The Complete Works of Artemus Ward — Part 2: WarWard, Artemus
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The Complete Works of Artemus Ward — Part 2: War
Ward, Artemus
American wit and humor
Do you know a eppylit from a piece of chalk?
If I trust you with a real gun, how many men of your own
company do you speck you can manage to kill durin the war?
Hav you ever heard of Ginral Price of Missouri, and can you
avoid simler accidents in case of a battle?
Have you ever had the measles, and if so, how many?
How air you now?
Show me your tongue, &c., &c. Sum of the questions was
sarcusstical.
The company filled up rapid, and last Sunday we went to the
meetin house in full uniform. I had a seris time gittin into
my military harness, as it was bilt for me many years ago; but
I finally got inside of it, tho' it fitted me putty clost.
Howsever, onct into it, I lookt fine--in fact, aw-inspirin.
"Do you know me, Mrs. Ward?" sed I, walking into the kitchin.
"Know you, you old fool? Of course I do."
I saw at once she did.
I started for the meetin house, and I'm afraid I tried to walk
too strate, for I cum very near fallin over backards; and in
attemptin to recover myself, my sword got mixed up with my
legs, and I fell in among a choice collection of young ladies,
who was standin near the church door a-seein the sojer boys
come up. My cockt hat fell off, and sumhow my coat tales got
twisted round my neck. The young ladies put their
handkerchers to their mouths and remarked: "Te he," while my
ancient female single friend, Sary Peasley, bust out in a loud
larf. She exercised her mouth so vilently that her new false
teeth fell out onto the ground.
"Miss Peaseley," sed I, gittin up and dustin myself, "you must
be more careful with them store teeth of your'n or you'll have
to gum it agin!"
Methinks I had her.
I'd bin to work hard all the week, and I felt rather snoozy.
I'm 'fraid I did git half asleep, for on hearin the minister
ask, "Why was man made to mourn?" I sed, "I giv it up," havin
a vague idee that it was a condrum. It was a onfortnit
remark, for the whole meetin house lookt at me with mingled
surprise and indignation. I was about risin to a pint of
order, when it suddenly occurd to me whare I was, and I kept
my seat, blushin like the red, red rose--so to speak.
The next mornin I 'rose with the lark (N.B.--I don't sleep
with the lark, tho.' A goak).
My little dawter was execootin ballids, accompanyin herself
with the Akordeon, and she wisht me to linger and hear her
sing: "Hark I hear a angel singin, a angel now is onto the
wing."
"Let him fly, my child!" sed I, a-bucklin on my armer; "I must
forth to my Biz."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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