The Complete Works of Artemus Ward

In Short

This collection presents the professional reflections and "travels" of a traveling showman, a man of meager education but immense, homespun sagacity. Through letters, lectures, and anecdotal reports, he traverses a country fractured by the Civil War, offering commentary on everything from the politics of Washington to the domestic management of his own family in Baldinsville. He survives imprisonment, draft boards, and professional disasters with a resilient, irreverent humor that elevates the mundane and mocks the self-important, cementing his legacy as a foundational figure in American comic literature.

The Story

The narrative arc follows the showman as he journeys across a nation caught in the throes of the Civil War. Opening with his professional misadventures in the South—where his traveling museum of wax statues and "sagashus beests" is confiscated by zealous Confederates—he finds himself in a jail cell, engaging in witty, impertinent conversation with Jefferson Davis. He escapes the South not through heroic combat, but through his own brand of stubborn, nonsensical charm, eventually returning to his home in Baldinsville, a village where the war fever has transformed the local citizenry into a comical array of self-appointed "Commanders-in-Chief."

The story unfolds through a series of episodic reports, each documenting his efforts to navigate a world that takes itself far too seriously. He delivers a Fourth of July oration in Weathersfield that is interrupted by sunstroke and his own inability to navigate the complexities of "grammers." He participates in local "war meetings," where he engages in verbal sparring with local editors and self-important students, constantly deflating their grandiloquence with pointed, if eccentric, observations. He travels to New York to oversee the printing of his colorful show posters, laments the loss of his old boarding house, and critiques the changing state of the nation with a mixture of nostalgia and sharp-eyed satire.

The middle section takes him to Canada, where he reflects on the historical battles of Wolfe and Montcalm with a tourist’s detached, slightly irreverent curiosity, noting the commercialization of war history—a precursor to his own theatrical business model. His journey concludes with a post-war visit to Richmond, where the city has recently "catterpillertulated." Here, he encounters a "proud and hawty" Southerner who, despite his lingering resentment and desire to remain "unconquered," is quickly humbled by the primal, universal need for hash and onions.

The book ends on a domestic note, as the showman writes to the Prince of Wales, offering unsolicited but earnest advice on marriage and his own professional prosperity. These final letters serve as a bridge between his public, performative life and his private identity as a husband and father. He finds contentment not in political grandstanding, but in the simple, noisy, and expensive reality of raising his children, dismissing the empty, solitary life of the bachelor as a pathetic existence. Throughout, his voice remains constant: that of a man who sees the tragedy of war but insists on finding the comedy in the human condition, finally settling into a quiet, prosperous life as he observes the Republic stitching itself back together.

How It Unfolds

The confiscated showman After being captured in the South, the narrator uses his wit to survive, eventually confronting Jefferson Davis and asserting his loyalty to the "Star-Spangled Banner." He escapes with his life, though his wax figures remain a source of professional heartbreak.

The village under fire Back in Baldinsville, the narrator finds his neighbors eager for war but woefully unprepared, leading to a hilarious, drunken reenactment of the surrender of Cornwallis. The "battle" serves as a microcosm of the period's grandiosity, undermined by the human frailty of the participants.

The orator at home In speeches and meetings, the narrator systematically disrupts the pomposity of local editors and law students. By deflating their rhetoric with sharp, off-the-cuff remarks, he reclaims the space for common-sense patriotism over political posturing.

The observer abroad Traveling to New York and Canada, he views the world with the eyes of an outsider. He mocks the historical tourist traps and the fleeting nature of urban change, always grounding his observations in his own "perfessional" perspective.

The post-war reconciliation Visiting a fallen Richmond, he encounters the lingering bitterness of the South but treats it with a mixture of pity and practicality. He insists that the war is over, the Union has prevailed, and it is time for the nation to stop fighting and start eating.

The People

The central figure is the narrator himself, a man who describes his own intellectual capacity with ironic self-deprecation while possessing a piercing, intuitive understanding of human nature. He is a survivor, a businessman, and an unapologetic patriot who uses humor as a defensive shield against the chaos of his time.

Opposite him stands the Editor of the Bugle, a man defined by his own verbosity and his desperate need to be seen as the intellectual heart of the village. He represents the self-importance that the narrator finds so ripe for ridicule. Similarly, the "proud and hawty" Southerner in Richmond embodies the lingering, futile resistance of a lost cause. Through these encounters, the narrator reveals the difference between those who inhabit reality and those who inhabit their own inflated self-images.

Then there is the narrator’s wife, a "superior woman" who provides the grounding for his erratic life. She is a figure of domestic stability, a sharp contrast to the chaotic world the narrator traverses. Their relationship, while subject to his rambling, often absurd commentary, is the emotional core that keeps him tethered to his home. Finally, there is the "Olonzo Ward" character—a brother the narrator disowns for the professional indignity of revealing his true gender while posing as a "Bearded Woman." These figures, from the absurd to the foundational, populate the narrator’s world and allow him to demonstrate his own unique, balanced philosophy.

In Its Own Voice

"I will not call that man who sez my statoots is humbugs a lier and a hoss thief, but bring him be4 me and I'll wither him with one of my scornful frowns."

The narrator defends the integrity of his wax museum collection against critics in his opening account of his Southern travels.

"I luv the Union--it is a Big thing--and it makes my hart bleed to see a lot of ornery peple a-movin heaven--no, not heaven, but the other place--and earth, to bust it up."

During his Fourth of July oration, the narrator clearly states his position on the preservation of the American Republic.

"You fit splendid, but we was too many for you. Then make the best of it, & let us all give in and put the Republic on a firmer basis nor ever."

Addressing a disgruntled Southerner in Richmond, the narrator offers a candid, plain-spoken assessment of the war's conclusion.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an argument for the "well-balanced mind." It explores the tension between grand, theoretical abstractions—like national crises or historical prestige—and the immediate, messy reality of daily existence. The narrator rejects the "soft" intellectualism of politicians and editors in favor of a pragmatism rooted in human connection and a deep, if sometimes begrudging, love for the Union. It is a meditation on how one survives catastrophe by refusing to abandon one’s sense of perspective. Ultimately, the work asks how a nation can be held together by common sense rather than ideology, suggesting that the "music of the laughter of happy, well-fed children" is more essential to a republic than the rhetoric of war.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate the roots of American satire—those who find joy in the works of Mark Twain—will find this a treasure. The book feels like a conversation with a sharp-witted, slightly eccentric uncle who has seen the world and isn't afraid to poke fun at the things everyone else treats as sacred.

However, a modern reader must approach it with eyes open to its challenges. The heavy use of intentional misspelling and phonetic dialect, meant to mimic the oral humor of the mid-19th century, can be slow going for the uninitiated. Furthermore, the attitudes toward race, the "Red Man," and women reflect the prejudices of their time, which appear starkly in the casual, sometimes jarring, remarks embedded in the text. Despite these period trappings, the core of the work—the struggle to remain sane and humorous in the face of national trauma—is remarkably timeless. What stays with you is the narrator’s voice: resilient, stubbornly individualistic, and deeply convinced that no matter how loud the world gets, a well-placed "goak" is the most effective tool for keeping one’s feet on the ground. It is not a quick read, but it is a profoundly human one.