The Complete Works of Artemus Ward — Part 7: Miscellaneous

by Artemus Ward

7.16. BRIGHAM YOUNG'S WIVES.

Frends and Feller Passingers.—I'm e'en a most tiard ov statin my convicshuns regarden them Mormoness plooralyties, which sits theirselves round Mister Yung's grate table when the dinner-bell booms merryly thruout the long and short ov this ere land.

Heavy figgerin isn't my berthrite; it's the nobil contemplativ what's the pecoolar offshute of these massiv brane.

"But how many wives has he?"

Wall, all A. W. nose abowt it is thet his luvly contemplativ wun day used up the MulteplyKashun tabul in kountin the long Stockins on a close line in Brigham's back yard—and he soddingly had to leave, fer the site made him dizzy. It was too mutch for him. — Yures abstractid,

WARTEMUS DARD.

7.17. A. WARD'S FIRST UMBRELLA.

[A friend of Artemus Ward's sends the following, with the request that it may be included in the present edition.]

The solumncholies hev bin on-to A. W. now and agin, as it dus to most ov the four-lorned human naturs in this Vayl of Tares. She's tickled me considerabull sumtims—only it was the wrong wa. Most human naturs git tickled the wrong wa sumtims.

She was heviest onter me the fust yeer I ever owned a Umbrellar. I was going on 18 yeer old then, and praid for rane as bad as any dride-up farmer. I wantid to show that umBrellar—I wantid to mak sum persnul apeerents with that brellar—I desirud Jim parker and Hiram Goss to witness the site—I felt my birthWrite was bowned up in that brellar—I wantid to be a MAN!

I'd un-hook'd frum Betsy Jain fur a spell—(canfidenshal, leastways, I hadn't commenced cortin up to her rite down in ernest then)—and kum evenin I went over to the Widder Blakes. I'd the umBrellar along, and opun'd it outside the door—pretendin I couldn't klose it like, so that the dawter could hev a good Luke at my property. But it wuz no use; the new Brellar didn't take, and Sally sed she thort I "needn't cum agin !"

I hev bin many wheres, and seen sum few in this erthly Tavernknuckle, but ov all the solum hours I ever speeriunsed the 1 ockepied in going hum that partickler nite frum the Widders was the most solumm.

I'd a mind to throw awa that Brellar more'n onct as I went along.

7.18. AN AFFECTING POEM.

"POOR Jonathan Snow
Away did go
All on the ragen mane,
With other males,
All for to ketch wales,
& nere come back agen.
The wind bloo high,
The billers tost,
All hands were lost,
And he was one,
A spritely lad,
Nigh 21."

7.19. MORMON BILL OF FARE

BRIGHAM YOUNG'S HOUSES.

BRIGHAM'S Wives live in these houses. They live well at Brigham's, the following being the usual

BILL OF FARE.

SOUPS, ETC.
Matrimonial Stews (with pretty Pickles).

FISH.
Salt Lake Gudgeon.

ROAST.
Brigham's Lambs (Sauce piquante).
Minced Heart (Mormon style).

BROILED.
Domestic Broils (Family style)

ENTREES.
Little Deers.

COLD.
Raw Dog (a la Injun).
Tongue (lots of it).

VEGETABLES.
Cabbage-head, Some Pumpkins, &c.

DESSERT.
Apples of Discord, a great many Pairs;
Mormon Sweet-Hearts, Jumbles, &c.

7.20. "THE BABES IN THE WOOD."

[The following amusing critique or report of Artemus Ward's favourite lecture entitled "The Babes in the wood" was written the day after its first delivery in San Francisco, California, by one of the contributors to the Golden Era. As an imitation of A. Ward's burlesque orthography it is somewhat overdone; but it has, nevertheless, certain touches of humour which will amuse the English reader. Why the lecture is called "The Babes in the Wood" is not known, unless it is because they are WARDS. — ED.]

Nite befoar larst was an Erer in the annals of Sand Francisco; yis, an Erer; I sa it, and I guess I know what a Erer is! I gess I do! It's something like this noosepaper, for instance; something that's gut a big Injin onto it; though the Big Injin Fryday Nite had his close on, which this moril Jernal's Injin hasn't, bein intended to represent that nobil read man of the forrist, of hoom the poet sweetly sings:

"Low, the poor Injin! hoose untootered mind
Clothes him in frunt—Butt leaves him bare behind!"

However, let that parse.

