threw the bulkhed.
Their merraklis 'scape reminds me of the 'scape of
De Jones the Coarsehair of the Gulf — a tail with
a yaller kiver, that I onct red. For sixteen years
he was confined in a loathsum dunjin, not tastin of
food durin all that time. When a lucky thawt
struck him! He opend the winder and got out.
To resoom — Old Brown rushes down to the footlites,
gits down on his nees & swares he'll hav
revenge. The battle of Ossawattermy takes place.
Old Brown kills Mister Blane, the sinister individcoal
aforesed. Mister Blane makes a able &
elerquent speech, sez he don't see his mother much,
Star Spangled Banner. Moosic by the Band.
Four or five other Border ruffins air killed but thay
don't say nothin abowt seein their mothers. From
Kansis to Harper's Ferry. Picter of a Arsenal is
represented. Sojers cum & fire at it. Old Brown
cums out & permits hisself to be shot. He is tride
by two soops in milingtery close, and sentenced to be
hung on the gallus. Tabloo — Old Brown on a
platform, pintin upards, the staige lited up with red
fire. Goddiss of Liberty also on platform, pintin
upards. A dutchman in the orkestry warbles on a
base drum. Curtin falls. Moosic by the Band.
JOY IN THE HOUSE OF WARD.
I take my pen in hand to inform you that I am
in a state of grate bliss, and trust these lines will
find you injoyin the same blessins. I'm reguvinated.
I've found the immortal waters of yooth, so to
speak, and am as limber and frisky as a two-year
old steer, and in the futer them boys which sez to
me “go up, old Bawld hed,” will do so at the peril
of their hazard, individooally. I'm very happy.
My house is full of joy, and I have to git up nights
and larf! Sumtimes I ax myself “is it not a
dream?” & suthin withinto me sez “it air;” but
when I look at them sweet little critters and hear
'em squawk, I know it is a reality—2 realitys, I
may say—and I feel gay.
I returned from the Summer Campane with my
unparaleld show of wax works and livin wild Beests
peple of Baldinsville met me cordully and I immejitly
commenst restin myself with my famerly. The
other nite while I was down to the tavurn tostin my
shins agin the bar room fire & amuzin the krowd
with sum of my adventurs, who shood cum in bare
heded & terrible excited but Bill Stokes, who sez,
sez he, “Old Ward, there's grate doins up to your
house.”
Sez I, “William, how so?”
Sez he, “Bust my gizzud, but its grate doins,” &
then he larfed as if hee'd kill hisself.
Sez I, risin and puttin on a austeer look, “William,
I woodunt be a fool if I had common cents.”
But he kept on larfin till he was black in the
face, when he fell over on to the bunk where the
hostler sleeps, and in a still small voice sed,
“Twins!” I ashure you gents that the grass
didn't grow under my feet on my way home, & I
was follered by a enthoosiastic throng of my feller
sitterzens, who hurrard for Old Ward at the top of
their voises. I found the house chock full of peple.
up darters, lawyer Perkinses wife, Taberthy Ripley,
young Eben Parsuns, Deakun Simmuns folks, the
Skoolmaster, Doctor Jordin, etsettery, etsettery.
Mis Ward was in the west room, which jines the
kitchin. Mis Square Baxter was mixin suthin in a
dipper before the kitchin fire, & a small army of
female wimin were rushin wildly round the house
with bottles of camfire, peaces of flannil, &c. I
never seed sich a hubbub in my natral born dase.
I cood not stay in the west room only a minit, so
strung up was my feelins, so I rusht out and ceased
my dubbel barrild gun.
“What upon airth ales the man?” sez Taberthy
Ripley. “Sakes alive, what air you doin?” & she
grabd me by the coat tales. “What's the matter
with you?” she continnerd.
“Twins, marm,” sez I, “twins!”
“I know it,” sez she, coverin her pretty face
with her apun.
“Wall,” sez I, “that's what's the matter with
me!”
“Wall put down that air gun, you pesky old
fool,” sed she.
“No, marm,” sez I, “this is a Nashunal day.
The glory of this here day isn't confined to Baldinsville
by a darn site. On yonder woodshed,” sed I,
drawin myself up to my full hite and speakin in a
show actin voice, “will I fire a Nashunal saloot!”
sayin whitch I tared myself from her grasp and
rusht to the top of the shed whare I blazed away
until Square Baxter's hired man and my son
Artemus Juneyer cum and took me down by mane
force.
On returnin to the Kitchin I found quite a lot of
people seated be4 the fire, a talkin the event over.
They made room for me & I sot down. “Quite a
eppisode,” sed Docter Jordin, litin his pipe with a
red hot coal.
“Yes,” sed I, “2 eppisodes, waying abowt 18
pounds jintly.”
“A perfeck coop de tat,” sed the skoolmaster.
“E pluribus unum, in proprietor persony,” sed I,
thinking I'd let him know I understood furrin
“It is indeed a momentious event,” sed young
Eben Parsuns, who has been 2 quarters to the
Akademy.
“I never heard twins called by that name afore,”
sed I, “but I spose it's all rite.”
“We shall soon have Wards enuff,” sed the
editer of the Baldinsville Bugle of Liberty, who
was lookin over a bundle of exchange papers in the
corner, “to apply to the legislater for a City
Charter?”
“Good for you, old man!” sed I, “giv that air
a conspickius place in the next Bugle.”
“How redicklus,” sed pretty Susan Fletcher,
coverin her face with her knittin work & larfin like
all possest.
“Wall, for my part,” sed Jane Maria Peasley
who is the crossest old made in the world, “I think
you all act like a pack of fools.”
Sez I, “Mis. Peasly, air you a parent?”
Sez she, “No, I aint.”
Sez I, “Mis. Peasly, you never will be.”
She left.
We sot there talkin & larfin until “the switchin
hour of nite, when grave yards yawn & Josts troop
4th,” as old Bill Shakespire aptlee obsarves in his
dramy of John Sheppard, esq., or the Moral House
Breaker, when we broke up & disbursed.
Muther & children is a doin well; & as Resolushuns
is the order of the day I will feel obleeged if
you'll insurt the follerin—
Whereas, two Eppisodes has happined up to the
undersined's house, which is Twins; & Whereas I
like this, stile, sade twins bein of the male perswashun
& both boys; there4 Be it
Resolved, that to them nabers who did the fare
thing by sade Eppisodes my hart felt thanks is doo.
Resolved, that I do most hartily thank Engine
Ko. No. 17 who, under the impreshun from the fuss
at my house on that auspishus nite that thare was a
konflagration goin on, kum galyiantly to the spot,
but kindly refraned frum squirtin.
Resolved, that frum the Bottum of my Sole do I
idea of Sarahnadin me, both on that great nite &
sinse.
Resolved, that my thanks is doo several members
of the Baldinsville meetin house who fur 3 whole
dase hain't kalled me a sinful skoffer or intreeted me
to mend my wicked wase and jine sade meetin house
to onct.
Resolved, that my Boozum teams with meny kind
emoshuns towards the follerin individoouls, to whit
namelee—Mis. Square Baxter, who Jenerusly refoozed
to take a sent for a bottle of camfire; lawyer
Perkinses wife who rit sum versis on the Eppisodes;
the Editer of the Baldinsville Bugle of Liberty,
who nobly assisted me in wollupin my Kangeroo,
which sagashus little cuss seriusly disturbed the Eppisodes
by his outrajus screetchins & kickins up;
Mis. Hirum Doolittle, who kindly furnisht sum cold
vittles at a tryin time, when it wasunt konvenient
to cook vittles at my house; & the Peasleys, Parsunses
& Watsunses fur there meny ax of kindness.
CRUISE OF THE POLLY ANN.
In overhaulin one of my old trunks the tother
day, I found the follerin' jernal of a vyge on the
starnch canawl bote, Polly Ann, which happened to
the subscriber when I was a young man (in the
Brite Lexington of yooth, when thar aint no sich
word as fale) on the Wabash Canawl:
(Monday 2 P. M.) Got under wa. Hosses not
remarkable frisky at fust. Had to bild fires under
'em before they'd start. Started at larst very suddent,
causin the bote for to lurch vilently and
knockin me orf from my pins. (Sailor frase.)
Sevral passenjers on bored. Parst threw deliteful
country. Honist farmers was to work sowin korn,
& other projuce in the fields. Surblime scenery.
Large red-heded gal reclinin on the banks of the
Canawl, bathin her feet.
Turned in at 15 minits parst eleving.
Toosdy—Riz at 5 and went up on the poop deck.
Took a grown person's dose of licker with a member
of the Injianny legislater, which he urbanely insisted
on allowin me to pay for. Bote tearin threu
the briny waters at the rate of 2 Nots a hour, when
the boy on the leadin hoss shoutid,
“Sale hoe!”
“Whar away?” hollered the capting, clearin his
glass (a empty black bottle, with the bottom knockt
out) and bringing it to his Eagle eye.
“Bout four rods to the starbud,” screamed the
boy.
“Jes so,” screeched the capting. “What wessel's
that air?”
“Kickin Warier of Terry Hawt, and be darned
to you!”
“I, I Sir!” hollered our capting. “Reef your
arft hoss, splice your main jib-boom, and hail your
chambermaid! What's up in Terry Hawt?”
“You know Bill Spikes?” sed the capting of the
Warier.
