A Unique Story of a Marvellous Career. Life of Hon. Phineas T. Barnum
by Joel Benton
Hypertext Meanings and Commentaries
from the Encyclopedia of the Self
by Mark Zimmerman

By JOEL BENTON.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I. IN THE BEGINNING.
Family and Birth--School Life--His First Visit to New York
City--A Landed Proprietor--The Ethics of Trade--Farm Work and
Keeping Store--Meeting-house and Sunday-school--"The One Thing
Needful."

CHAPTER II. EARLY YEARS AT BETHEL.
Death of his Grandmother and Father--Left Penniless and
Bare-footed--Work in a Store--His First Love--Trying to buy
Russia--Uncle Bibbin's Duel

CHAPTER III. BUSINESS LIFE
Removal to Brooklyn--Smallpox--Goes Home to Recover His
Health--Renewed Acquaintance with the Pretty Tailoress--First
Independent Business Venture--Residence in New York--Return to
Bethel--Anecdotes

CHAPTER IV. TRYING MANY VENTURES.
Visit to Pittsburg--Successful Lottery Business--Marriage--First
Editorial Venture--Libel Suit--Imprisonment and
Liberation--Removal to New York--Hard Times--Keeping a Boarding
House

CHAPTER V. BEGINNING AS A SHOWMAN.
Finding His True Vocation--The Purchase of Joice Heth--Evidence
as to Her Age--Her Death--Signor Vivalla--Visit to
Washington--Joining a Travelling Circus--Controversies with
Ministers--The Victim of a Practical Joke

CHAPTER VI. INCIDENTS OF A CIRCUS TOUR.
Beating a Landlord--A Joke on Turner--Barnum as a Preacher and as
a Negro Minstrel--A Bad Man with a Gun--Dealing with a
Sheriff--"Lady Hayes"--An Embarrassed Juggler--Barnum as a
Matrimonial Agent

CHAPTER VII. HARD TIMES.
Advertising for a Partner--"Quaker Oats"--Diamond the Dancer--A
Dishonest Manager--Return to New York--From Hand to Mouth--The
American Museum

CHAPTER VIII. THE AMERICAN MUSEUM.
Advertising Extraordinary--A Quick-witted Performer--Niagara
Falls with Real Water--Other Attractions--Drummond Light

CHAPTER IX. INCREASED POPULARITY OF THE MUSEUM.
The American Flag and St. Paul's--St. Patrick's Day--The Baby
Show--Grand Buffalo Hunt--N. P. Willis--The First Wild West Show

CHAPTER X. GIANTS AND DWARFS.
Science for the Public--Mesmerism Extraordinary--Killing off a
Rival--The Two Giants--Discovery of "Tom Thumb"--Seeking Other
Worlds to Conquer--First Visit to England

CHAPTER XI. TOM THUMB IN LONDON.
An Aristocratic Visitor--Calling at Buckingham Palace and
Hobnobbing with Royalty--Getting a Puff in the "Court
Circular"--The Iron Duke--A Great Social and Financial Success

CHAPTER XII. IN FRANCE.
Arrival in Paris--Visit to the Tuilleries--Longchamps--"Tom
Ponce" all the Rage--Bonaparte and Louis Phillipi--Tour through
France--Barnum's Purchase

CHAPTER XIII. IN BELGIUM.
Presented to King Leopold and the Queen--The General's Jewels
stolen--The Field of Waterloo--An Accident--An Expensive
Equipage--The Custom of the Country

CHAPTER XIV. IN ENGLAND AGAIN.
Egyptian Hall and the Zoological Garden--The Special
Relics--Purchase of the Happy Family--Return to America

CHAPTER XV. AT HOME.
Partnership with Tom Thumb--Visit to Cuba--Iranistan, his Famous
Palace at Bridgeport--Barnum's Game-Keeper and the Great Game
Dinner--Frank Leslie

CHAPTER XVI. JENNY LIND.
A Daring Venture--Barnum's Ambassador--Unprecedented Terms
offered--Text of the Contract--Hard Work to Raise the Guarantee
Fund--Educating the American Mind to receive the Famous Singer

CHAPTER XVII. ARRIVAL OF JENNY LIND.
First Meeting with Barnum--Reception in New York--Poems in Her
Honor--A Furore of Public Interest--Sale of Tickets for the First
Concert--Barnum's Change in Terms--Ten Thousand Dollars for
Charity--Enormous Success of the First Concert

CHAPTER XVIII. CONTINUED TRIUMPH.
Successful Advertising--The Responsibilities of Riches--Visit to
Iranistan--Ovations at Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore and
Washington--Visit to Mt. Vernon--Charleston--Havana--Fredericka
Brerner

CHAPTER XIX. HAVANA.
Conquest of the Habaneros--The Italian and his Dog--Mad
Bennett--A Successful Ruse--Return to New Orleans--Ludicrous
Incident--Up the Mississippi--Legerdemain

CHAPTER XX. THE TRIALS OF AN IMPRESSARIO.
St Louis--The Secretary's Little Game--Legal Advice--Smooth
Waters Again--Barnum's Efforts Appreciated--An Extravagant
Encomium

CHAPTER XXI. CLOSING THE GRAND TOUR.
April Fool Jokes at Nashville--A Trick at Cincinnati--Return to
New York--Jenny Lind Persuaded to Leave Barnum--Financial Results
of the Enterprise

CHAPTER XXII. A FEW SIDE ISSUES.
The Expedition to Ceylon--Harnessing an Elephant to a
Plow--Barnum and Vanderbilt--The Talking Machine--A Fire at
Iranistan--Mountain Grove Cemetery

CHAPTER XXIII. SOME DOMESTIC ENTERPRISES.
Putting a Pickpocket on Exhibition--Traveling Incognito--The
Pequonnock Bank--The New York Crystal Palace--A Poem on an
Incident at Iranistan

CHAPTER XXIV. THE JEROME CLOCK COMPANY.
Founding East Bridgeport--Growth of the City--The Jerome Clock
Bubble--A Ruined Man--Paying Honest Debts--Down in the Depths

CHAPTER XXV. THE WHEAT AND THE CHAFF.
False and True Friends--Meeting of Bridgeport Citizens--Barnum's
Letter--Tom Thumb's Offer--Shillaber's Poem--Barnum's Message to
the Creditors of the Jerome Clock Company--Removal to New
York--Beginning Life Anew at Forty-six

CHAPTER XXVI. IDLENESS WITHOUT REST.
Annoying Persecutions of Creditors--Summer on Long Island--The
Black Whale Pays the Board Bill--The Wheeler & Wilson Company
Remove to East Bridgeport--Setting Sail for England

CHAPTER XXVII. A PROSPEROUS EXILE.
His Successful Pupil--Making Many Friends in London--Acquaintance
with Thackeray--A Comedy of Errors in a German Custom
House--Aristocratic Patronage at Fashionable Resorts--Barnum's
Impressions of Holland and the Dutch

CHAPTER XXVIII. HOME AGAIN.
A Jolly Voyage--Mock Trial on Shipboard--Barnum on Trial for His
Life--Discomfited Witnesses and a Triumphant Prisoner--Fair
Weather Friends--The Burning of Iranistan

CHAPTER XXIX. THE ART OF MONEY GETTING.
The Lecture Field--Success--Cambridge--Oxford--An Unique
Entertainment--Barnum Equal to the Occasion--Invited to Stay a
Week

CHAPTER XXX. AN ENTERPRISING ENGLISHMAN.
A New Friend--Dinner to Tom Thumb and Commodore Nutt--Measuring
the Giant--The Two Engines

CHAPTER XXXI. AT HOME AGAIN.
The Clock Debts Paid--The Museum once more under Barnum's
Management--Enthusiastic Reception--His Speech--Two Poems

CHAPTER XXXII. THE STORY OF "GRIZZLY ADAMS."
Barnum's Partnership with the Famous Bear Hunter--Fooling Him
with the "Golden Pigeons"--Adams Earns $500 at Desperate
Cost--Tricking Barnum out of a Fine Hunting Suit--Prosperity of
the Museum--Visit of the Prince of Wales

CHAPTER XXXIII. BUILDING A CITY.
At Home Once More--Growth of East Bridgeport--Barnum's Offer to
Men Wanting Homes of Their Own--Remarkable Progress of the
Place--How the Streets were Named

CHAPTER XXXIV. A GREAT YEAR AT THE MUSEUM.
Capturing and Exhibiting White Whales--Newspaper Comments--A
Touching Obituary--The Great Behemoth--A Long "Last
Week"--Commodore Nutt--Real Live Indians on Exhibition

CHAPTER XXXV. GENERAL AND MRS. TOM THUMB.
Miss Lavinia Warren--The Rivals--Miss Warren's Engagement to Tom
Thumb--The Wedding--Grand Reception--Letter From a Would-be
Guest, and Dr Taylor's Reply

CHAPTER XXXVI. POLITICAL NOTES.
Barnum Becomes a Republican--Illuminating the House of a
Democrat--The Peace Meeting--Elected to the Legislature--War on
the Railroads--Speech on the Amendment

CHAPTER XXXVII. BURNING OF THE AMERICAN MUSEUM.
How Barnum Received the Tidings--Humorous Description of the
Fire--A Public Calamity--Greeley's Advice--Intention to
Re-establish the Museum--Speech at Employees' Benefit  

CHAPTER XXXVIII. POLITICAL LIFE.
In the Connecticut Legislature--The Great Railroad
Fight--Barnum's Effective Stroke--Canvassing for a United States
Senator--Barnum's Congressional Campaign--A Challenge that was
not Accepted

CHAPTER XXXIX. FIGHTING A NEWSPAPER.
Disposing of the Lease of the Museum Site--The Bargain with Mr.
Bennett--Barnum's Refusal to Back Out--A Long and Bitter War with
"The Herald"--Action of the Other Managers--The Return of Peace

CHAPTER XL. BRIDGEPORT.
The Fight for the Establishment of Seaside Park--Laying out City
Streets--Impatience with "Old Fogies"--Building a Seaside
Home--Waldemere--A Home in New York City

CHAPTER XLI. HONORS AND ADULATIONS.
Second Marriage--The King of Hawaii--Elected Mayor of
Bridgeport--Successful Tour of the Hippodrome--Barnum's
Retirement from Office

CHAPTER I. IN THE BEGINNING.

FAMILY AND BIRTH--SCHOOL LIFE--HIS FIRST VISIT TO NEW YORK CITY
--A LANDED PROPRIETOR--THE ETHICS OF TRADE--FARM WORK AND KEEPING
STORE--MEETING-HOUSE AND SUNDAY SCHOOL--"THE ONE THING NEEDFUL."

Among the names of great Americans of the nineteenth century
there is scarcely one more familiar to the world than that of the
subject of this biography. There are those that stand for higher
achievement in literature, science and art, in public life and in
the business world. There is none that stands for more notable
success in his chosen line, none that recalls more memories of
wholesome entertainment, none that is more invested with the
fragrance of kindliness and true humanity. His career was, in a
large sense, typical of genuine Americanism, of its enterprise
and pluck, of its indomitable will and unfailing courage, of its
shrewdness, audacity and unerring instinct for success.

Like so many of his famous compatriots, Phineas Taylor Barnum
came of good old New England stock. His ancestors were among the
builders of the colonies of Massachusetts and Connecticut. His
father's father, Ephraim Barnum, was a captain in the War of the
Revolution, and was distinguished for his valor and for his
fervent patriotism. His mother's father, Phineas Taylor, was
locally noted as a wag and practical joker. His father, Philo
Barnum, was in turn a tailor, a farmer, a storekeeper, and a
country tavernkeeper, and was not particularly prosperous in any
of these callings.

Philo Barnum and his wife, Irena Taylor, lived at Bethel,
Connecticut, and there, on July 5, 1810, their first child was
born. He was named Phineas Taylor Barnum, after his maternal
grandfather; and the latter, in return for the compliment,
bestowed upon his first grandchild at his christening the
title-deeds of a "landed estate," five acres in extent, known as
Ivy Island, and situated in that part of, Bethel known as the
"Plum Trees." Of this, more anon.

In his early years the boy led the life of the average New
England farmer's son of that period. He drove the cows to and
from the pasture, shelled corn, weeded the garden, and "did up
chores." As he grew older he rode the horse in plowing corn,
raked hay, wielded the shovel and the hoe, and chopped wood. At
six years old he began to go to school--the typical district
school. "The first date," he once said, "I remember inscribing
upon my writing-book was 1818." The ferule, or the birch-rod, was
in those days the assistant schoolmaster, and young Barnum made
its acquaintance. He was, however, an apt and ready scholar,
particularly excelling in mathematics. One night, when he was ten
years old, he was called out of bed by his teacher, who had made
a wager with a neighbor that Barnum could calculate the number of
feet in a load of wood in five minutes. Barnum did it in less
than two minutes, to the delight of his teacher and the
astonishment of the neighbor.

At an early age he manifested a strong development of the good
old Yankee organ of acquisitiveness. Before he was five years old
he had begun to hoard pennies and "fourpences," and at six years
old he was able to exchange his copper bits for a whole silver
dollar, the possession of which made him feel richer than he ever
felt afterward in all his life. Nor did he lay the dollar away in
a napkin, but used it in business to gain more. He would get ten
cents a day for riding a horse before the plow, and he would add
it to his capital. On holidays other boys spent all their
savings, but not so he. Such days were to him opportunities for
gain, not for squandering. At the fair or training of troops, or
other festivity, he would peddle candy and cakes, home-made, or
sometimes cherry rum, and by the end of the day would be a dollar
or two richer than at its beginning. "By the time I was twelve
years old," he tells us, "I was the owner of a sheep and a calf,
and should soon, no doubt, have become a small Croesus had not my
father kindly permitted me to purchase my own clothing, which
somewhat reduced my little store."