I hearn thare was to be a show up to Mr Platt's Haul on the occashun allewded to; so I took Maria An an' the children—with the excepshun of the smollest wun, which, under the inflewence of tired Nachure's sweet restorer, Missis Winslow's Soothin Syrup, was rapped in barmy slumbers—up to prayer meetin; and after havin excoosed myself to the pardner of my boosom, on the plee of havin swallered a boks of Bristol's Sugar-Coated Pills, I slipt out and went down to the Haul, thinkin I would have a little relaxation. Prubably Mariar An thought so too. (That are a double entender, but I didn't intend it.) Although I arrove quite airly, I found a few Individools I mean to sa I found but few who ware not—already in the Haul. I would not on no account whatsumdever, no how you can fix it, deceeve nobody nor nothin', for I am a pieus man, and send my wife to church, and addhere to the trooth; and yit, I ventoor to assurt, that I never in all my born dase beheld so menny fokes befoar—stop, I er slitely— I had a seat in the rear.

It seemed as tho the hole populashun had turned out en massy to welcum the gratist wit of his age.—He is older than me.

The curtin roze—no, I do not desire to misrepresent fax—there was no curtin—I think thare should have bin!

The lectoor commenced at a few minutes past ate—precisely. The gay and gifted Artemus stepped to his place, and after acknowledging my presence by a polite bow, prooeeded to define the platform on which he stood—Oregon pine. The papers, with thare usuil fidelity to fax, had stated that the entertainment would consist only of a lectoor, & that the kangaroo & wax-figgers would not be introdooced—"dooced queer," thinks I, and I soon discovered the telegram; for Mr. Ward used a number of figgers—of speech.

Thare ware also severeil animils thare, thare was, tho I don't know whether they belonged to him, as they was scattered thro the ordgunce, and was boysterous to a degre—yis, two degrese.

Some of the funniest of the fundymentall principles of the lectoor escaped me—rather I escaped them—partly owin to the fokes squeeging in at the dore, and partly owin to a pretty but frail gurl wayin all the way from 200 up to 250 lbs. avoirdoopois, which sot herself rite onto my lap.

Mr Ward statid that he would not give a fillosoffical lectoor—nor an astronomical lectoor—nor—did he say what kind of lectoor he would give. The subjec was, however, the "Babes in the Wood." He has had the Babes in the Wood sum time. Mr. Ward is not rich—but is doin— as well as could be expected.

It is one of the lectoors you read about, you know—here. Yis, I sa it's a great moril lectoor; I sa it boldly, because I've heerd—of it.

The structoor of the lectoor was as they sa in architectoor of the compost like ordoor; first a stratter of this, then a stratter of that; that is to sa—kinder mixed, you know. It was on the aneckdotale plan, and speakin of aneckdotes reminds me of a little story—it is wun of Mr Ward's, by the way; it will bare repitition— it lass, so far, stood it very well. It is of a young made, hoose name it was Mehitabull—some of it, at least—enuff—for the present porpussus—and of a nobil and galyunt lovyier, which his naim it was John Jones. This young man was a patrut, tho oppoged to coershun. The enrolin officer going his rounds was beheld by this young man wile yit he was afar off, the site was not a welcum wun to John, and it propelled him to seek proteekshun of his plited wun, in hoose hous he was at that critical moment. Time was preshus. What was too be dun? The enemy was now neer at hand. "Git under my hoops," sez Mehitabull. The heroick youth obade.

After a pause the offisser hentered the manshun.

"Is thare any men in this 'ere hous?" sez he.

"Not as I nose—on," replied the damsell.

"Then," sez the offisser, "I gess I'll stop awhile myself."

He stopped a our. After witch he stopped anuther our; after witch he continuood to stop.

During this time John Jones was garspin for breath. At last he felt he cood endoor it no longer, without—ingoory to his helth. He put his hed out of his strong hold and sed to the amazed offisser, "I think the draft will doo me good—I mean the draft of are."

"You air in favor of the Proclamashun!" red the offisser.

"Yis, and of ventilation."

The young man was not drafted, but he is still single—single-ar to say.

The abov is a correct report of the story as I heern it—I only heern the naims, fancy has supplide the rest.

P.S.—I larfed all the wa home; observin witch severil peple gave me the hole walk, evidently taking me for a hilarious loonatic.

A. Ward will shortly lecshoor on Asstronmy, I heer, partickly upon the Konstlashun ov the Suthern Cross, which he portends he found out to be a MULATTO.