“Wall, I reckin. He kan eat more fride pork
to his sex!”
“Wall,” continued the capting of the Kickin
Marier. “Wilyim got a little owly the tother day,
and got to prancin around town on that old white
mare of his'n, and bein in a playful mood, he rid up
in front of the Court 'us whar old Judge Perkins
was a holdin Court, and let drive his rifle at him.
The bullet didn't hit the Judge at all; it only jes
whizzed parst his left ear, lodgin in the wall behind
him; but what d'ye spose the old despot did? Why,
he actooally fined Bill ten dollars for contempt of
Court! What do you think of that?” axed the
capting of the Marier, as he parst a long black bottle
over to our capting.
“The country is indeed in danger!” sed our capting,
raisin the bottle to his lips. The wessels parted.
No other incidents that day. Retired to my
chased couch at 5 minits parst 10.
(Wensdy.) Riz arly. Wind blowin N. W. E.
Hevy sea on and ship rollin wildly in consekents of
pepper-corns havin bin fastened to the forrerd hoss's
at the rudder, as the Polly giv a friteful toss. I
was sick, an sorry I'd cum. “Heave two!” repeated
the capting. I went below. “Heave two!”
I hearn him holler agin, and stickin my hed out of
the cabin winder, I hev.
The hosses became dosile eventually, and I felt
better. The sun bust out in all his splender, disregardless
of expense, and lovely Natur put in her
best licks. We parst the beautiful village of Limy,
which lookt sweet indeed, with its neat white cottages,
Institoots of learnin and other evijences of
civillizashun, incloodin a party of bald heded cullered
men who was playing 3 card monty on the stoop
of the Red Eagle tavern. All, all was food for my
2 poetic sole. I went below to breakfast, but vittles
had lost their charms. “Take sum of this,”
sed the Capting, shovin a bottle tords my plate.
“It's whisky. A few quarts allers sets me right
when my stummick gits out of order. It's a excellent
tonic!” I declined the seductive flooid.
(Thursday.) Didn't rest well last night on account
the Bote to go ashore and smash in the windows of
a grosery. He was brought back in about a hour,
with his hed dun up in a red hankercher, his eyes
bein swelled up orful, and his nose very much out
of jint. He was bro't aboard on a shutter by his
crue, and deposited on the cabin floor, the passenjers
all risin up in their births, pushin the red curtains
aside & lookin out to see what the matter was.
“Why do you allow your pashuns to run away with
you in this onseemly stile, my misgided frend?”
sed a sollum lookin man in a red flannel nite-cap.
“Why do you sink yourself to the Beasts of the
field?”
“Wall, the fack is,” sed the capting, risin hisself
on the shutter, “I've bin a little prejoodiced agin
that grosery for some time. But I made it lively
for the boys, Deacon! Bet yer life!” He larfed
a short, wild larf, and called for his jug. Sippin a
few pints, he smiled gently upon the passengers, sed
“Bless you! bless you!” and fell into a sweet
sleep.
Eventually we reached our jerny's end. This
was in the days of Old Long Sign, be4 the iron
hoss was foaled. This was be4 steembotes was goin
round bustin their bilers & sendin peple higher nor
a kite. Them was happy days when peple was intelligent
& wax figger's & livin wild beests wasn't
scoffed at.
I'm dreamin on ye now!”
(Poeckry.)
A. W.
INTERVIEW WITH PRESIDENT LINCOLN.
I hav no politics. Nary a one. I'm not in the
bisiness. If I was I spose I should holler versiffrusly
in the streets at nite and go home to Betsy
Jane smellen of coal ile and gin, in the mornin. I
should go to the Poles arly. I should stay there all
day. I should see to it that my nabers was thar.
I should git carriges to take the kripples, the infirm
and the indignant thar. I should be on guard agin
frauds and sich. I should be on the look out for
the infamus lise of the enemy, got up jest be4 elecshun
for perlitical effeck. When all was over and
my candydate was elected, I should move heving &
arth — so to speak — until I got orfice, which if I
didn't git a orfice I should turn round and abooze the
Administration with all my mite and maine. But
bisniss nor what pollertics is. I wouldn't giv two
cents to be a Congresser. The wuss insult I ever
received was when sertin citizens of Baldinsville
axed me to run fur the Legislater. Sez I, My
frends, dostest think I'd stoop to that there?”
They turned as white as a sheet. I spoke in my
most orfullest tones, & they knowd I wasn't to be
trifled with. They slunked out of site to onct.
There4, havin no polities, I made bold to visit Old
Abe at his humstid in Springfield. I found the old
feller in his parler, surrounded by a perfeck swarm
of orfice seekers. Knowin he had been capting of
a flat boat on the roarin Mississippy I thought I'd
address him in sailor lingo, so sez I “Old Abe,
ahoy! Let out yer main-suls, reef hum the forecastle
& throw yer jib-poop over-board! Shiver
my timbers, my harty!” [N. B. This is ginuine
mariner langwidge. I know, becawz I've seen
sailor plays acted out by them New York theater
fellers.] Old Abe lookt up quite cross & sez,
“Send in yer petition by & by. I can't possibly
sir!”
“Mr. Linkin, who do you spect I air?” sed I.
“A orfice-seeker, to be sure?” sed he.
“Wall, sir,” sed I, “you's never more mistaken
in your life. You hain't gut a orfiss I'd take under
no circumstances. I'm A. Ward. Wax figgers is
my perfeshun. I'm the father of Twins, and they
look like me — both of them. I cum to pay a
frendly visit to the President eleck of the United
States. If so be you wants to see me say so — if
not, say so, & I'm orf like a jug handle.”
“Mr. Ward, sit down. I am glad to see you,
Sir.”
“Repose in Abraham's Buzzum!” sed one of
the orfice seekers, his idee bein to git orf a goak at
my expense.
“Wall,” sez I, “ef all you fellers repose in that
there Buzzum thare'll be mity poor nussin for sum
of you!” whereupon Old Abe buttoned his weskit
clear up and blusht like a maidin of sweet 16.
Jest at this pint of the conversation another swarm
Sum wanted post orfices, sum wanted collectorships.
sum wantid furrin missions, and all wanted sumthin.
I thought Old Abe would go crazy. He hadn't
more than had time to shake hands with 'em, before
another tremenjis crowd cum porein onto his premises.
His house and dooryard was now perfeckly
overflowed with orfice seekers, all clameruss for a
immejit interview with Old Abe. One man from
Ohio, who had about seven inches of corn whisky
into him, mistook me for Old Abe and addrest me
as “The Pra-hayrie Flower of the West!”
Thinks I you want a offiss putty bad. Another man
with a gold heded cane and a red nose told Old Abe
he was “a seckind Washington & the Pride of the
Boundliss West.”
Sez I, “Square, you wouldn't take a small postoffis
if you could git it, would you?”
Sez he, “a patrit is abuv them things, sir!”
“There's a putty big crop of patrits this season,
aint there Squire?” sez I, when another crowd of
offiss seekers pored in. The house, door-yard, barn
crowd cum I told 'em not to go away for want of
room as the hog-pen was still empty. One patrit
from a small town in Michygan went up on top the
house, got into the chimney and slid down into
the parler where Old Abe was endeverin to keep
the hungry pack of orfice-seekers from chawin him
up alive without benefit of clergy. The minit he
reached the fire-place he jumpt up, brusht the soot
out of his eyes, and yelled: “Don't make eny pintment
at the Spunkville postoffiss till you've read my
papers. All the respectful men in our town is
signers to that there dockyment!”
“Good God!” cride Old Abe, “they cum upon
me from the skize—down the chimneys, and from
the bowels of the yearth!” He hadn't more'n got
them words out of his delikit mouth before two fat
offiss-seekers from Wisconsin, in endeverin to crawl
atween his legs for the purpuss of applyin for the
tollgateship at Milwawky, upsot the President eleck
& he would hev gone sprawlin into the fire-place if
I hadn't caught him in these arms. But I hadn't
crashin down the chimney, his head strikin me vilently
agin the inards and prostratin my voluptoous
form onto the floor. “Mr. Linkin,” shoutid the
infatooated being, “my papers is signed by every
clergyman in our town, and likewise the skoolmaster!”
Sez I, “you egrejis ass,” gittin up & brushin the
dust from my eyes, “I'll sign your papers with this
bunch of bones, if you don't be a little more keerful
how you make my bread basket a depot in the futer.
How do you like that air perfumery?” sez I, shuving
my fist under his nose. “Them's the kind of
papers I'll giv you! Them's the paper's you
want!”
“But I workt hard for the ticket; I toiled night
and day! The patrit should be rewarded!”
“Virtoo,” sed I, holdin' the infatooated man by
the coat-collar, “virtoo, sir, is its own reward.
Look at me!” He did look at me, and qualed be4
my gase. “The fact is,” I continued, lookin' round
on the hungry crowd, “there is scacely a offiss for
wish thare was. I wish thare was furrin missions to
be filled on varis lonely Islands where eppydemics
rage incessantly, and if I was in Old Abe's place I'd
send every mother's son of you to them. What air
you here for?” I continnered, warmin up considerable,
“can't you giv Abe a minit's peace? Don't
you see he's worrid most to death! Go home, you
miserable men, go home & till the sile! Go to peddlin
tinware—go to choppin wood—go to bilin'
sope—stuff sassengers—black boots—git a clerkship
on sum respectable manure cart—go round as
original Swiss Bell Ringers—becum `origenal and
only' Campbell Minstrels—go to lecturin at 50 dollars
a nite—imbark in the peanut bizniss—write
for the Ledger—saw off your legs and go round
givin concerts, with techin appeals to a charitable
public, printed on your handbills—anything for a
honest living, but don't come round here drivin Old
Abe crazy by your outrajis cuttings up! Go home.
