Among the articles published by Artemus Ward were the following references to Lincoln’s political life, which greatly pleased Mr. Lincoln. He often showed the worn clippings to his intimate friends. They lose much of the keen wit of their composition by the changes which the years have wrought in their local setting. Almost every word had a humorous and wise inference or thrust which cannot be recognized by the modern reader. But they retain enough still to be wonderfully funny.

The tattered clippings are no more, of course, but I have gone back to Ward’s book and give below the stories which so amused Lincoln.

JOY IN THE HOUSE OF WARD

Dear Sirs:

I take my pen in hand to inform you that I am in a state of great 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 futur 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 returnd from the Summer Campane with my unparaleld show of wax works and livin wild Beests of Pray in the early part of this munth. The 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 it’s grate doins,” & then he larfed as if he’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. Thare was Mis Square Baxter and her three grown-up darters, lawyer Perkinses wife, Taberthy Ripley, young Eben Parsuns, Deakun Simmuns folks, the Skoolmaster, Doctor Jordin, etsetterry, etsetterry. Mis Ward was in the west room, which jines the kitchen. 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 such 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 aprun.“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 peple 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 langwidges as well as he did, if I wasn’t a skoolmaster.

“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 ain’t.”

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 Resolushhuns 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 from squirtin.

Resolved, That frum the Bottum of my Sole do I thank the Baldinsville brass band fur givin up the idea of Sarahnadin me, both on that great nite & sinse.

Resolved, That my thanks is doo several members of the Baldinsville meetin house who for 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 hous; & the Peasleys, Parsunses & Watsunses fur there meny ax of kindness.

Trooly yures,
Artemus Ward.

THE CRISIS

[This Oration was delivered before the commencement of the war]

On returnin to my humsted in Baldinsville, Injianny, resuntly, my feller sitterzens extended a invite for me to norate to ’em on the Krysis. I excepted & on larst Toosday nite I peared be4 a C of upturned faces in the Red Skool House. I spoke nearly as follers:

Baldinsvillins: Heartto4, as I have numerously obsarved, I have abstrained from having any sentimunts or principles, my pollertics, like my religion, bein of a exceedin accommodatin character. But the fack can’t be no longer disgised that a Krysis is onto us, & I feel it’s my dooty to accept your invite for one consecutive nite only. I spose the inflammertory individooals who assisted in projucing this Krysis know what good she will do, but I ain’t ’shamed to state that I don’t scacely. But the Krysis is hear. She’s bin hear for sevral weeks, & Goodness nose how long she’ll stay. But I venter to assert that she’s rippin things. She’s knockt trade into a cockt up hat and chaned Bizness of all kinds tighter nor I ever chaned any of my livin wild Beests. Alow me to hear dygress & stait that my Beests at presnt is as harmless as the newborn Babe. Ladys & gentlemen neen’t hav no fears on that pint. To resoom—Altho I can’t exactly see what good this Krysis can do, I can very quick say what the origernal cawz of her is. The origernal cawz is Our Afrikan Brother. I was into Barnim’s Moozeum down to New York the other day & saw that exsentric Etheopian, the What Is It. Sez I, “Mister What Is It, you folks air raisin thunder with this grate country. You’re gettin to be ruther more numeris than interestin. It is a pity you coodent go orf sumwhares by yourselves, & be a nation of What Is Its, tho’ if you’ll excoose me, I shooden’t care about marryin among you. No dowt you’re exceedin charmin to hum, but your stile of luvliness isn’t adapted to this cold climit.” He larfed into my face, which rather Riled me, as I had been perfeckly virtoous and respectable in my observashuns. So sez I, turnin a leetle red in the face, I spect, “Do you hav the unblushin impoodents to say you folks haven’t raised a big mess of thunder in this brite land, Mister What Is It?” He larfed agin, wusser nor be4, whareupon I up and sez, “Go home, Sir, to Afriky’s burnin shores & taik all the other What Is Its along with you. Don’t think we can spair your interestin picters. You What Is Its air on the pint of smashin up the gratest Guv’ment ever erected by man, & you actooally hav the owdassity to larf about it. Go home, you low cuss!”

I was workt up to a high pitch, & I proceeded to a Restorator & cooled orf with some little fishes biled in ile—I b’leeve thay call ’em sardeens.