7.21. MR. WARD ATTENDS A GRAFFICK (SOIREE.)

[Shortly after the publication in this country of "Artemus Ward His Book," I received from a friend the following article, purporting to have been written by Mr. W. during a stay in Bristol. The sketch appeared in the "Bristol Record,"* and upon writing to the editor for further information concerning it, I received from that gentleman such a cautious reply as confirmed a previous suspicion that "the showman" had not visited the great western city, and that the article was either a concoction in Mr. Ward's style, or one of the papers of Josh Billings, an imitator of Mr. W., slightly altered to suit the locality of its republication. Whether these conjectures are correct or not, the article is here given for the English reader's criticism, and, although not equal in humour to A. Ward's more successful pieces, certain pleasantries of expression and droll extravagances observable in it will, at least, repay perusal.]

Prefixed to the article in the Record was the following:-" A letter has just been shown to us, of which we subjoin a portion, from which it will appear that Mr. — (we suppress the name for obvious reasons) is not the only illustrious American who is sojourning at present at Clifton. Artemus Ward has retired for the present from his professional duties, in consequence of the rough treatment which he lately received in the Southern States. His admirers have sent him to England to recruit, and he was last week at Clifton, and dined with Mr. —. We are violating no literary confidence in mentioning the above, as Mr. Ward is combining business with pleasure, and his letters will appear in the New York Tribune, to which journal he has temporarily attached himself as special European correspondent.—Ed. B. R.

WALL, we had a just sittled down to our wine, when sez the Squire soddenlick, "Mr. W., would you like to go to a Graffick?"

"What's a Graffick?" sed I.

"A Pictur-shew," sed he, "with a swoiree between, and all the fashionables of this interestin location there."

"Don't care if I duz," sed I, "perwided u go the Ticket."

"Sertingly," sed he. "Mr. Ward, you are my guest for the evening."

So we put on our go-to-meetings, and yaller kid-skins, and sot off. There was a purty tidy fixin of shrubs and statooary as we went in (but nuthin ekal to the Bowery Saloon, New York!), and stairs up and stairs down, and gals in opera clokes ascendin and D-scendin.

First we go up into a big room with a blaze o' lite and a crowd of cumpany. The Squire whispers to me, and sez he'll pint out the lokial celebrities. At the end of the room is a great pictur, representin a stout femail on a tarnation dark back-ground. The critters scrowded up to it, and looked on in hor. Presently I feels the Squire nudging me.

"Do you see that individooal," sed he, "with Hyacinthian curls, and his eye in a fine frenzy rollin! That's the great art critic, who lays down the lor for Bristol and ets vicinity."

So I pushed up cloas, and sed I to the creteck, "Wall, Mister, what dew think of that air piece of canvas staining?"

At first he Ide me loftily, and made no reply. At last he spoak (with grate deliberashun). "Not yet have I mastered the pictur. I'm a studyin of the onperfectly-seen vizionoimies behind. Them guards is a phernomenon. The soul of the painter has projected itself thrugh the august glooms."

"Don't see it," sez I. "Them shadders want glazin—and the middletints is no whur. Guess if Hiram Applesquash (our 'domestic decorator' to hum) had pertrayed them guards, he would hev slicked off their Uniforms as bright as a New England tulip."

The creteck regarded me With Contemptoous indignashun.

"Hullo!" sed I next, "whose been and stolen a signboard, and stuck it up in this refined society?"

"To what do you defer?" sez he, still very fridgid.

"To that corpulent figgur," sez I, "in military fixins."

"That, sair," sez he, with severity, "is a portrait of his Majusty the King of Denmark, lately disEased."

"A portraickt of his cloze, you mean," sez I. "Is that sprorling pictur a work of art? (N.B.—This I sed sarcasticul.) Hiram A. touched off a new Sign for the Tavern at Baldinsville jest before I saled, and his 'President's Head' would bete this by a long chalk any day." With that I scowled at the Creteck, and left him looking considerable smawl pertaters.

Arter this we went down into the Cole-hole, wich they had cleaned out for the night and white-washed. Here I own was buties of natur. I always had a liken for water-colar paintin, and sometimes take a sketcht in that way myself. Me and Squire tried to get a good look, but was engulphed in an oshun of hot galls, who kinder steamed again. The gas, close over our heads, nigh made our brains bile over, so sez I, "Let's make tracks out of this, Squire. It ain't civet (Schakspar) here. This parfume of humanity is horrid unhandsome."

"Let's have a cup of corfy," says he, "to repare exhorsted natur."

"A sherry cobbler would be more to the purpose," says I, "but if they hev none of them coolin drinks at art sworricks, here goes for the Moky." (N.B.—This I sed ironical. Korfy at sworricks is usually burnt beans.)

