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The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Complete Works of
Artemus Ward (Charles Farrar Browne) Part 5
With a biographical sketch by Melville D. Landon, "Eli Perkins"
The London Punch Letters.
5.1. Arrival in London.
5.2. Personal Recollections.
5.3. The Green Lion and Oliver Cromwell.
5.4. At the Tomb of Shakespeare.
5.5. Introduction to the Club.
5.6. The Tower of London.
5.7. Science and Natural History.
5.8. A Visit to the British Museum.
P.S.—June 16th.—Artemus Ward really arrived in London yesterday.He has come to England at last, though, like "La Belle Helene atthe Adelphi Theatre, he "has been some time in preparation."
JOHN CAMDEN HOTTEN, Piccadilly, W. Jan. 30, 1865.
MR. PUNCH: My dear Sir,—You prob'ly didn't meet my uncle Wilyimwhen he was on these shores. I jedge so from the fack that hispursoots wasn't litrary. Commerce, which it has been troolyobserved by a statesman, or somebody, is the foundation stoneonto which a nation's greatness rests, glorious Commerce wasUncle Wilyim's fort. He sold soap. It smelt pretty, and redilycommanded two pents a cake. I'm the only litrary man in ourfam'ly. It is troo, I once had a dear cuzzun who wrote 22 versesonto "A Child who nearly Died of the Measles, O!" but as heinjoodiciously introjudiced a chorious at the end of each stansy,the parrents didn't like it at all. The father in particler weptafresh, assaulted my cuzzun, and said he never felt so ridicklusin his intire life. The onhappy result was that my cuzzunabandined poetry forever, and went back to shoemakin, a shatteredman.
My Uncle Wilyim disposed of his soap, and returned to his nativland with a very exolted opinyon of the British public. "It is aedycated community," said he; "they're a intellectooal peple. Inone small village alone I sold 50 cakes of soap, incloodinbarronial halls, where they offered me a ducal coronet, but Isaid no—give it to the poor." This was the way Uncle Wilyimwent on. He told us, however, some stories that was rather toomuch to be easily swallerd. In fack, my Uncle Wilyim was not aemblem of trooth. He retired some years ago on a hansumcomptency derived from the insurance-money he received on arather shaky skooner he owned, and which turned up while lyin ata wharf one night, the cargo havin fortnitly been removed the dayafore the disastriss calamty occurd. Uncle Wilyim said it wasone of the most sing'ler things he ever heard of; and, aftercollectin the insurance money, he bust into a flood of tears, andretired to his farm in Pennsylvany. He was my uncle by marriageonly. I do not say that he wasn't a honest man. I simply saythat if you have a uncle, and bitter experunce tells you it ismore profitable in a pecoonery pint of view to put pewter spoonsinstid of silver ones onto the table when that uncle dines withyou in a frenly way—I simply say, there is sumthun wrong in oursocial sistim, which calls loudly for reform.
I 'rived on these shores at Liverpool, and proceeded at once toLondon. I stopt at the Washington Hotel in Liverpool, b