His parents had not intended that he should be permanently a printer; the inability to care for the growing boy at home evidently induced them to seek a trade for him by which he could earn a living while studying for the ministry. But the tragic events or the unaccountable mental revolution of those unrecorded years turned away all the hopes of his parents and sent his soul into rebellion against such a career. Nevertheless, a deep good nature remained intact and the altruistic qualities of his disposition proved to be permanent. He wrote to Shillabar ("Mrs. Partington") of Boston that "the man who has no care for fun himself has more time to cheer up his neighbors." The only thing that ever cheered Ward into chuckling laughter was to meditate by himself on the effect of a squib or description he was composing on "some old codger on a barrel by the country grocery." Ward was never contented or fully happy. He traveled about from place to place, often leaving without collecting his wages. He was a typesetter and reporter at Tiffin, Ohio, at Toledo, and at Cleveland. When Mr. J. W. Gray of the Cleveland _Plain Dealer_ secured Ward's services as a reporter, Ward was twenty-four years old and thought to be hopelessly indolent by his previous employer. He soon became known as "that fool who writes for the _Plain Dealer_"; and his comic situations and surprising arguments were soon the general theme of conversation in the city. He was famous in a month. It was there and then that he assumed the pen name of Artemus Ward. He began to give his humorous public talks in 1862 and was successful from the first evening. His writings for _Vanity Fair_, New York, and all his lectures were clearly original. He could never be accused of plagiarism or imitation. Indeed, no one on earth could repeat his lectures with success or equal Ward in continual fun making. He often assumed the role of an idiot, but at the same time made the wisest observations and the cutest sarcasms. His appearance on the stage even before he made his mechanical nod was greeted with loud, hearty, and prolonged laughter. The saddest forgot his sorrow, the most sedate gentleman began to shake, and the crusty old maid broke out into the Ha! Ha! of a girl of sixteen. We may read Ward's writings and feel something of his absurd humor when we recall his posture as he stated solemnly that his wife's feet "were so large that her toes came around the corner two minutes before she came along"; but to feel the full force of the absurdity one needs to see Ward's seeming impatience that anyone should take it as a joke or disbelieve his plain statement.