At ten years of age, realizing himself to be a "landed
proprietor" through the christening gift of his waggish
grandsire, young Barnum set out to survey his estate, which he
had not yet seen. He had heard much of "Ivy Island." His
grandfather had often, in the presence of the neighbors, spoken
of him as the richest child in the town, since he owned the whole
of Ivy Island, the richest farm in the State. His parents hoped
he would use his wealth wisely, and "do something for the family"
when he entered upon the possession of it; and the neighbors were
fearful lest he should grow too proud to associate with their
children.

The boy took all this in good faith, and his eager curiosity to
behold his estate was greatly increased, and he asked his father
to let him go thither. "At last," says Barnum, "he promised I
should do so in a few days, as we should be getting some hay near
'Ivy Island.' The wished-for day arrived, and my father told me
that as we were to mow an adjoining meadow. I might visit my
property in company with the hired man during the 'nooning.' My
grandfather reminded me that it was to his bounty I was indebted
for this wealth, and that had not my name been Phineas I might
never have been proprietor of 'Ivy Island.' To this my mother
added:

" 'Now, Taylor, don't become so excited when you see your
property as to let your joy make you sick, for remember, rich as
you are, that it will be eleven years before you can come into
possession of your fortune.'

"She added much more good advice, to all of which I promised to
be calm and reasonable, and not to allow my pride to prevent me
from speaking to my brothers and sisters when I returned home.

"When we arrived at the meadow, which was in that part of the
'Plum Trees' known as 'East Swamp,' I asked my father where 'Ivy
Island' was.

" 'Yonder, at the north end of this meadow, where you see those
beautiful trees rising in the distance.'

"All the forenoon I turned grass as fast as two men could cut it,
and after a hasty repast at noon, one of our hired men, a
good-natured Irishman, named Edmund, took an axe on his shoulder
and announced that he was ready to accompany me to 'Ivy Island.'
We started, and as we approached the north end of the meadow we
found the ground swampy and wet and were soon obliged to leap
from bog to bog on our route. A mis-step brought me up to my
middle in water, and to add to the dilemma a swarm of hornets
attacked me. Attaining the altitude of another bog I was cheered
by the assurance that there was only a quarter of a mile of this
kind of travel to the edge of my property. I waded on. In about
fifteen minutes more, after floundering through the morass, I
found myself half-drowned, hornet-stung, mud covered, and out of
breath, on comparatively dry land.

" 'Never mind, my boy,' said Edmund, 'we have only to cross this
little creek, and ye'll be upon your own valuable property.'

"We were on the margin of a stream, the banks of which were
thickly covered with alders. I now discovered the use of Edmund's
axe, for he felled a small oak to form a temporary bridge to my
'Island' property. Crossing over, I proceeded to the centre of my
domain. I saw nothing but a few stunted ivies and straggling
trees. The truth flashed upon me. I had been the laughing-stock
of the family and neighborhood for years. My valuable 'Ivy
Island' was an almost inaccessible, worthless bit of barren land,
and while I stood deploring my sudden downfall, a huge black
snake (one of my tenants) approached me with upraised head. I
gave one shriek and rushed for the bridge.

"This was my first and last visit to 'Ivy Island.' My father
asked me 'how I liked my property?' and I responded that I would
sell it pretty cheap."

The year 1822 was a memorable one in his childhood's history. He
was then about twelve years old. One evening, late in January,
Daniel Brown, a cattle-drover, of Southbury, Connecticut, arrived
at Bethel and stopped for the night at Philo Barnum's tavern. He
had with him some fat cattle, which he was driving to the New
York markets; and he wanted both to add to his drove of cattle
and to get a boy to help him drive them. Our juvenile hero heard
him say this, and forthwith made application for the job. His
father and mother gave their consent, and a bargain was quickly
closed with the drover.

"At daylight next morning," Barnum himself has related, "I
started on foot in the midst of a heavy snow-storm to help drive
the cattle. Before reaching Ridgefield I was sent on horseback
after a stray ox, and, in galloping, the horse fell and my ankle
was sprained. I suffered severely, but did not complain lest my
employer should send me back. We arrived at New York in three or
four days, and put up at the Bull's Head Tavern, where we were to
stay a week while the drover disposed of his cattle. It was an
eventful week for me. Before I left home my mother had given me a
dollar, which I supposed would supply every want that heart could
wish."

His first outlay was for oranges. "I was told," he says, "that
they were four pence apiece, and as four pence in Connecticut was
six cents, I offered ten cents for two oranges, which was of
course readily taken; and thus, instead of saving two cents, as I
thought, I actually paid two cents more than the price demanded.
I then bought two more oranges, reducing my capital to eighty
cents. Thirty-one cents was the charge for a small gun which
would 'go off' and send a stick some little distance, and this
gun I bought. Amusing myself with this toy in the bar-room of the
Bull's Head, the arrow happened to hit the bar-keeper, who
forthwith came from behind the counter and shook me, and soundly
boxed my ears, telling me to put that gun out of the way or he
would put it into the fire. I sneaked to my room, put my treasure
under the pillow, and went out for another visit to the toy shop.

"There I invested six cents in 'torpedoes,' with which I intended
to astonish my schoolmates in Bethel. I could not refrain,
however, from experimenting upon the guests of the hotel, which I
did when they were going in to dinner. I threw two of the
torpedoes against the wall of the hall through which the guests
were passing, and the immediate results were as follows: two loud
reports--astonished guests--irate landlord--discovery of the
culprit, and summary punishment--for the landlord immediately
floored me with a single blow with his open hand, and said:

" 'There, you little greenhorn, see if that will teach you better
than to explode your infernal fire-crackers in my house again.'

"The lesson was sufficient if not entirely satisfactory. I
deposited the balance of the torpedoes with my gun, and as a
solace for my wounded feelings I again visited the toy shop,
where I bought a watch, breastpin and top, leaving but eleven
cents of my original dollar.

"The following morning found me again at the fascinating toy
shop, where I saw a beautiful knife with two blades, a gimlet,
and a corkscrew--a whole carpenter shop in miniature, and all for
thirty-one cents. But, alas! I had only eleven cents. Have that
knife I must, however, and so I proposed to the shop-woman to
take back the top and breastpin at a slight deduction, and with
my eleven cents to let me have the knife. The kind creature
consented, and this makes memorable my first 'swap.' Some fine
and nearly white molasses candy then caught my eye, and I
proposed to trade the watch for its equivalent in candy. The
transaction was made, and the candy was so delicious that before
night my gun was absorbed in the same way. The next morning the
torpedoes 'went off' in the same direction, and before night even
my beloved knife was similarly exchanged. My money and my goods
all gone, I traded two pocket-handkerchiefs and an extra pair of
stockings I was sure I should not want for nine more rolls of
molasses candy, and then wandered about the city disconsolate,
sighing because there was no more molasses candy to conquer."

During that first visit to the metropolis the boy doubtless many
times passed the corner of Ann street and Broadway, where, in
after years, his famous museum stood. After a week in town he
returned to Bethel, riding with Brown in his sleigh, and found
himself a social lion among his young friends. He was plied with
a thousand questions about the great city which he had visited,
and no doubt told many wondrous tales. But at home his reception
was not altogether glorious. His brothers and sisters were
disappointed because he brought them nothing, and his mother,
discovering that during his journey he had lost two handkerchiefs
and a pair of stockings, gave him a spanking and put him to bed.

A settled aversion to manual labor was strongly developed in the
boy as he grew older, which his father considered simple
laziness. Instead of trying to cure him of his laziness, however,
the father decided to give up the farm, and open a store, hoping
that the boy would take more kindly to mercantile duties. So he
put up a building in Bethel, and in partnership with one Hiram
Weed opened a "general store," of dry goods, hardware, groceries,
etc., and installed young Phineas as clerk. They did a "cash,
credit and barter" business, and the boy soon learned to drive
sharp bargains with women who brought butter, eggs, beeswax and
feathers to exchange for dry goods, and with men who wanted to
trade oats, corn, buckwheat, axehelves, hats and other
commodities for ten-penny nails, molasses or New England rum. It
was a drawback upon his dignity that he was obliged to take down
the shutters, sweep the store and make the fire. He received a
small salary for his services and the perquisites of what profit
he could derive from purchasing candies on his own account to
sell to their younger customers, and, as usual, his father
insisted that he should clothe himself.

There was much to be learned in a country store, and principally,
as he found, this: that sharp tricks, deception and dishonesty
are by no means confined to the city. More than once, in cutting
open bundles of rags, brought to be exchanged for goods, he found
stones, gravel or other rubbish wrapped up in them, although they
were represented to be "all pure linen or cotton." Often, too,
loads of grain were brought in, warranted to contain so many
bushels, but on measuring them they were found five or six
bushels short.

In the evenings and on stormy days the store was a general
meeting place for the idlers of the village, and young Barnum
derived much amusement from the story-telling and joke-playing
that went on among them. After the store was closed at night he
would generally go with some of the village boys to their homes
for an hour or two of sport, and then, as late, perhaps, as
eleven o'clock, would creep slyly home and make his way upstairs
barefooted, so as not to wake the rest of the family end be
detected in his late hours. He slept with his brother, who was
sure to report him if he woke him up on coming in, and who laid
many traps to catch Phineas on his return from the evening's
merry-making. But he generally fell fast asleep and our hero was
able to gain his bed in safety.

Like almost every one in Connecticut at that time he was brought
up to go regularly to church on Sunday, and before he could read
he was a prominent member of the Sunday-school. His pious mother
taught him lessons in the New Testament and Catechism, and spared
no efforts to have him win one of those "Rewards of Merit" which
promised "to pay to the bearer One Mill." Ten of them could be
exchanged for one cent, and by securing one hundred of them,
which might be done by faithful attendance and attention every
Sunday for two years, the happy scholar could secure a book worth
ten cents!

There was only one church or "meeting-house" in Bethel, and it
was of the Presbyterian faith; but every one in town attended it,
whatever their creed. It was a severely plain edifice, with no
spire and no bell. In summer it was comfortable enough, but in
winter it was awful! There was no arrangement for heating it, and
the congregation had to sit in the cold, shivering, teeth
chattering, noses blue. A stove would have been looked upon as a
sacrilegious innovation. The sermons were often two hours long,
and by the time they were ended the faithful listeners well
deserved the nickname of "blue-skins" which the scoffers gave to
them. A few of the wealthier women carried "foot-stoves" from
their homes to their pews. A "foot-stove" was simply a square tin
box in a wooden frame, with perforations in the sides. In it was
a small square iron dish, which contained a few live coals
covered with ashes. These stoves were usually replenished just
before meeting time at some neighbor's near the meeting-house.

After many years of shivering and suffering, one of the brethren
had the temerity to propose that the church should be warmed with
a stove. His impious proposition was voted down by an
overwhelming majority. Another year came around, and in November
the stove question was again brought up. The excitement was
immense. The subject was discussed in the village stores and in
the juvenile debating club; it was prayed over in conference; and
finally in general "society's meeting," in December, the stove
was carried by a majority of one and was introduced into the
meeting-house. On the first Sunday thereafter two ancient maiden
ladies were so oppressed by the dry and heated atmosphere
occasioned by the wicked innovation that they fainted away and
were carried out into the cool air, where they speedily returned
to consciousness, especially when they were informed that owing
to the lack of two lengths of pipe no fire had yet been made in
the stove. The next Sunday was a bitter cold day, and the stove,
filled with well-seasoned hickory, was a great gratification to
the many, and displeased only a few.

During the Rev. Mr. Lowe's ministrations at Bethel he formed a
Bible class, of which young Barnum was a member. They used to
draw promiscuously from a hat a text of Scripture and write a
composition on the text, which compositions were read after
service in the afternoon to such of the congregation as remained
to hear the exercises of the class. Once Barnum drew the text,
Luke x. 42: "But one thing is needful; and Mary hath chosen that
good part which shall not be taken away from her." Question,
"What is the one thing needful?" His answer was nearly as
follows:

"This question, 'What is the one thing needful?' is capable of
receiving various answers, depending much upon the persons to
whom it is addressed. The merchant might answer that 'the one
thing needful' is plenty of customers, who buy liberally, without
beating down, and pay cash for all their purchases.' The farmer
might reply that 'the one thing needful is large harvests and
high prices.' The physician might answer that 'it is plenty of
patients.' The lawyer might be of opinion that 'it is an unruly
community, always engaging in bickerings and litigations.' The
clergyman might reply, 'It is a fat salary, with multitudes of
sinners seeking salvation and paying large pew rents.' The
bachelor might exclaim, 'It is a pretty wife who loves her
husband, and who knows how to sew on buttons.' The maiden might
answer, 'It is a good husband, who will love, cherish and protect
me while life shall last.' But the most proper answer, and
doubtless that which applied to the case of Mary, would be, 'The
one thing needful is to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, follow
in his footsteps, love God and obey His commandments, love our
fellowman, and embrace every opportunity of administering to his
necessities.' In short, 'the one thing needful' is to live a life
that we can always look back upon with satisfaction, and be
enabled ever to contemplate its termination with trust in Him who
has so kindly vouchsafed it to us, surrounding us with
innumerable blessings, if we have but the heart and wisdom to
receive them in a proper manner."

