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- The Complete Works of Artemus Ward, Part 7 - 3/12 -


yourself out on me account.

At this point the Band begun to make hidyous noises with their brass horns, and an exceedingly ragged boy wanted to know if there wasn't to be some wittles afore the concern broke up? I didn't exactly know what to do, and was just on the point of doin it, when a upper winder suddenly opened, and a stream of hot water was bro't to bear on the disorderly crowd, who took the hint and retired at once.

When I am taken by surprise with another serenade, I shall, among other arrangements, have a respectful company on hand. So no more from me to-day. When this you see, remember me.

7.4. O'BOURCY'S "ARRAH-NA-POGUE."

You axe me, sir, to sling sum ink for your paper in regards to the new Irish dramy at Niblo's Garding. I will do it, sir.

I knew your grandfather well, sir. Sum 16 years ago, while I was amoosin and instructin the intellectoal peple of Cape Cod with my justly pop'lar Show, I saw your grandfather. He was then between 96 years of age, but his mind was very clear. He told me I looked like George Washington. He said I had a massiv intellect. Your grandfather was a highly-intelligent man, and I made up my mind then that if I could ever help his family in any way, I'd do so. Your grandfather gave me sum clams and a Testament. He charged me for the clams but threw in the Testament. He was a very fine man.

I therefore rite for you, which insures your respectability at once. It gives you a moral tone at the word go.

I found myself the other night at Niblo's Garding, which is now, by the way, Wheatley's Garding. (I don't know what's bcum of Nib.) I couldn't see much of a garding, however, and it struck me if Mr. Wheatley depended on it as regards raisin things, he'd run short of gardin sass. [N.B.--These remarks is yoomerous. The older I gro, the more I want to goak.]

I walked down the isle in my usual dignified stile, politely tellin the people as I parsed along to keep their seats. "Don't git up for me," I sed. One of the prettiest young men I ever saw in my life showed me into a seat, and I proceeded to while away the spare time by reading Thompson's "Bank Note Reporter" and the comic papers.

The ordinance was large.

I tho't, from a cursiry view, that the Finnigan Brotherhood was well represented.

There was no end of bootiful wimin, and a heap of good clothes. There was a good deal of hair present that belonged on the heds of peple who didn't cum with it--but this is a ticklish subjeck for me. I larfed at my wife's waterfall, which indoosed that superior woman to take it off and heave it at me rather vilently; and as there was about a half bushil of it, it knockt me over, and give me pains in my body which I hain't got over yit.

The orkistry struck up a toon, & I asked the Usher to nudge me when Mr. Pogue cum on the stage to act.

I wanted to see Pogue; but, strange to say, he didn't act during the entire evenin. I reckin he has left Niblo's, and gone over to Barnum's.

Very industrious pepl are the actors at Barnum's. They play all day, and in the evenin likewise. I meet'm every mornin, at five o'clock, going to their work with their tin dinner-pails. It's a sublime site. Many of them sleep on the premises.

Arrah-na-Pogue was writ by Dion O'Bourcicolt & Edward McHouse. They writ it well. O'Bourcy has writ a cartload of plays himself, the most of which is fust-rate.

I understand there is a large number of O'gen'tlmen of this city who can rite better plays than O'Bourcy does, but somehow they don't seem to do it. When they do, I'll take a Box of them.

As I remarked to the Boy who squirted peppersass through a tin dinner-horn at my trained Bear (which it caused that feroshus animal to kick up his legs and howl dismal, which fond mothers fell into swoons and children cride to go home because fearin the Bear would leave his jungle and tear them from limb to limb), and then excoosed himself (this Boy did) by sayin he had done so while labourin under a attack of Moral Insanity--as I sed to that thrifty youth, "I allus incurridge geenyus, whenever I see it."

It's the same with Dan Bryant. I am informed there are better Irish actors than he is, but somhow I'm allus out of town when they act, & so is other folks, which is what's the matter.

ACK THE 1.--Glendalo by moonlite.

Irishmen with clubs.

This is in 1798, the year of your birth, Mr. Editor.

It appears a patriotic person named McCool has bin raisin a insurrection in the mountain districts, and is now goin to leave the land of his nativity for a tower in France. Previsly to doin so he picks the pockit of Mr. Michael Feeny, a gov'ment detectiv, which pleases the gallery very much indeed, and they joyfully remark, "hi, hi."

