 | Artemus Ward, his book ; with many comic
illustrations |  |
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.
| Artemus Ward, his book ; with many comic
illustrations | |