BILL NYE.
Away out in the wilds of Wyoming Territory, in the fast growing city of Laramie, dwells one of the most noted funny men of to-day. Bill Nye is a modest looking name, and at first sight looks like anom de plume; yet Bill Nye is the “only and original” of that name. He is a young man, and has been in the journalistic profession only three or four years. He began work on the Laramie City Boomerang, and is at present the managing editor of that publication. The Boomerang is a newspaper of metropolitan proportions, and issues both daily and weekly editions.
Bill Nye has, during the past two years, written a larger quantity and a better quality of first-class, genuine humor, than any other funny man in America. He is widely quoted, and has issued one book entitled, Bill Nye and his Mule Boomerang. This volume was issued in Chicago in 1881, and had a tremendous sale. Like others of his class, Nye is modest, and prefers to relate to theawaiting world his own misfortunes, in his own peculiar style. He writes as follows:
“My Dear Clemens: I herein make a few brief statements, which you are at liberty to enlarge upon in such a way as to give my life that odor of holy calm and unblemished smirchlessness which will sound well in history.“I was born on the 25th day of August, A. D., 1850, somewhere in the State of Maine. I do not remember where. It was either along the Atlantic seaboard, or on the Kennebec river, and the exact spot has escaped my memory. As soon as I could walk I left Maine and came west, where I have been for about thirty years.“Looking over my whole eventful career, I see nothing to regret, except the fact that I was born in Maine. Probably the State of Maine regrets it as much as I do.”“My early childhood was spent in acquiring knowledge relative to the habits and movements of the bumble-bee and the water-melon.“There is nothing in particular, perhaps, to distinguish my youth from that of other eminent men. I did not study the Greek grammar by the light of a pine knot when I was a child. I did not think about it. Had I supposed that I would ever rise to the proud pinnacle of fame, I might have filled my system full of deceasedlanguages, but as it was, I thought I was in luck to acquire sufficient education to last me from one meal to another.“I did not do any smart things as a child. It remained for later years to bring out the latent genius and digestive strength which I now possess. I did not graduate first in my class. I did not rise to distinction in two weeks. I did not dazzle the civilized world with my sterling ability. I just plugged along from day to day, and when I had an afternoon to myself it did not occur to me that I might read Horace, or Cicero, or the dictionary. I fooled away those priceless moments carrying water to the elephant, so that I could acquire information at the circus.“My journalistic career has been short, but full of interest. Though only covering a space of three or four years, it has been rich in amusement and gory personal encounter.“The West is well known as the home of fearless and deadly journalism. It brings out all there is in a man and throws him upon his own resources. It also throws him down stairs if he is not constantly on his guard.“I am an attorney by profession and a newspaper man by force of circumstances. I am married and have been for five years. I do not regret this step.“I am six feet high, of commanding appearance, and would be selected in any audience as a man who would not rob an overland train while there was anyone looking.“I am in robust health, with the exception of a corn, which I inherited from the old stock of Nyes, who first invaded the free lunch counters of Skouhegan, Maine.“To any one who is curious to investigate my career while in the West, I would say that I cheerfully refer them to any vigilance committee of this section.“If I can throw any more light on this delicate topic, or should the public care for a fuller diagnosis, I am always at your service.Bill Nye.“Laramie City, Wyoming, January 27, 1882.”
“My Dear Clemens: I herein make a few brief statements, which you are at liberty to enlarge upon in such a way as to give my life that odor of holy calm and unblemished smirchlessness which will sound well in history.
“I was born on the 25th day of August, A. D., 1850, somewhere in the State of Maine. I do not remember where. It was either along the Atlantic seaboard, or on the Kennebec river, and the exact spot has escaped my memory. As soon as I could walk I left Maine and came west, where I have been for about thirty years.
“Looking over my whole eventful career, I see nothing to regret, except the fact that I was born in Maine. Probably the State of Maine regrets it as much as I do.”
“My early childhood was spent in acquiring knowledge relative to the habits and movements of the bumble-bee and the water-melon.
“There is nothing in particular, perhaps, to distinguish my youth from that of other eminent men. I did not study the Greek grammar by the light of a pine knot when I was a child. I did not think about it. Had I supposed that I would ever rise to the proud pinnacle of fame, I might have filled my system full of deceasedlanguages, but as it was, I thought I was in luck to acquire sufficient education to last me from one meal to another.
“I did not do any smart things as a child. It remained for later years to bring out the latent genius and digestive strength which I now possess. I did not graduate first in my class. I did not rise to distinction in two weeks. I did not dazzle the civilized world with my sterling ability. I just plugged along from day to day, and when I had an afternoon to myself it did not occur to me that I might read Horace, or Cicero, or the dictionary. I fooled away those priceless moments carrying water to the elephant, so that I could acquire information at the circus.