The reading of a portion of this answer occasioned some amusement
in the congregation, in which the clergyman himself joined, and
the name of "Taylor Barnum" was whispered in connection with the
composition; but at the close of the reading Barnum had the
satisfaction of hearing Mr. Lowe say that it was a well-written
answer to the question, "What is the one thing needful?"

CHAPTER II. EARLY YEARS AT BETHEL.

DEATH OF HIS GRANDMOTHER AND FATHER--LEFT PENNILESS AND
BAREFOOTED--WORK IN A STORE--HIS FIRST LOVE--TRYING TO BUY
RUSSIA--UNCLE BIBBIN'S DUEL.

In August, 1825, the aged grandmother met with an accident in
stepping on the point of a rusty nail, which shortly afterwards
resulted in her death. She was a woman of great piety, and before
she died sent for each of her grandchildren--to whom she was
devoted--and besought them to lead a Christian life. Barnum was
so deeply impressed by that death-bed scene that through his
whole life neither the recollection of it, nor of the dying
woman's words, ever left him.

The elder Barnum was a man of many enterprises and few successes.
Besides being the proprietor of a hotel he owned a livery-stable,
ran a sort of an express, and kept a country store. Phineas was
his confidential clerk, and, if he did not reap much financial
benefit from his position, he at least obtained a good business
education.

On the 7th of September, 1825, the father, after a six months'
illness, died at the age of forty-eight, leaving a wife and five
children and an insolvent estate. There was literally nothing
left for the family; the creditors seized everything; even the
small sum which Phineas had loaned his father was held to be the
property of a minor, and therefore belonging to the estate. The
boy was obliged to borrow money to buy the shoes he wore to the
funeral. At fifteen he began the world not only penniless but
barefooted.

He went at once to Grassy Plain, a few miles northwest of Bethel,
where he managed to obtain a clerkship in the store of James S.
Keeler and Lewis Whitlock, at the magnificent salary of six
dollars a month and his board. He had chosen his uncle, Alanson
Taylor, as his guardian, but made his home with Mrs. Jerusha
Wheeler and her two daughters; Mary and Jerusha. He worked hard
and faithfully, and so gained the esteem of his employers that
they afforded him many opportunities for making money on his own
account. His small speculations proved so successful that before
long he found himself in possession of quite a little sum.

"I made," says Barnum, "a very remarkable trade at one time for
my employers by purchasing, in their absence, a whole wagon-load
of green glass bottles of various sizes, for which I paid in
unsalable goods at very profitable prices. How to dispose of the
bottles was then the problem, and as it was also desirable to get
rid of a large quantity of tin-ware which had been in the shop
for years and was con-siderably 'shop worn,' I conceived the idea
of a lottery, in which the highest prize should be twenty-five
dollars, payable in any goods the winner desired, while there
were to be fifty prizes of five dollars each, payable in goods,
to be designated in the scheme. Then there were one hundred
prizes of one dollar each, one hundred prizes of fifty cents
each, and three hundred prizes of twenty-five cents each. It is
unnecessary to state that the minor prizes consisted mainly of
glass and tin-ware; the tickets sold like wildfire, and the worn
tin and glass bottles were speedily turned into cash."

Mrs Barnum still continued to keep the village hotel at Bethel,
and Phineas went home every Saturday night, going to church with
his mother on Sunday, and returning to his work Monday morning.
One Saturday evening Miss Mary Wheeler, at whose house the young
man boarded, sent him word that she had a young lady from Bethel
whom she desired him to escort home, as it was raining violently,
and the maiden was afraid to go alone. He assented readily
enough, and went over to "Aunt Rushia's," where he was introduced
to Miss Charity ("Chairy," for short) Hallett. She was a very
pretty girl and a bright talker, and the way home seemed only too
short to her escort. She was a tailoress in the village, and went
to church regularly, but, although Phineas saw her every Sunday
for many weeks, he had no opportunity of the acquaintance that
season.

Mrs. Jerusha Wheeler and her daughter Jerusha were familiarly
known, the one as "Aunt Rushia," and the other as "Rushia." Many
of the store customers were hatters, and among the many kinds of
furs sold for the nap of hats was one known to the trade as
"Russia." One day a hatter, Walter Dibble, called to buy some
furs. Barnum sold him several kinds, including "beaver" and
"cony," and he then asked for some "Russia." They had none, and
as Barnum wanted to play a joke upon him, he told him that Mrs.
Wheeler had several hundred pounds of "Rushia."

"What on earth is a woman doing with 'Russia?' " said he.

Barnum could not answer, but assured him that there were one
hundred and thirty pounds of old Rushia and one hundred and fifty
pounds of young Rushia in Mrs. Wheeler's house, and under her
charge, but whether or not it was for sale he could not say. Off
he started to make the purchase and knocked at the door. Mrs.
Wheeler, the elder, made her appearance.

"I want to get your Russia," said the hatter.

Mrs. Wheeler asked him to walk in and be seated. She, of course,
supposed that he had come for her daughter "Rushia."

"What do you want of Rushia?" asked the old lady.

"To make hats," was the reply.

"To trim hats, I suppose you mean?" responded Mrs. Wheeler.

"No, for the outside of hats," replied the hatter.

"Well, I don't know much about hats," said the old lady, "but I
will call my daughter."

Passing into another room where "Rushia" the younger was at work,
she informed her that a man wanted her to make hats.

"Oh, he means sister Mary, probably. I suppose he wants some
ladies' hats," replied Rushia, as she went into the parlor.

"This is my daughter," said the old lady.

"I want to get your Russia," said he, addressing the young lady.

"I suppose you wish to see my sister Mary; she is our milliner,"
said young Rushia.

"I wish to see whoever owns the property," said the hatter.

Sister Mary was sent for, and, as she was introduced, the hatter
informed her that he wished to buy her "Russia."

"Buy Rushia!" exclaimed Mary, in surprise; I don't understand
you."

"Your name is Miss Wheeler, I believe," said the hatter, who was
annoyed by the difficulty he met with in being understood.

"It is, sir."

"Ah! very well. Is there old and young Russia in the house?"

"I believe there is," said Mary, surprised at the familiar manner
in which he spoke of her mother and sister, who were present.

"What is the price of old Russia per pound?" asked the hatter.

"I believe, sir, that old Rushia is not for sale," replied Mary,
indignantly.

"Well, what do you ask for young Russia?" pursued the hatter.

"Sir," said Miss Rushia the younger, springing to her feet, "do
you come here to insult defenceless females? If you do, sir, our
brother, who is in the garden, will punish you as you deserve."

"Ladies!" exclaimed the hatter, in astonishment, "what on earth
have I done to offend you? I came here on a business matter. I
want to buy some Russia. I was told you had old and young Russia
in the house. Indeed, this young lady just stated such to be the
fact, but she says the old Russia is not for sale. Now, if I can
buy the young Russia I want to do so--but if that can't be done,
please to say so, and I will trouble you no further."

"Mother, open the door and let this man go out; he is undoubtedly
crazy," said Miss Mary.

"By thunder! I believe I shall be if I remain here long,"
exclaimed the hatter, considerably excited. "I wonder if folks
never do business in these parts, that you think a man is crazy
if he attempts such a thing?"

"Business! poor man!" said Mary soothingly, approaching the door.

"I am not a poor man, madam," replied the hatter. "My name is
Walter Dibble; I carry on hatting extensively in Danbury; I came
to Grassy Plain to buy fur, and have purchased some 'beaver' and
'cony,' and now it seems I am to be called 'crazy' and a 'poor
man,' because I want to buy a little 'Russia' to make up my
assortment."

The ladies began to open their eyes; they saw that Mr. Dibble was
quite in earnest, and his explanation threw considerable light
upon the subject.

"Who sent you here?" asked sister Mary.

"The clerk at the opposite store," was the reply.

"He is a wicked young fellow for making all this trouble," said
the old lady; "he has been doing this for a joke."

"A joke!" exclaimed Dibble, in surprise, "have you no Russia,
then?"

"My name is Jerusha, and so is my daughter's," said Mrs. Wheeler,
"and that, I suppose, is what he meant by telling you of old and
young Rushia."

Mr. Dibble, without more words, left the house and made for the
store. "You young villain!" he cried, as he entered, "what did
you mean by sending me over there to buy Russia?"

"I didn't," answered the young villain, with a perfectly solemn
face, "I thought you were a widower or a bachelor who wanted to
marry Rushia."

"You lie," said the discomfited Dibble, laughing in spite of
himself; "but never mind, I'll pay you off some day." And
gathering up his furs he departed.

On another occasion this sense of humor and love of joking was
turned to very practical account. Among the customers at the
store were a half a dozen old Revolutionary pensioners, who were
permitted to buy on credit, leaving their pension papers as
security. One of these pensioners was a romancing old fellow
named Bevans--more commonly known as "Uncle Bibbins." He was very
fond of his glass, and fonder still of relating anecdotes of the
Revolution, in which his own prowess and daring were always the
conspicuous features. His pension papers were in the possession
of Keeler & Whitlock, but it was three months before the money
was due, and they grew very weary of having him for a customer.
They tried delicately suggesting a visit to his relatives in
Guilford, but Uncle Bibbins steadily refused to take the hint.
Finally young Barnum enlisted the services of a journeyman hatter
named Benton, and together they hit on a plan. The hatter was
inspired to call Uncle Bibbins a coward, and to declare his
belief that if the old gentleman was wounded anywhere it must
have been in the back. Barnum pretended to sympathize with the
veteran's just indignation, and finally fired him up to the pitch
of challenging the hatter to mortal combat. The challenge was
promptly accepted, and the weapons chosen were muskets and ball,
at a distance of twenty feet. Uncle Bibbins took his second
(Barnum, of course) aside, and begged him to see that the guns
were loaded only with blank cartridges. He was assured that it
would be so, and that no one would be injured in the encounter.

The ground was measured back of the store, the principals and
seconds took their places, and the word of command was given.
They fired, Uncle Bibbins, of course, being unhurt, but the
hatter, with a fearful yell, fell to the ground as if dead.
Barnum rushed up to the frightened Bevans and begged him to fly,
promising to let him know when it was safe for him to return. The
old fellow started out of town on a run, and for the next three
months remained very quietly at Guilford. At the end of that time
his faithful second sent for him, with the assurance that his
late adversary had not only recovered from his wound but had
freely forgiven all. Uncle Bibbins then returned and paid up his
debts. Meeting Benton on the street some days later, the two foes
shook hands, Benton apologizing for his insult. Uncle Bibbins
accepted the apology, "but," he added, "you must be careful after
this how you insult a dead-shot."

CHAPTER III. BUSINESS LIFE.

REMOVAL TO BROOKLYN--SMALLPOX--GOES HOME TO RECOVER HIS
HEALTH--RENEWED ACQUAINTANCE WITH THE PRETTY TAILORESS, FIRST
INDEPENDENT BUSINESS VENTURE--RESIDENCE IN NEW YORK --RETURN TO
BETHEL--ANECDOTES.

In the fall of 1826, Oliver Taylor, who had removed from Danbury
to Brooklyn, induced Barnum to leave Grassy Plain, offering him a
clerkship in his grocery store, which offer was accepted, and
before long the young man was intrusted with the purchasing of
all goods for the store. He bought for cash, going into lower New
York in search of the cheapest market, frequenting auction sales
of merchandise, and often entering into combines with other
grocers to bid off large lots, which were afterward divided
between them. Thus they were enabled to buy at a much lower rate
than if the goods had passed through the hands of wholesale
dealers, and Barnum's reputation for business tact and shrewdness
increased.

The following summer he was taken ill with smallpox, and during
his long confinement to the house his stock of ready money became
sadly di-minished. As soon as he was able to travel he went home
to recover his strength, and while there had the happiness of
renewing the acquaintance, so pleasantly begun, with the pretty
tailoress, Charity Hallett.

His health fully restored he returned to Brooklyn, but not to his
old position. Pleasant as that had been, it no longer contented
the restless, ambitious Barnum. He opened a "porter-home," but
sold out a few months later, at a good profit, and took another
clerkship, this time at 29 Peck Slip, New York, in the store of a
certain David Thorp. He lived in his employer's family, with
which he was a great favorite, and where he had frequent
opportunities of meeting old friends, for Mr. Thorp's place was a
great resort for Bethel and Danbury hatters and combmakers.

At this time Barnum formed his first taste for the theatre. He
went to the play regularly and soon set up for a critic. It was
his one dissipation, however. A more moral young fellow never
existed; he read his Bible and went to church as regularly as
ever, and to the day of his death was wont to declare that he
owed all that was good in his character to his early observance
of Sunday.

In the winter of 1898 his grandfather offered to him, rent free,
his carriage-house, which was situated on the main street, if he
would come back to Bethel. The young man's capital was one
hundred and twenty dollars; fifty of this was spent in fixing up
his store, and the remainder he invested in a stock of fruit and
confectionery. Having arranged with fruit dealers of his
acquaintance in New York to receive his orders, he opened his
store on the first of May--in those times known as "training
day." The first day was so successful that long before noon the
proprietor was obliged to call in one of his old schoolmates to
assist in waiting on customers. The total receipts were
sixty-three dollars, which sum was promptly invested in a stock
of fancy goods --pocket-books, combs, knives, rings, beads, etc.
Business was good all summer, and in the fall oysters were added
to the list of attractions. The old grandfather was delighted at
the success of the scheme, and after a while induced Barnum to
take an agency for lottery tickets on a commission of ten per
cent. Lotteries in those days were looked upon as thoroughly
respectable, and the profit gained from the sale of the tickets
was regarded as perfectly legitimate by the agent; his views on
the subject changed very materially later on.