So we med our way into another room, with 2 bar-counters, and a crowd of people pushin and drivin to get forrerd. They knocked and elbered me about till I felt my dander riz. "Come on, Squire," sez I, setting my arms a kimber; "take care, my old coons, of your tendur Korns and Bunyans. Look out for your ribs, for I've crooked my elbers," and forrerd I goes with Squire follerin' in my wake. Bimeby a woman's long skirt gets between my legs, and I spins round and goes kerslash into the stumuck of a fat old gentleman, who was just blowin his third cup. He med a spaired his breath though! kerslap I goes into his wastecote, and kesouse goes his coffy over his shoulders onto hed and neck of a bony old made with a bird of Pardice in her artificial locks.

"Beg your pardon, marm," sez I, as soon as I could speak.

She looked imprekashuns, and turned away ortily, mopping herself down with a laced nose-rag.

The Old gentleman was more cholerick. "Cuss your clumsiness," says he, "can't you come to a graffick without punching your ugly hed Into other people's stumucks?"

"I didn't go for to do it," sez I, "and jest put the Sadll on the right hoss, mister," I continerred. "If this femail behind didn't carry so much slack foresail, she wuddn't hev entangled my spars and careened me over."

Arter this I would try no more of their all-fired corfy. Squire— had had enough of the Sworrick, so we made tracks for the Ho-tell.

"Bring-up a quart of brandy," sez the Squire, "and a bilin o' lemons and sugar. Mr. W.," sez he, "there's not much of me left. Let's liquor up! Let's have a smoke and a cocktail." So we mixes, and had an entertaining discorse on polite literatoor. "Dod-rabbit the sworrick," says Squire. "Say no more about it. I was a fool, Mr Ward, to prefare it to your amusin an inshstructive conversashun."

After a while we got cheerful and sung "ale Columby" (it's a fine voice the Squire has for a doo-et). Respect for the soshul Borde makes me now cave in and klose my commoonication. Squire — is a grate filantherpist, but he's not grate at stowing away his lick-er. I tuk him to bed after the 3d tumbler, that the cuss of a british Waiter might not see one of us free & enlightened citizens onable to walk strate. He said it was a wet night, and demanded his umburella. Likewise he wouldn't hev his boots off, for fere of catchin cold. I put the candle in the wash-basan that the critter mightn't set hisself on fire, and left him in bed with his umburella up, singing "Ale columby."

Arter that I went down and finished the mahogany. (Brandy and water, the ruddy appearance of which indicates that very little of the latter has been used in its composition. Spanish is the stronger, and Honduras the milder mixture.)

A. WARD.

7.22. A. WARD AMONG THE MORMONS.—REPORTED BY HIMSELF—OR SOMEBODY ELSE.

(The following rough report of Artemus Ward's Lecture in California Appeared in the "San Francisco Era," during the lecturer's visit to that city. It has been thought worthy of preservation in the form of a supplementary paper to the present little volume.

FELLER-CITIZENS AND FELLER-CITIZENESSES,—I feel truly glad to see you here to-night, more especially those who have paid, although I am too polite to say how many are here who have not paid, but who take a base advantage of the good-nature of my friend and manager, Hingston, bothering him to give them free tickets, gratis, and also for nothing; and my former friend and manager, Rosenberg, assures me that the best way to prevent a person from enjoying any entertainment is to admit them without the equivalent spondulics. What a man gets for nothing he don't care for.

Talking of free tickets, my first lecture was a wonderful success— house so full that everybody who could pay turned from the doors. It happened thus:

Walking about Salt Lake City on the morning before the lecture, I met
Elder Kimball. Well, I most imprudently gave him a family ticket.
That ticket filled the house, and left about a dozen of the young
Kimballs howling in the cold. After that I limited my family tickets
to "Admit Elder Jones, ten wives, and thirty children."

You may perhaps be astonished that I, a rather fascinating bachelor, escaped from Salt Lake City without the loss of my innocence. Well I will confess, confidentially, that was only by the skin of my teeth, and thanks to the virtuous lecturing of my friend Hingston, whose British prejudices amainst Bigamy, Trigamy, and Brighamy, saying nothing of Ninnygavigamy, could not be overcome.

My narrowest escape was this:

About six hours before I arrived an elder died. I think his name was Smith. You may have heard that name before; but it isn't the Smith you know—it is quite another Smith. Well, this defunct elder left a small assortment of wives behind him—I think there were seventeen—of all ages, from seventeen to seventy. This miscellaneous gathering included three grandmothers, a fact which lent a venerable sanctity to the affair. I received an invitation—I went—and was introduced to the whole seventeen widows at once. Sam Weller or Dr. Shelton Mackenzie—I forget which—says, "One widow is dangerous;" but, perhaps, there is safety in a multitude of them. All I know is, that they made the tenderest appeals to me, as a man and a brother; but I threw myself upon their mercy—I told them I was far away from my parents and my Sainted Maria, and that I was a good young man; and finally, I begged to know if their intentions were honourable?