Feller Sitterzuns, the Afrikan may be Our Brother. Sevral hily respectyble gentlemen, and sum talentid females tell us so, & fur argyment’s sake I mite be injooced to grant it, tho’ I don’t beleeve it myself. But the Afrikan isn’t our sister & our wife & our uncle. He isn’t sevral of our brothers & all our fust wife’s relashuns. He isn’t our grandfather, and our grate grandfather, and our Aunt in the country. Scacely. & yit numeris persons would have us think so. It’s troo he runs Congress & sevral other public grosserys, but then he ain’t everybody & everybody else likewise. [Notiss to bizness men of Vanity Fair: Extry charg fur this larst remark. It’s a goak.—A. W.]

But we’ve got the Afrikan, or ruther he’s got us, & now what air we going to do about it? He’s a orful noosanse. Praps he isn’t to blame fur it. Praps he was creatid fur sum wise purpuss, like the measles and New Englan Rum, but it’s mity hard to see it. At any rate he’s no good here, & as I statid to Mister What Is It, it’s a pity he cooden’t go orf sumwhares quietly by hisself, whare he cood wear red weskits & speckled neckties, & gratterfy his ambishun in varis interestin wase, without havin a eternal fuss kickt up about him.

Praps I’m bearing down too hard upon Cuffy. Cum to think on it, I am. He woodn’t be sich a infernal noosanse if white peple would let him alone. He mite indeed be interestin. And now I think of it, why can’t the white peple let him alone. What’s the good of continnerly stirrin him up with a ten-foot pole? He isn’t the sweetest kind of Perfoomery when in a natral stait.

Feller Sitterzens, the Union’s in danger. The black devil Disunion is trooly here, starin us all squarely in the fase! We must drive him back. Shall we make a 2nd Mexico of ourselves? Shall we sell our birthrite for a mess of potash? Shall one brother put the knife to the throat of anuther brother? Shall we mix our whisky with each other’s blud? Shall the star spangled Banner be cut up into dishcloths? Standin here in this here Skoolhouse, upon my nativ shore so to speak, I anser—Nary!

Oh you fellers who air raisin this row, & who in the fust place startid it, I’m ’shamed of you. The Showman blushes for you, from his boots to the topmost hair upon his wenerable hed.

Feller Sitterzens: I am in the Sheer & Yeller leaf. I shall peg out 1 of these dase. But while I do stop here I shall stay in the Union. I know not what the supervizers of Baldinsville may conclude to do, but for one, I shall stand by the Stars & Stripes. Under no circumstances whatsomever will I sesesh. Let every Stait in the Union sesesh & let Palmetter flags flote thicker nor shirts on Square Baxter’s close line, still will I stick to the good old flag. The country may go to the devil, but I won’t! And next Summer when I start out on my campane with my Show, wharever I pitch my little tent, you shall see floatin prowdly from the center pole thereof the Amerikan Flag, with nary a star wiped out, nary a stripe less, but the same old flag that has allers flotid thar! & the price of admishun will be the same it allers was—15 cents, children half price.

Feller Sitterzens, I am dun. Accordingly I squatted.

WAX FIGURES VERSUS SHAKSPEARE

Onto the wing——1859.

Mr. Editor.

I take my Pen in hand to inform yu that I’m in good helth and trust these few lines will find yu injoyin the same blessins. I wood also state that I’m now on the summir kampane. As the Poit sez—

