[Screens announce scene and Chorus begins Entracte: "The Summer Days Are Come Again".]

[Darkness; curtains closed. Spotlight on speaking Artemus at writing desk on right stage.]

ARTEMUS: Editer of the Sheboygan Bugle of Liberty

SIR -- I weeld my fasil kwill to declare that Ime moving alung -- slowly alung -- down tors yore plase. [Please see 19th century Vanity Fair drawing and RETURN.](I cum bak with my virtoos unimpared, but Ive gut to git sum new close.) I wunt you to rite me a letter, sayin how is the show bizniss in yore plase.

You no, whin I cominst my kureer as a morul eksibiter with a 6-legged cat & a Bass drum, I wus only a simpul pesent chile. Skarse 15 Summers had blowd ovir my yoothful hed. But I had some mind of my own. My farther understud this. "Go", he sed -- "go, my sun, & hawg the Publik!" (He ment, "nok um", but the ole man wus allus a little givin to slang.) Farther put his whithered han tremlinlly onto my hed, & sadly wint into the house. I thot I saw teers triklin down his venerbul chin. But it mite hav bin terbaker joose. (He chawd.)

I wus tole in my yooth to seeze opportunity. I onct tryed to seeze 1. He wus rich. He had diminds on. As I seezed him, he nokt me down. Sins then I hav larnt that he who seezes opportunity sees the penetentiary.

My Show at prisint consists of 3 morul Bares, a Kangaroo (a amoozin little Raskal), wax figgers of G. Washington, General Taylor, John Bunyun, Captin Kidd, & Dr Webster in the ack of killin Dr Parmen. Besides sevrul mislanyus morul wax statoots of selybrated piruts & murderers, etsettery -- ekalled by few & ekselled by nun! Now, Mr Editer, skrach orf a few lines sayin how is the show bizniss down to yore plase. I shall hav my hanbills run orf at yore orfiss. Depen on it.

I wunt you shood git my hanbills up in a flamin stile. Also git up tremenjis eksitemint in yore paper bowt my onparalleld Show. We mus foch the Publik sumhow. We mus wurk on thare feelins. Sik the morul on em strong. Ef hits a tempruns cumoonity, tell em I sined the plej 15 minits arter Ise born. Say Ime a Sun of Malty & mimber of sevrul uther Tempruns sosieties, & my wife is a Dawter of Malty. But, on the konery, ef yore peepul taik thare toddies, say that no drap of gud likker has parsed by my lips in 15 yeers -- I rech fur it wile its goin by. Say Mr Ward is as jenial a feller as you iver met, full of conwiviality, & the Life & Sole of the Soshul Bored. Get it, dunt ye?

Ef you say enythin bowt my Show, say my snaiks is as harmles as the new born Babe. Say my Show containes a panoramy called a Grand Moving Diarea of the War in the Crimea -- a work of art. (It is a oil painting -- dun in Petroleum. It is by The Old Marsters -- the larst thing they did be4 dyin.) All fur 15 sents -- childern harf prise.

Ime ankyus to skewer yore infooanse. I repeet in regurd to them hanbills I shall git em struk orf in yore printin orfiss. My perliterkal sintimints agree with yorn eksakly. I no they do, sins I niver met a man hoos didunt. (N. B. You skrach my bak & Ile scrach yorn.)

Betsy Jane & the Progeny air well. Regurds to Saint Jorge & the Draggin. Ever be happy! [Pause.]

A. Ward

[DARKNESS]