One said:

"Young man, dash not the cup of happiness from your life!"

I said:

"I have no objection to a cup, but I cannot stand an entire hogshead!"

They grew more and more tender—two put their arms around me and pinioned me, while the other fifteen drew large shears from their pockets, and, under pretence of getting a lock of hair for each, they left me as bare as a goose-egg. Indians couldn't have scalped me closer. I made Samson-like my escape from these Delilahs by stratagem. I assured them that I was sickening for the measles, which, like love, is always the more fatal the later it comes in life. I also told them that my friend Hingston was a much better looking man than I was; also that he was an Englishman, and that, according to that nation's creed, every Englishman is equal to five Americans and five hundred Frenchmen: consequently there would be some to spare of him. This happy thought saved me. I was let off upon solemnly promising to deliver Hingston into their arms, bound, Laocoon-like, by the serpent spells of their charms, or, like Regulus, potted and preserved in a barrel of fingernails, for their especial scratching.

Hingston, little dreaming of the sale I had made of him, went on the pretended errand of conveying to these seventeen beauties a farewell bouquet. Poor fellow! that is the last I ever saw of him—he was never heard of again.

The gentleman who acts as my manager is somebody else. I must ask the indulgence of the audience for twenty minutes, while I drop a few tears to his memory. (Here Artemus holds his head over a barrel, and the distinct dripping of a copious shower is heard.)

As I feel a little better, I will recommence my lecture—I don't mean to defend Mormonism—indeed, I have no hesitation in affirming, and I affirm it boldly, and I would repeat the observation to my own wife's face, if I had one, but as I haven't one, I'll say it boldly to every other man's wife, that I don't think it wise to marry more than one wife at a time, without it is done to oblige the ladies, and then it should be done sparingly, and not oftener than three times a day, for the marriage ceremony isn't lightly to be repeated. But I want to tell you what Brigham Young observed to me.

"Artemus, my boy," said he, "you don't know how often a man marries against his will. Let me recite one case out of a hundred that has happened to myself. About three months ago a family arrived here— they were from Hoboken—everybody knows how beautiful the Jersey girls are—with the exception of applejack, they are the nicest things Jersey produces. Well, this family consisted of four daughters, a mother and two grandmothers, one with teeth, the other without. I took a fancy to the youngest of the girls, and proposed. After considerable reflection she said: 'I can't think of marrying you without you marry my three sisters as well.'

"After some considerable hesitation I agreed, and went to the girl's mother for her consent: 'No objection to your marrying my four girls, but you'll have to take me as well.' After a little reflection, I consented, and went to the two grandmothers for their consent:—'No objection,' said the old dames in a breath, 'but you'll have to marry us as well. We cannot think of separating the family.' After a little cosy hesitation on my part, I finally agreed to swallow the two old venerable antiquities as a sort of sauce to the other five."

Under these circumstances, who can wonder at Brigham Young being the most highly married man in the Republic? In a word, he is too much married—indeed, if I were he, I should say two hundred and too much married.

As I see my esteemed friend Joe Whitton, of Niblo's Garden, sitting right before me, I will give him an anecdote which he will appreciate. There is considerable barter in Salt Lake City—horses and cows are good for hundred-dollar greenbacks, while pigs, dogs, cats, babies, and pickaxes are the fractional currency. I dare say my friend Joe Whitton would be as much astonished as I was after my first lecture. Seeing a splendid house I naturally began to reckon my spondulics. Full of this Pactolean vision, I went into my treasurer's room.

"Now, Hingston, my boy, let us see what the proceeds are! We shall soon make a fortune at this rate."

Hingston with the solemnity of a cashier, then read the proceeds of the lecture:

"Three cows, one with horns, and two without, but not a stumptail; fourteen pigs, alive and grunting; seventeen hams, sugar cured; three babies in arms, two of them cutting their teeth, and the other sickening with the chicken-coop, or some such disease." There were no end of old hats, ladies' hoops, corsets, and another article of clothing, generally stolen from the husband. There was also a secondhand coffin, three barrels of turnips, and a peck of coals; there was likewise a footless pair of stockings without the legs, and a pair of embroidered gaiters, a little worn. If I could find the legs belonging to them—well, I won't say what I'd do now—but leave all ladies in that pleasing state of expectation which is true happiness. Ladies and gentlemen, my lecture is done—if you refuse to leave the hall, you'll be forcibly ejected.