Why Lincoln Laughed Part 4

"Ward's sharp jokes _do_ discipline the mind. Ward told Tad last summer that Adam was _snaked_ out of Eden, and that Goliath was surprised when David hit him because such a thing never entered his head before. Ward told Mr. Chase that his father was an artist who was true to life, for he made a scarecrow so bad that the crows brought back the corn they had stolen two years before. Ward believes that the riddles of Sampson, the fables of aesop, the questions of Socrates, and sums in mathematics are all mind awakeners similar in effect to the discipline of real humor."

Knowing that Lincoln had suffered a nearly fatal heart blow in his youth through the tragic death of his first love, I was interested, years after this interview with the President, to learn that there had been a startling occurrence of a very similar nature in the early life of Ward.

This has been almost universally overlooked. Even his most intimate friends, including Robertson, Hingston, Setch.e.l.l, Coe, Carleton, and Rider, make no mention of the tragic death of one of Ward's earliest girl friends, Maude Myrick, then residing with relatives in Norway, Maine. The towns.h.i.+p of Norway adjoins Waterford, where Ward was born, and where he lived until he was nineteen. None of Ward's biographers give details of his early life on the farm, and none appear even to have heard of Maude Myrick.

In 1874 a reporter of the Boston _Daily Traveler_ was sent to Waterford to find the living neighbors of Ward's family and write a sketch of the village and people. In the report the barest mention was made of Maude Myrick. It stated that a cousin of Ward's remembered that his early infatuation for a girl in the adjoining towns.h.i.+p "broke him all up" when she was accidentally drowned at the inlet of Norway Lake. Search for her genealogy at this late date seems vain. Ward appears never to have mentioned her name but once after her death, and that was on his own dying bed. The only allusion possibly concerning her that he ever made was a brief note in an autograph alb.u.m, preserved in Portland, Maine, in which he wrote: "As for opposites; the happiest place for me is Tiffin, and the saddest is a bridge over the Norway brook."

If the historian could be sure that the vague rumor was fact and that the country la.s.s and the farmer's son were lovers, that the place of her sudden death at the bridge over the inlet to Norway Lake, halfway between their homes, was their trysting place, it would make clear the chief reason for Abraham Lincoln's tender interest in Artemus Ward. That fact would also account in a large degree for Ward's eccentric, inimitable humor. All the great humorists from Charles Lamb to Josh Billings were broken-hearted in their youth. Great geniuses have often been developed by the same sad experience. It often costs much to be truly great.

Previous to his sixteenth year the life of Charles Farrar Browne was that of a New England country boy with parents who were industrious, honest, and poor. The family needs were not of the extreme kind which are found in the slums of the city, but existence depended on incessant toil and the most critical economy. Squire Browne, the father of the future "Artemus Ward," was a farmer who could also use surveying instruments with the skill of New England common sense.

His mother was a strong, industrious woman of the Pilgrim Fathers stock.

She encouraged home study and made the long winter evenings the occasion for moral and mental instruction. The district school was of little use to her children, as they could "outteach the teacher." But Charlie was educated beyond his years by the books which his parents brought into the home. At fifteen years of age, his father having died two years previously, he was sent to Skowhegan, Maine, to learn the trade of a printer in the office of the Skowhegan _Clarion_.

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 s.h.i.+llabar ("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 a.s.sumed 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 a.s.sumed 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.

Some cynical persons saw in Lincoln's friends.h.i.+p a move to secure Ward's influence as a popular writer for the help of his political party. Now that Mr. Lincoln is more fully understood, no one would accuse him of any such a hypocritical or unworthy motive. He would have been frank with Ward even though the latter was needed to aid the sacred cause of human liberty.

Samuel Bowles of the Springfield _Republican_, writing on Artemus Ward's death in 1866, said, "Ward is said not to have seen a well day after the death of President Lincoln." It was a true friends.h.i.+p, beyond a doubt.

Chapter VI: Humor in the Political Situation

Among the articles published by Artemus Ward were the following references to Lincoln's political life, which greatly pleased Mr. Lincoln. He often showed the worn clippings to his intimate friends. They lose much of the keen wit of their composition by the changes which the years have wrought in their local setting. Almost every word had a humorous and wise inference or thrust which cannot be recognized by the modern reader. But they retain enough still to be wonderfully funny.

The tattered clippings are no more, of course, but I have gone back to Ward's book and give below the stories which so amused Lincoln.

JOY IN THE HOUSE OF WARD

DEAR SIRS:

I take my pen in hand to inform you that I am in a state of great bliss, and trust these lines will find you injoyin the same blessins. I'm reguvinated. I've found the immortal waters of yooth, so to speak, and am as limber and frisky as a two-year-old steer, and in the futur them boys which sez to me "go up, old Bawld hed," will do so at the peril of their hazard, individooally. I'm very happy. My house is full of joy, and I have to git up nights and larf! Sumtimes I ax myself "is it not a dream?" & suthin withinto me sez "it air"; but when I look at them sweet little critters and hear 'em squawk, I know it is a reality--2 realitys, I may say--and I feel gay.