ime erflote, ime erflote
On the Swift rollin tied
An the Rovir is free.Bizness is scacely middlin, but Sirs I manige to pay for my foode and raiment puncktooally and without no grumblin. The barked arrers of slandur has bin leviled at the undersined moren onct sins heze bin into the show bizness, but I make bold to say no man on this footstule kan troothfully say I ever ronged him or eny of his folks. I’m travelin with a tent, which is better nor hirin hauls. My show konsists of a serious of wax works, snakes, a paneramy kalled a Grand Movin Diarea of the War in the Crymear, komic songs and the Cangeroo, which larst little cuss continners to konduct hisself in the most outrajus stile. I started out with the idear of makin my show a grate Moral Entertainment, but I’m kompeled to sware so much at that air infurnal Kangeroo that I’m frade this desine will be flustratid to some extent. And while speakin of morrality, remines me that sum folks turn up their nosis at shows like mine, sayin they is low and not fit to be patrernized by peple of high degree. Sirs, I manetane that this is infernal nonsense. I manetane that wax figgers is more elevatin than awl the plays ever wroten. Take Shakespeer for instunse. Peple think heze grate things, but I kontend heze quite the reverse to the kontrary. What sort of sense is thare to King Leer, who goze round cussin his darters, chawin hay and throin straw at folks, and larfin like a silly old koot and makin a ass of hisself ginerally? Thare’s Mrs. Mackbeth—sheze a nise kind of woomon to have round ain’t she, a puttin old Mack, her husband, up to slayin Dunkan with a cheeze knife, while heze payin a frendly visit to their house. O its hily morral, I spoze, when she larfs wildly and sez, “gin me the daggurs—Ile let his bowels out,” or wurds to that effeck—I say, this is awl, strickly, propper, I spoze? That Jack Fawlstarf is likewise a immoral old cuss, take him how ye may, and Hamlick is as crazy as a loon. Thare’s Richurd the Three, peple think heze grate things, but I look upon him in the lite of a monkster. He kills everybody he takes a noshun to in kold blud, and then goze to sleep in his tent. Bimeby he wakes up and yells for a hoss so he kan go orf and kill sum more peple. If he isent a fit spesserman for the gallers then I shood like to know whare you find um. Thare’s Iargo who is more ornery nor pizun. See how shameful he treated that hily respecterble injun gentlemun, Mister Otheller, makin him for to beleeve his wife was too thick with Casheo. Obsarve how Iargo got Casheo drunk as a biled owl on corn whiskey in order to karry out his sneckin desines. See how he wurks Mister Otheller’s feelins up so that he goze and makes poor Desdemony swaller a piller which cawses her deth. But I must stop. At sum futur time I shall continner my remarks on the drammer in which I shall show the varst supeeriority of wax figgers and snakes over theater plays, in a interlectooal pint of view.

Very Respectively yures,
A Ward, T. K.

THE SHAKERS

The Shakers is the strangest religious sex I ever met. I’d hearn tell of ’em and I’d seen ’em, with their broad brim’d hats and long wastid coats; but I’d never cum into immejit contack with ’em, and I’d sot ’em down as lackin intelleck, as I’d never seen ’em to my Show—leastways, if they cum they was disgised in white peple’s close, so I didn’t know ’em.

But in the Spring of 18—, I got swampt in the exterior of New York State, one dark and stormy night, when the winds Blue pityusly, and I was forced to tie up with the Shakers.

I was toilin threw the mud, when in the dim vister of the futer I obsarved the gleams of a taller candle. Tiein a hornet’s nest to my off hoss’s tail to kinder encourage him, I soon reached the place. I knockt at the door, which it was opened unto me by a tall, slick-faced, solum lookin individooal, who turn’d out to be a Elder.“Mr. Shaker,” sed I, “you see before you a Babe in the woods, so to speak, and he axes shelter of you.”

“Yay,” sed the Shaker, and he led the way into the house, another Shaker bein sent to put my hosses and waggin under kiver.

A solum female, lookin sumwhat like a last year’s bean-pole stuck into a long meal bag, cum in and axed me was I a thurst and did I hunger? to which I urbanely anserd “a few.” She went orf and I endeverd to open a conversashun with the old man.

“Elder, I spect?” sed I.

“Yay,” he said.

“Helth’s good, I reckon?”

“Yay.”

“What’s the wages of a Elder, when he understans his bisness—or do you devote your sarvices gratooitus?”

“Yay.”

“Stormy night, sir.”

“Yay.”“If the storm continners there’ll be a mess underfoot, hay?”

“Yay.”

“It’s onpleasant when there’s a mess underfoot?”

“Yay.”

“If I may be so bold, kind sir, what’s the price of that pecooler kind of weskit you wear, incloodin trimmins?”

“Yay!”

I pawsd a minit, and then, thinkin I’d be faseshus with him and see how that would go, I slapt him on the shoulder, bust into a harty larf, and told him that as a yayer he had no livin ekal.

He jumpt up as if Billin water had bin squirted into his ears, groaned, rolled his eyes up tords the sealin and sed: “You’re a man of sin!” He then walkt out of the room.

Jest then the female in the meal bag stuck her hed into the room and statid that refreshments awaited the weary travler, and I sed if it was vittles she ment the weary travler was agreeable, and I follored her into the next room.

I sot down to the table and the female in the meal bag pored out sum tea. She sed nothin, and for five minutes the only live thing in that room was a old wooden clock, which tickt in a subdood and bashful manner in the corner. This dethly stillness made me oneasy, and I determined to talk to the female or bust. So sez I, “marrige is agin your rules, I bleeve, marm?”

“Yay.”

“The sexes liv strickly apart, I spect?”

“Yay.”

