He sed he was. He sed he & John Bunyan was travelin with a side show in connection with Shakspere, Jonson & Co.’s Circus. He sed old Bun (meaning Mr. Bunyan) stired up the animils & ground the organ while he tended door. Occashunally Mr. Bunyan sung a comic song. The Circus was doin middlin well. Bill Shakspeer had made a grate hit with old Bob Ridley, and Ben Jonson was delitin the peple with his trooly grate ax of hossmanship without saddul or bridal. Thay was rehersin Dixey’s Land & expected it would knock the peple. Sez I, “William, my luvly frend, can you pay me that 13 dollars you owe me?” He sed no with one of the most tremenjis knox I ever experienced. The Sircle sed he had gone. “Are you gone, William?” I axed. “Rayther,” he replide, and I knowd it was no use to pursoo the subjeck furder. I then called for my farther. “How’s things, daddy?” “Middlin, my son, middlin.” “Ain’t you proud of your orfurn boy?” “Scacely.” “Why not, my parient?” “Becawz you hav gone to writin for the noospapers, my son. Bimeby you’ll lose all your character for trooth and verrasserty. When I helpt you into the show biznis I told you to dignerfy that there profeshun. Litteratoor is low.” He also statid that he was doin middlin well in the peanut biznis & liked it putty well, tho’ the climit was rather warm. When the Sircle stopt thay axed me what I thawt of it. Sez I, “my friends I’ve bin into the show biznis now goin on 23 years. Theres a artikil in the Constitooshun of the United States which sez in effeck that everybody may think just as he darn pleases, & them is my sentiments to a hare. You dowtlis beleeve this Sperret doctrin while I think it is a little mixt. Just so soon as a man becums a reglar out & out Sperret rapper he leeves orf workin, lets his hare grow all over his fase & commensis spungin his livin out of other peple. He eats all the dickshunaries he can find & goze round chock full of big words, scarein the wimmin folks & little children & destroyin the peace of mind of evry famerlee he enters. He don’t do nobody no good & is a cuss to society & a pirit on honest peple’s corn beef barrils. Admittin all you say abowt the doctrin to be troo, I must say the reglar perfessional Sperret rappers—them as makes a biznis on it—air abowt the most ornery set of cusses I ever enkountered in my life. So sayin I put on my surtoot and went home.” Respectably Yures, ARTEMUS WARD. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ _POETRY AND THE POET._ [A SONNET.] (_Found on the Poet’s desk._)