`Stand not upon the order of your goin,' but go to
onct! If in five minits from this time,” sez I pullin'
and brandishin' it before their eyes, “Ef in five
minits from this time a single sole of you remains
on these here premises, I'll go out to my cage near
by, and let my Boy Constructor loose! & ef he gits
amung you, you'll think old Solferino has cum again
and no mistake!” You ought to hev seen them
scamper, Mr. Fair. They run orf as tho Satun hisself
was arter them with a red hot ten pronged
pitchfork. In five minits the premises was clear.
“How kin I ever repay you, Mr. Ward, for your
kindness?” sed Old Abe, advancin and shakin me
warmly by the hand. “How kin I ever repay you,
sir?”
“By givin the whole country a good, sound administration.
By poerin' ile upon the troubled waturs,
North and South. By pursooin' a patriotic,
firm, and just course, and then if any State wants
to secede, let 'em Sesesh!”
“How 'bout my Cabinit, Mister, Ward?” sed Abe.
“Fill it up with Showmen, sir! Showmen is
They know how to cater for the public.
They know what the public wants, North & South.
Showmen, sir, is honest men. Ef you doubt their
literary ability, look at their posters, and see small
bills! Ef you want a Cabinit as is a Cabinit fill it
up with showmen, but don't call on me. The moral
wax figger perfeshun musn't be permitted to go down
while there's a drop of blood in these vains! A.
Linkin, I wish you well! Ef Powers or Walcutt
wus to pick out a model for a beautiful man, I
scarcely think they'd sculp you; but ef you do the
fair thing by your country you'll make as putty a
angel as any of us! A. Linkin, use the talents
which Nature has put into you judishusly and firmly,
and all will be well! A. Linkin, adoo!”
He shook me cordyully by the hand — we exchanged
picters, so we could gaze upon each others'
liniments when far away from one another—he at
the hellum of the ship of State, and I at the hellum
of the show bizniss—admittance only 15 cents.
THE SHOW IS CONFISCATED.
You hav perhaps wondered wharebouts I was for
these many dase gone and past. Perchans you
sposed I'd gone to the Tomb of the Cappylets, tho I
don't know what those is. It's a popler noospaper
frase.
Listen to my tail, and be silent that ye may here.
I've been among the Seseshers, a earnin my daily
peck by my legitimit perfeshun, and havn't had no
time to weeld my facile quill for “the Grate Komick
paper,” if you'll alow me to kote from your
troothful advertisement.
My success was skaly, and I likewise had a narrer
scape of my life. If what I've bin threw is “Suthern
hosspitality,” 'bout which we've hearn so much,
then I feel bound to obsarve that they made two
much of me. They was altogether too lavish with
their attenshuns.
I went amung the Seseshers with no feelins of
annermosity. I went in my perfeshernal capacity.
I was actooated by one of the most Loftiest desires
which can swell the human Buzzum, viz: — to giv
the peeple their money's worth, by showin them Sagashus
Beests, and Wax Statoots, which I venter to
say air onsurpast by any other statoots anywheres.
I will not call that man who sez my statoots is humbugs
a lier and a hoss thief, but bring him be4 me
and I'll wither him with one of my scornful frowns.
But to proseed with my tail. In my travels
threw the Sonny South I heared a heap of talk
about Seceshon and bustin up the Union, but I
didn't think it mounted to nothin. The politicians
in all the villages was swearin that Old Abe (sometimes
called the Prahayrie flower) should'nt never be
noggerated. They also made fools of theirselves in
varis ways, but as they was used to that I didn't
let it worry me much, and the Stars and Stripes continued
for to wave over my little tent. Moor over, I
was a Son of Malty and a member of several other
Temperance Societies, and my wife she was a Dawter
the infloonz and pertectiun of all the fust families.
Alas! I was dispinted. State arter State seseshed
and it growed hotter and hotter for the undersined.
Things came to a climbmacks in a small town in Alabamy,
where I was premtorally ordered to haul
down the Stars & Stripes. A deppytashun of redfaced
men cum up to the door of my tent ware I
was standin takin money (the arternoon exhibishun
had commenst, an' my Italyun organist was jerkin
his sole-stirrin chimes.) “We air cum, Sir,” said
a millingtary man in a cockt hat, “upon a hi and
holy mishun. The Southern Eagle is screamin
threwout this sunny land — proudly and defiantly
screamin, Sir!”
“What's the matter with him,” sez I, “don't his
vittles sit well on his stummick?”
“That Eagle, Sir, will continner to scream all
over this Brite and tremenjus land!”
“Wall, let him scream. If your Eagle can
amuse hisself by screamin, let him went!” The
men anoyed me for I was Bizzy makin change.
“We are cum, Sir, upon a matter of dooty —”
“You're right, Capting. It's every man's dooty
to visit my show,” sed I.
“We air cum —”
“And that's the reason you are here!” sez I,
larfin one of my silvery larfs. I thawt if he wanted
to goak I'd giv him sum of my sparklin eppygrams.
“Sir, you're inserlent. The plain question is,
will you haul down the Star-Spangled Banner, and
hist the Southern flag!”
“Nary hist!” Those was my reply.
“Your wax works and beests is then confisticated,
& you air arrested as a Spy!”
Sez I, “My fragrant roses of the Southern clime
and Bloomin daffodils, what's the price of whisky in
this town, and how many cubic feet of that seductive
flooid can you individooally hold?”
They made no reply to that, but said my wax figgers
was confisticated. I axed them if that was
ginerally the stile among thieves in that country, to
which they also made no reply, but sed I was arrested
They was by this time jined by a large crowd of
other Southern patrits, who commenst hollerin
“Hang the bald-headed aberlitionist, and bust up
his immoral exhibition!” I was ceased and tied to
a stump, and the crowd went for my tent — that
water-proof pavilion, wherein instruction and amoosment
had been so muchly combined, at 15 cents per
head — and tore it all to pieces. Meanwhile dirty
faced boys was throwin stuns and empty beer bottles
at my massiv brow, and takin other improper
liberties with my person. Resistance was useless,
for a variety of reasons, as I readily obsarved.
The Seseshers confisticated my statoots by smashin
them to attums. They then went to my money
box and confisticated all the loose change therein
contaned. They then went and bust in my cages,
lettin all the animils loose, a small but helthy tiger
among the rest. This tiger has a excentric way
of tearin dogs to peaces, and I allers sposed from
his gineral conduck that he'd hav no hesitashun in
servin human beins in the same way if he could git
boysterrusly when I see that tiger spring in among
the people. “Go it, my sweet cuss!” I inardly
exclaimed, “I forgive you for bitin off my left
thum with all my heart! Rip 'em up like a bully
tiger whose Lare has bin inwaded by Seseshers!”
I can't say for certain that the tiger serisly injured
any of them, but as he was seen a few days
after, sum miles distant, with a large and well selected
assortment of seats of trowsis in his mouth, and
as he lookt as tho he'd bin havin sum vilent exercise,
I rayther guess he did. You will therefore perceive
that they didn't confisticate him much.
I was carrid to Montgomry in iuns and placed in
durans vial. The jail was a ornery edifiss, but the
table was librally surplied with Bakin an Cabbidge.
This was a good variety, for when I didn't hanker
after Bakin I could help myself to the cabbige.
I had nobody to talk to nor nothin to talk about,
howsever, and I was very lonely, specially on the
first day; so when the jailer parst my lonely sell I
put the few stray hairs on the back part of my hed
sweet auburn ringlets) into as dish-hevild a state as
possible, & rollin my eyes like a manyyuck, I cride:
“Stay, jaler, stay! I am not mad but soon shall be
if you don't bring me suthin to Talk!” He brung
me sum noospapers, for which I thanked him kindly.
At larst I got a interview with Jefferson Davis,
the President of the Southern Conthieveracy. He
was quite perlite, and axed me to sit down and state
my case. I did it, when he larfed and said his gallunt
men had been a little 2 enthoosiastic in confisticatin
my show.
“Yes,” sez I, “they confisticated me too muchly.
I had sum hosses confisticated in the same way onct,
but the confisticaters air now poundin stun in the
States Prison in Injinnapylus.”
“Wall, wall, Mister Ward, you air at liberty to
depart; you air frendly to the South, I know.
Even now we hav many frens in the North, who
sympathise with us, and won't mingle with this
fight.”
“J. Davis, there's your grate mistaik. Many of
amung us was fussin about you and meddlin
with your consarns intirely too much. But J.
Davis, the minit you fire a gun at the piece of drygoods
called the Star-Spangled Banner, the North
gits up and rises en massy, in defence of that banner.
Not agin you as individooals, — not agin the
South even — but to save the flag. We should indeed
be weak in the knees, unsound in the heart,
milk-white in the liver, and soft in the hed, if we
stood quietly by and saw this glorus Govyment
smashed to pieces, either by a furrin or a intestine foe.
