The Complete Works of Artemus Ward, part 5 | Page 9

But they was
well-behaved, and the females kept saying, "How beautiful! What a
surblime thing it is," et cetry, et cetry. Among the females was one who
was a fair and rosy young woman. She sot on the same seat we did, and
the lan'lord of the Green Lion, whose frekent intervoos with other
lan'lords that evenin had been too much for him, fastened his left eye
on the fair and rosy young person, and smilin lovinly upon her, said:

"You may give me, my dear, four-penny-worth of gin--cold gin. I take
it cold, because--"
There was cries of "Silence! Shame! Put him out! The Skoffer!"
"Ain't we at the Spotted Boar?" the lan'lord hoarsely whispered.
"No," I answered. "It's another kind of bore. Lis'en. Cromwell is goin'
to speak through our inspired fren', now."
"Is he?" said the lan'lord--"is he? Wall, I've suthin to say, also. Was this
Cromwell a licensed vittler?"
"Not that I ever heard," I anserd.
"I'm sorry for that," said the lan'lord with a sigh, "but you think he was
a man who would wish to see licensed vittlers respected in their
rights?"
"No doubt."
"Wall," said the lan'lord, "jest you keep a eye on me." Then risin to his
feet he said, in somewhat husky yet tol'bly distink voice, "Mr.
Crumbwell!"
"Cromwell!" I cried.
"Yes, Mr. Cromwell: that's the man I mean, Mr. Cromble! won't you
please advise that gen'l'man who you're talkin through; won't you
advise'im during your elekant speech to settle his bill at my 'ouse
tonight, Mr. Crumbles," said the lan'lord, glarin' savigely round on the
peple, "because if he don't there'll be a punched 'ed to be seen at the
Green Lion, where I don't want no more of this everlastin nonsens. I'LL
talk through 'im! Here's a sperrit," said the lan'lord, a smile once more
beamin on his face, "which will talk through him like a Dutch father!
I'm the sperrit for you, young feller!"
"You're a helthy old sperret," I remarkt; and then I saw the necessity of
gettin him out of the hall. The wimin was yellin and screaming, and the
men was hollerin' perlice. A perliceman really came and collerd my fat
fren.
"It's only a fit, Sir Richard," I said. I always call the perlice Sir Richard.
It pleases them to think I'm the victim of a deloosion; and they always
treat me perlitely. This one did, certainly, for he let us go. We saw no
more of the Trans-Mejim.
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.
Yes. I've been to Stratford onto the Avon, the Birthplace of Shakspeare.
Mr. S. is now no more. He's been dead over three hundred (300) years.
The peple of his native town are justly proud of him. They cherish his
mem'ry, and them as sell pictures of his birthplace, &c., make it
prof'tible cherishin it. Almost everybody buys a pictur to put into their
Albiom.
As I stood gazing on the spot where Shakspeare is s'posed to have fell
down on the ice and hurt hisself when a boy, (this spot cannot be
bought--the town authorities say it shall never be taken from Stratford),
I wondered if three hundred years hence picturs of MY birthplace will
be in demand? Will the peple of my native town be proud of me in
three hundred years? I guess they won't short of that time because they
say the fat man weighing 1000