I returnd from the Summer Campane with my unparaleld show of wax works and livin wild Beests of Pray in the early part of this munth. The peple of Baldinsville met me cordully and I immejitly commenst restin myself with my famerly. The other nite while I was down to the tavurn tostin my s.h.i.+ns agin the bar room fire & amuzin the krowd with sum of my adventurs, who shood c.u.m in bare heded & terrible excited but Bill Stokes, who sez, sez he, "Old Ward, there's grate doins up to your house."

Sez I, "William, how so?"

Sez he, "Bust my gizzud but it's grate doins," & then he larfed as if he'd kill hisself.

Sez I, risin and puttin on a austeer look, "William, I woodunt be a fool if I had common cents."

But he kept on larfin till he was black in the face, when he fell over on to the bunk where the hostler sleeps, and in a still small voice sed, "Twins!" I ashure you gents that the gra.s.s didn't grow under my feet on my way home, & I was follered by a enthoosiastic throng of my feller sitterzens, who hurrard for Old Ward at the top of their voises. I found the house chock full of peple. Thare was Mis Square Baxter and her three grown-up darters, lawyer Perkinses wife, Taberthy Ripley, young Eben Parsuns, Deakun Simmuns folks, the Skoolmaster, Doctor Jordin, etsetterry, etsetterry. Mis Ward was in the west room, which jines the kitchen. Mis Square Baxter was mixin suthin in a dipper before the kitchin fire, & a small army of female wimin were rus.h.i.+n wildly round the house with bottles of camfire, peaces of flannil, &c. I never seed such a hubbub in my natral born dase. I cood not stay in the west room only a minit, so strung up was my feelins, so I rusht out and ceased my dubbel barrild gun.

"What upon airth ales the man?" sez Taberthy Ripley. "Sakes alive, what air you doin?" & she grabd me by the coat tales. "What's the matter with you?" she continnerd.

"Twins, marm," sez I, "twins!"

"I know it," sez she, coverin her pretty face with her aprun.

"Wall," sez I, "that's what's the matter with me!"

"Wall, put down that air gun, you pesky old fool," sed she.

"No, marm," sez I, "this is a Nashunal day. The glory of this here day isn't confined to Baldinsville by a darn site. On yonder woodshed," sed I, drawin myself up to my full hite and speakin in a show actin voice, "will I fire a Nashunal saloot!" sayin whitch I tared myself from her grasp and rusht to the top of the shed whare I blazed away until Square Baxter's hired man and my son Artemus Juneyer c.u.m and took me down by mane force.

On returnin to the Kitchin I found quite a lot of peple seated be4 the fire, a talkin the event over. They made room for me & I sot down. "Quite a eppisode," sed Docter Jordin, litin his pipe with a red-hot coal.

"Yes," sed I, "2 eppisodes, waying abowt 18 pounds jintly."

"A perf.e.c.k coop de tat," sed the skoolmaster.

"E pluribus unum, in proprietor persony," sed I, thinking I'd let him know I understood furrin langwidges as well as he did, if I wasn't a skoolmaster.

"It is indeed a momentious event," sed young Eben Parsuns, who has been 2 quarters to the Akademy.

"I never heard twins called by that name afore," sed I, "But I spose it's all rite."

"We shall soon have Wards enuff," sed the editer of the Baldinsville _Bugle of Liberty_, who was lookin over a bundle of exchange papers in the corner, "to apply to the legislater for a City Charter!"

"Good for you, old man!" sed I; "giv that air a conspickius place in the next _Bugle_."

"How red.i.c.klus," sed pretty Susan Fletcher, coverin her face with her knittin work & larfin like all possest.

"Wall, for my part," sed Jane Maria Peasley, who is the crossest old made in the world, "I think you all act like a pack of fools."

Sez I, "Mis. Peasly, air you a parent?"

Sez she, "No, I ain't."

Sez I, "Mis. Peasly, you never will be."

She left.

We sot there talkin & larfin until "the switchin hour of nite, when grave yards yawn & Josts troop 4th," as old Bill Shakespire aptlee obsarves in his dramy of John Sheppard, esq, or the Moral House Breaker, when we broke up & disbursed.

m.u.t.h.e.r & children is a doin well & as Resolushhuns is the order of the day I will feel obleeged if you'll insurt the follerin--

Whereas, two Eppisodes has happined up to the undersined's house, which is Twins; & Whereas I like this stile, sade twins bein of the male perswashun & both boys; there4 Be it--