The Complete Works of Artemus Ward — Part 1: Essays, Sketches, and LettersWard, Artemus
General
The Complete Works of Artemus Ward — Part 1: Essays, Sketches, and Letters
Ward, Artemus
American wit and humor
Sez I, "Why how you tawk!" and I gut up agin & lookt all round.
"I must say, my fren," I continnered, as I resoomed my seet,
"that I kan't see nothin of no krisis myself." I felt sumwhat
alarmed, & arose & in a stentoewrian voice obsarved that if any
lady or gentleman in that there kar had a krisis consealed
abowt their persons they'd better projuce it to onct or suffer
the konsequences. Several individoouls snickered rite out,
while a putty little damsell rite behind me in a pinc gown made
the observashun, "He, he."
"Sit down, my fren," sed the man in black close, "yu
miskomprehend me. I meen that the perlittercal ellermunts are
orecast with black klouds, 4boden a friteful storm."
"Wall," replide I, "in regard to perlittercal ellerfunts I
don't know as how but what they is as good as enny other kind
of ellerfunts. But I maik bold to say thay is all a ornery set
& unpleasant to hav around. They air powerful hevy eaters &
take up a right smart chans of room, & besides thay air as ugly
and revenjeful, as a Cusscaroarus Injun, with 13 inches of corn
whisky in his stummick." The man in black close seemed to be
as fine a man as ever was in the wurld. He smilt & sed praps I
was rite, tho it was ellermunts instid of ellerfunts that he
was alludin to, & axed me what was my prinserpuls?
"I haint gut enny," sed I--"not a prinserpul. Ime in the show
biznis." The man in black close, I will hear obsarve, seemed
to be as fine a man as ever was in the wurld.
"But," sez he, "you hav feelins into you? You cimpathize with
the misfortunit, the loly & the hart-sick, don't you?" He bust
into teers and axed me ef I saw that yung lady in the seet out
yender, pintin to as slick a lookin gal as I ever seed.
Sed I, "2 be shure I see her--is she mutch sick?" The man in
black close was appeerently as fine a man as ever was in the
wurld ennywhares.
"Draw closter to me," sed the man in black close. "Let me git
my mowth fernenst yure ear. Hush--SHESE A OCTOROON!"
"No!" sez I, gittin up in a exsited manner, "yu don't say so!
How long has she bin in that way?"
"Frum her arliest infuncy," sed he.
"Wall, whot upon arth duz she doo it fur?" I inquired.
"She kan't help it," sed the man in black close. "It's the
brand of Kane."
"Wall, she'd better stop drinkin Kane's brandy," I replide.
"I sed the brand of Kane was upon her--not brandy, my fren.
Yure very obtoose."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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