ESSAYS, SKETCHES, AND LETTERS.
1.1.ONE OF MR.WARD'S BUSINESS LETTERS.
To the Editor of the --
Sir--I'm movin along--slowly along--down tords your place.Iwant you should rite me a letter, sayin how is the show bizniss in your place.My show at present consists of three moral Bares, a Kangaroo (a amoozin little Raskal--t'would make you larf yerself to deth to see the little cuss jump up and squeal) wax figgers of G.Washington Gen.Tayler John Bunyan Capt Kidd and Dr.Webster in the act of killin Dr.Parkman, besides several miscellanyus moral wax statoots of celebrated piruts & murderers, &c., ekalled by few & exceld by none.Now Mr.Editor, scratch orf a few lines sayin how is the show bizniss down to your place.
I shall hav my hanbills dun at your offiss.Depend upon it.Iwant you should git my hanbills up in flamin stile.Also git up a tremenjus excitemunt in yr.paper 'bowt my onparaleld Show.We must fetch the public sumhow.We must wurk on their feelins.
Cum the moral on 'em strong.If it's a temperance community tell 'em I sined the pledge fifteen minits arter Ise born, but on the contery ef your peple take their tods, say Mister Ward is as Jenial a feller as we ever met, full of conwiviality, & the life an sole of the Soshul Bored.Take, don't you? If you say anythin abowt my show say my snaiks is as harmliss as the new-born Babe.
What a interestin study it is to see a zewological animil like a snaik under perfeck subjecshun! My kangaroo is the most la***ble little cuss I ever saw.All for 15 cents.I am anxyus to skewer your infloounce.I repeet in regard to them hanbills that I shall git 'em struck orf up to your printin office.My perlitercal sentiments agree with yourn exackly.I know thay do, becawz Inever saw a man whoos didn't.
Respectively yures, A.Ward.
P.S.--You scratch my back & Ile scratch your back.
1.2.ON "FORTS."
Every man has got a Fort.It's sum men's fort to do one thing, and some other men's fort to do another, while there is numeris shiftliss critters goin round loose whose fort is not to do nothin.
Shakspeer rote good plase, but he wouldn't hav succeeded as a Washington correspondent of a New York daily paper.He lackt the rekesit fancy and imagginashun.
That's so!
Old George Washington's Fort was not to hev eny public man of the present day resemble him to eny alarmin extent.Whare bowts can George's ekal be found? I ask, & boldly anser no whares, or eny whare else.
Old man Townsin's Fort was to maik Sassyperiller."Goy to the world! anuther life saived!" (Cotashun from Townsin's advertisemunt.)Cyrus Field's Fort is to lay a sub-machine tellegraf under the boundin billers of the Oshun, and then hev it Bust.
Spaldin's Fort is to maik Prepared Gloo, which mends everything.
Wonder ef it will mend a sinner's wickid waze? (Impromptoo goak.)Zoary's Fort is to be a femaile circus feller.
My Fort is the grate moral show bizniss & ritin choice famerly literatoor for the noospapers.That's what's the matter with ME.
&c., &c., &c.So I mite go on to a indefnit extent.
Twict I've endeverd to do things which thay wasn't my Fort.The fust time was when I undertuk to lick a owdashus cuss who cut a hole in my tent & krawld threw.Sez I, "my jentle Sir go out or I shall fall onto you putty hevy." Sez he, "Wade in, Old wax figgers," whareupon I went for him, but he cawt me powerful on the hed & knockt me threw the tent into a cow pastur.He pursood the attack & flung me into a mud puddle.As I aroze & rung out my drencht garmints I koncluded fitin wasn't my Fort.Ile now rize the kurtin upon Seen 2nd: It is rarely seldum that I seek consolation in the Flowin Bole.But in a sertin town in Injianny in the Faul of 18--, my orgin grinder got sick with the fever &died.I never felt so ashamed in my life, & I thowt I'd hist in a few swallows of suthin strengthin.Konsequents was I histid in so much I dident zackly know whare bowts I was.I turnd my livin wild beests of Pray loose into the streets and spilt all my wax wurks.I then Bet I cood play hoss.So I hitched myself to a Kanawl bote, there bein two other hosses hitcht on also, one behind and anuther ahead of me.The driver hollerd for us to git up, and we did.But the hosses bein onused to sich a arrangemunt begun to kick & squeal and rair up.Konsequents was I was kickt vilently in the stummuck & back, and presuntly I fownd myself in the Kanawl with the other hosses, kickin & yellin like a tribe of Cusscaroorus savvijis.I was rescood, & as I was bein carrid to the tavern on a hemlock Bored I sed in a feeble voise, "Boys, playin hoss isn't my Fort."MORUL--Never don't do nothin which isn't your Fort, for ef you do you'll find yourself splashin round in the Kanawl, figgeratively speakin.
1.3.THE SHAKERS.
The Shakers is the strangest religious *** I ever met.I'd hearn tell of 'em and I'd seen 'em, with their broad brim'd hats and long wastid coats; but I'd never cum into immejit contack with 'em, and I'd sot 'em down as lackin intelleck, as I'd never seen 'em to my Show--leastways, if they cum they was disgised in white peple's close, so I didn't know 'em.
But in the Spring of 18--, I got swampt in the exterior of New York State, one dark and stormy night, when the winds Blue pityusly, and I was forced to tie up with the Shakers.
I was toilin threw the mud, when in the dim vister of the futer Iobsarved the gleams of a taller candle.Tiein a hornet's nest to my off hoss's tail to kinder encourage him, I soon reached the place.I knockt at the door, which it was opened unto me by a tall, slick-faced, solum lookin individooal, who turn'd out to be a Elder.
"Mr.Shaker," sed I, "you see before you a Babe in the woods, so to speak, and he axes shelter of you.""Yay," sed the Shaker, and he led the way into the house, another Shaker bein sent to put my hosses and waggin under kiver.
A solum female, lookin sumwhat like a last year's beanpole stuck into a long meal bag, cum in axed me was I athurst and did Ihunger? to which I urbanely anserd "a few." She went orf and Iendeverd to open a conversashun with the old man.
"Elder, I spect?" sed I.
"Yay," he said.
"Helth's good, I reckon?"
