[Sidenote: _Artemus Ward in London_] But _Punch's_ approval was not confined to applause. He invited Artemus Ward to contribute to his columns, and the invitation led to a series of delightful papers--"Artemus Ward in London"--which appeared in 1866. Some have found in them signs of flagging spirits--Artemus Ward died of consumption at Southampton on March 6, 1867--but the mixture of extravagance and "horse-sense" was never better shown than in the visit to the Tower:-- "You have no Tower in America?" said a man in the crowd, who had somehow detected my denomination. "Alars! no," I anserd; "we boste of our enterprise and improovments, and yit we are devoid of a Tower. America, oh, my onhappy Country! Thou hast not got no Tower! It is a sweet Boon." The gates was opened after awhile, and we all purchist tickets, and went into a waitin-room. "My frens," said a pale-faced little man, in black close, "this is a sad day." "Inasmuch as to how?" I said. "I mean it is sad to think that so many peple have been killed within these gloomy walls. My frens, let us drop a tear!" "No," I said, "you must excuse me. Others may drop one if they feel like it; but as for me I decline. The early managers of this institootion were a bad lot, and their crimes was trooly orful; but I can't sob for those who died four or five hundred years ago. If they was my own relations I couldn't. It's absurd to shed sobs over things which occurd durin' the reign of Henry the Three. Let us be cheerful," I continnerd. "Look at the festive Warders in their red flannil jackets. They are cheerful, and why should it not be thusly with us?" A Warder now took us in charge, and showed us the "Trater's Gate," the armers and things. The Trater's Gate is wide enuff to admit about twenty traters abrest, I should jedge; but beyond this, I couldn't see that it was superior to gates in gen'ral. Traters, I will here remark, are a onfortnit class of peple. If they wasn't, they wouldn't be traters. They conspire to bust up a country--they fail, and they're traters. They bust her, and they become statesmen and heroes.... [Illustration: THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM ENTHUSIASTIC PEDESTRIAN: "Am I on the right road for Stratford--Shakspere's town, you know, my man? You've often heard of Shakspere?" RUSTIC: "Ees. Be you he?"] Mark Twain did not visit London until seven years later, and _Punch_ greeted the "distinguished humorist" in the quatrain headed "Welcome to a Lecturer":-- "'Tis time we Twain did show ourselves." 'Twas said By Cæsar, when one Mark had lost his head: By Mark whose head's quite bright, 'tis said again: "Therefore, go with me, friends, to bless this Twain."