The gentle-harted mother hates to take her naughty
child across her knee, but she knows it is her dooty
to do it. So we shall hate to whip the naughty
South, but we must do it if you don't make back
tracks at onct, and we shall wallup you out of your
boots! J. Davis, it is my decided opinion that the
Sonny South is makin a egrejus mutton-hed of
herself!”
“Go on, sir, you're safe enuff. You're too small
powder for me!” sed the President of the Southern
Conthieveracy.
“Wait till I go home and start out the Baldinsvill
Mounted Hoss Cavalry! I'm Capting of
that Corpse, I am, and J. Davis, beware! Jefferson
D., I now leave you! Farewell my gay Saler
Boy! Good bye, my bold buccaneer! Pirut of
the deep blue sea, adoo! adoo!”
My tower threw the Southern Conthieveracy on
my way home was thrillin enuff for yeller covers.
It will form the subjeck of my next. Betsy Jane
and the progeny air well.
THRILLING SCENES IN DIXIE.
I had a narrer scape from the sonny South.
“The swings and arrers of outrajus fortin,” alluded
to by Hamlick, warn't nothin in comparison to my
trubles. I come pesky near swearin sum profane
oaths more'n onct, but I hope I didn't do it, for I've
promist she whose name shall be nameless (except
that her initials is Betsy J.) that I'll jine the
Meetin House at Baldinsville, jest as soon as I can
scrape money enuff together so I can 'ford to be
piuss in good stile, like my welthy nabers. But
if I'm confisticated agin I'm fraid I shall continner
on in my present benited state for sum time.
I figgered conspicyusly in many thrillin scenes in
my tower from Montgomery to my humsted, and on
sevril occasions I thought “the grate komick paper”
would'nt be inriched no more with my lubrications.
depot. I saw a nigger sittin on a fence a-playin on
a banjo. “My Afrikan Brother,” sed I, coting
from a Track I onct red, “you belong to a very interesting
race. Your masters is going to war excloosively
on your account.”
“Yes, boss,” he replied, “an' I wish 'em honorable
graves!” and he went on playin the banjo, larfin
all over and openin his mouth wide enuff to drive
in an old-fashioned 2 wheeled chaise.
The train of cars in which I was to trust my wallerable
life was the scaliest, rickytiest lookin lot of
consarns that I ever saw on wheels afore. “What
time does this string of second-hand coffins leave?”
I inquired of the depot master. He sed direckly,
and I went in & sot down. I hadn't more'n fairly
squatted afore a dark lookin man with a swinister expression
onto his countenance entered the cars, and
lookin very sharp at me, he axed what was my principles?
“Secesh!” I ansered. “I'm a Dissoluter. I'm
in favor of Jeff Davis, Bowregard, Pickens, Capt.
Cunningham and all the rest of 'em.”
“You're in favor of the war?”
“Certingly. By all means. I'm in favor of this
war and also of the next war. I've been in favor
of the next war for over sixteen years!”
“War to the knive!” sed the man.
“Blud, Eargo, blud!” sed I, tho them words
isn't origgernal with me. Them words was rit by
Shakespeare, who is ded. His mantle fell onto the
author of “The Seven Sisters,” who's goin to hav a
Spring overcoat made out of it.
We got under way at larst, an' proceeded on our
jerney at about the rate of speed which is ginrally
obsarved by properly-conducted funeral processions.
A hansum yung gal, with a red musketer bar on the
back side of her hed, and a sassy little black hat
tipt over her forrerd, sot in the seat with me. She
wore a little Sesesh flag pin'd onto her hat, and she
was a goin for to see her troo love, who had jined
the Southern army, all so bold and gay. So she
told me. She was chilly and I offered her my
blanket.
“Father livin?” I axed.
“Yes sir.”
“Got any Uncles?”
“A heap. Uncle Thomas is ded, tho.”
“Peace to Uncle Thomas's ashes, and success to
him! I will be your Uncle Thomas! Lean on me
my pretty Secesher, and linger in Blissful repose!”
She slept as secoorly as in her own housen, and
didn't disturb the sollum stillness of the night with
'ary snore!
At the first station a troop of Sojers entered the
cars and inquired if “Old Wax Works” was on
bored. That was the disrespectiv stile in which
they referred to me. “Becawz if Old Wax Works
is on bored,” sez a man with a face like a doublebrested
lobster, “we're going to hang Old Wax
Works!”
“My illustrious and patriotic Bummers!” sez I,
a gittin up and takin orf my Shappo, “if you allude
to A. Ward, it's my pleasin dooty to inform
you that he's ded. He saw the error of his ways
at 15 minits parst 2 yesterday, and stabbed hisself
to slow moosic! His larst words was: `My
perfeshernal career is over! I jerk no more!' ”
“And who be you?”
“I'm a stoodent in Senater Benjamin's law offiss.
I'm going up North to steal some spoons and things
for the Southern Army.”
This was satisfactry and the intossicated troopers
went orf. At the next station the pretty little Secesher
awoke and sed she must git out there. I bid
her a kind adoo and giv her sum pervisions. “Accept
my blessin and this hunk of gingerbred!” I
sed. She thankt me muchly and tript galy away.
There's considerable human nater in a man, and I'm
fraid I shall allers giv aid and comfort to the enemy
if he cums to me in the shape of a nice young gal.
At the next station I didn't get orf so easy. I
was dragged out of the cars and rolled in the mud
for several minits, for the purpose of “takin the
conseet out of me,” as a Secesher kindly stated.
I was let up finally, when a powerful large Secesher
came up and embraced me, and to show that
my mouth. I returned the compliment by placin
my stummick suddenly agin his right foot, when he
kindly made a spittoon of his able-bodied face. Actooated
by a desire to see whether the Secesher had
bin vaxinated I then fastened my teeth onto his left
coat-sleeve and tore it to the shoulder. We then
vilently bunted our heads together for a few minits,
danced around a little, and sot down in a mud puddle.
We riz to our feet agin & by a sudden and
adroit movement I placed my left eye agin the Seaesher's
fist. We then rushed into each other's
arms and fell under a two-hoss wagon. I was very
much exhaustid and didn't care about gettin up agin,
but the man said he reckoned I'd better, and I conclooded
I would. He pulled me up, but I hadn't bin
on my feet more'n two seconds afore the ground flew
up and hit me in the hed. The crowd sed it was
high old sport, but I couldn't zackly see where the
lafture come in. I riz and we embraced agin. We
careered madly to a steep bank, when I got the upper
hands of my antaggernist and threw him into
grindstone pretty hard. I understood he was injured.
I haven't heard from the grindstone.
A man in a cockt hat cum up and sed he felt as
though a apology was doo me. There was a mistake.
The crowd had taken me for another man!
I told him not to mention it, and axed him if his
wife and little ones was so as to be about, and got on
bored the train, which had stopped at that station
“20 minits for refreshments.” I got all I wantid.
It was the hartiest meal I ever et.
I was rid on a rale the next day, a bunch of blazin
fire crackers bein tied to my coat tales. It was a
fine spectycal in a dramatic pint of view, but I didn't
enjoy it. I had other adventers of a startlin kind,
but why continner? Why lasserate the Public Boozum
with these here things? Suffysit to say I got
across Mason & Dixie's line safe at last. I made
tracks for my humsted, but she to whom I'm harnist
for life failed to recognize, in the emashiated bein
who stood before her, the gushin youth of forty-six
summers who had left her only a few months afore.
black bottle. Raisin it to my lips, I sed “Here's
to you, old gal!” I did it so natral that she knowed
me at once. “Those form! Them voice! That
natral stile of doin things! 'Tis he!” she cried,
and rushed into my arms. It was too much for her
& she fell into a swoon. I cum very near swoundin
myself.
No more to-day from yours for the Pepetration
of the Union, and the bringin of the Goddess of
Liberty out of her present bad fix.
FOURTH OF JULY ORATION.
DELIVERED JULY 4TH, AT
WEATHERSFIELD, CONNECTICUT,
1850.
[I delivered the follerin, about two years ago, to a large and
discriminating awjince. I was 96 minits passin a given pint. I
have revised the orashun, and added sum things which makes it
approposser to the times than it otherwise would be. I have also
corrected the grammers and punktooated it. I do my own punktooatin
now days. The printers in Vanity Fair offiss can't
punktooate worth a cent.]
Feller Citizens: I've bin honored with a invite
to norate before you to-day; and when I say that I
skurcely feel ekal to the task, I'm sure you will believe
me.
Weathersfield is justly celebrated for her onyins
and patritism the world over, and to be axed to
paws and address you on this, my fust perfeshernal
tower threw New Englan, causes me to feel—to
feel—I may say it causes me to feel. (Grate applaws.
They thought this was one of my eccentricities,
you and I.)
I'm a plane man. I don't know nothin about no
ded languages and am a little shaky on livin ones.
There4, expect no flowry talk from me. What I
shall say will be to the pint, right strate out.
I'm not a politician and my other habits air good.
I've no enemys to reward, nor friends to sponge.
But I'm a Union man. I luv the Union — it is a
Big thing — and it makes my hart bleed to see a
lot of ornery peple a-movin heaven — no, not heaven,
but the other place — and earth, to bust it up.