“It’s kinder singler,” sez I, puttin on my most sweetest look and speakin in a winnin voice, “that so fair a made as thow never got hitched to some likely feller.” [N. B.—She was upwards of 40 and homely as a stump fence, but I thawt I’d tickil her.]

“I don’t like men!” she sed, very short.

“Wall, I dunno,” sez I, “they’re a rayther important part of the populashun. I don’t scacely see how we could git along without ’em.”

“Us poor wimin folks would git along a grate deal better if there was no men!”

“You’ll excoos me, marm, but I don’t think that air would work. It wouldn’t be regler.”

“I’m fraid of men!” she sed.

“That’s onnecessary, marm. You ain’t in no danger. Don’t fret yourself on that pint.”

“Here we’re shot out from the sinful world. Here all is peas. Here we air brothers and sisters. We don’t marry and consekently we hav no domestic difficulties. Husbans don’t abooze their wives—wives don’t worrit their husbans. There’s no children here to worrit us. Nothin to worrit us here. No wicked matrimony here. Would thow like to be a Shaker?”

“No,” sez I, “it ain’t my stile.”

I had now histed in as big a load of pervishuns as I could carry comfortable, and, leanin back in my cheer, commenst pickin my teeth with a fork. The female went out, leavin me all alone with the clock. I hadn’t sot thar long before the Elder poked his hed in at the door. “You’re a man of sin!” he sed, and groaned and went away.

Directly thar cum in two young Shakeresses, as putty and slick lookin gals as I ever met. It is troo they was drest in meal bags like the old one I’d met previsly, and their shiny, silky har was hid from sight by long white caps, sich as I spose female Josts wear; but their eyes sparkled like diminds, their cheeks was like roses, and they was charmin enuff to make a man throw stuns at his granmother if they axed him to. They comenst clearin away the dishes, castin shy glances at me all the time. I got excited. I forgot Betsy Jane in my rapter, and sez I, “my pretty dears, how air you?”

“We air well,” they solumnly sed.

“Whar’s the old man?” sed I, in a soft voice.“Of whom dost thow speak—Brother Uriah?”

“I mean the gay and festiv cuss who calls me a man of sin. Shouldn’t wonder if his name was Uriah.”

“He has retired.”

“Wall, my pretty dears,” sez I, “let’s have sum fun. Let’s play puss in the corner. What say?”

“Air you a Shaker, sir?” they axed.

“Wall, my pretty dears, I haven’t arrayed my proud form in a long weskit yit, but if they was all like you perhaps I’d jine ’em. As it is, I’m a Shaker protemporary.”

They was full of fun. I seed that at fust, only they was a leetle skeery. I tawt ’em Puss in the corner and sich like plase, and we had a nice time, keepin quiet of course so the old man shouldn’t hear. When we broke up, sez I, “my pretty dears, ear I go you hav no objections, hav you, to a innersent kiss at partin?”

“Yay,” they sed, and I yay’d.I went up stairs to bed. I spose I’d bin snoozin half an hour when I was woke up by a noise at the door. I sot up in bed, leanin on my elbers and rubbin my eyes, and I saw the follerin picter: The Elder stood in the doorway, with a taller candle in his hand. He hadn’t no wearin appeerel on except his night close, which flutterd in the breeze like a Seseshun flag. He sed, “You’re a man of sin!” then groaned and went away.

I went to sleep agin, and drempt of runnin orf with the pretty little Shakeresses mounted on my Californy Bar. I thawt the Bar insisted on steerin strate for my dooryard in Baldinsville and that Betsy Jane cum out and giv us a warm recepshun with a panfull of Bilin water. I was woke up arly by the Elder. He sed refreshments was reddy for me down stairs. Then sayin I was a man of sin, he went groanin away.

As I was goin threw the entry to the room where the vittles was, I cum across the Elder and the old female I’d met the night before, and what d’ye spose they was up to? Huggin and kissin like young lovers in their gushingist state. Sez I, “my Shaker frends, I reckon you’d better suspend the rules and git married.”

“You must excoos Brother Uriah,” sed the female; “he’s subjeck to fits and hain’t got no command over hisself when he’s into ’em.”

“Sartinly,” sez I, “I’ve bin took that way myself frequent.”

“You’re a man of sin!” sed the Elder.

Arter breakfust my little Shaker frends cum in agin to clear away the dishes.

“My pretty dears,” sez I, “shall we yay agin?”

“Nay,” they sed, and I nay’d.