The store soon became the great village resort, the centre of all
discussions and the scene of many practical jokes.

The following scene, related by Barnum himself, makes a chapter
in the history of Connecticut, as the State was when "blue laws"
were something more than a dead letter:

"To swear in those days was according to custom, but contrary to
law. A person from New York State, whom I will call Crofut, who
was a frequent visitor at my store, was equally noted for his
self-will and his really terrible profanity. One day he was in my
little establishment engaged in conversation when Nathan Seelye,
Esq., one of our village justices of the peace, and a man of
strict religious principles, came in, and hearing Crofut's
profane language he told him he considered it his duty to fine
him one dollar for swearing.

"Crofut responded immediately with an oath, that he did not care
a d----n for the Connecticut blue laws.

" 'That will make two dollars,' said Mr. Seelye.

"This brought forth another oath.

" 'Three dollars,' said the sturdy justice.

"Nothing but oaths were given in reply, until Esquire Seelye
declared the damage to the Connecticut laws to amount to fifteen
dollars.

"Crofut took out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to the
justice of the peace, with an oath.

" 'Sixteen dollars,' said Mr. Seelye, counting out four dollars
to hand to Mr. Crofut as his change.

" 'Oh, keep it, keep it,' said Crofut, 'I don't want any change;
I'll d----n soon swear out the balance.' He did so, after which
he was more circumspect in his conversation, remarking that
twenty dollars a day for swearing was about as much as he could
stand."

About this time Barnum appeared, on at least one occasion, in the
role of lawyer. A man charged with assault and battery was
brought before the justice of the peace, Barnum's grandfather,
for trial. A medical student, Newton by name, had volunteered to
defend the prisoner, and Mr. Couch, the grand juryman, in irony,
offered Phineas a dollar to represent the State. The court was
crowded. The guilt of the prisoner was established beyond a
doubt, but Newton, undaunted, rose to make his speech. It
consisted of a flood of invective against the grand juryman,
Couch; the court listened for five minutes, and then interrupted
a magnificent burst of eloquence by informing the speaker that
Mr. Couch was not the plaintiff in the case at all.

"Not the plaintiff!" stammered Newton; "well, then, your honor,
who is?"

"The State of Connecticut," was the answer.

The young man dropped into his seat, speechless, and the
prosecuting attorney arose and in an elaborate speech declared
the guilt of the prisoner shown beyond question, adding that he
was astonished that both the prisoner and his counsel had not
pleaded guilty at once. In the midst of his soarings the
grandfather interrupted with--"Young man, will you have the
kindness to inform the court which side you represent--the
plaintiff or the defendant?"

The orator stared helplessly at the justice for a moment, and
then sat down. Amid peals of laughter from the spectators the
prisoner was bound over to the county court for trial.

But Phineas did not often come out so ingloriously in encounters
with his grandfather. The old gentleman was always ready to lend
his grandson any of his turnouts except one, and this one Phineas
especially desired one day for a sleighing party, in which he was
to escort the fair Charity Hallett. So he boldly went to the
grandfather and asked if he might take Arabian and the new
sleigh.

"Oh, yes," said the old man, jokingly, "if you have twenty
dollars in your pocket."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

Whereupon Phineas showed the money, and putting it back in his
pocket, remarked, "You see; I am much obliged for the sleigh."

Of course, the grandfather had meant to ask an impossible price
for the horse and sleigh; but being caught up so suddenly, there
was nothing to do but to consent, and Phineas and "Chairy" had
the finest turnout of the party.

There was a young fellow in the town, Jack Mallett, whose
education was rather deficient, and who had been somewhat
unsuccessfully paying his addresses to a fair but hard-hearted
maiden, named Lucretia. One Sunday evening she cruelly refused to
accept his escort after church, and added insult to injury by
walking off before his very eyes with another man. Accordingly,
he determined to write her a letter of remonstrance, and enlisted
the aid of Phineas and another young blade known as "Bill"
Shepherd. The joint effort of the three resulted in the
following:

                              "BETHEL,----, 18--.

"MISS LUCRETIA: I write this to ask an explanation of your
conduct in giving me the mitten on Sunday night last. If you
think, madam, that you can trifle with my affections, and turn me
off for every little whipper-snapper that you can pick up, you
will find yourself considerably mistaken. [We read thus far to
Mallett, and it met his approval. He said he liked the idea of
calling her "madam," for he thought it sounded so "distant," it
would hurt her feelings very much. The term "little
whipper-snapper" also delighted him. He said he guessed that
would make her feel cheap. Shepherd and myself were not quite so
sure of its aptitude, since the chap who succeeded in capturing
Lucretia, on the occasion alluded to, was a head and shoulders
taller than Mallett. However, we did not intimate our thoughts to
Mallett, and he desired us to "go ahead and give her another
dose."] You don't know me, madam, if you think you can snap me up
in this way. I wish you to understand that I can have the company
of girls as much above you as the sun is above the earth, and I
won't stand any of your impudent nonsense no how. [This was duly
read and approved. "Now," said Mallett, "try to touch her
feelings. Remind her of the pleasant hours we have spent
together;" and we continued as follows:] My dear Lucretia, when I
think of the many pleasant hours we have spent together--of the
delightful walks which we have had on moonlight evenings to
Fenner's Rocks, Chestnut Ridge, Grassy Plain, Wild Cat and Puppy
Town--of the strolls which we have taken upon Shelter Rocks,
Cedar Hill--the visits we have made to Old Lane, Wolfpits, Toad
Hole and Plum Trees[1]--when all these things come rushing on my
mind, and when; my dear girl, I remember how often you have told
me that you loved me better than anybody else, and I assured you
that my feelings were the same as yours, it almost breaks my
heart to think of last Sunday night. ["Can't you stick in some
affecting poetry here?" said Mallett. Shepherd could not
recollect any to the point, nor could I; but as the exigency of
the case seemed to require it, we concluded to manufacture a
verse or two, which we did, as follows:]

[1] These were the euphonious names of localities in the vicinity
of Bethel.

Lucretia, dear, what have I done,
That you should use me thus and so,
To take the arm of Tom Beers' son,
And let your dearest true love go?

Miserable fate, to lose you now,
And tear this bleeding heart asunder!
Will you forget your tender vow?
I can't believe it--no, by thunder.

[Mallett did not like the word "thunder," but being informed that
no other word could be substituted without destroying both rhyme
and reason, he consented that it should remain, provided we added
two more stanzas of a softer nature; something, he said, that
would make the tears come, if possible, We then ground out the
following:]

Lucretia, dear, do write to Jack,
And say with Beers you are not smitten;
And thus to me in love come back,
And give all other boys the mitten.

Do this, Lucretia, and till death
I'll love you to intense distraction;
I'll spend for you my every breath,
And we will live in satisfaction.

["That will do very well," said Mallett. "Now I guess you had
better blow her up a little more." We obeyed orders as follows:]
It makes me mad to think what a fool I was to give you that
finger-ring and bosom-pin, and spend so much time in your
company, just to be flirted and bamboozled as I was on Sunday
night last. If you continue this course of conduct, we part
forever, and I will thank you to send back that jewelry. I would
sooner see it crushed under my feet than worn by a person who
abused me as you have done. I shall despise you forever if you
don't change your conduct towards me, and send me a letter of
apology on Monday next. I shall not go to meeting to-morrow, for
I would scorn to sit in the same meeting-house with you until I
have an explanation of your conduct. If you allow any young man
to go home with you to-morrow night, I shall know it, for you
will be watched, ["There," said Mallett, "that is pretty strong.
Now, I guess, you had better touch her feelings once more, and
wind up the letter." We proceeded as follows:] My sweet girl, if
you only knew the sleepless nights which I have spent during the
present week, the torments and sufferings which I endure on your
account; if you could but realize that I regard the world as less
than nothing without you, I am certain you would pity me. A
homely cot and a crust of bread with my adorable Lucretia would
be a paradise, where a palace without you would be a hades.
["What in thunder is hades?" inquired Jack. We explained. He
considered the figure rather bold, and requested us to close as
soon as possible.] Now, dearest, in bidding you adieu, I implore
you to reflect on our past enjoyments, look forward with pleasure
to our future happy meetings, and rely upon your affectionate
Jack in storm or calm, in sickness, distress or want, for all
these will be powerless to change my love. I hope to hear from
you on Monday next, and, if favorable, I shall be happy to call
on you the same evening, when in ecstatic joy we will laugh at
the past, hope for the future, and draw consolation from the fact
that "the course of true love never did run smooth." This from
your disconsolate but still hoping lover and admirer,            
         "JACK MALLETT.

"P. S.--On reflection I have concluded to go to meeting
to-morrow. If all is well, hold your pocket-handkerchief in your
left hand as you stand up to sing with the choir--in which case I
shall expect the pleasure of giving you my arm to-morrow night.  
                                     "J. M."

The effect of this letter upon Lucretia was not as favorable as
could have been desired. She declined to remove her handkerchief
from her right hand, and she returned the "ring and bosom-pin" to
her disconsolate admirer, while, not many months after, Mallett's
rival led Lucretia to the altar. As for Mallett's agreement to
pay Shepherd and Barnum five pounds of carpet-rags and twelve
yards of broadcloth "lists" for their services, owing to his ill
success, they compromised for one-half the amount.

CHAPTER IV. TRYING MANY VENTURES.

VISIT TO PITTSBURG--SUCCESSFUL LOTTERY BUSINESS--MARRIAGE--FIRST
EDITORIAL VENTURE--LIBEL SUIT, IMPRISONMENT AND
LIBERATION--REMOVAL TO NEW YORK--HARD TIMES--KEEPING A
BOARDING-HOUSE.

About this time Barnum, with a Mr. Samuel Sherwood, of
Bridgeport, started for Pittsburg, where they proposed to open a
lottery office. On reaching New York, however, and talking over
the scheme with friends, the venture was abandoned and the two
men took, instead, a pleasure trip to Philadelphia. They stayed a
week, at the end of which time they returned to New York, with
exactly twenty-seven cents between them. Sherwood managed to
borrow two dollars--enough to take him to Newark, where he had a
cousin, who obligingly loaned him fifty dollars. The two friends
remained in New York on the strength of their newly acquired
wealth for several days, and then went home considerably richer
in experience at least.

Barnum now went into the lottery business exclusively, taking his
uncle, Alanson Taylor, into partnership. They established a
number of agencies throughout the country, and made good profits
from the sale of tickets. Several of the tickets sold by them
took prizes and their office came to be considered "lucky."

The young man was prospering also in another direction. The fair
tailoress smiled on him as sweetly as ever, and in the summer of
1827 they became formally engaged. In the fall Miss Hallett went
"on a visit" to her uncle, Nathan Beers, in New York. A month
later her lover followed, "to buy goods," and on the 8th of
November, 1829, there was a wedding in the comfortable house at
No. 3 Allen street. Having married at the age of nineteen, Barnum
always expressed his disapproval of early marriages, although his
own was a very happy one.

Returning to Bethel, Mr. and Mrs. Barnum, after boarding for a
few months, moved into their own house, which was built on a
three acre plat purchased from the grandfather.

The lottery business still prospered, but it was mostly in the
hands of agents, in Danbury, Norwalk, Stamford and Middletown,
and Barnum began to look around for some field for his individual
energies. He tried travelling as a book auctioneer, but found it
uncongenial and quit the business. In July, 1831, with his uncle
Alanson Taylor, he opened a grocery and general store, but the
venture was not particularly successful, and in the fall the
partnership was dissolved, Barnum buying his uncle's interest.

The next enterprise was an important one, it being the real
beginning of Phineas T. Barnum's public career.

In a period of strong political excitement, he wrote several
communications for the Danbury weekly paper, setting forth what
he conceived to be the dangers of a sectarian interference which
was then apparent in political affairs. The publication of these
communications was refused, and he accordingly purchased a press
and types, and October 19, 1831, issued the first number of his
own paper, The Herald of Freedom.

"I entered upon the editorship of this journal," says Mr. Barnum,
"with all the vigor and vehemence of youth. The boldness with
which the paper was conducted soon excited widespread attention
and commanded a circulation which extended beyond the immediate
locality into nearly every State in the Union. But lacking that
experience which induces caution, and without the dread of
consequences, I frequently laid myself open to the charge of
libel, and three times in three years I was prosecuted. A Danbury
butcher, a zealous politician, brought a civil suit against me
for accusing him of being a spy in a Democratic caucus. On the
first trial the jury did not agree, but after a second trial I
was fined several hundred dollars. Another libel suit against me
was withdrawn. The third was sufficiently important to warrant
the following detail:

"A criminal prosecution was brought against me for stating in my
paper that a man in Bethel, prominent in church, had 'been guilty
of taking USURY of an orphan boy,' and for severely commenting on
the fact in my editorial columns. When the case came to trial the
truth of my statement was substantially proved by several
witnesses and even by the prosecuting party. But 'the greater the
truth, the greater the libel,' and then I had used the term
'usury,' instead of extortion, or note-shaving, or some other
expression which might have softened the verdict. The result was
that I was sentenced to pay a fine of one hundred dollars and to
be imprisoned in the common jail for sixty days.