Too much good blud was spilt in courtin and marryin
that hily respectable female the Goddess of Liberty,
to git a divorce from her now. My own State of
Injianny is celebrated for unhitchin marrid peple
with neatness and dispatch, but you can't git a
divorce from the Goddess up there. Not by no
means. The old gal has behaved herself too well to
cast her off now. I'm sorry the picters don't give
her no shoes or stockins, but the band of stars upon
her hed must continner to shine undimd, forever.
arm of every ornery cuss who attempts to bust her
up. That's me. I hav sed! [It was a very
sweaty day, and at this pint of the orashun a man
fell down with sunstroke. I told the awjince that
considerin the large number of putty gals present
I was more fraid of a DAWTER STROKE. This was
impromptoo, and seemed to amoose them very much.]
Feller Citizens — I hain't got time to notis the
growth of Ameriky frum the time when the May-flowers
cum over in the Pilgrim and brawt Plymmuth
Rock with them, but every skool boy nose our
kareer has bin tremenjis. You will excuse me if I
don't prase the erly settlers of the Kolonies. Peple
which hung idiotic old wimin for witches, bnrnt
holes in Quakers' tongues and consined their feller
critters to the tredmill and pillery on the slitest
provocashun may hav bin very nice folks in their
way, but I must confess I don't admire their stile,
and will pass them by. I spose they ment well, and
so, in the novel and techin langwidge of the nusepapers,
“peas to their ashis.” Thare was no diskount,
and died in the American Revolushun. We needn't
be afraid of setting 'em up two steep. Like my
show, they will stand any amount of prase. G.
Washington was abowt the best man this world ever
sot eyes on. He was a clear-heded, warm-harted,
and stiddy goin man. He never slopt over! The
prevailin weakness of most public men is to SLOP
OVER! [Put them words in large letters — A.
W] They git filled up and slop. They Rush
Things. They travel too much on the high presher
principle. They git on to the fust poplar hobbyhoss
whitch trots along, not carin a sent whether the
beest is even goin, clear sited and sound or spavined,
blind and bawky. Of course they git throwed
eventooually, if not sooner. When they see the
multitood goin it blind they go Pel Mel with it,
instid of exertin theirselves to set it right. They
can't see that the crowd which is now bearin them
triumfuntly on its shoulders will soon diskiver its
error and cast them into the hoss pond of Oblivyun,
without the slitest hesitashun. Washington never
his country dearly. He wasn't after the spiles. He
was a human angil in a 3 kornerd hat and knee
britches, and we shan't see his like right away. My
frends, we can't all be Washington's, but we kin all
be patrits & behave ourselves in a human and a
Christian manner. When we see a brother goin
down hill to Ruin let us not give him a push, but
let us seeze rite hold of his coat-tails and draw him
back to Morality.
Imagine G. Washington and P. Henry in the
character of seseshers! As well fancy John Bunyan
and Dr. Watts in spangled tites, doin the trapeze
in a one-horse circus!
I tell you, feller-citizens, it would have bin ten
dollars in Jeff Davis's pocket if he'd never bin born!
* * * * * * * *
Be shure and vote at leest once at all elecshuns.
Buckle on yer Armer and go to the Poles. See
two it that your naber is there. See that the
kripples air provided with carriages. Go to the
poles and stay all day. Bewair of the infamous
fur perlitical effek on the eve of eleckshun. To the
poles! and when you git there vote jest as you darn
please. This is a privilege we all persess, and it is
1 of the booties of this grate and free land.
I see mutch to admire in New Englan. Your
gals in particklar air abowt as snug bilt peaces of
Calliker as I ever saw. They air fully equal to the
corn fed gals of Ohio and Injianny, and will make
the bestest kind of wives. It sets my Buzzum on
fire to look at 'em.
& you, Hart, stop cuttin up!
I like your skool houses, your meetin houses, your
enterprise, gumpshun &c., but your favorit Bevridge
I disgust. I allude to New England Rum. It is
wuss nor the korn whisky of Injianny, which eats
threw stone jugs & will turn the stummuck of the
most shiftliss Hog. I seldom seek consolashun in the
flowin Bole, but tother day I wurrid down some of
your Rum. The fust glass indused me to sware
like a infooriated trooper. On takin the secund
& arter imbibin the third glass I knocht a small boy
down, pickt his pocket of a New York Ledger, and
wildly commenced readin Sylvanus Kobb's last Tail.
Its drefful stuff — a sort of lickwid litenin, gut up
under the personal supervishun of the devil — tears
men's inards all to peaces and makes their noses
blossum as the Lobster. Shun it as you would a
wild hyeny with a fire brand tied to his tale, and
while you air abowt it you will do a first rate thing
for yourself and everybody abowt you by shunnin
all kinds of intoxicatin lickers. You don't need'em
no more'n a cat needs 2 tales, sayin nothin abowt
the trubble and sufferin they cawse. But unless
your inards air cast iron, avoid New Englan's
favorite Bevrige.
My frends, I'm dun. I tear myself away from
you with tears in my eyes & a pleasant oder of
Onyins abowt my close. In the langwidge of
Mister Catterline to the Rummuns, I go, but perhaps
I shall cum back agin. Adoo, peple of Wethersfield.
Be virtoous & you'll be happy!
THE WAR FEVER IN BALDINSVILLE.
As soon as I'd recooperated my physikil system, I
went over into the village. The peasantry was glad
to see me. The skoolmaster sed it was cheerin to
see that gigantic intelleck among 'em onct more.
That's what he called me. I like the skoolmaster,
and allers send him tobacker when I'm off on a travelin
campane. Besides, he is a very sensible man.
Such men must be encouraged.
They don't git news very fast in Baldinsville, as
nothin but a plank road runs in there twice a week,
and that's very much out of repair. So my nabers
wasn't much posted up in regard to the wars,
'Squire Baxter sed he'd voted the dimicratic ticket
for goin on forty year, and the war was a dam black
republican lie. Jo Stackpole, who kills hogs for
the 'Squire, and has got a powerful muscle into his
fair stand-up fight, if he wouldn't draw a knife on
him. So it went — sum was for war, and sum was
for peace. The skoolmaster, however, sed the Slave
Oligarky must cower at the feet of the North ere a
year had flowed by, or pass over his dead corpse.
“Esto perpetua!” he added! “And sine qua non
also!” sed I, sternly, wishing to make a impression
onto the villagers. “Requiescat in pace!” sed the
schoolmaster. “Too troo, too troo!” I anserd, “it's
a scanderlus fact!”
The newspapers got along at last, chock full of
war, and the patriotic fever fairly bust out in Baldinsville.
'Squire Baxter sed he didn't b'lieve in
Coercion, not one of 'em, and could prove by a file
of Eagles of Liberty in his garrit, that it was all
a Whig lie, got up to raise the price of whisky and
destroy our other liberties. But the old 'Squire got
putty riley, when he heard how the rebels was cuttin
up, and he sed he reckoned he should skour up
his old muskit and do a little square fitin for the Old
Flag, which had allers bin on the ticket he'd voted,
right at heart, but it takes longer for him to fill his
venerable Biler with steam than it used to when he
was young and frisky. As I previously informed
you, I am Captin of the Baldinsville Company. I
riz gradooally but majesticly from drummer's Secretary
to my present position. But I found the ranks
wasn't full by no means, and commenced for to recroot.
Havin notist a gineral desire on the part of
young men who are into the Crisis to wear eppylits,
I detarmined to have my company composed excloosively
of offissers, everybody to rank as Brigadeer-Ginral.
The follerin was among the varis questions
which I put to recroots:
Do you know a masked battery from a hunk of
gingerbread?
Do you know a eppylit from a piece of chalk?
If I trust you with a real gun, how many men of
your own company do you speck you can manage to
kill durin the war?
Hav you ever heard of Ginral Price of Missouri,
and can you avoid simler accidents in case of a battle?
Hav you ever had the measles, and if so, how
many?
How air you now?
Show me your tongue, &c., &c. Sum of the
questions was sarcusstical.
The company filled up rapid, and last Sunday we
went to the meetin house in full uniform. I had a
seris time gittin into my military harness, as it was
bilt for me many years ago; but I finally got inside
of it, tho' it fitted me putty clost. Howsever, onct
into it, I lookt fine — in fact, aw-inspirin. “Do
you know me, Mrs. Ward?” sed I walkin into the
kitchin.
“Know you, you old fool? Of course I do.”
I saw at once she did.
I started for the meetin house, and I'm afraid I
tried to walk too strate, for I cum very near fallin
over backards; and in attemptin to recover myself,
my sword got mixed up with my legs, and I fell in
among a choice collection of young ladies, who was
standin near the church door a-seein the sojer boys
come up. My cockt hat fell off, and sumhow my
ladies put their handkerchers to their mouths and
remarked: “Te he,” while my ancient female single
friend, Sary Peasley, bust out into a loud larf.
She exercised her mouth so vilently that her new
false teeth fell out onto the ground.
“Miss Peaseley,” sed I, gittin up and dustin myself,
“you must be more careful with them store
teeth of your'n or you'll have to gum it agin!”
Methinks I had her.
I'd bin to work hard all the week, and I felt rather
snoozy. I'm 'fraid I did git half asleep, for on
hearin the minister ask, “Why was man made to
mourn?” I sed, “I giv it up,” havin a vague idee
that it was a condrum. It was a onfortnit remark,
for the whole meetin house lookt at me with mingled
surprise and indignation. I was about risin to a pint
of order, when it suddenly occurd to me whare I
was, and I kept my seat, blushin like the red, red
rose — so to speak.