The Shakers axed me to go to their meetin, as they was to hav sarvices that mornin, so I put on a clean biled rag and went. The meetin house was as neat as a pin. The floor was white as chalk and smooth as glass. The Shakers was all on hand, in clean weskits and meal bags, ranged on the floor like milingtery companies, the mails on one side of the room and the females on tother. They commenst clappin their hands and singin and dancin. They danced kinder slow at fust, but as they got warmed up they shaved it down very brisk, I tell you. Elder Uriah, in particler, exhiberted a right smart chance of spryness in his legs, considerin his time of life, and as he cum a dubble shuffle near where I sot, I rewarded him with a approvin smile and sed: “Hunky boy! Go it, my gay and festiv cuss!”

“You’re a man of sin!” he sed, continnerin his shuffle.

The Sperret, as they called it, then moved a short fat Shaker to say a few remarks. He sed they was Shakers and all was ekal. They was the purest and Seleckest peple on the yearth. Other peple was sinful as they could be, but Shakers was all right. Shakers was all goin kerslap to the Promist Land, and nobody want goin to stand at the gate to bar ’em out, if they did they’d git run over.

The Shakers then danced and sung agin, and arter they was threw, one of ’em axed me what I thawt of it.

Sez I, “What duz it siggerfy?”

“What?” sez he.

“Why this jumpin up and singin? This long weskit bizniss, and this anty-matrimony idee? My frends, you air neat and tidy. Your hands is flowin with milk and honey. Your brooms is fine, and your apple sass is honest. When a man buys a keg of apple sass of you he don’t find a grate many shavins under a few layers of sass—a little Game I’m sorry to say sum of my New Englan ancesters used to practiss. Your garding seeds is fine, and if I should sow ’em on the rock of Gibralter probly I should raise a good mess of garding sass. You air honest in your dealins. You air quiet and don’t distarb nobody. For all this I givs you credit. But your religion is small pertaters, I must say. You mope away your lives here in single retchidness, and as you air all by yourselves nothing ever conflicks with your pecooler idees, except when Human Nater busts out among you, as I understan she sumtimes do. [I giv Uriah a sly wink here, which made the old feller squirm like a speared Eel.] You wear long weskits and long faces, and lead a gloomy life indeed. No children’s prattle is ever hearn around your harthstuns—you air in a dreary fog all the time, and you treat the jolly sunshine of life as tho’ it was a thief, drivin it from your doors by them weskits, and meal bags, and pecooler noshuns of yourn. The gals among you, sum of which air as slick pieces of caliker as I ever sot eyes on, air syin to place their heds agin weskits which kiver honest, manly harts, while you old heds fool yerselves with the idee that they air fulfillin their mishun here, and air contented. Here you air all pend up by yerselves, talkin about the sins of a world you don’t know nothin of. Meanwhile said world continners to resolve round on her own axeltree onct in every 24 hours, subjeck to the Constitution of the United States, and is a very plesant place of residence. It’s a unnatral, onreasonable and dismal life you’re leadin here. So it strikes me. My Shaker frends, I now bid you a welcome adoo. You have treated me exceedin well. Thank you kindly, one and all.

“A base exhibiter of depraved monkeys and onprincipled wax works!” sed Uriah.

“Hello, Uriah,” sez I, “I’d most forgot you. Wall, look out for them fits of yourn, and don’t catch cold and die in the flour of your youth and beauty.”

And I resoomed my jerney.

HIGH-HANDED OUTRAGE AT UTICA

In the Faul of 1856, I showed my show in Utiky, a trooly grate sitty in the State of New York.The people gave me a cordyal recepshun. The press was loud in her prases.

1 day as I was givin a descripshun of my Beests and Snaiks in my usual flowry stile what was my skorn disgust to see a big burly feller walk up to the cage containin my wax figgers of the Lord’s Last Supper, and cease Judas Iscarrot by the feet and drag him out on the ground. He then commenced fur to pound him as hard as he cood.

“What under the son are you abowt?” cried I.

Sez he, “What did you bring this pussylanermus cuss here fur?” and he hit the wax figger another tremenjis blow on the hed.

Sez I, “You egrejus ass, that air’s a wax figger—a representashun of the false ’Postle.”

Sez he, “That’s all very well for you to say, but I tell you, old man, that Judas Iscarrot can’t show hisself in Utiky with impunerty by a darn site!” with which observashun he kaved in Judassis bed. The young man belonged to 1 of the first famerlies in Utiky. I sood him, and the Joory brawt in a verdick of Arson in the 3d degree.