He meets also at this time a young woman who luvs him dearer than life, and who is, of course, related to the gov'ment; and just as the gov'ment goes agin him she goes for him. This is nat'ral, but not grateful. She sez, "And can it be so? Ar, tell me it is not so thusly as this thusness wouldst seem!" or words to that effect.

He sez it isn't any other way, and they go off.

Irish moosic by the Band.

Mr. McCool goes and gives the money to his foster-sister, Miss Arrah Meelish, who is goin to shortly marry Shaun, the Lamp Post. Mac then alters his mind about goin over to France, and thinks he'll go up-stairs and lie down in the straw. This is in Arrah's cabin. Arrah says it's all right, me darlint, och hone, and shure, and other pop'lar remarks, and Mac goes to his straw.

The wedding of Shaun and Arrah comes off.

Great excitement. Immense demonstration on the part of the peasantry. Barn-door jigs, and rebelyus song by McHouse, called "The Drinkin of the Gin." Ha, what is this? Soldiers cum in. Moosic by the band. "Arrah," sez the Major, "you have those money." She sez, "Oh no, I guess not." He sez, "Oh yes, I guess you have." "It is my own," sez she, and exhibits it. "It is mine," says Mr. Feeny, and identifies it.

Great confusion.

Coat is prodoosed from up-stairs.

"Whose coat is this?" sez the Major. "Is it the coat of a young man secreted in this here cabin?"

Now this is rough on Shaun. His wife accoosed of theft, the circumstances bein very much agin her, and also accoosed of havin a hansum young man hid in her house. But does this bold young Hibernian forsake her? Not much, he dont. But he takes it all on himself, sez he is the guilty wretch, and is marcht off to prison.

This is a new idea. It is gin'rally the wife who suffers, in the play, for her husband; but here's a noble young feller who shuts both his eyes to the apparent sinfulness of his new young wife, and takes her right square to his bosom. It was bootiful to me, who love my wife, and believe in her, and would put on my meetin clothes and go to the gallus for her cheerfully, ruther than believe she was capable of taking anybody's money but mine. My marrid friends, listen to me: If you treat your wives as though' they were perfeck gentlemen--if you show 'em that you have entire confidence in them-- believe me, they will be troo to you most always.

I was so pleased with this conduct of Shaun that I hollered out, "Good boy! Come and see me!"

"Silence!" sum people said.

"Put him out!" said a sweet-scented young man, with all his new clothes on, and in company with a splendid waterfall, "put this old fellow out!"

"My young friend," said I, in a loud voice, "whose store do you sell tape in? I might want to buy a yard before I go hum."

Shaun is tried by a Military Commission. Colonel O'Grady, although a member of the Commission, shows he sympathizes with Shaun, and twits Feeny, the Gov'ment witness, with being a knock-kneed thief, &c., &c. Mr. Stanton's grandfather was Sec'y of War in Ireland at that time, so this was entirely proper.

Shaun is convicted and goes to jail. Hears Arrah singin outside. Wants to see her a good deal. A lucky thought strikes him; he opens the window and gets out. Struggles with ivy and things on the outside of the jail, and finally reaches her just as Mr. Feeny is about to dash a large wooden stone onto his head. He throws Mr. F. into the river. Pardon arrives. Fond embraces. Tears of joy and kisses a la Pogue. Everybody much happy.

Curtain falls.

This is a very harty outline of a splendid play. Go and see it-- Yours till then,

A. Ward.

7.5. ARTEMUS WARD AMONG THE FENIANS.

PRELIMINARY.

Sparkling with genuine fun and bristling with pungent satire, this is an epitome of Artemus Ward's most genial humour and of his keenly sarcastic truth. The doings of the Fenians have hitherto been sufficiently ludicrous to merit the ridicule which Artemus has added to the stock they have liberally provided for themselves. To use the periphrasis of Senator Sumner, they have hitherto been "the muscipular abortion of the parturient mountain," whatever their folly may yet lead them to effect of a more serious nature in time to come. As a


The Complete Works of Artemus Ward, Part 7 - 3/12

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