"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.Iput 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 SOMEBODYELSE.
(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 Iwill 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:
