The Complete Works of Artemus Ward, part 1 | Page 5

published in periodicals in 1862,
are included, together with many additional illustrations, which now,
for the first time, make the work complete.
It is universally conceded that no country in the world has ever
produced a genius like Artemus Ward. Writers of ACKNOWLEDGED
GENIUS are never very numerous. He attained a great and deserved
popularity, which will be lasting.
It has been observed that the wit of one generation is rarely appreciated

by the next, but this is not true of Artemus Ward. There is a constant
demand for his writings, for the reason that his jokes require no
appendix for their elucidation. No one who speaks the English
language can fail to appreciate his wonderful humor. It will always be
funny. There is a fascination about it which can neither be questioned
nor resisted. His particular niche in the temple of Fame will not be
claimed by another. His intellect was sharp and electric. He saw the
humor of anything at a glance, and his manner of relating these
laughter-provoking absurdities is original and "fetching."
PRELIMINARY NOTES BY JOHN CAMDEN HOTTEN.
Piccadilly, W. Jan. 30, 1865.
There is a story of two "smart" Yankees, one named Hosea and the
other Hezekiah, who met in an oyster shop in Boston. Said Hosea, "As
to opening oysters, why nothing's easier if you only know how." "And
how's how?" asked Hezekiah. "Scotch snuff," replied Hosea, very
gravely--"Scotch snuff. Bring a little of it ever so near their noses, and
they'll sneeze their lids off." "I know a man who knows a better plan,"
observed Hezekiah. "He spreads the bivalves in a circle, seats himself
in the centre, reads a chapter of Artemus Ward to them, and goes on
until they get interested. One by one they gape with astonishment at A.
Ward's whoppers, and as they gape my friend whips 'em out, peppers
away, and swallows 'em."
Excellent as all that Artemus Ward writes really is, and exuberantly
overflowing with humour as are nearly all his articles, it is too bad to
accuse him of telling "whoppers." On the contrary, the old Horatian
question of "Who shall forbid me to speak truth in laughter?" seems
ever present to his mind. His latest production is the admirable paper
"Artemus Ward among the Fenians" which appears in Part 7.
If Artemus has on any occasion really told "whoppers," it has been in
his announcements of being about to visit England. From time to time
he has stated his intention of visiting this country, and from time to
time has he disappointed his English friends.
He was coming to England after his trip to California, when, laden with
gold, he could think of no better place to spend it in.
He was on his way to England when he and his companion, Mr.
Hingston, encountered the Pi-ute Indians, and narrowly escaped
scalping.

He was leaving for England with "Betsy Jane" and the "snaiks" before
the American war was ended.
He had unscrewed the head of each of his "wax figgers," and sent each
on board in a carpet-bag, labelled "For England," just as Mr Lincoln
was assassinated.
He was hastening to England when the news came a few weeks ago
that he had been blown up in an oil well!
He has been on his way to England in every newspaper of the
American Union for the last two years.
Here is the latest announcement:
"Artemus Ward, in a private letter, states that Doctor Kumming, the
famous London seer and profit, having foretold that the end of the
world will happen on his own birthday in January 1867, he, Artemus,
will not visit England until the latter end of 1866, when the people
there will be selling off, and dollars will be plentiful. Mr. Ward says
that he shall leave England in the last steamer, in time to see the
American eagle spread his wings, and with the stars and stripes in his
beek and tallents, sore away to his knativ empyrehum.--" American
Paper.
But even this is likely to be a "whopper," for a more reliable private
letter from Artemus declares his fixed purpose to leave for England in
the steamship City of Boston early in June; and the probabilities are
that he will be stepping on English shores just about the time that these
pages go to press.
Lest anything should happen to him, and England be for ever deprived
of seeing him, the most recent production of his pen, together with two
or three of his best things, are here embalmed for preservation, on the
principle adopted by the affectionate widow of the bear-trainer of
Perpignan. "I have nothing left," said the woman; "I am absolutely
without a roof to shelter me and the poor animal." "Animal!" exclaimed
the prefect; "you don't mean to