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 curiosity of literature, worthy of being preserved for the amusement of posterity, a leading article on the Fenians, extracted from a New York paper of most extensive circulation, is given below.Such another "leader" as the one here given could not be met with in the press of any land in the world, except in that of the United States.
"THE FENIAN TROUBLES AT AN END--THE HEAD CENTRE VICTORIOUS.
"The unmitigated blackguards and miserable spalpeens who raised the standard of revolt against the brave and gallant O'Mahony are knocked into the most infinitesimal smithereens, and chawed up until there is not as much left of them as remained after the tooth-and-nail conflict of the Kilkenny cats.The blessed and holy St Patrick (may the heavens be his bed in glory!) never more thoroughly extinguished the toads, snakes, bedbugs, mosquitoes, and varmint in general, which he drove out of Ould Ireland, than O'Mahony, the gallant Head Centre, squelched, exterminated, crushed out, and extinguished the cantankerous Senators and rebellious disciples of the brotherhood who thought to clutch the evergreen laurels and verdant greenbacks with which a patriotic and confiding people have encircled his brow and lined his wallet.As the blessed St Patrick afore said compelled the varmints to betake themselves to the swamps and morasses, and `chased the frogs into the bogs,'
so the redoubtable 0'Mahony has compelled the rebellious Fenians to hide their diminished heads and betake themselves to the recesses of oblivion, where their contortions will be watched by the observer of futurity, as the visitors of Blarney Castle are edified by the gambols of the 'comely eels in the verdant mud.' The brave 0'Mahony has come forth from the contest like gold from the crucible, or whisky from the still, purified, etherealised, and elevated, while his antagonists have shrunk away like dross or swill, never more to mingle with the Olympian deliberation, and Jove-like councils of the Moffatt Mansion.Instead of participating in these august deliberations, they will go back to their shanties, and there behold the glories they are unworthy to share.As if the O'Mahony bludgeon had not knocked the breath completely out of the revolters, the idolised Stephens, who, like the Roman Curtius, jumped into the gulf of Irish nationality, published a letter and a proclamation which must satisfy the public that the recreants 'kilt intirely,' and may as well give their neighbours a pleasant wake and a decent burial as expect to survive the period of their inevitable dissolution.His proclamation comes down on them like a shillaly in Donnybrook; and if it does not ventilate their skulls, it is because those cranial envelopes are as impervious to physical force as to the gentle influence of reason or patriotism.Having demolished the rebellious Senate and their backers, the next thing 0'Mahony has to do is to wipe out the bloody Saxon and re-establish the nationality of the Emerald Isle as it existed in the days of Brian Boru.As Queen Victoria is a woman, we do not expect to see her locked up like Jeff.
Davis, but she will be allowed to emigrate to New York, and open a boarding-school or a dry-goods store, where she will remain unmolested as long as she behaves herself."JOHN CAMDEN HOTTEN, Piccadilly, W.Jan.30, 1865.
To Home, April 1866.
The Finians conveened in our town the other night, and took steps toord freein Ireland.They met into the Town Hall, and by the kind invite of my naber, Mr.Mulrooney O'Shaughnessy, whose ancestors at least must have Irish blood in their veins, I went over.
You may not be awair, by the way, that I've been a invalid here to home for sev'ril weeks.And it's all owin to my own improodens.
Not feelin like eating a full meal when the cars stopt for dinner, in the South, where I lately was, I went into a Resterater and et 20hard biled eggs.I think they effected my Liver.
My wife says, Po, po.She says I've got a splendid liver for a man of my time of life.I've heard of men's livers gradooally wastin'
away till they hadn't none.It's a dreadful thing when a man's liver gives him the shake.
Two years ago comin this May, I had a 'tack of fever-'n-ager, and by the advice of Miss Peasley who continues single and is correspondinly unhappy in the same ratios I consulted a Spiritul mejum--a writin' mejum.I got a letter from a cel'brated Injin chief, who writ me, accordin to the mejum, that he'd been ded two hundred and seventeen (217) years, and liked it.He then said, let the Pale face drink sum yarb tea.I drinkt it, and it really helpt me.I've writ to this talented savige this time thro' the same mejum, but as yet I hain't got any answer.Perhaps he's in a spear where they haint' got any postage stamps.
But thanks to careful nussin, I'm improvin rapid.
The Town Hall was jam-full of peple, mostly Irish citizens, and the enthusiasm was immense.They cheer'd everybody and everything.
They cheer'd me.
"Hurroo for Ward! Hurroo!"
They was all good nabers of mine, and I ansered in a pleasant voice, "All right, boys, all right.Mavoorneen, och hone, aroon, Cooshla macree!"These Irish remarks bein' received with great applaus, I added, "Mushler! mushler!""Good! good!" cried Captain Spingler, who desires the Irish vote for country clerk; "that's fus' rate.""You see what I'm drivin at, don't you, Cap?" I said.
"Certainly."