"The most comfortable provision was made for me in Danbury jail.
My room was papered and carpeted; I lived well; I was overwhelmed
with the constant visits of my friends; I edited my paper as
usual and received large accessions to my subscription list; and
at the end of my sixty days' term the event was celebrated by a
large concourse of people from the surrounding country. The court
room in which I was convicted was the scene of the celebration.
An ode, written for the occasion, was sung; an eloquent oration
on the freedom of the press was delivered; and several hundred
gentlemen afterwards partook of a sumptuous dinner followed by
appropriate toasts and speeches. Then came the triumphant part of
the ceremonial, which was reported in my paper of December 12,
1832, as follows:

" 'P. T. Barnum and the band of music took their seats in a coach
drawn by six horses, which had been prepared for the occasion.
The coach was preceded by forty horsemen, and a marshal, bearing
the national standard. Immediately in the rear of the coach was
the carriage of the orator and the President of the day, followed
by the committee of arrangements and sixty carriages of citizens,
which joined in escorting the editor to his home in Bethel.

" 'When the procession commenced its march amidst the roar of
cannon, three cheers were given by several hundred citizens who
did not join in the procession. The band of music continued to
play a variety of national airs until their arrival in Bethel (a
distance of three miles), when they struck up the beautiful and
appropriate tune of "Home, Sweet Home!" After giving three hearty
cheers, the procession returned to Danbury. The utmost harmony
and unanimity of feeling prevailed throughout the day, and we are
happy to add that no accident occured to mar the festivities of
the occasion.' "

The editorial career continued as it had begun. In 1830 The
Herald of Freedom was sold to Mr. George Taylor.

The mercantile business was also sold to Horace Fairchild, who
had been associated with it as partner since 1831, and a Mr.
Toucey, who formed a partnership under the name of Fairchild &
Co. Barnum had lost considerable money in this store; he was too
speculative for ordinary trade, too ready, also to give credit,
and his ledger was full of unpaid accounts when he finally gave
up business.

In 1835 he removed his family to New York, taking a house in
Hudson street. For a time he tried to get a position in a
mercantile house, not on a fixed salary, but so as to derive a
commission on his sales, trusting to his ability to make more
money in this way than an ordinary clerk could be expected to
receive. Failing in this he acted as a "drummer" for several
stores until spring, when he was fortunate enough to receive
several hundred dollars from his agent at Bethel. In May he
opened a private boarding-house at 52 Frankfort street, which was
well patronized by his Connecticut acquaintances as often as they
visited the metropolis. This business not occupying his entire
time, he bought an interest in a grocery store at 156 South
street.

Although the years of manhood brought cares, anxieties, and
struggles for a livelihood, they did not change Barnum's nature,
and the jocose element was still an essential ingredient of his
being. He loved fun, practical fun, for itself and for the
enjoyment which it brought. During the year he occasionally
visited Bridgeport, where he almost always found at the hotel a
noted joker, named Darrow, who spared neither friend nor foe in
his tricks. He was the life of the bar-room, and would always try
to entrap some stranger in a bet and so win a treat for the
company. He made several ineffectual attempts upon Barnum, and at
last, one evening, Darrow, who stuttered, made a final trial, as
follows:

"Come, Barnum, I'll make you another proposition; I'll bet you
hadn't got a whole shirt on your back." The catch consists in the
fact that generally only one-half of that convenient garment is
on the back; but Barnum had anticipated the proposition --in fact
he had induced a friend, Mr. Hough, to put Darrow up to the
trick--and had folded a shirt nicely upon his back, securing it
there with his suspenders. The bar-room was crowded with
customers who thought that if Barnum made the bet he would be
nicely caught, and he made presence of playing off and at the
same time stimulated Darrow to press the bet by saying:

"That is a foolish bet to make; I am sure my shirt is whole
because it is nearly new; but I don't like to bet on such a
subject."

"A good reason why," said Darrow, in great glee; "it's ragged.
Come, I'll bet you a treat for the whole company you hadn't got a
whole shirt on your b-b-b-back!"

"I'll bet my shirt is cleaner than yours," Barnum replied.

"That's nothing to do w-w-with the case; it's ragged, and y-y-you
know it."

"I know it is not," Barnum replied, with pretended anger, which
caused the crowd to laugh heartily.

"You poor ragged f-f-fellow, come down here from D-D-Danbury, I'm
sorry for you," said Darrow tantalizingly.

"You would not pay if you lost," Barnum remarked.

"Here's f-f-five dollars I'll put in Captain Hinman's (the
landlord's) hands. Now b-b-bet if you dare, you ragged
c-c-creature, you."

Barnum put five dollars in Captain Hinman's hands, and told him
to treat the company from it if he lost the bet.

"Remember," said Darrow, "I b-b-bet you hadn't got a whole shirt
on your bob-back!"

"All right," said Barnum, taking off his coat and commencing to
unbutton his vest. The whole company, feeling sure that he was
caught, began to laugh heartily. Old Darrow fairly danced with
delight, and as Barnum laid his coat on a chair he came running
up in front of him, and slapping his hands together, exclaimed:

"You needn't t-t-take off any more c-c-clothes, for if it ain't
all on your b-b-back, you've lost it."

"If it is, I suppose you have!" Barnum replied, pulling the whole
shirt from off his back!

Such a shriek of laughter as burst forth from the crowd was
scarcely ever heard, and certainly such a blank countenance as
old Darrow exhibited it would be hard to conceive. Seeing that he
was most incontinently "done for," and perceiving that his
neighbor Hough had helped to do it, he ran up to him in great
anger, and shaking his fist in his face, exclaimed:

"H-H-Hough, you infernal r-r-rascal, to go against your own
neighbor in favor of a D-D-Danbury man. I'll pay you for that
some time, you see if I d-d-don't."

All hands went up to the bar and drank with a hearty good will,
for it was seldom that Darrow got taken in, and he was such an
inveterate joker they liked to see him paid in his own coin.
Never till the day of his death did he hear the last of the
"whole shirt."

CHAPTER V. BEGINNING AS A SHOWMAN.

FINDING HIS TRUE VOCATION--THE PURCHASE OF JOICE HETH--EVIDENCE
AS TO HER AGE--HER DEATH--SIGNOR VIVALLA--A VISIT TO
WASHINGTON--JOINING A TRAVELLING CIRCUS--CONTROVERSIES WITH
MINISTERS--THE VICTIM OF A PRACTICAL JOKE.

Barnum was now satisfied that he had not yet found his proper
level. He had not yet entered the business for which nature had
designed him. There was only a prospect of his going on from this
to that, as his father had done before him, trying many callings
but succeeding in none. He had not yet discovered that love of
amusement is one of the strongest passions of the human heart.
This, however, was a lesson that he was soon to learn; and he was
to achieve both fame and fortune as a caterer to the public
desire for entertainment.

Philosophizing on this theme in later years, Mr. Barnum once
said: "The show business has all phases and grades of dignity,
from the exhibition of a monkey to the exposition of that highest
art in music or the drama which entrances empires and secures for
the gifted artist a worldwide fame which princes well might envy.
Men, women and children, who cannot live on gravity alone, need
something to satisfy their gayer, lighter moods and hours, and he
who ministers to this want is in a business established by the
Author of our nature. If he worthily fulfils his mission, and
amuses without corrupting, he need never feel that he has lived
in vain."

In the summer of 1835, Mr. Barnum was visited by Mr. Coley
Bartram, of Reading, Connecticut, who told him that he had owned
an interest in a remarkable negro woman, who was confidently
believed to be one hundred and sixty-one years old and to have
been the nurse of Washington. Mr. Bartram showed him a copy of an
advertisement in The Pennsylvania Inquirer for July 15, 1835, as
follows:

"CURIOSITY.--The citizens of Philadelphia and its vicinity have
an opportunity of witnessing at the Masonic Hall one of the
greatest natural curiosities ever witnessed, viz.: JOICE HETH, a
negress, aged 161 years, who formerly belonged to the father of
General Washington. She has been a member of the Baptist Church
one hundred and sixteen years, and can rehearse many hymns, and
sing them according to former custom. She was born near the old
Potomac River in Virginia, and has for ninety or one hundred
years lived in Paris, Kentucky, with the Bowling family.

"All who have seen this extraordinary woman are satisfied of the
truth of the account of her age. The evidence of the Bowling
family, which is respectable, is strong, but the original bill of
sale of Augustine Washington, in his own handwriting, and other
evidences which the proprietor has in his possession, will
satisfy even the most incredulous.

"A lady will attend at the hall during the afternoon and evening
for the accommodation of those ladies who may call."

Mr. Bartram told him, moreover, that he had sold out his interest
in the woman to R. W. Lindsay, of Jefferson county, Kentucky, who
was then exhibiting her as a curiosity, but was anxious to sell
her. Mr. Barnum had seen in some of the New York papers an
account of Joice Heth, and was so much interested in her that he
at once proceeded to Philadelphia to see her and Mr. Lindsay. How
he was impressed by her he has himself told. "Joice Heth," he
says, "was certainly a remarkable curiosity, and she looked as if
she might have been far older than her age as advertised. She was
apparently in good health and spirits, but from age or disease,
or both, was unable to change her position; she could move one
arm at will, but her lower limbs could not be straightened; her
left arm lay across her breast and she could not remove it; the
fingers of her left hand were drawn down so as nearly to close
it, and were fixed; the nails on that hand were almost four
inches long and extended above her wrist; the nails on her large
toes had grown to the thickness of a quarter of an inch; her head
was covered with a thick bush of grey hair; but she was toothless
and totally blind, and her eyes had sunk so deeply in the sockets
as to have disappeared altogether.

"Nevertheless she was pert and sociable, and would talk as long
as people would converse with her. She was quite garrulous about
her protege, 'dear little George,' at whose birth she declared
she was present, having been at the time a slave of Elizabeth
Atwood, a half-sister of Augustine Washington, the father of
George Washington. As nurse she put the first clothes on the
infant, and she claimed to have 'raised him.' She professed to be
a member of the Baptist Church, talking much in her way on
religious subjects, and she sang a variety of ancient hymns.

"In proof of her extraordinary age and pretensions, Mr. Lindsay
exhibited a bill of sale, dated February 5, 1727, from Augustine
Washington, county of Westmoreland, Virginia, to Elizabeth
Atwood, a half-sister and neighbor of Mr. Washington, conveying
'one negro women named Joice Heth, aged fifty-four years, for and
in consideration of the sum of thirty-three pounds lawful money
of Virginia.' It was further claimed that she had long been a
nurse in the Washington family; she was called in at the birth of
George and clothed the newborn infant. The evidence seemed
authentic, and in answer to the inquiry why so remarkable a
discovery had not been made before, a satisfactory explanation
was given in the statement that she had been carried from
Virginia to Kentucky, had been on the plantation of John S.
Bowling so long that no one knew or cared how old she was, and
only recently the accidental discovery by Mr. Bowling's son of
the old bill of sale in the Record Office in Virginia had led to
the identification of this negro woman as 'the nurse of
Washington.' "

Everything seemed to Barnum to be entirely straightforward, and
he decided, if possible, to purchase the woman. She was offered
to him at $1,000, although Lindsay at first wanted $3,000. Barnum
had $500 in cash, and was able to borrow $500 more. Thus he
secured Joice Heth, sold out his interest in the grocery business
to his partner, and entered upon his career as a showman. He
afterward declared that the least deserving of all his efforts in
the show line was this one which introduced him to the business;
it was a scheme in no sense of his own devising; but it was one
which had been for some time before the public, and which he
honestly and with good reason believed to be genuine. He entered
upon his new work with characteristic enterprise, resorting to
posters, transparencies, advertisements, newspaper paragraphs,
and everything else calculated to attract the attention of the
public, regardless of expense. He exhibited in New York, Boston,
Philadelphia, Albany, and many other places, where his rooms were
thronged and much money made. But in the following February Joice
Heth died of old age, and was buried at Bethel. A postmortem
examination was made by a surgeon and some medical students, who
were inclined to doubt if she really was as old as Lindsay had
said.

Thus ended Barnum's first enterprise as a showman. It had been
profitable to him, and had pointed out to him the path of
success. His next venture was entirely genuine and
straightforward. He engaged an Italian, who called himself Signor
Antonio, and who was a skilful performer on stilts, on the tight
rope and at juggling. Barnum engaged him for a year at $12 a week
and his expenses, and got him to change his stage name to Signor
Vivalla. He then resorted to his former means of advertising, and
started on his tour. For Vivalla's first week of performances
Barnum received $50, and for the second week three times as much.
At the close of the first performance, in response to loud
applause, Barnum appeared upon the stage and made a speech to the
audience, a performance which he repeated thousands of times in
after years. This engagement was at the Franklin Theatre in New
York.

The show next appeared in Boston, with great success. Next it
went to Washington and had a most disastrous week, for every
night was stormy. Indeed Barnum found himself literally stranded
there, with not enough money to get away. He was driven to pawn
his watch and chain for $35, and then met a friend who helped him
out of his dilemma.