“My journalistic career has been short, but full of interest. Though only covering a space of three or four years, it has been rich in amusement and gory personal encounter.
“The West is well known as the home of fearless and deadly journalism. It brings out all there is in a man and throws him upon his own resources. It also throws him down stairs if he is not constantly on his guard.
“I am an attorney by profession and a newspaper man by force of circumstances. I am married and have been for five years. I do not regret this step.
“I am six feet high, of commanding appearance, and would be selected in any audience as a man who would not rob an overland train while there was anyone looking.
“I am in robust health, with the exception of a corn, which I inherited from the old stock of Nyes, who first invaded the free lunch counters of Skouhegan, Maine.
“To any one who is curious to investigate my career while in the West, I would say that I cheerfully refer them to any vigilance committee of this section.
“If I can throw any more light on this delicate topic, or should the public care for a fuller diagnosis, I am always at your service.
Bill Nye.
“Laramie City, Wyoming, January 27, 1882.”
There is no doubt that during later years Bill Nye has been more extensively copied than any other humorist of the day. Among the hundreds of good things he has produced, I select a few of the most touching and pathetic:
THE ENGLISH JOKE.The average English joke has its peculiarities. A sort of mellow distance, a kind of chastened reluctance, a coy and timid, yet trusting, thoughevanescent intangibility which softly lingers in the troubled air, and lulls the tired senses to dreamy rest, like the subdued murmur of a hoarse jackass about nine miles up the gulch. He must be a hardened wretch indeed, who has not felt his bosom heave and the scalding tears steal down his furrowed cheek after he has read an English joke. There can be no hope for the man who has not been touched by the gentle, pleading, yet all potent, sadness embodied in the humorous paragraph of the true Englishman. One may fritter away his existence in chasing follies of our day and generation, and have naught to look back upon but a choice assortment of robust regrets, but if he will stop in his mad career to read an English pun, his attention will be called to the solemn thought that life is, after all, but a tearful journey to the tomb. Death and disaster on every hand may fail to turn the minds of a thoughtless world to serious matters, but when the London funny man grapples with a particularly skittish and evasive joke, with its weeping willow attachment, and hurls it at a giddy and reckless humanity, a prolonged wail of anguish goes up from broken hearts and a sombre pall hangs in the gladsome sky like a pair of soldier pants with only one suspender.MR. NYE EMBARRASSED.There was an entertainment at Laramie a few evenings ago, at which the guests appeared in such costumes as their taste suggested. The following will give some idea of the occasion:Mr. Nye wore a Prince Albert coat with tails caught back with red jeans, and home made sunflowers. He also wore a pair of velvet knee breeches, which, during the evening, in an unguarded moment, split up the side about nine feet. This, together with the fact that one of his long black stockings got caught on the top of a window cornice, tearing a small hole in it, letting out the saw-dust and baled hay with which he was made up, seemed to cast a gloom over the countenance of this particular guest. With one large voluptuous calf, and the other considerably attenuated, Mr. Nye seemed more or less embarrassed.
THE ENGLISH JOKE.
The average English joke has its peculiarities. A sort of mellow distance, a kind of chastened reluctance, a coy and timid, yet trusting, thoughevanescent intangibility which softly lingers in the troubled air, and lulls the tired senses to dreamy rest, like the subdued murmur of a hoarse jackass about nine miles up the gulch. He must be a hardened wretch indeed, who has not felt his bosom heave and the scalding tears steal down his furrowed cheek after he has read an English joke. There can be no hope for the man who has not been touched by the gentle, pleading, yet all potent, sadness embodied in the humorous paragraph of the true Englishman. One may fritter away his existence in chasing follies of our day and generation, and have naught to look back upon but a choice assortment of robust regrets, but if he will stop in his mad career to read an English pun, his attention will be called to the solemn thought that life is, after all, but a tearful journey to the tomb. Death and disaster on every hand may fail to turn the minds of a thoughtless world to serious matters, but when the London funny man grapples with a particularly skittish and evasive joke, with its weeping willow attachment, and hurls it at a giddy and reckless humanity, a prolonged wail of anguish goes up from broken hearts and a sombre pall hangs in the gladsome sky like a pair of soldier pants with only one suspender.
MR. NYE EMBARRASSED.
There was an entertainment at Laramie a few evenings ago, at which the guests appeared in such costumes as their taste suggested. The following will give some idea of the occasion:
Mr. Nye wore a Prince Albert coat with tails caught back with red jeans, and home made sunflowers. He also wore a pair of velvet knee breeches, which, during the evening, in an unguarded moment, split up the side about nine feet. This, together with the fact that one of his long black stockings got caught on the top of a window cornice, tearing a small hole in it, letting out the saw-dust and baled hay with which he was made up, seemed to cast a gloom over the countenance of this particular guest. With one large voluptuous calf, and the other considerably attenuated, Mr. Nye seemed more or less embarrassed.