Sum ov our best and most energetick quill jerkers, hav writ essays on the “Lost Arts,” and hav did comparatiffly well, but they hav overlooked several ov the missing artikles 87 whitch i take the liberty, (in a strikly confidenshall way) tew draw their attenshun to.

“Pumpkin Pi.”—This delitesum work ov art iz, (or rather was) a triumphant conglomerashun ov baked doe, and biled pumpkin.

It waz diskovered during the old ov the moon, in the year 1680, by Angelica, the notable wife ov Rhehoboam Beecher, then residing in the rural town ov Nu Guilford, State of Connekticut, but since departed this life, aged 84 years, 3 months, 6 daze 5 hours, and 15 minnitts.

Peace tew her dust.

This pi, immejiately after its discovery bi Angelica, proceeded into general use, and waz the boss pi, for over a hundred years.

In the year 1833 it was totaly lorst.

This pi hain’t bin herd from since. Large rewards hav bin offered for its recovery by the Govenor ov Connekticut, but it haz undoubtedly fled forever.

Sum poor imitashuns ov the blessed old original pi are loafing around, but pumpkin pi az it waz, (with nutmeg in it) is no more.

“Rum and Tansy.”—Good old Nu England rum with tanzy bruized in it, waz known to our ancients, and drank by the deacons and the elders ov our churches, a century ago.

It iz now one ov the lost arts.

A haff a pint ov this glorious old mixtur upon gitting out ov bed in the morning, then a haff a pint jist before sitting down tew breakfast, then thru the day, at stated intervals, a haff a pint ov it, and sum more ov it just before retiring at nite, iz wat enabled our fourfathers tew shake oph the yoke ov grate brittain, and gave the Amerikan eagle the majestik tred and thundering big bak bone, which he used tew hav. But, alass! oh, alass! we once had spirits ov just men made perfek, but we hav now, (o alass!) spirits ov the dam.

One half-pint ov the present prevailing rum would ruin a deacon in twenty minitts.

Farewell, good old nu England rum, with some tanzy in 88 yer, thou hast gone! yest, thou hast gone tew that bourn from which no good spirits cums back.

“Rum, reguiescat, et liquorissimus.”

“Arly to bed, and arly to rize.”

When our ancestors landed on Plimoth Rok out ov the Mayflower, and stood in front ov the grate lanskape spred out before them, reaching from the boisterious Atlantik to the buzzum ov the plaintive Pacifick, they brought with them, among other tools, the art ov gitting up in the morning and going tew bed at nite in decent seazon.

This art they was az familiar to them, az codfish for brekfast.

They knu it bi heart.

It waz the eleventh command in their katekism.

They taut it tew their children, their yung men and maidens, and if a yung one waz enny ways slow about larning it he waz invited out to the korn-krib, and thare the art waz explained tew him, so that he got hold ov the idee for ever and amen.

I am sorry to say that this art iz now lost, or missing.

What a loss waz here, my countrymen!

I pauze for a reply.

Not a word do I hear.

Silence iz its epitaph.

Perhaps some profane and unthinking cuss will exklaim—“Let her rip!”

Arly tew bed and arly tew rize, is either a thing of the past or a thing that ain’t cum—it certainly don’t exist in theze parts now.

It haz not only gone itself, but it haz took oph a whole lot ov good things with it.

This art will positively never be diskovered agin; it waz the child ov innocense and vigor, and this breed ov children are like the babes in the wood, and deserted bi their unkle.

“Honesty.”—Honesty iz one ov the arts and sciences.

Learned men will tell you that the abuv assershun iz one 89 ov Josh Billings infernal lies, and yer hav a perfekt rite tew believe them, but i don’t.

Honesty iz jist az much an art az politeness iz, and never waz born with a man enny more than the capacity to spell the word Nebuddkenozzer right the first time waz.

It took me seven years to master this word, and i and Noer Webster both disagree about the right way now.

Sum men are natrally more addikted tew honesty than others, jist az sum hav a better ear for musik, and larn how tew hoist and lower the 8 notes, more completely than the next man.

Honesty iz one ov the lost or mislaid arts—thare may be excepshuns tew this rule, but the learned men all agree that “excepshuns prove the rule.”

The only doubts i hav about this matter iz tew lokate the time very cluss, when honesty waz fust lost.

When Adam in the garden of Eden waz asked, “Whare art thou Adam” and afterwards explained hiz abscence by saying, “I, waz afraid” iz az far back az I hav bin able tew trace the fust indikashuns ov weakness in this grand and nobel art.

I shouldn’t be suprized if this art never waz fully recovered again during mi day.

I aint so anxious about it on mi own ackount, for i kan manage tew worry along sumhow without it, but what iz a going tew bekum ov the grate mass ov suffering humanity?

This iz a question that racks mi simpathetick buzzum!