"As this was my first visit to Washington, I was much
interested," says Barnum, "in visiting the capitol and other
public buildings. I also satisfied my curiosity in seeing Clay,
Calhoun, Benton, John Quincy Adams, Richard M. Johnson, Polk, and
other leading statesmen of the time. I was also greatly gratified
in calling upon Anne Royall, author of the Black Book, publisher
of a little paper called 'Paul Pry,' and quite a celebrated
personage in her day. I had exchanged The Herald of Freedom with
her journal, and she strongly sympathized with me in my
persecutions. She was delighted to see me, and although she was
the most garrulous old woman I ever saw, I passed a very amusing
and pleasant time with her. Before leaving her I manifested my
showman propensity by trying to hire her to give a dozen or more
lectures on 'Government' in the Atlantic cities, but I could not
engage her at any price, although I am sure the speculation would
have been a very profitable one. I never saw this eccentric woman
again; she died at a very advanced age, October 1, 1854, at her
residence in Washington."

From Washington the show went to Philadelphia and appeared at the
Walnut Street Theatre. The audiences were small and it was
evident that something must be done to arouse public interest.
"And now," says Barnum, "that instinct which can arouse a
community and make it patronize one, provided the article offered
is worthy of patronage, an instinct which served me greatly in
later years, astonishing the public and surprising me, came to my
relief, and the help, curiously enough, appeared in the shape of
an emphatic hiss from the pit!

"This hiss, I discovered, came from one Roberts, a circus
performer, and I had an interview with him. He was a professional
balancer and juggler, who boasted that he could do all Vivalla
had done and something more. I at once published a card in
Vivalla's name, offering $1,000 to any one who would publicly
perform Vivalla's feats at such place as should be designated,
and Roberts issued a counter card accepting the offer. I then
contracted with Mr. Warren, treasurer of the Walnut Street
Theatre, for one-third of the proceeds, if I should bring the
receipts up to $400 a night--an agreement he could well afford to
make as his receipts the night before had been but seventy-five
dollars. From him I went to Roberts, who seemed disposed to 'back
down,' but I told him that I should not insist upon the terms of
his published card, and ask him if he was under any engagement?
Learning that he was not I offered him thirty dollars to perform
under my direction one night at the Walnut, and he accepted. A
great trial of skill between Roberts and Vivalla was duly
announced by posters and through the press. Meanwhile, they
rehearsed privately to see what tricks each could perform, and
the 'business' was completely arranged.

"Public excitement was at fever heat, and on the night of the
trial the pit and upper boxes were crowded to the full. The
'contest' between the performers was eager, and each had his
party in the house. So far as I could learn, no one complained
that he did not get all he paid for on that occasion. I engaged
Roberts for a month, and his subsequent 'contests' with Vivalla
amused the public and put money in my purse."

In the spring of 1836 Barnum joined his show with Aaron Turner's
travelling circus, himself acting as ticket seller, secretary and
treasurer, at thirty dollars a month and one-fifth of the total
profits, while Vivalla was to get fifty dollars a month. Barnum
was himself paying Vivalla eighty dollars a month, so that he
really had left for himself only his one-fifth share of the
profits. The combined show set out from Danbury, Connecticut, for
West Springfield, Massachusetts, on April 26. On the first day,
Barnum relates, instead of stopping for dinner, Turner simply
distributed to the company three loaves of rye bread and a pound
of butter, which he bought at a farmhouse for fifty cents. On
April 28 they began their performances at West Springfield, and
as their band of music had not arrived from Providence, as
expected, Barnum made a speech to the audience in place of it,
which seemed to please everybody. The engagement was successful,
and the tour was continued during the summer through numerous
towns and cities in New England, the Middle States, Maryland,
Virginia and North Carolina.

Many incidents, humorous and otherwise, marked their progress. At
Cabotville, Massachusetts, on going to bed one night one of the
company threw a lighted cigar stump into a box of sawdust, and
the result was that, an hour or two later, they all narrowly
escaped suffocation from the smoke. At Lenox, Massachusetts, they
spent Sunday and Barnum went to church as usual. The sermon was
directed against the circus, denouncing it in very abusive terms
as an immoral and degrading institution. "Thereupon," says
Barnum, "when the minister had read the closing hymn, I walked up
the pulpit stairs and handed him a written request, signed 'P. T.
Barnum, connected with the circus, June 5, 1836,' to be permitted
to reply to him. He declined to notice it, and after the
benediction I lectured him for not giving me an opportunity to
vindicate myself and those with whom I was connected. The affair
created considerable excitement, and some of the members of the
church apologized to me for their clergyman's ill behavior. A
similar affair happened afterward at Port Deposit, on the lower
Susquehanna, and in this instance I addressed the audience for
half an hour, defending the circus company against the attacks of
the clergyman, and the people listened, though their pastor
repeatedly implored them to go home. Often have I collected our
company on Sunday and read to them the Bible or a printed sermon,
and one or more of the men frequently accompanied me to church.
We made no pretense of religion, but we were not the worst people
in the world, and we thought ourselves entitled to at least
decent treatment when we went to hear the preaching of the
Gospel."

Turner, the proprietor of the circus, was a self-made man. He had
made himself rich through industry, as he believed any other man
with common sense could do, and he was very proud of the fact. He
was also an inveterate practical joker, and once, at Annapolis,
Maryland, he played upon Barnum a trick which came very near
having a serious result. They got there on Saturday night, and
the next morning Barnum went out for a walk, wearing a fine new
suit of black clothes. As he passed through the bar-room and out
of the hotel Turner said to some bystanders, who did not know
Barnum:

"I think it very singular that you permit that rascal to march
your streets in open day. It wouldn't be allowed in Rhode Island,
and I suppose that is the reason the scoundrel has come down this
way."

"Why, who is he?" they demanded.

"Don't you know? Why, that is the Rev. E. K. Avery, the murderer
of Miss Cornell."

Instantly there was a rush of the whole crowd to the door, eager
to get another look at Barnum, and uttering threats of vengeance.
This man Avery had only lately been tried in Rhode Island for the
murder of Miss Cornell, whose dead body was discovered in a
stack-yard, and though he was acquitted by the court everybody
believed him guilty. Accordingly, Barnum soon found himself
overtaken and surrounded by a mob of one hundred or more and his
ears saluted with such remarks as "the lecherous old hypocrite,"
"the sanctified murderer," "the black-coated villain," "lynch
him," "tar and feather him," and others still more harsh and
threatening. Then one man seized him by the collar, while others
brought a fence rail and some rope.

"Come," said the man who collared him, "old chap, you can't walk
any further; we know you, and as we always make gentlemen ride in
these parts, you may just prepare to straddle that rail!"

His surprise may be imagined. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed, as
they all pressed around, "gentlemen, what have I done?"

"Oh, we know you," exclaimed half a dozen voices; "you needn't
roll your sanctimonious eyes; that game don't take in this
country. Come, straddle the rail, and REMEMBER THE STACK-YARD!"

He grew more and more bewildered; he could not imagine what
possible offence he was to suffer for, and he continued to
exclaim, "Gentlemen, what have I done? Don't kill me, gentlemen,
but tell me what I have done."

"Come, make him straddle the rail; we'll show him how to hang
poor factory girls," shouted a man in the crowd.

The man who had him by the collar then remarked "Come, MR. AVERY,
it's no use; you see, we know you, and we'll give you a touch of
lynch law, and start you for home again."

"My name is NOT Avery, gentlemen; you are mistaken in your man,"
he exclaimed.

"Come, come, none of your gammon; straddle the rail, Ephraim."

The rail was brought and Barnum was about to be placed on it,
when the truth flashed upon him.

"Gentlemen," he exclaimed, "I am not Avery; I despise that
villain as much as you can; my name is Barnum; I belong to the
circus which arrived here last night, and I am sure Old Turner,
my partner, has hoaxed you with this ridiculous story."

"If he has we'll lynch him," said one of the mob.

"Well, he has, I'll assure you, and if you will walk to the hotel
with me, I'll convince you of the fact."

This they reluctantly assented to, keeping, however, a close hand
upon him. As they walked up the main street, the mob received a
re-enforcement of some fifty or sixty, and Barnum was marched
like a malefactor up to the hotel. Old Turner stood on the piazza
ready to explode with laughter. Barnum appealed to him for
heaven's sake to explain this matter, that he might be liberated.
He continued to laugh, but finally told them "he believed there
was some mistake about it. The fact is," said he, "my friend
Barnum has a new suit of black clothes on and he looks so much
like a priest that I thought he must be Avery."

The crowd saw the joke and seemed satisfied. Barnum's new coat
had been half-torn from his back, and he had been very roughly
handled. But some of the crowd apologized for the outrage,
declaring that Turner ought to be served in the same way, while
others advised Barnum to "get even with him." Barnum was very
much offended, and when the mob-dispersed he asked Turner what
could have induced him to play such a trick.

"My dear Mr. Barnum," he replied, "it was all for our good.
Remember, all we need to insure success is notoriety. You will
see that this will be noised all about town as a trick played by
one of the circus managers upon the other, and our pavilion will
be crammed to-morrow night."

It was even so; the trick was told all over town, and every one
came to see the circus managers who were in a habit of playing
practical jokes upon each other. They had fine audiences while
they remained at Annapolis, but it was a long time before Barnum
forgave Turner for his rascally "joke."

CHAPTER VI. INCIDENTS OF A CIRCUS TOUR.

BEATING A LANDLORD--A JOKE ON TURNER--BARNUM AS A PREACHER AND AS
A NEGRO MINSTREL--A BAD MAN WITH A GUN--DEALING WITH A
SHERIFF--"LADY HAYES"--AN EMBARASSED JUGGLER--BARNUM AS A
MATRIMONIAL AGENT.

At almost every place visited by the travelling company, some
notable incident occurred. At Hanover Court House, Virginia, for
example, it was raining so heavily that they could not give a
performance, and Turner therefore decided to start for Richmond
immediately after dinner. Their landlord, however, said that as
their agent had engaged three meals and lodgings for the whole
troupe, the whole bill must be paid whether they went then or
stayed until next morning. No compromise could be made with the
stubborn fellow, and Turner was equally stubborn in his
determination both to go at once and also to have the worth of
his money. The following programme was accordingly carried out,
Turner insisting upon every detail:

Dinner was ordered at twelve o'clock and was duly prepared and
eaten. As soon as the table was cleared, supper was ordered, at
half past twelve. After eating as much of this as their dinner
had left room for, the whole company went to bed at one o'clock
in the afternoon. Each man insisted upon taking a lighted candle
to his room, and the whole thirty-six of them undressed and went
to bed as though they proposed to stay all night. Half an hour
later they arose and dressed again and went down to breakfast,
which Turner had ordered served at two o'clock sharp. They could
eat but little of this meal, of course, but they did the best
they could, and at half past two in the afternoon were on their
way to Richmond. Throughout the whole absurd proceedings the
landlord was furiously angry. Turner was as solemn as a corpse,
and the rest of the company were convulsed with laughter.

After the performance one evening at Richmond, Barnum tried to
pay Turner for that practical joke about the Rev. Mr. Avery. A
score of the company were telling stories and singing songs in
the sitting room of the hotel. Presently somebody began
propounding some amusing arithmetical problems. Then Turner
proposed one, which was readily solved. Barnum's turn came next,
and he offered the following, for Turner's especial benefit:

"Suppose a man is thirty years of age, and he has a child one
year of age; he is thirty times older than his child. When the
child is thirty years old, the father, being sixty, is only twice
as old as his child. When the child is sixty the father is
ninety, and therefore only one-third older than the child. When
the child is ninety the father is one hundred and twenty, and
therefore only one-fourth older than the child. Thus you see, the
child is gradually but surely gaining on the parent, and as he
certainly continues to come nearer and nearer, in time he must
overtake him. The question therefore is, suppose it was possible
for them to live long enough, how old would the father be when
the child overtook him and became of the same age?"

The company generally saw the catch; but Turner was very much
interested in the problem, and although he admitted he knew
nothing about arithmetic, he was convinced that as the son was
gradually gaining on the father he must reach him if there was
time enough--say, a thousand years, or so--for the race. But an
old gentleman gravely remarked that the idea of a son becoming as
old as his father while both were living, was simply nonsense,
and he offered to bet a dozen of champagne that the thing was
impossible, even "in figures." Turner, who was a betting man, and
who thought the problem might be proved, accepted the wager; but
he was soon convinced that however much the boy might relatively
gain upon his father, there would always be thirty years
difference in their ages. The champagne cost him $25, and he
failed to see the fun of Barnum's arithmetic, though at last he
acknowledged that it was a fair offset to the Avery trick.

From Richmond they went to Petersburg, and thence to Warrenton,
North Carolina, and there, on October 30, Barnum and Turner
separated, Barnum's engagement having expired with a clear profit
to himself of about $1,200. Barnum took Vivalla, a negro singer
and dancer named James Sandford, several musicians, horses and
wagons, and a small canvas tent. With these he proposed to carry
on a travelling show of his own. His first stop was on Saturday,
November 12, 1836, at Rocky Mount Falls, North Carolina. The next
day, being Sunday, Barnum set out for church. "I noticed," he
says, "a stand and benches in a grove near by, and determined to
speak to the people if I was permitted. The landlord who was with
me said that the congregation, coming from a distance to attend a
single service, would be very glad to hear a stranger, and I
accordingly asked the venerable clergyman to announce that after
service I would speak for half an hour in the grove. Learning
that I was not a clergyman, he declined to give the notice, but
said that he had no objection to my making the announcement,
which I did, and the congregation, numbering about three hundred,
promptly came to hear me.

