P.S.--June 16th.--Artemus Ward really arrived in London yesterday.
He has come to England at last, though, like "La Belle Helene at
the Adelphi Theatre, he "has been some time in preparation."

JOHN CAMDEN HOTTEN, Piccadilly, W. Jan. 30, 1865.

5.1. ARRIVAL IN LONDON.

MR. PUNCH: My dear Sir,--You prob'ly didn't meet my uncle Wilyim
when he was on these shores. I jedge so from the fack that his
pursoots wasn't litrary. Commerce, which it has been trooly
observed by a statesman, or somebody, is the foundation stone
onto which a nation's greatness rests, glorious Commerce was
Uncle Wilyim's fort. He sold soap. It smelt pretty, and redily
commanded two pents a cake. I'm the only litrary man in our
fam'ly. It is troo, I once had a dear cuzzun who wrote 22 verses
onto "A Child who nearly Died of the Measles, O!" but as he
injoodiciously introjudiced a chorious at the end of each stansy,
the parrents didn't like it at all. The father in particler wept
afresh, assaulted my cuzzun, and said he never felt so ridicklus
in his intire life. The onhappy result was that my cuzzun
abandined poetry forever, and went back to shoemakin, a shattered
man.

My Uncle Wilyim disposed of his soap, and returned to his nativ
land with a very exolted opinyon of the British public. "It is a
edycated community," said he; "they're a intellectooal peple. In
one small village alone I sold 50 cakes of soap, incloodin
barronial halls, where they offered me a ducal coronet, but I