Rensselaer Standard, Volume 1, Number 17, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 October 1879 — A Talk With Artemus Ward. [ARTICLE]

A Talk With Artemus Ward.

Detroit Kree Pres*. I met Artemus Ward but once. I was quite young at the time and was acting as city editor of the Star, published at Schenectady, N. Y. While I wus city editor of that sheet, I mat Artemus. He had come among us to deliver his famous lecture, anil the whole place turned out to hear him. Strange as it may appear, I didn’t go. You see, I was fathoms deep in love with a girl at the time, and had a rival. This rival, who had recently blazed out in a new suit of clothes, was at the lecture, and, sitting by his side, as happy as a kitten with a gill of sweet milk concealed about its person, was the idol of my heartr- the, alas! fickle queen of my young affections. This is the reason that an hour after the lecture was over I happened to be standing on a canal bridge, looking sadly down into the water. Although I heard no footsteps, I suddenly became conscious of a presence. Looking up, I saw standing beside me a slender form, whose face in the dim starlight seemed to be an unusually sad one. ‘ Pardon me,” he said; “I saw you looking dreamily into the water, as if you might be a poet, or perhaps a coroner, ana was attracted gto vour side. Has misfortune overtaken thee, or art thou thinking of a lost one—or two, or a nearer one yet, and a dearer one still, In the shape of a V?” I explained that I had lost no money, ana during the course of the conversation revealed the fact that I was a local editor. “It must be a terrible strain on the intellect to attend to the duties of a local editor.” he remarked, tenderly. “Long, long time ago I had a relative —it is a family tradition—who was a local editor. He succumbed to his tremendous intellectual exertion at an early age. Noble soul, he died in the harness—at all events, a stub lead-pen-cil and an old note-book were found in his coat tail pocket after his demise. His last words were, ‘Set ’em up iigain.’ alluding you understaud, to the type.” I was about to say something in regard to my heavy editorial responsibility, but Ward checked me by asking: ‘What creek is this?” “Creek!” I exclaimed, “why this is the Erie Canal.” *

“How far is it navigable?” “Why, of course it is navigable from one end to the other,” was my surprised reply. “Well,’* solemnly replied Ward, “that beats all the streams I ever heard of. JJy the way, I think I can make out some large boats anchored up the stream there—what are they, profilers or side-wheelers?” I replied that they were merely canal boats, and were moved by horse power. ‘•Ah! I didn’t think the stream was as shallow as that,” said Artemus. .“As shallow as what?” “Why, you say that those boats are pulled along by horses. Now, of course, they must walk along in front of the boat, mus;n’t they? I used to run a stone boat on my lamented Uncle John’s farm, and I distinctly rtmember that the horses walked along in front.” I mentally declared that I had never before met with such ignorance. I spent some time in explaining the peculiarities of the big ditch, aud just as I had begun to think that at last I had set the stranger right on the subject he knocked my hopes into kindling wood hy remarking: “I suppose that when the stream dries up in the summer they put boats on wheels, dont they?” Then I began again, and explained every feature in the canal, from New York to Erie. How attentively he listened to my words! 1 can still see that melancholy face, lit by the sad light of the stars, and those mournful eyes looking into mine so earnestly: and again f hear, as I did then, after 1 had talked for nearly half an hour, going fully in the details of boating, the low, pathetic drawl: “Any saw mills on this stream that you know of?” Shortly after some gentlemen came along, who seemed to be acquainted with my obtuse friend. Presently one called him Artemus, and then I commenced to reflect. I always reflect best wben I am hid away somewhere, so I went and hid myself.