The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1873-03-19
There are dull times in a place liz,

Cleveland--iimes when the local edi
tor is hard put to fill his columns
No show, no court, no accident, nc
fashionable wedding, no surprise par
ty, no police report, no trottine
match, no anything. One day, in
1859, when the local editor of the
Plain Dealer was in desperate want
Of a topic, he dashed upon paper let
ter from an imaginary Snowman, te
which he affixed the name of q Revolu.
tionary General, which always struck
him as being odd-"Artemus Ward. .
The letter ran thus:
I 10 the Editor of the Plain Dealer
''SIR: I'm moving along-slowly
along-down lords your plAce.
want YOU to write me letter, sain'
hows the show bizness in your place.
Ny show at present consists Of three
moral Bears. Kangaroo-a famoo-
zin little Raskel i'would make you
! larf to deth to see the little cuss jump
up and squeal-wax iiggers of g.
Washington, Gen. Taylor, John Bun
yam, DR.. Kidd, DIR. Webster inthc act
of KILN DIR. Parkman, besides sew
eral miscellanyus moral wax statoots
of celebrated pirnts and murderers,
etc, exalted by few and exceled by
none.'
The Snowman proceeds to urge the
editor to prepare the way for his CON-
ing, and promises to have all his
handbills dun at your ofiiss.r
We must fetch the public some
how" he continues. We must work
on their feelings-come the moral on
'em strong. fits a temperance COM
munity, tell 'cm | sined the pledge
fifteen minutes arter Ise born. But
on the contrary, if your people take
their tods, say that Mister Ward is as
genteel fellow as we ever met-full
of conviviality, and the life and sole
of the soshul Bored. Take, don't
you!"
Mister Ward concludes his epistle
by condensing its whole meaning in a
very short postscript:
You scratch my back, and I'll
scratch your back.
This letter made a wonderful hit.
1t was Immediately copied into many
hundreds of newspapers, and was gen.
orally taken as the genuine produc-
ton of Snowman. Other letters in
the same vein followed, which car
ried the name Of Artemus Ward and
the Cleveland Plain Dealer to the
end of the earth. For two or three
years they figured in the funny col
umn of most of the periodicals Of
America, England and Australia
But except the reputation which
the ], tiers gave, they were of little
advantage to the author His salary
may have been increased few dol
lars a week, and he added little to
his income by contributions to the
comic papers of New York. No man,
indeed, is so cruelty plundered as the
writer of short, amusing pieces, east
ly clipped and copied. He writes
comic piece for trifing sum, which
amuses perhaps five millions of people,
and no one compeDsates him except
the original purchaser There are,
for example, comic dialogues which
have done service for fifteen years at
negro minstrel entertainments, and
now make thousands of people laugh
every night, for which the author re-
ceived three dollars.
Artemus Ward, anxious to buy
back the family homestead in which to
shelter the old age of his widowed
mother, soon discovered that he could
never do it by making jokes unless
he could sell them over and over
again. So he tried comic lecturing
The first night the experiment was
failure A violent storm of snow,
sleet and wind thinned the audience
in Clinton Hall, n. Y. to such Il
degree, that the lecturer lost thirty
dollars by the enterprise. A tour in
New England, however, had better
results. He lectured hundred nights,
by which he cleared nearly eight
thousand dollars; and he was soon
able to establish his mother in the
village home in which he
was born.
| thought ought not to conclude
this article without letting the reader
know why this bright and genial
spirit is no longer here to add to the
worlds harmless amusement. Well
this is the reason: +: Wherever he lee
tured, whether in New England, I
California or London, there was sure
to be knot of young fellows to gath
er round him, and go home with him
to his hotel, order supper, and spend
half the night in telling stories and
singing songs. TO any man this will
be fatal in time; but when the night
" carouse follows an evenings per-
formance before an audience, and
f succeeded by railway journey the
next day, the waste of vitality is fear
'ully rapid. Five years of such a
ife finished poor Charles Browne.
He died in London in 1861 I; aged thir-
.y-three years; ard now lies buried
1t the home of his childhood in Maine.
He was not hard drinker. He was
lot q man Of strong appetites. 1t
vas the nights wasted in conviviality
which his system needed for sleep,
bat sent him to his grave forty
7ears before his time. For men of
lis profession and character, for all
ditors, literary men and artists,
here is only one safety-teetotalism.
lie should have taken the advice of
tage driver on the plains, to whom
le offered some whisky; and | COM
mend it strongly to the countless
hosts who see this paper every week:
| don't drink, Iwon't drink and /
lon't like to see anybody else
rink. I'm of the opinion of those
nountains-keep your top cooL.-
They've got snow, and I've got
,rains that's all the difference"
Robert Burns.