The Complete Works of Artemus Ward Part 40

People used to come in large and enthoosiastic crowds from all parts of the country to see me, I was such a sweet and intel'gent infant. The excitement was so intens, in fack, that a extra hotel was startid in the town to accomodate the peple who thronged to my cradle." Havin finished these troothful statemints, I smilt sweetly on the worthy female. She said:

"Drat you, what do you come a-chaffin me for?" and the estymible woman was really gettin furis, when I mollyfied her by praisin her child, and by axin pardin for all I'd said.

"This little gal," I observed, "this surprisingly lively gal when--" the mother said,

"It's t'other sect is he, Sir: it's a boy."

"Wall," I said, "then this little boy, whose eye is like a eagle a-soaring proudly in the azure sky, will some day be a man, if he don't choke hisself to death in childhood's sunny hours with a smelt or a bloater, or some other drefful calamity. How surblime the tho't, my dear Madam, that this infant as you fondle on your knee on this night, may grow up into a free and independent citizen, whose vote will be worth from ten to fifteen pounds, accordin as suffrage may range at that joyous perid!"

Let us now return, jentle reader, to the lan'lord of the Green Lion, who we left in the bar in a state of anxiety and perspire. Rubbin his hot face with a red handkercher, he said, "Is the strange bein a American?"

"He is."

"A Gen'ral?"

"No."

"A Colonial?"

"No."

"A Majer?"

"Not a Majer."

"A Capting?"

"He is not."

"A leftenant?"

"Not even that."

"Then," said the lan'lord of the Green Lion, "you ar deceeved! He is no countryman of yours."

"Why not?" I said.

"I will tell you, Sir," said the lan'lord. "My son-in-law is employed in a bankin house where ev'ry American as comes to these sh.o.r.es goes to git his drafts casht, and he says that not one has arrived on these sh.o.r.es during the last 18 months as wasn't a Gen'ral, a Colonial, a Majer, a Capting, or a leftenant! This man, as I said afore, has deceeved you! He's a imposture!"

I reeled into a chair. For a minit I was speechlis. At length I murmured, "Alars! I fear it is too troo! Even I was a Capting of the Home Gards."

"To be sure," said the lan'lord; "you all do it over there."

"Wall," I said, "whatever nation this person belongs to, we may as well go and hear him lectur this evenin. He is one of these spirit fellers--he is a Trans-Mejim, and when he slings himself into a trans-state he says the sperits of departed great men talk through him. He says that to-night sev'ril em'nent persons will speak through him--among others, Cromwell."

"And this Mr. Cromwell--is he dead?" said the lan'lord.

I told him that Oliver was no more.

"It's a umbug," said the lan'lord; to which I replied that we'd best go and see, and we went. We was late, on account of the lan'lord's extensiv acquaintans with the public house keepers along the road, and the hall was some two miles distant, but we got there at last. The hall was about half full, and the Mejim was just then a.s.sumin' to be Benjamin Franklin, who was speakin about the Atlantic Cable.

He said the Cable was really a merrytorious affair, and that messiges could be sent to America, and there was no doubt about their gettin there in the course of a week or two, which he said was a beautiful idear, and much quicker than by steamer or ca.n.a.l-boat. It struck me that if this was Franklin a spiritooal life hadn't improved the old gentleman's intellecks particly.

The audiens was mostly composed of rayther pale peple, whose eyes I tho't rolled round in a somewhat wild manner. But they was well-behaved, and the females kept saying, "How beautiful! What a surblime thing it is," et cetry, et cetry. Among the females was one who was a fair and rosy young woman. She sot on the same seat we did, and the lan'lord of the Green Lion, whose frekent intervoos with other lan'lords that evenin had been too much for him, fastened his left eye on the fair and rosy young person, and smilin lovinly upon her, said:

"You may give me, my dear, four-penny-worth of gin--cold gin. I take it cold, because--"

There was cries of "Silence! Shame! Put him out! The Skoffer!"

"Ain't we at the Spotted Boar?" the lan'lord hoa.r.s.ely whispered.

"No," I answered. "It's another kind of bore. Lis'en. Cromwell is goin' to speak through our inspired fren', now."

"Is he?" said the lan'lord--"is he? Wall, I've suthin to say, also.

Was this Cromwell a licensed vittler?"

"Not that I ever heard," I anserd.

"I'm sorry for that," said the lan'lord with a sigh, "but you think he was a man who would wish to see licensed vittlers respected in their rights?"

"No doubt."

"Wall," said the lan'lord, "jest you keep a eye on me." Then risin to his feet he said, in somewhat husky yet tol'bly distink voice, "Mr.

Crumbwell!"

"Cromwell!" I cried.

"Yes, Mr. Cromwell: that's the man I mean, Mr. Cromble! won't you please advise that gen'l'man who you're talkin through; won't you advise'im during your elekant speech to settle his bill at my 'ouse tonight, Mr. Crumbles," said the lan'lord, glarin' savigely round on the peple, "because if he don't there'll be a punched 'ed to be seen at the Green Lion, where I don't want no more of this everlastin nonsens. I'LL talk through 'im! Here's a sperrit," said the lan'lord, a smile once more beamin on his face, "which will talk through him like a Dutch father! I'm the sperrit for you, young feller!"

"You're a helthy old sperret," I remarkt; and then I saw the necessity of gettin him out of the hall. The wimin was yellin and screaming, and the men was hollerin' perlice. A perliceman really came and collerd my fat fren.

"It's only a fit, Sir Richard," I said. I always call the perlice Sir Richard. It pleases them to think I'm the victim of a deloosion; and they always treat me perlitely. This one did, certainly, for he let us go. We saw no more of the Trans-Mejim.

It's diffikilt, of course, to say how long these noosances will be allowed to prowl round. I should say, however, if pressed for a answer that they will prob'ly continner on jest about as long as they can find peple to lis'en to 'em. Am I right? Yours, faithfull, Artemus Ward

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IV.

AT THE TOMB OF SHAKSPEARE.

Mr. Punch, My dear Sir,--I've been lingerin by the Tomb of the lamentid Shakspeare.

It is a success.