The next mornin I 'rose with the lark (N. B. —
I don't sleep with the lark, tho'. A goak.)
My little dawter was execootin ballids, accompanyin
me to linger and hear her sing: “Hark I hear a
angel singin, a angel now is onto the wing.”
“Let him fly, my child!” said I, a-bucklin on
my armer, “I must forth to my Biz.”
We air progressin pretty well with our drill. As
all air commandin offissers, there ain't no jelusy;
and as we air all exceedin smart, it t'aint worth
while to try to outstrip each other. The idee of a
company composed excloosively of Commanders-in-Chiefs,
orriggernated, I spose I skurcely need say,
in these Brane. Considered as a idee, I flatter myself
it is putty hefty. We've got all the tackticks
at our tongs' ends, but what we particly excel in is
restin muskits. We can rest muskits with anybody.
Our corpse will do its dooty. We go to the aid
of Columby — we fight for the stars!
We'll be chopt into sassige meat before we'll exhibit
our coat-tales to the foe.
We'll fight till there's nothin left of us but our
little toes, and even they shall defiantly wiggle!
INTERVIEW WITH THE PRINCE NAPOLEON.
Notwithstandin I haint writ much for the papers
of late, nobody needn't flatter theirselves that the
undersined is ded. On the contry, “I still live,”
which words was spoken by Danyil Webster, who
was a able man. Even the old-line whigs of Boston
will admit that. Webster is ded now, howsever,
and his mantle has probly fallen into the hands of
sum dealer in 2nd hand close, who can't sell it.
Leastways nobody pears to be goin round wearin it
to any perticler extent, now days. The rigiment of
whom I was kurnel, finerly concluded they was better
adapted as Home Gards, which accounts for your
not hearin of me, ear this, where the bauls is the thickest
and where the cannon doth roar. But as a American
citizen I shall never cease to admire the masterly
advance our troops made on Washington from Bull
to my wife 'bout it at the time. My wife sed it was
well dun.
It havin there4 bin detarmined to pertect Baldinsville
at all hazzuds, and as there was no apprehensions
of any immejit danger, I thought I would
go orf onto a pleasure tower. Accordinly I put on
a clean Biled Shirt and started for Washinton. I
went there to see the Prints Napoleon, and not to
see the place, which I will here take occasion to obsarve
is about as uninterestin a locality as there is
this side of J. Davis's future home, if he ever does
die, and where I reckon they'll make it so warm for
him that he will si for his summer close. It is easy
enough to see why a man goes to the poor house or
the penitentiary. It's becawz he can't help it. But
why he should woluntarily go and live in Washinton,
is intirely beyond my comprehension, and I
can't say no fairer nor that.
I put up to a leadin hotel. I saw the landlord
and sed, “How d'ye do, Square?”
“Fifty cents, sir,” was his reply.
“Sir?”
“Half-a-dollar. We charge twenty-five cents for
lookin at the landlord and fifty cents for speakin to
him. If you want supper, a boy will show you to
the dinin room for twenty-five cents. Your room bein
in the tenth story, it will cost you a dollar to be
shown up there.”
“How much do you ax a man for breathin in this
equinomikal tarvun?” sed I.
“Ten cents a Breth,” was his reply.
Washinton hotels is very reasonable in their
charges. [N. B.—This is Sarkassum.]
I sent up my keerd to the Prints, and was immejitly
ushered before him. He received me kindly,
and axed me to sit down.
“I hav cum to pay my respecks to you, Mister
Napoleon, hopin I see you hale and harty.”
“I am quite well,” he sed. “Air you well,
sir?”
“Sound as a cuss!” I answerd.
He seemed to be pleased with my ways, and we
entered into conversation to onct.
“How's Lewis?” I axed, and he sed the Emperor
was well. Eugeny was likewise well, he sed.
Then I axed him was Lewis a good provider? did
he cum home arly nites? did he perfoom her bedroom
at a onseasonable hour with gin and tanzy?
Did he go to “the Lodge” on nites when there
wasn't any Lodge? did he often hav to go down
town to meet a friend? did he hav a extensiv acquaintance
among poor young widders whose husbands
was in Californy? to all of which questions
the Prints perlitely replide, givin me to understan
that the Emperor was behavin well.
“I ax these questions, my royal duke and most
noble higness and imperials, becaws I'm anxious to
know how he stands as a man. I know he's smart.
He is cunnin, he is long-heded, he is deep—he is
grate. But onless he is good he'll come down with
a crash one of these days and the Bonyparts will be
Bustid up agin. Bet yer life!”
“Air you a preacher, sir?” he inquired, slitely
sarkasticul.
“No, sir. But I bleeve in morality. I likewise
there isn't any Meetin Houses and where preachers
is never seen, and I'll show you a place where old
hats air stuffed into broken winders, where the children
air dirty and ragged, where gates have no hinges,
where the wimin are slipshod, and where maps of
the devil's “wild land” air painted upon men's
shirt-bosums with tobacco-jooce! That's what I'll
show you. Let us consider what the preachers do
for us before we aboose 'em.”
He sed he didn't mean to aboose the clergy. Not
at all, and he was happy to see that I was interested
in the Bonypart family.
“It's a grate family,” sed I. “But they scooped
the old man in.”
“How, sir?”
“Napoleon the Grand. The Britishers scooped
him at Waterloo. He wanted to do too much, and
he did it! They scooped him in at Waterloo, and
he subsekently died at St. Heleny! There's where
the gratest military man this world ever projuced
pegged out. It was rather hard to consine such a
catchin mackeril, and walkin up and down the
dreary beach in a military cloak drawn titely round
him, (see picter-books), but so it was. `Hed of the
Army!' Them was his larst words. So he had
bin. He was grate! Don't I wish we had a pair
of his old boots to command sum of our Brigades!”
This pleased Jerome, and he took me warmly by
the hand.
“Alexander the Grate was punkins,” I continnered,
but Napoleon was punkinser! Alic. wept
becaws there was no more worlds to scoop, and then
took to drinkin. He drowndid his sorrers in the
flowin bole, and the flowin bole was too much for
him. It ginerally is. He undertook to give a
snake exhibition in his boots, but it killed him.
That was a bad joke on Alic!”
“Since you air so solicitous about France and the
Emperor, may I ask you how your own country is
getting along?” sed Jerome, in a pleasant voice.
“It's mixed,” I sed. “But I think we shall
cum out all right.”
“Columbus, when he diskivered this magnificent
continent, could hav had no idee of the grandeur it
would one day assoom,” sed the Prints.
It cost Columbus twenty thousand dollars to fit
out his explorin expedition,” sed I. “If he had
bin a sensible man he'd hav put the money in a hoss
railroad or a gas company, and left this magnificent
continent to intelligent savages, who when they got
hold of a good thing knew enuff to keep it, and who
wouldn't hav seceded, nor rebelled, nor knockt Liberty
in the hed with a slungshot. Columbus wasn't
much of a feller, after all. It would hav bin money
in my pocket if he'd staid to home. Chris. ment
well, but he put his foot in it when he saled for
America.”
We talked sum more about matters and things, and
at larst I riz to go. “I will now say good bye to
you, noble sir, and good luck to you. Likewise the
same to Clotildy. Also to the gorgeous persons
which compose your soot. If the Emperor's boy
don't like livin at the Tooleries, when he gits older,
and would like to imbark in the show bizniss, let
You find us sumwhat mixed, as I before obsarved,
but come again next year and you'll find us clearer
nor ever. The American Eagle has lived too
sumptuously of late—his stummic becum foul, and
he's takin a slite emetic. That's all. We're gettin
ready to strike a big blow and a sure one. When
we do strike the fur will fly and secession will be in
the hands of the undertaker, sheeted for so deep a
grave that nothin short of Gabriel's trombone will
ever awaken it! Mind what I say. You've heard
the showman!”
Then advisin him to keep away from the Peter
Funk auctions of the East, and the proprietors of
corner-lots in the West, I bid him farewell, and
went away.
There was a levee at Senator What's-his-name's,
and I thought I'd jine in the festivities for a spell.
Who should I see but she that was Sarah Watkins,
now the wife of our Congresser, trippin in the
dance, dressed up to kill in her store close. Sarah's
father use to keep a little grosery store in our town,
was rushin up to shake hands with her when she
turned on her heel, and tossin her hed in a contemptooious
manner, walked away from me very
rapid. “Hallo, Sal,” I hollered, “can't you measure
me a quart of them best melasses? I may want
a codfish, also!” I guess this reminded her of the
little red store, and “the days of her happy childhood.”
But I fell in with a nice little gal after that, who
was much sweeter than Sally's father's melasses, and
I axed her if we shouldn't glide in the messy
dance. She sed we should, and we Glode.
I intended to make this letter very seris, but a
few goaks may have accidentally crept in. Never
mind. Besides, I think it improves a komick paper
to publish a goak once in a while.
MARION: A ROMANCE OF THE FRENCH SCHOOL.
1. I.
—, Friday, —, 1860.
On the sad sea shore! Always to hear the moaning
of these dismal waves!
