The Complete Works of Artemus Ward, part 6 | Page 6

I have noticed that.
A gentleman friend of mine came to me one day with tears in his eyes.
I said, "Why these weeps?" He said he had a mortgage on his farm--and
wanted to borrow 200 pounds. I lent him the money--and he went away.
Some time after he returned with more tears. He said he must leave me
for ever. I ventured to remind him of the 200 pounds he borrowed. He
was much cut up. I thought I would not be hard upon him--so I told him
I would throw off one hundred pounds. He brightened--shook my
hand--and said--"Old friend--I won't allow you to outdo me in
liberality--I'll throw off the other hundred."
As a manager I was always rather more successful than as an actor.
Some years ago I engaged a celebrated Living American Skeleton for a
tour through Australia. He was the thinnest man I ever saw. He was a
splendid skeleton. He didn't weigh anything scarcely--and I said to
myself--the people of Australia will flock to see this tremendous
curiosity. It is a long voyage--as you know--from New York to
Melbourne-- and to my utter surprise the skeleton had no sooner got out
to sea than he commenced eating in the most horrible manner. He had
never been on the ocean before--and he said it agreed with him.--I
thought so!--I never saw a man eat so much in my life.
Beef--mutton--pork--he swallowed them all like a shark--and between
meals he was often discovered behind barrels eating hard-boiled eggs.
The result was that when we reached Melbourne this infamous skeleton
weighed 64 pounds more than I did!
I thought I was ruined--but I wasn't. I took him on to

California--another very long sea voyage--and when I got him to San
Francisco I exhibited him as a Fat Man. (The reader need scarcely be
informed that this narrative is about as real as "A. Ward's Snaiks," and
about as much matter of fact as his journey through the States with a
wax-work show.)
This story hasn't anything to do with my Entertainment, I know--but
one of the principal features of my Entertainment is that it contains so
many things that don't have anything to do with it.
My Orchestra is small--but I am sure it is very good--so far as it goes. I
give my pianist ten pounds a night--and his washing. (That a good
pianist could be hired for a small sum in England was a matter of
amusement to Artemus. More especially when he found a gentleman
obliging enough to play anything he desired, such as break-downs and
airs which had the most absurd relation to the scene they were used to
illustrate. In the United States his pianist was desirous of playing music
of a superior order, much against the consent of the lecturer.)
I like Music.--I can't sing. As a singist I am not a success. I am saddest
when I sing. So are those who hear me. They are sadder even than I am.
The other night some silver-voiced young men came under my window
and sang--"Come where my love lies dreaming."--I didn't go. I didn't
think it would be correct.
I found music very soothing when I lay ill with fever in Utah--and I
was very ill--I was fearfully wasted.--My face was hewn down to
nothing--and my nose was so sharp I didn't dare to stick it into other
people's business--for fear it would stay there--and I should never get it
again. And on those dismal days a Mormon lady--she was married--tho'
not so much so as her husband--he had fifteen other wives--she used to
sing a ballad commencing "Sweet bird--do not fly away!"--and I told
her I wouldn't.--She played the accordion divinely--accordionly I
praised her.
I met a man in Oregon who hadn't any teeth--not a tooth in his
head--yet that man could play on the bass drum better than any man I
ever met.--He kept a hotel. They have queer hotels in Oregon. I
remember one where they gave me a bag of oats for a pillow--I had
nightmares of course. In the morning the landlord said--How do you
feel--old hoss--hay?-- I told him I felt my oats.
(Though the serious part of the lecture was here entered upon, it was

not delivered in a graver tone than that in which he had spoken the
farcicalities of the prologue. Most of the prefatory matter was given
with an air of earnest thought; the arms sometimes folded, and the chin
resting on one hand. On the occasion of his first exhibiting the
panorama at New York he used a fishing-rod to point out the picture
with; subsequently he availed himself of an old umbrella. In the
Egyptian Hall he used his little riding-whip.)
Permit me now to quietly state that altho'