It's diffikilt, of course, to say how long these noosances will be allowed to prowl round. I should say, however, if pressed for a answer that they will prob'ly continner on jest about as long as they can find peple to lis'en to 'em. Am I right?
Yours, faithfull,
Artemus Ward.
5.4. AT THE TOMB OF SHAKSPEARE.
Mr. Punch, My dear Sir,—I've been lingerin by the Tomb of the lamentid Shakspeare.
It is a success.
I do not hes'tate to pronounce it as such.
You may make any use of this opinion that you see fit. If you think its publication will subswerve the cause of litteraoor, you may publicate it.
I told my wife Betsy when I left home that I should go to the birthplace of the orthur of "Otheller" and other Plays. She said that as long as I kept out of Newgate she didn't care where I went.
"But," I said, "don't you know he was the greatest Poit that ever lived? Not one of these common poits, like that young idyit who writes verses to our daughter, about the Roses as growses, and the Breezes as blowses—but a Boss Poit—also a philosopher, also a man who knew a great deal about everything."
She was packing my things at the time, and the only answer she made was to ask me if I was goin to carry both of my red flannel night-caps.