Listen. I will tell you my story — my story of
love, of misery, of black despair.
I am a moral Frenchman.
She whom I adore, whom I adore still, is the wife
of a fat Marquis — a lop-eared, blear-eyed, greasy
Marquis. A man without soul. A man without
sentiment, who cares naught for moonlight and music.
A low, practical man, who pays his debts. I
hate him.
2. II.
She, my soul's delight, my empress, my angel, is
superbly beautiful.
I loved her at first sight — devotedly, madly.
She dashed past me in her coupè. I saw her but
a moment — perhaps only an instant — but she took
me captive then and there, forevermore.
Forevermore!
I followed her, after that, wherever she went.
At length she came to notice, to smile upon me.
My motto was en avant! That is a French word.
I got it out of the back part of Worcester's Dictionary.
3. III.
She wrote me that I might come and see her at
her own house. Oh, joy, joy unutterable, to see
her at her own house!
I went to see her after nightfall, in the soft moonlight.
She came down the graveled walk to meet me, on
pure white, her golden hair in splendid disorder—
strangely beautiful, yet in tears!
She told me her fresh grievances.
The Marquis, always a despot, had latterly misused
her most vilely.
That very morning, at breakfast, he had cursed
the fishballs and sneered at the pickled onions.
She is a good cook. The neighbors will tell you
so. And to be told by the base Marquis — a man
who, previous to his marriage, had lived at the cheap
eating-houses — to be told by him that her manner
of frying fishballs was a failure — it was too much.
Her tears fell fast. I too wept. I mixed my
sobs with her'n. “Fly with me!” I cried.
Her lips met mine. I held her in my arms. I
felt her breath upon my cheek! It was Hunkey.
“Fly with me. To New York! I will write
romances for the Sunday papers — real French romances,
with morals to them. My style will be appreciated.
Shop girls and young mercantile persons
will adore it, and I will amass wealth with my ready
pen.
Ere she could reply — ere she could articulate her
ecstacy, her husband, the Marquis, crept snake-like
upon me.
Shall I write it? He kicked me out of the gar-den
— he kicked me into the street.
I did not return. How could I? I,so ethereal,
so full of soul, of sentiment, of sparkling original-ity!
He, so gross, so practical, so lop-eared!
Had I returned, the creature would have kicked
me again.
So I left Paris for this place — this place, so
lonely, so dismal.
Ah me!
Oh dear!
THE END.
TOUCHING LETTER FROM A GORY MEMBER
OF THE HOME GUARD.
We are getting along very well. We mess at
Delmonico's. Do not repine for your son. Some
must suffer for the glorious Stars and Stripes, and,
dear parents, why shouldn't I? Tell Mrs. Skuller
that we do not need the blankets she so kindly sent
to us, as we bunk at the St. Nicholas and Metropolitan.
What our brave lads stand most in need of
now, is Fruit Cake and Waffles. Do not weep for
me.
EAST SIDE THEATRICALS.
The Broadway houses have given the public immense
quantities of Central Park, Seven Sisters,
Nancy Sykes and J. Cade. I suppose the Broadway
houses have done this chiefly because it has
paid them, and so I mean no disrespect when I
state that to me the thing became rather stale. I
sighed for novelty. A man may stand stewed veal
for several years, but banquets consisting exclusively
of stewed veal would become uninteresting after a
century or so. A man would want something else.
The least particular man, it seems to me, would desire
to have his veal “biled,” by way of a change.
So I, tired of the thread-bare pieces at the Broadway
houses, went to the East Side for something
fresh. I wanted to see some libertines and brigands.
I wanted to see some cheerful persons identified
triumph over those libertines and brigands, in
the most signal manner. I wanted, in short, to see
the Downfall of Vice and Triumph of Virtue.
That was what ailed me. And so I went to the East
Side.
Poor Jack Scott is gone, and Jo. Kirby dies no
more on the East Side. They've got the blood and
things over there, but alas! they're deficient in
lungs. The tragedians in the Bowery and Chatham
street of to-day dont start the shingles on the roof
as their predecessors, now cold and stiff in death,
used to when they threw themselves upon their
knees at the footlights and roared a redhot curse after
the lord who had carried Susan away, swearing
to never more eat nor drink until the lord's vile
heart was torn from his body, and ther-rown to the
dorgs — rattling their knives against the tin lamps
and glaring upon the third tier most fearfully the
while.
Glancing at the spot where it is said Senator
Benjamin used to vend second-hand clothes, and regretting
honorable vocation instead of sinking to his
present position; — wondering if Jo. Kirby would
ever consent, if he were alive, to die wrapped up in
a Secession flag! — gazing admiringly upon the unostentatious
sign-board which is suspended in front
of the Hon. Izzy Lazarus's tavern; — glancing,
wondering and gazing thus, I enter the Old Chatham
theatre. The pit is full, but people fight shy
of the boxes.
The play is about a servant-girl, who comes to
the metropolis from the agricultural districts, in
short skirts, speckled hose, and a dashing little
white hat, gaily decked with pretty pink ribbons —
that being the style of dress invariably worn by servant-girls
from the interior. She is accompanied by
a chaste young man in a short-tailed red coat, who,
being very desirous of protecting her from the temptations
of a large city, naturally leaves her in the
street and goes off somewhere. Servant-girl encounters
an elderly female, who seems to be a very
nice sort of person indeed, but the young man in a
aside, calling her “a vile hag.” This pleases
the pit, which is ever true to virtue, and it accordingly
cries “Hi! hi! hi!”
A robber appears. The idea of a robber in times
like these, is rather absurd. The most adroit robber
would eke out a miserable subsistence if he attempted
to follow his profession now-a-days. I should
prefer to publish a daily paper in Chelsea. Nevertheless,
here is a robber. He has been playing poker
with his “dupe,” but singularly enough the dupe
has won all the money. This displeases the robber,
and it occurs to him that he will kill the dupe. He
accordingly sticks him. The dupe staggers, falls,
says “Dearest Eliza!” and dies. Cries of hi! hi!
hi!” in the pit, while a gentleman with a weed on
his hat, in the boxes, states that the price of green
smelts is five cents a quart. This announcement is
not favorably received by the pit, several members
of which come back at the weeded individual with
some advice in regard to liquidating a long-standing
account for beans and other refreshments at an adjacent
restaurant.
The robber is seized with remorse, and says the
money which he has taken from the dupe's pockets,
“scorches” him. Robber seeks refuge in a miser's
drawing-room, where he stays for “seven days.”
There is a long chest, full of money and diamonds
in the room. The chest is unlocked, but misers
very frequently go off and leave long chests full of
money unlocked in their drawing rooms, for seven
days; and this robber was too much of a gentleman
to take advantage of this particular miser's absence.
By-and-by the miser returns, when the robber
quietly kills him and chucks him in the chest.
“Sleep with your gold, old man!” says the bold
robber, as he melodramatically retreats—retreats to
a cellar, where the servant girl resides. Finds that
she was formerly his gal, when he resided in the rural
districts, and regrets having killed so many persons,
for if so be he hadn't he might marry her and
settle down, whereas now he can't do it, as he says
he is “unhappy.” But he gives her a ring—a
ring he had stolen from the dupe—and flies. Presently
the dupe, who has come to life in a singular
cellar. He discovers the ring upon the servant
girl's finger — servant girl states that she is innocent,
and the dupe, with the remark that he sees his
mother, dies, this time positively without reserve.
Servant girl is taken to Newgate, whither goes the
robber and gains admission by informing the turnkey
that he is her uncle. Throws off his disguise,
and like a robber bold and gay, says he is the guilty
party and will save the servant girl. He drinks a
vial of poison, says he sees his mother, and dies to
slow fiddling. Servant girl throws herself upon
him wildly, and the virtuous young party in a short-tailed
coat comes in and assists in the tableau. Robber
tells the servant girl to take the party in the
short-tailed coat and be happy — repeats that he
sees his mother (they always do). and dies again.
Cries of “Hi! hi! hi!” and the weeded gentleman
reiterates the price of green smelts.
Not a remarkably heavy plot, but quite as bulky
as the plots of the Broadway sensation pieces.
SOLILOQUY OF A LOW THIEF.
My name is Jim Griggins. I'm a low thief.
My parients was ignorant folks, and as poor as the
shadder of a bean pole. My advantages for gettin'
a eddycation was exceedin' limited. I growed up
in the street, quite loose and permiskis, you see, and
took to vice because I had nothing else to take to,
and because nobody had never given me a sight at
virtue.
I'm in the penitentiary. I was sent here onct before
for priggin'a watch. I served out my time, and
now I'm here agin, this time for stealin' a few insignificant
clothes.
I shall always blame my parients for not eddycatin'
me. Had I bin liberally eddycated I could,
with my brilliant native talents, have bin a big
thief — I b'leeve they call 'em defaulters. Instead
spoons and sich like, I could have plundered princely
sums — thousands and hundreds of thousands of dollars
— and that old humbug, the law, wouldn't have
harmed a hair of my head! For, you see, I should
be smart enough to get elected State Treasurer, or
have something to do with Banks or Railroads, and
perhaps a little of both. Then, you see, I could
ride in my carriage, live in a big house with a free
stun frunt, drive a fast team, and drink as much gin
and sugar as I wanted. A inwestigation might be
made, and some of the noosepapers might come down
on me heavy, but what the d—I would I care about
that, havin' previously taken precious good care of
the stolen money? Besides, my “party” would
swear stout that I was as innersunt as the new-born
babe, and a great many people would wink very
pleasant, and say, “Well, Griggins understands what
he's 'bout, HE does!”