"I told them I was not a preacher, and had very little experience
in public speaking, but I felt a deep interest in matters of
morality and religion, and would attempt in a plain way, to set
before them the duties and privileges of man. I appealed to every
man's experience, observation and reason, to confirm the Bible
doctrine of wretchedness in vice and happiness in virtue. We
cannot violate the laws of God with impunity, and He will not
keep back the wages of well-doing. The outside show of things is
of very small account. We must look to realities and not to
appearances. 'Diamonds may glitter on a vicious breast,' but 'the
soul's calm sunshine and the heart-felt joy is virtue's prize.'
The rogue, the passionate man, the drunkard, are not to be envied
even at the best, and a conscience hardened by sin is the most
sorrowful possession we can think of."

Barnum proceeded in this strain with various scriptural
quotations and familiar illustrations, for three-quarters of an
hour. At the end of his address several persons came up to shake
hands with him, saying that they had been greatly pleased and
edified by his remarks and asking to know his name. He went away
feeling that possibly he had done some good by means of his
impromptu preaching.

The negro singer and dancer, Sandford, abruptly deserted the show
at Camden, South Carolina, and left Barnum in a bad plight. An
entertainment of negro songs had been advertised, and no one was
able to fill Sandford's place. Barnum was determined, however,
that his audience should not be disappointed, and so he blackened
his own face and went on the stage himself, singing a number of
plantation melodies. His efforts were received with great
applause, and he was recalled several times. This performance was
repeated for several evenings.

One night after thus personating a negro, Barnum heard a
disturbance outside the tent. Hastening to the spot he found a
man quarreling with one of his company. He interfered, whereupon
the man drew a pistol and pointing it at Barnum's head,
exclaimed, "you black scoundrel! How dare you use such language
to a white man?" He evidently took Barnum for a real negro, and
in another moment would have blown his brains out. But quick as a
flash the showman exclaim, "I am as white as you!" and at the
same moment rolled up his sleeves showing the white skin of his
arm. The other man dropped his pistol in consternation and humbly
begged Barnum's pardon.

"On four different occasions in my life," said Mr. Barnum not
long before his death, "I have had a loaded pistol pointed at my
head and each time I have escaped death by what seemed a miracle.
I have also often been in deadly peril by accidents, and when I
think of these things I realize my indebtedness to an
all-protecting Providence. Reviewing my career, too, and
considering the kind of company I kept for years and the
associations with which I was surrounded and connected, I am
surprised as well as grateful that I was not ruined. I honestly
believe that I owe my preservation from the degradation of living
and dying a loafer and a vagabond, to the single fact that I was
never addicted to strong drink. To be sure, I have in times past
drank liquor, but I have generally wholly abstained from
intoxicating beverages, and for many years, I am glad to say, I
have been a strict 'teetotaller.' "

At Camden, Barnum also lost one of his musicians, a Scotchman
named Cochran. This man was arrested and, in spite of Barnum's
efforts to save him, imprisoned for many months for advising a
negro barber who was shaving him to run away to the Free States
or to Canada. To fill up his ranks Barnum now hired Bob White, a
negro singer, and Joe Pentland, a clown, ventriloquist, comic
singer, juggler, and sleight-of-hand performer, and also bought
four horses and two wagons. He called this enlarged show
"Barnum's Grand Scientific and Musical Theatre."

At Raleigh, North Carolina, Barnum had sold a half interest in
his show to a man called Henry,--not his real name. The latter
now acted as treasurer and ticket taker. When they reached
Augusta, Georgia, the Sheriff served a writ upon Henry for a debt
of $500. As Henry had $600 of the Company's money in his pockets,
Barnum at once secured a bill of sale of all his property in the
exhibition. Armed with this he met Henry's creditor and his
lawyer, who demanded the key of the stable, so that they might
levy on the horses and wagons. Barnum asked them to wait a little
while until he could see Henry, to which they agreed. Henry was
anxious to cheat his creditor, and accordingly was glad to sign
the bill of sale. Then Barnum returned and told the creditor and
his lawyer that Henry would neither pay nor compromise the claim.
The Sheriff thereupon demanded the stable key, so that he might
attach Henry's share of the property. "Not yet," said Barnum,
pulling out the bill of sale, "I am in possession as entire owner
of this property. I have already purchased it, and you have not
yet levied on it. You will touch my property at your peril."

The creditor and the sheriff were thus baffled, but they
immediately arrested Henry and took him to prison. The next day
Barnum learned that Henry really owed $1,300, and that he had
promised his creditor that he would pay him $500 of the company's
money and a bill of sale of his interest in the show at the end
of the Saturday night performance, in consideration of which the
creditor was to allow him to take one of the horses and run away,
leaving Barnum in the lurch. Learning this, Barnum was not
disposed to help Henry any further. Finding that Henry had
intrusted the $500 to Vivalla, to keep it from the sheriff,
Barnum secured it from Vivalla on Henry's order, under pretense
of securing bail for the prisoner. Then he paid the creditor the
full amount obtained from Henry as the price of his half-interest
and received in return an assignment of $500 of the creditor's
claim and a guarantee that he should not be troubled by Henry for
it. Thus his own promptness rescued Barnum from one of the most
unpleasant situations in which he was ever placed.

After this they got into one of the most desolate parts of
Georgia. One night their advance agent, finding it impossible to
reach the next town, arranged for the whole show to spend the
night at a miserable and solitary hovel owned by an old woman
named Hayes. The horses were to be picketed in a field, and the
company were to sleep in the tent and the out houses. Posters
were scattered over the country, announcing that a performance
would be given there the next day, the agent thinking that, as a
show was a rarity in that region, a considerable number of small
farmers would be glad to attend.

"Meanwhile," says Barnum, "our advertiser, who was quite a wag,
wrote back informing us of the difficulty of reaching a town on
that part of our route, and stating that he had made arrangements
for us to stay over night on the plantation of 'Lady Hayes,' and
that although the country was sparsely settled, we could
doubtless give a profitable performance to a fair audience.

"Anticipating a fine time on this noble 'plantation,' we started
at four o'clock in the morning so as to arrive at one o'clock,
thus avoiding the heat of the afternoon. Towards noon we came to
a small river where some men, whom we afterwards discovered to be
down-east Yankees, from Maine, were repairing a bridge. Every
flooring plank had been taken up, and it was impossible for our
teams to cross. 'Could the bridge be fixed so that we could go
over?' I inquired. 'No; it would take half a day, and meantime,
if we must cross, there was a place about sixteen miles down the
river where we could get over. 'But we can't go so far as that;
we are under engagement to perform on Lady Hayes's place
to-night, and we must cross here. Fix the bridge and we will pay
you handsomely.'

"They wanted no money, but if we would give them some tickets to
our show they thought they might do something for us. I gladly
consented, and in fifteen minutes we crossed that bridge. The
cunning rascals had seen our posters and knew we were coming; so
they had taken up the planks of the bridge and had hidden them
till they had levied upon us for tickets, when the floor was
re-laid in a quarter of an hour.

"Towards dinner-time we began to look out for the grand mansion
of 'Lady Hayes,' and seeing nothing but little huts we quietly
pursued our journey. At one o'clock--the time when we should have
arrived at our destination--I became impatient, and riding up to
a poverty-stricken hovel and seeing a ragged, bare-footed old
woman, with her sleeves rolled up to her shoulders, who was
washing clothes in front of the door, I inquired--" 'Hello! can
you tell me where Lady Hayes lives?'

"The old woman raised her head, which was covered with tangled
locks and matted hair, and exclaimed--" 'Hey?'

" 'No, Hayes, Lady Hayes; where is her plantation?'

" 'This is the place,' she answered; 'I'm Widder Hayes, and you
are all to stay here to-night.'

"We could not believe our ears or eyes; but after putting the
dirty old woman through a severe cross-examination she finally
produced a contract, signed by our advertiser, agreeing for board
and lodging for the company, and we found ourselves booked for
the night. It appeared that our advertiser could find no better
quarters in that forlorn section, and he had indulged in a joke
at our expense by exciting our appetites and imaginations in
anticipation of the luxuries we should find in the magnificent
mansion of 'Lady Hayes.'

"Joe Pentland grumbled, Bob White indulged in some very strong
language, and Signor Vivalla laughed. He had travelled with his
monkey and organ in Italy and could put up with any fare that
offered. I took the disappointment philosophically, simply
remarking that we must make the best of it and compensate
ourselves when we reached a town next day.

"The next forenoon we arrived at Macon, and congratulated
ourselves that we had reached the regions of civilization.

"In going from Columbus, Ga., to Montgomery, Ala., we were
obliged to cross a thinly-settled, desolate tract, known as the
'Indian Nation,' and as several persons had been murdered by
hostile Indians in that region, it was deemed dangerous to travel
the road without an escort. Only the day before we started, the
mail stage had been stopped and the passengers murdered, the
driver alone escaping. We were well armed, however, and trusted
that our numbers would present too formidable a force to be
attacked, though we dreaded to incur the risk. Vivalla alone was
fearless and was ready to encounter fifty Indians and drive them
into the swamp.

"Accordingly, when we had safely passed over the entire route to
within fourteen miles of Montgomery, and were beyond the reach of
danger, Joe Pentland determined to test Vivalla's bravery. He had
secretly purchased at Mt. Megs, on the way, an old Indian dress
with a fringed hunting shirt and moccasins and these he put on,
after coloring his face with Spanish brown. Then shouldering his
musket he followed Vivalla and the party, and, approaching
stealthily leaped into their midst with a tremendous whoop.

"Vivalla's companions were in the secret, and they instantly fled
in all directions. Vivalla himself ran like a deer and Pentland
after him, gun in hand and yelling horribly. After running a full
mile the poor little Italian, out of breath and frightened nearly
to death, dropped on his knees and begged for his life. The
'Indian' leveled his gun at his victim, but soon seemed to
relent, and signified that Vivalla should turn his pockets inside
out--which he did, producing and handing over a purse containing
eleven dollars. The savage then marched Vivalla to an oak, and
with a handkerchief tied him in the most approved Indian manner
to the tree, leaving him half dead with fright.

"Pentland then joined us, and washing his face and changing his
dress, we all went to the relief of Vivalla. He was overjoyed to
see us, and when he was released his courage returned; he swore
that after his companions left him, the Indian had been
re-inforced by six more, to whom, in default of a gun or other
means to defend himself, Vivalla had been compelled to surrender.
We pretended to believe his story for a week, and then told him
the joke, which he refused to credit, and also declined to take
the money which Pentland offered to return, as it could not
possibly be his since seven Indians had taken his money. We had a
great deal of fun over Vivalla's courage, but the matter made him
so cross and surly that we were finally obliged to drop it
altogether. From that time forward, however, Vivalla never
boasted of his prowess."

At the end of February, 1837, they reached Montgomery, and there
Barnum sold a half interest in his show to Henry Hawley, a
sleight-of-hand performer. He was a very clever fellow and was
never known to be non-plussed or embarrassed in his tricks,
except upon one occasion. This was when he was performing the
well-known egg and bag trick, which he did with great success,
taking egg after egg from the bag and finally breaking one to
show that they were genuine. "Now," said he "I will show you the
old hen that laid them." But it happened that the negro boy to
whom had been intrusted the duty of supplying "properties," had
made a slight mistake. The result was that Hawley triumphantly
produced not "the old hen that laid the eggs," but a most
palpable and evident rooster. The audience roared with laughter,
and Hawley, completely taken aback, fled in confusion to his
dressing room, uttering furious maledictions upon the boy who was
the author of his woe.

The show visited various places in Alabama, Tennessee and
Kentucky, and finally disbanded at Nashville in May, 1837.
Vivalla went to New York and gave some performances on his own
account before sailing for Cuba. Hawley remained in Tennessee,
and Barnum went home to his family. Early in July, however, he
formed a new company and went back to rejoin Hawley. But they
were not successful, and in August they parted again, Barnum
forming a new partnership with one Z. Graves. He then went to
Tiffin, Ohio, where he re-engaged Joe Pentland and got together
the nucleus of a new company.

During his short stay at Tiffin, Barnum got into a discussion
with various gentlemen on religious subjects, and in response to
their invitation lectured, or preached, in the school-house on
Sunday afternoon and evening. He also went to the neighboring
town of Republic and delivered two lectures.

On his way back to Kentucky, just before he reached Cincinnati,
he met a drove of hogs. One of the drivers made an insolent
remark because the circus wagons interfered with the driving of
the hogs, and Barnum responded angrily. Thereupon the fellow
jumped from his horse, pointed a pistol at Barnum's breast and
swore he would shoot him if he did not apologize. Barnum asked
permission to speak first to a friend in the next wagon, after
which, he said, he would give the man full satisfaction. The
"friend" proved to be a loaded double barrelled gun, which Barnum
leveled at the hog-driver's head, saying:

"Now, sir, you must apologize, or have your brains blown out. You
drew a weapon upon me for a careless remark. You seem to hold
human life at a cheap price. Now you have the choice between a
load of shot and an apology."

The man apologized promptly, a pleasant conversation ensued, and
they parted excellent friends.

On this tour they exhibited at Nashville, where Barnum visited
General Jackson at the Hermitage; at Huntsville, Tuscaloosa,
Vicksburg and various other places, generally doing well. At
Vicksburg they bought a steamboat and went down the river,
stopping at every important landing to exhibit. At Natchez their
cook deserted them, and Barnum set out to find another. He found
a white woman who was willing to go, only she expected to marry a
painter in that town, and did not want to leave him. Barnum went
to see the painter and found that he had not fully made up his
mind whether to marry the woman or not. Thereupon the
enterprising showman told the painter that if he would marry the
woman the next morning he would hire him for $25 a month as
painter, and his bride at the same wages as cook, give them both
their board and add a cash bonus of $50. There was a wedding on
the boat the next day, and they had a good cook and a good
dinner.

