The Complete Works of Artemus Ward — Part 1: Essays, Sketches, and Letters — Background and Themes

A Showman's Grammar as Satirical Tool

Ward's orthography is not random illiteracy but a calculated device. He writes 'branes' for brains, 'noosence' for nuisance, and 'swallers Iago's lyin tail' for 'swallows Iago's lying tale.' The effect is to make the speaker seem uneducated while the reader enjoys the cleverness of the pun. In 'Edwin Forrest as Othello,' Ward summarizes the plot as 'Otheller swallers Iago's lyin tail & goes to makin a noosence of hisself ginrally.' The misspelling of 'nuisance' as 'noosence' (sounding like 'nuisance' but spelled phonetically) reinforces the comic distance between the crude showman and the high tragedy he describes.

This technique allows Ward to critique cultural institutions without appearing to do so directly. When he calls popular lectures 'poplar humbugs' and says lecturers 'cram theirselves with hi-sounding frazis,' the misspellings underscore the emptiness of the rhetoric. The humor works because the reader is in on the joke: Ward's persona is too simple to be ironic, yet the irony is unmistakable.

The Catalog Mismatch: Fantasy vs. Social Commentary

The Project Gutenberg catalog assigns this work to 'Fantasy & Juvenile Worlds,' but the excerpts contain no fantasy elements—no magic, no imaginary creatures, no otherworldly settings. Instead, Ward writes about real people and events: Edwin Forrest, Brigham Young, President Lincoln, and the Civil War. His 'Interview with President Lincoln' is a comic sketch, not a fantasy. The catalog category likely reflects a broad interpretation of 'humor' as a kind of imaginative escape, but the text itself is firmly grounded in contemporary social and political life.

Ward's targets include spiritualism ('Among the Spirits'), women's rights ('Woman's Rights'), and the lecture circuit ('The Show Business and Popular Lectures'). In the latter, he complains that 'Poplar Lecturs' are usurping the show business, and that audiences 'don't have no moore idee of what the lecturer sed than my kangeroo has of the sevunth speer of hevun.' The kangeroo is a real animal in his show, not a fantasy creature. The humor derives from the incongruity of comparing a lecture audience's comprehension to a kangaroo's understanding of heaven—a joke about human pretension, not a flight of fancy.

Recurring Details: The Showman's World

Several details recur across the excerpts, building a consistent world for Ward's persona. He mentions his wife Betsy Jane, his show (which includes wax figures and a kangaroo), and his travels to places like Baldinsville and Utica. In 'Edwin Forrest as Othello,' he addresses Betsy Jane directly: 'Betsy Jane—Betsy Jane! let us pray that our domestic bliss may never be busted up by a Iago!' This domestic aside is typical of Ward's technique: he breaks the frame of the theater review to remind readers of his own life, creating intimacy and humor.

Another recurring element is Ward's self-deprecating pride in his show. He calls it 'the Show Bizniss, which Ive stroven to ornyment,' and laments that it is being overtaken by lectures. Yet he also boasts of his own success: 'Edwin Forrest makes money actin out on the stage. He gits five-hundred dollars a nite & his board & washin. I wish I had such a Forrest in my Garding!' The pun on 'forest' (a wooded area) and 'Forrest' (the actor) is a typical Ward wordplay, showing that even his envy is a joke.

Readers approaching this volume should set aside expectations of fantasy or juvenile fiction. Instead, treat it as a collection of satirical sketches that use a consistent comic persona to critique American culture of the 1850s and 1860s. Ward's humor is best appreciated in small doses, paying attention to the deliberate misspellings and the way his apparent simplicity masks sharp observation. The biographical sketches and introductions by John Camden Hotten and others provide useful context, but the heart of the book is Ward's own voice—a showman who knew exactly what he was doing.

There’s something touching about Ward’s mangled earnestness—he meant well, even when his spelling didn’t. That same tender clumsiness lingers in De Quincey’s posthumous fragments, where the unfinished thoughts feel almost like confessions. I keep The Posthumous Works of Thomas De Quincey, Vol. 1 — Reading Companion near my chair, and sometimes it reminds me of those old, scratched record albums—warm, slightly hissing, impossible to hurry.