But havin' no eddycation, I'm only a low thief —
a stealer of watches and spoons and sich — a low
wretch, anyhow — and the Law puts me through
without mercy.
It's all right, I s'pose, and yet I sometimes think
it's wery hard to be shut up here, a wearin'
checkered clothes, a livin' on cold vittles, a sleepin'
on iron beds, a lookin' out upon the world through
iron muskeeter bars, and poundin' stun like a galley
slave, day after day, week after week, and year after
year, while my brother thieves (for to speak candid,
there's no difference between a thief and a defaulter,
except that the latter is forty times wuss) who have
stolen thousands of dollars to my one cent, are
walkin' out there in the bright sunshine — dressed
up to kill, new clothes upon their backs and piles
of gold in their pockets! But the Law don't tech
'em. They are too big game for the Law to shoot
at. It's as much as the Law can do to take care of
us ignorant thieves.
Who said there was no difference 'tween tweedledum
and tweedledee? He lied in his throat, like a
villain as he was! I tell ye there's a tremendous
difference.
Oh that I had been liberally eddycated!
1860.
SURRENDER OF CORNWALLIS.
It was customary in many of the inland towns of
New England, some thirty years ago, to celebrate
the anniversary of the surrender of Lord Cornwallis,
by a sham representation of that important event
in the history of the Revolutionary War. A town
meeting would be called, at which a company of men
would be detailed as British, and a company as
Americans — two leading citizens being selected to
represent Washington and Cornwallis in the mimic
surrender.
The pleasant little town of W——, in whose
schools the writer has been repeatedly “corrected,”
upon whose ponds he has often skated; upon whose
richest orchards he has, with other juvenile bandits,
many times dashed in the silent midnight; the town
of W——, where it was popularly believed these
celebrate the surrender. Rival towns had celebrated,
and W——determined to eclipse them in
the most signal manner. It is my privilege to tell
how W——succeeded in this determination.
The great day came. It was ushered in by the
roar of musketry, the ringing of the village church
bell, the squeaking of fifes, and the rattling of
drums.
People poured into the village from all over the
county. Never had W——experienced such a jam.
Never had there been such an onslaught upon gingerbread
carts. Never had New England rum
(for this was before Neal Dow's day) flowed so freely.
And W——'s fair daughters, who mounted
the house-tops to see the surrender, had never looked
fairer. The old folks came, too, and among them
were several war, scarred heroes, who had fought
gallantly at Monmouth and Yorktown. These brave
sons of '76 took no part in the demonstration, but
an honored bench was set apart for their exclusive
use on the piazza of Sile Smith's store. When they
boy, Jerry, “a leetle New Englan' this way, if you
please.” It was brought forthwith.
At precisely 9 o'clock, by the schoolmaster's new
“Lepeen” watch, the American and British forces
marched on to the village green and placed themselves
in battle array, reminding the spectator of
the time when
In a style most pretty,
On the Plains of Abraham
Before the city.”
The character of Washington had been assigned
to 'Squire Wood, a well-to-do and influential farmer,
while that of Cornwallis had been given to the
village lawyer, a kind-hearted but rather pompous
person, whose name was Caleb Jones.
'Squire Wood, the Washington of the occasion,
had met with many unexpected difficulties in preparing
his forces, and in his perplexity he had emptied
not only his own canteen but those of most of his
aids. The consequence was—mortifying as it must
be to all true Americans—blushing as I do to tell
struggle was most unqualifiedly drunk.
The sham fight commenced. Bang! bang! bang!
from the Americans—bang! bang! bang! from the
British. The bangs were kept hotly up until the
powder gave out, and then came the order to charge.
Hundreds of wooden bayonets flashed fiercly in the
sunlight, each soldier taking very good care not to
hit any body.
“Thaz (hic) right,” shouted Washington, who
during the shooting had been racing his horse wildly
up and down the line, “thaz right! Gin it to
'em! Cut their tarnal heads off!”
“On Romans!” shrieked Cornwallis, who had
once seen a theatrical performance and remembered
the heroic appeals of the Thespian belligerents, “on
to the fray! No sleep till mornin'.”
“Let eout all their bowels,” yelled Washington,
“and down with taxation on tea!”
The fighting now ceased, the opposing forces were
properly arranged, and Cornwallis, dismounting,
prepared to present his sword to Washington according
to programme. As he walked slowly towards
speech he had committed for the occasion, while the
illustrious being who was to hear it was making desperate
efforts to keep in his saddle. Now he would
wildly brandish his sword and narrowly escape cutting
off his horse's ears, and then he would fall suddenly
forward on to the steed's neck, grasping the
mane as drowning men seize hold of straws. He
was giving an inimitable representation of Toodles on
horseback. All idea of the magnitude of the occasion
had left him, and when he saw Cornwallis approaching,
with slow and stately step, and swordhilt
extended toward him he inquired,
“What-'n devil you want, any (hic) how!”
“General Washington,” said Cornwallis, in dignified
and impressive tones, “I tender you my sword.
I need not inform you, Sir, how deeply—
The speech was here cut suddenly short by Washington,
who driving the spurs into his horse, playfully
attempted to run over the commander of the
British forces. He was not permitted to do this, for
his aids, seeing his unfortunate condition, seized the
his saddle, and requested Cornwallis to proceed with
his remarks.
“General Washington,” said Cornwallis, “the
British Lion prostrates himself at the feet of the
American Eagle!”
“Eagle? Eagle!” yelled the infuriated Washington,
rolling off his horse and hitting Cornwallis
a frightful blow on the head with the flat of his
sword, “do you call me a Eagle, you mean sneakin'
cuss?” He struck him again, sending him to the
ground, and said, “I'll learn you to call me a Eagle,
you infernal scoundrel!”
Cornwallis remained upon the ground only a moment.
Smarting from the blows he had reeeived, he
arose with an entirely unlooked for recuperation on
the part of the fallen, and in direct defiance of historical
example; in spite of the men of both nations,
indeed, he whipped the Immortal Washington until
he roared for mercy.
The Americans, at first mortified and indignant at
the conduct of their chief, now began to sympathize
They rushed fiercely upon them, but the British
were really the stronger party and drove the
Americans back. Not content with this they charged
madly upon them and drove them from the field
—from the village, in fact. There were many heads
damaged, eyes draped in mourning, noses fractured
and legs lamed—it is a wonder that no one was
killed outright.
Washington was confined to his house for several
weeks, but he recovered at last. For a time there
was a coolness between himself and Cornwallis, but
they finally concluded to join the whole county in
laughing about the surrender.
They live now. Time, the “artist,” has thoroughly
white-washed their heads, but they are very jolly
still. On town meeting days the old 'Squire always
rides down to the village. In the hind part of his
venerable yellow wagon is always a bunch of hay, ostensibly
for the old white horse, but really to hide a
glass bottle from the vulgar gaze. This bottle has on one
side a likeness of Lafayette, and upon the other may be
inside I cannot positively say, but it is true that
'Squire Wood and Lawyer Jones visit that bottle
very frequently on town meeting days and come
back looking quite red in the face. When this redness
in the face becomes of the blazing kind, as it
generally does by the time the polls close, a short
dialogue like this may be heard:
“We shall never play surrender again, Lawyer
Jones!”
“Them days is over, 'Squire Wood!”
And then they laugh and jocosely punch each
other in the ribs.
THE WIFE.
She nor swooned, nor uttered cry:
All her maidens, watching, said,
“She must weep or she will die.”
The propriety of introducing a sad story like the
following, in a book intended to be rather cheerful
in its character, may be questioned; but it so beautifully
illustrates the firmness of woman when grief
and despair have taken possession of “the chambers
of her heart,” that we cannot refrain from relating
it.
Lucy M—— loved with all the ardor of a fond
and faithful wife, and when he upon whom she had
so confidingly leaned was stolen from her by death,
her friends and companions said Lucy would go
mad. Ah, how little they knew her!
Gazing for the last time upon the clay-cold features
of her departed husband, this young widow—beautiful
even in her grief: so ethereal to look upon and
yet so firm!—looking for the last time upon the
dear, familiar face, now cold and still in death—Oh,
looking for the last, last time—she rapidly put on
her bonnet, and thus addressed the sobbing gentlemen
who were to act as pall-bearers: “You pall-bearers
just go into the buttery and get some rum,
and we'll start this man right along!”
A JUVENILE COMPOSITION.
ON THE ELEPHANT
The Elephant is the most largest Annymile in the
whole world. He eats hay and kakes. You must
not giv the Elephant Tobacker, becoz if you do he
will stamp his grate big feet upon to you and kill
you fatally Ded. Some folks thinks the Elephant is
the most noblest Annymile in the world, but as for
Me giv Me the American Egil and the Stars &
Stripes. Alexander Pottles his Peace.
A POEM BY THE SAME.
SOME VERSES
SUGESTID BY 2 OF MY UNCLES.
Clum up a tree
To see what he could see
When presentlee
Uncle Jim
Clum up beside of him
And squatted down by he.
| Artemus Ward, his book ; with many comic
illustrations | |