The Complete Works of Artemus Ward — Part 7: MiscellaneousWard, Artemus
General
The Complete Works of Artemus Ward — Part 7: Miscellaneous
Ward, Artemus
American wit and humor
Glancing at the spot where it is said Senator Benjamin used to vend
second-hand clothes, and regretting that he had not continued in
that comparatively honorable vocation instead of sinking to his
present position--wondering if Jo. Kirby would ever consent, if he
were alive, to die wrapped up in a Secession flag!--gazing
admiringly upon the unostentatious signboard which is suspended in
front of the Hon. Izzy Lazarus's tavern--glancing, wondering, and
gazing thus, I enter the old Chatham theatre. The pit is full, but
people fight shy of the boxes.
The play is about a servant girl, who comes to the metropolis from
the agricultural districts in short skirts, speckled hose, and a
dashing little white hat, gaily decked with pretty pink ribbons--
that being the style of dress invariably worn by servant girls
from the interior. She is accompanied by a chaste young man in a
short-tailed red coat, who, being very desirous of protecting her
from the temptations of a large city, naturally leaves her in the
street and goes off somewhere. Servant girl encounters an elderly
female, who seems to be a very nice sort of person indeed, but the
young man in a short-tailed coat comes in and thrusts the elderly
female aside, calling her "a vile hag." This pleases the pit,
which is ever true to virtue, and it accordingly cries "Hi! hi! hi!"
A robber appears. The idea of a robber in times like these is
rather absurd. The most adroit robber would eke out a miserable
subsistence if he attempted to follow his profession now-a-days. I
should prefer to publish a daily paper in Chelsea. Nevertheless,
here is a robber. He has been playing poker with his "dupe," but
singularly enough the dupe has won all the money. This displeases
the robber, and it occurs to him that he will kill the dupe. He
accordingly sticks him. The dupe staggers, falls, says "Dearest
Eliza!" and dies. Cries of "Hi! hi! hi!" in the pit, while a
gentleman with a weed on his hat, in the boxes, states that the
price of green smelts is five cents a quart. This announcement is
not favorably received by the pit, several members of which come
back at the weeded individual with some advice in regard to
liquidating a long-standing account for beans and other refreshments
at an adjacent restaurant.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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