Josh Billings - The Complete Works of Josh Billings

His first book was issued May 19, 1866, in New York, by George W. Carleton, the publisher of Artemus Ward’s Works, and was entitled “Josh Billings, His Book.” This volume had a large sale, and was followed in July, 1868, by a new work entitled “Josh Billings on Ice.” But his greatest success, in a literary line, was the publication of

of which the New York Tribune , in 1875, says: —

“Several years ago Mr. Carleton, the publisher was seized with the belief that a burlesque of the popular almanac, such as the “Old Farmers’ Almanac,” to which New England pinned its meteorological faith, would be remunerative. He suggested the idea first to “Artemus Ward,” afterwards to “Orpheus C. Kerr,” and next to “Doesticks,” but none of them thought favorably of it. An arrangement was at last made with “Josh Billings,” and so the “Allminax” came about. Nearly 150,000 copies were sold the first year, 1870, and almost as many since, and though the retail price is only a quarter of a dollar, Mr. Shaw is said to have received nearly $5,000 the first year, and over $30,000 in all.”

It has been said of Josh Billings by one of the critics of his own land that “His wit has no edge to betray a malicious motive; but is rather a Feejee club, grotesquely carved and painted, that makes those who feel it grin while they wince. All whom he kills die with a smile upon their faces.” In directing his shafts against humbug, pretension, and falsity he worthily carries out the true vocation of the comic writer. Many authors there are who write funnily merely to amuse. There is always a higher purpose peeping out from among the quaint fancies and odd expressions of Josh Billings . Just inasmuch as America is prolific of humorists and satirists, does she require them. The bane and the antidote grow in the same garden.

Were it not for the satirists of America – of whom Josh Billings is one as well as a humorist – it is difficult to imagine to what ludicrous eccentricities the people would lend themselves. Too self-sufficient to listen to argument, they are keenly sensitive to ridicule, and a little of Josh Billings is more effective in doing good than the best sermon a foreign friend could preach them. Burlesque their salient, amiable weaknesses – that is, let them be burlesqued by one of their own people, not by a foreigner – and they at once see the point of the joke. In illustration of this, there was a paper in Cincinnati which was very much given to use the phrase, “this great country,” and carried the use of it to an unwarrantable extent. It ceased to do so when the following appeared in a neighboring journal: —

“This is a glorious country! It has longer rivers and more of them, and they are muddier and deeper, and run faster, and rise higher, and make more noise, and fall lower, and do more damage than anybody else’s rivers. It has more lakes, and they are bigger and deeper, and clearer, and wetter than those of any other country. Our rail-cars are bigger, and run faster, and pitch off the track oftener, and kill more people than all other rail-cars in this and every other country. Our steamboats carry bigger loads, are longer and broader, burst their boilers oftener, and send up their passengers higher, and the captains swear harder than steamboat captains in any other country. Our men are bigger, and longer, and thicker, can fight harder and faster, drink more mean whiskey, chew more bad tobacco, and spit more, and spit further than in any other country. Our ladies are richer, prettier, dress finer, spend more money, break more hearts, wear bigger hoops, shorter dresses, and kick up the devil generally to a greater extent than all other ladies in all other countries. Our children squall louder, grow faster, get too expansive for their pantaloons, and become twenty years old sooner by some months than any other children of any other country on the earth.”

Burlesques, such as the above, whether written by Artemus Ward or Josh Billings , have not been without their good effect in the United States. The genius of “hifaluten” as the Americans call it – the word is derived, I believe, from “hyphen-looping” – has received many mortal wounds lately from the hands of the satirists and good results have ensued.

The writings of Josh Billings cannot be read with out exciting mirth, without sometimes hitting home, nor without the reader becoming satisfied that America has added to her humorous authors one in every way well qualified to take foremost rank.

For real side-shaking fun, the reader may turn to many pages of this volume and find a copious supply; but, if he is desirous of humor and pathos allied, let him turn to the chapter on “The Fust Baby,” page 383. He will there find that, underlying the caustic wit of Josh Billings , and a stratum or two deeper than his quaint fun, is a quiet layer of genuine feeling capable of comprehending and of originating the power to express the very poetry of pathos. The “fust baby” born “on the wrong side of the garden ov Eden” is invested in this humorous essay with all the interest which babyhood is susceptible of acquiring.

There is little that remains to be said relative to Mr. Shaw, except to express the opinion that he has taken a very worthy position among the authors of his own country, and is likely to become a general favorite in England in his character of “ Josh Billings .” Some of his latest papers were contributed to the New York Saturday Press , under the head of “Cooings and Billings,” with a commendatory notice by the editor of that paper, Henry Clapp, jun., whose name is not altogether unknown to the literary men of London and of Paris.

Kontentment is the gift ov God, as it kan be cultivated a little, but it is hard tew acquire. Kontentment is sed to be the same az happiness, this ackounts for the small amount ov happiness laying around loose, without enny owner. I don’t beleave that man was made tew be kontented, nor happy in this world, for if he had bin, he wouldn’t hav hankered enuff for the other world.

When a man gits perfektly kontented, he and a clam are fust couzins.

Contentment iz a kind ov moral laziness; if thare want ennything but kontentment in this world, man wouldn’t be any more of a suckcess than an angleworm iz.

When a man gits so he don’t want ennything more, he iz like a rackcoon with his intestines full ov green corn.

Contentment iz one ov the instinkts, i admit it tew be happiness, but it iz kind ov spruce gum chawing happiness.

We all find fault with Adam and Eve, for not being kontented, but if they had bin satisfied with the gardin ov Eden, and themselfs, they would hav been living thare now, the only two human beings on the face ov the arth, az innocent as a couple of vegetable oysters.

They would hav bin two splendid specimens ov the handy work ov God, elegant portraits in the vestibule ov heaven, but they would not hav developed reazon, the only God-like attribute in man.

When a man iz thoroly kontented, he iz either too lazy to want ennything, or too big a phool tew enjoy it.

I hav lived in naberhoods whare everyboddy seemed to be kontented, but if the itch had ever broke out in them naberhoods, the people would have skratched to this day.

I am in favor of all the vanitys, and petty ambishuns, all the jealousys and backbitings in the world, not bekauze i think they am hansome, but bekauze I think they stir up men, and wimmin, git them onto their muscle, cultivating their venom and reazon at the same time, and proving what a brilliant cuss man may be, at the same time that it proves what a miserable cuss he iz.