During one evening performance at Francisville, Louisiana, a man
tried to pass Barnum at the door of the tent, claiming that he
had paid for admittance. Barnum refused him entrance; and as he
was slightly intoxicated, he struck Barnum with a slung shot,
mashing his hat and grazing what phrenologists call "the organ of
caution." He went away and soon returned with a gang of armed and
half-drunken companions, who ordered the showmen to pack up their
"traps and plunder" and to get on board their steamboat within an
hour. The big tent speedily came down. No one was permitted to
help, but the company worked with a will, and within five minutes
of the expiration of the hour they were on board and ready to
leave. The scamps who had caused their departure escorted them
and their last load, waving pine torches, and saluted them with a
hurrah as they swung into the stream.

The New Orleans papers of March 19th, 1838, announced the arrival
of the "Steamer Ceres, Captain Barnum, with a theatrical
company." After a week's performance, they started for the
Attakapas country. At Opelousas they exchanged the steamer for
sugar and molasses; the company was disbanded, and Barnum started
for home, arriving in New York. June 4th, 1838.

CHAPTER VII. HARD TIMES.

ADVERTISING FOR A PARTNER--"QUAKER OATS"--DIAMOND THE DANCER--A
DISHONEST MANAGER--RETURN TO NEW YORK--FROM HAND TO MOUTH--THE
AMERICAN MUSEUM.

Looking around now for some permanent business, Barnum at last
resorted to the expedient of advertising for a partner, stating
that he had $2,500 to invest, and was willing to add his entire
personal attention to the business. He was immediately
overwhelmed with answers, the most of them coming from sharpers.
One was a counterfeiter who wanted $2,500 to invest in paper,
ink, and dies.

One applicant was a sedate individual dressed in sober drab; he
proposed to buy a horse and wagon and sell oats in bags, trusting
that no one would be particular in measuring after a Quaker.

"Do you mean to cheat in measuring your oats?" asked Barnum.

"Well," said the Quaker, with a significant leer, "I shall
probably make them hold out."

Finally Barnum decided to go into business with a good-looking,
plausible German, named Proler, who was a manufacturer of
paste-blacking, cologne, and bear's grease. They opened a store
at No. 101 1/2 Bowery, where Proler manufactured the goods, and
Barnum kept accounts and attended to sales in the store. The
business prospered, or appeared to, until the capital was
exhausted, and early in 1840 Barnum sold out his interest to
Proler, taking the German's note for $2,600, which was all he
ever got, Proler shortly afterward running away to Rotterdam.

Barnum had formed the acquaintance of a very clever young dancer
named John Diamond, and soon after leaving the paste-blacking
enterprise, he gathered together a company of singers, etc.,
which, with the dancer, Diamond, he placed in the hands of an
agent, not caring to have his name appear in the transaction. He
hired the Vauxhall Garden Saloon in New York and gave a variety
of performances. This, however, proved unprofitable, and was
abandoned after a few months.

Much as Barnum dreaded resuming the life of an itinerant showman,
there seemed nothing else to be done, so January 2d, 1841, found
him in New Orleans, with a company consisting of C. D. Jenkins,
an excellent Yankee character artist; Diamond, the dancer; a
violinist, and one or two others. His brother-in-law, John
Hallett, acted as advance agent. The venture was fairly
successful, though after the first two weeks in New Orleans, the
manager and proprietor of the show was obliged to pledge his
watch as security for the board-bill. A dancing match between
Diamond and a negro from Kentucky put nearly $500 into Barnum's
pocket, and they continued to prosper until Diamond, after
extorting as much money as possible from his manager, finally ran
away. The other members of the troop caused considerable trouble
later. Jenkins, the Yankee character man, went to St. Louis, and
having enticed Francis Lynch, an orphan protege of Barnum's into
the scheme, proceeded to the Museum, where he exhibited Lynch as
the celebrated dancer, John Diamond. Barnum poured out his wrath
at this swindler in a letter, for which Jenkins threatened suit,
and actually did instigate R. W. Lindsay to bring an action
against Barnum for a pipe of brandy, alleged to have been
included in his contract. Being among strangers, Barnum had some
difficulty in procuring the $500 bond required, and was committed
to jail until late in the afternoon. As soon as he was released,
he had Jenkins arrested for fraud, and then went on his way
rejoicing.

After an absence of eight months Barnum found himself back in New
York, resolved never again to be a traveling showman. Contracting
with the publisher, Robert Sears, for five hundred copies of
"Sear's Pictorial Illustrations of the Bible," and accepting the
United States agency for the book, he opened an office at the
corner of Beekman and Nassau Streets. He advertised widely, had
numerous agents, and sold thousands of books, but for all that,
lost money.

While engaged in this business the Vauxhall Saloon was re-opened,
under the management of John Hallett, Mrs. Barnum's brother. At
the end of the season they had cleared about $200. This sum was
soon exhausted, and for the rest of the winter Barnum managed to
eke out a living by writing for the Sunday papers, and getting up
unique advertisements for the Bowery Amphitheatre.

His ambition received a stimulus at last from a friend in
Danbury, who held a mortgage on a piece of property owned by Mr.
Barnum. Mr. Whittlesey wrote that as he was convinced of Mr.
Barnum's inability to lay up money, he thought he might as well
demand the five hundred dollars then as at any time. Barnum's
flagging energies were aroused, and he began in earnest to look
for some permanent investment.

In connection with the Bowery Amphitheatre, the information came
to him that the collection of curiosities comprising Scudder's
American Museum, at the corner of Broadway and Ann Streets, was
for sale. The original proprietor had spent $50,000 on it, and at
his death had left a large fortune as the result of the
speculation. It was now losing money and the heirs offered it for
sale, at the low price of $15,000. Realizing that with tact,
energy, and liberality, the business might be made as profitable
as ever, Barnum resolved to buy it.

"You buy the American Museum!" exclaimed a friend to whom he
confided the scheme. "What will you buy it with?"

"With brass," answered Barnum, "for silver and gold have I none."

And buy it with brass he did, as the story of the transaction
testifies.

The Museum building belonged to Mr. Francis W. Olmsted, a retired
merchant, to whom he wrote, stating his desire to buy the
collection, and that although he had no means, if it could be
purchased upon reasonable credit, he was confident that his tact
and experience, added to a determined devotion to business, would
enable him to make the payments when due. Barnum therefore asked
him to purchase the collection in his own name; to give a writing
securing it to Barnum, provided he made the payments punctually,
including the rent of his building; to allow Barnum twelve
dollars and a half a week on which to support his family; and if
at any time he failed to meet the installment due, he would
vacate the premises, and forfeit all that might have been paid to
that date. "In fact, Mr. Olmsted." Barnum continued, earnestly,
"you may bind me in any way, and as tightly as you please--only
give me a chance to dig out, or scratch out, and I will do so or
forfeit all the labor and trouble I may have incurred."

In reply to this letter, which Barnum took to his house himself,
Mr. Olmsted named an hour when he could call on him. Barnum was
there at the exact moment, and Olmsted was pleased with his
punctuality. He inquired closely as to Barnum's habits and
antecedents, and the latter frankly narrated his experiences as a
caterer for the public, mentioning his amusement ventures in
Vauxhall Garden, the circus, and in the exhibitions he had
managed at the South and West.

"Who are your references?" Olmsted inquired.

"Any man in my line," Barnum replied, "from Edmund Simpson,
manager of the Park Theatre, or William Niblo, to Messrs. Welch,
June, Titus, Turner, Angevine, or other circus or menagerie
proprietors; also Moses Y. Beach, of the New York Sun."

"Can you get any of them to call on me?"

Barnum told him that he could, and the next day Mr. Niblo rode
down and had an interview with Mr. Olmsted, while Mr. Beach and
several other gentlemen also called. The following morning Barnum
waited upon him for his decision.

"I don't like your references, Mr. Barnum," said Mr. Olmsted,
abruptly, as soon as he entered the room.

Barnum was confused, and said, "he regretted to hear it."

"They all speak too well of you," Olmsted added, laughing; "in
fact, they all talk as if they were partners of yours, and
intended to share the profits."

"Nothing could have pleased me better," says Barnum. "He then
asked me what security I could offer in case he concluded to make
the purchase for me, and it was finally agreed that, if he should
do so, he should retain the property till it was entirely paid
for, and should also appoint a ticket-taker and accountant (at my
expense), who should render him a weekly statement. I was further
to take an apartment hitherto used as a billiard-room in his
adjoining building, allowing therefor $500 a year, making a total
rental of $3,000 per annum, on a lease of ten years. He then told
me to see the administrator and heirs of the estate, to get their
best terms, and to meet him on his return to town a week from
that time.

"I at once saw Mr. John Heath, the administrator, and his price
was $15,000. I offered $10,000, payable in seven annual
installments, with good security. After several interviews, it
was finally agreed that I should have it for $12,000, payable as
above --possession to be given on the 15th of November. Mr.
Olmsted assented to this, and a morning was appointed to draw and
sign the writings. Mr. Heath appeared, but said he must decline
proceeding any further in my case, as he had sold the collection
to the directors of Peale's Museum (an incorporated institution)
for $15,000, and had received $1,000 in advance.

"I was shocked, and appealed to Mr. Heath's honor. He said that
he had signed no writing with me; was in no way legally bound,
and that it was his duty to do the best he could for the heirs.
Mr. Olmsted was sorry but could not help me; the new tenants
would not require him to incur any risk, and my matter was at an
end.

"Of course I immediately informed myself as to the character of
Peale's Museum Company. It proved to be a band of speculators who
had bought Peale's collection for a few thousand dollars,
expecting to unite the American Museum with it, issue and sell
stock to the amount of $50,000, pocket $30,000 profits, and
permit the stockholders to look out for themselves.

"I went immediately to several of the editors, including Major M.
M. Noah, M. Y. Beach, my good friends West, Herrick, and Ropes,
of the Atlas, and others, and stated my grievances. 'Now,' said
I, 'if you will grant me the use of your columns, I'll blow that
speculation sky-high.' They all consented, and I wrote a large
number of squibs, cautioning the public against buying the Museum
stock, ridiculing the idea of a board of broken-down bank
directors engaging in the exhibition of stuffed monkeys and
gander-skins; appealing to the case of the Zoological Institute,
which had failed by adopting such a plan as the one now proposed;
and finally, I told the public that such a speculation would be
infinitely more ridiculous than Dickens's 'Grand United
Metropolitan Hot Muffin and Crumpit-baking and Punctual Delivery
Company.'

"The stock was 'as dead as a herring!' I then went to Mr. Heath
and asked him when the directors were to pay the other $14,000.'
On the 26th day of December, or forfeit the $1,000 already paid,'
was the reply. I assured him that they would never pay it, that
they could not raise it, and that he would ultimately find
himself with the Museum collection on his hands, and if once I
started off with an exhibition for the South, I could not touch
the Museum at ANY price. 'Now,' said I, 'if you will agree with
me confidentially, that in case these gentlemen do not pay you on
the 26th of December I may have it on the 27th for $12,000, I
will run the risk, and wait in this city until that date.' He
readily agreed to the proposition, but said he was sure they
would not forfeit their $1,000.

" 'Very well,' said I; 'all I ask of you is, that this
arrangement shall not be mentioned.' He assented. 'On the 27th
day of December, at ten o'clock A. M., I wish you to meet me in
Mr. Olmsted's apartments, prepared to sign the writings, provided
this incorporated company do not pay you $14,000 on the 26th. He
agreed to this, and by my request put it in writing.

"From that moment I felt that the Museum was mine. I saw Mr.
Olmsted, and told him so. He promised secrecy, and agreed to sign
the document if the other parties did not meet their engagement.
This was about November 15th, and I continued my shower of
newspaper squibs at the new company, which could not sell a
dollar's worth of its stock. Meanwhile, if any one spoke to me
about the Museum, I simply replied that I had lost it."

This newspaper war against the Peales was kept up unceasingly
until one morning in December, "I received a letter from the
secretary of that company (now calling itself the 'New York
Museum Company'), requesting me to meet the directors at the
Museum on the following Monday morning. I went, and found the
directors in session. The venerable president of the board, who
was also the ex-president of a broken bank, blandly proposed to
hire me to manage the united museums, and though I saw that he
merely meant to buy my silence, I professed to entertain the
proposition, and in reply to an inquiry as to what salary I
should expect, I specified the sum of $3,000 a year. This was at
once acceded to, the salary to begin January 1st, 1842, and after
complimenting me on my ability, the president remarked: 'Of
course, Mr. Barnum, we shall have no more of your squibs through
the newspapers.' To which I replied that I should 'ever try to
serve the interests of my employers,' and I took my leave.

"It was as clear to me as noonday that, after buying my silence
so as to appreciate their stock, these directors meant to sell
out to whom they could, leaving me to look to future stockholders
for my salary. They thought, no doubt, that they had nicely
entrapped me, but I knew I had caught them.

"For, supposing me to be out of the way, and having no other
rival purchaser, these directors postponed the advertisement of
their stock to give people time to forget the attacks I had made
on it, and they also took their own time for paying the money
promised to Mr Heath, December 26th--indeed, they did not even
call on him at the appointed time. But on the following morning,
as agreed, I was promptly and hopefully at Mr. Olmsted's
apartments with my legal adviser, at half-past nine o'clock; Mr.
Heath came with his lawyer at ten, and before two o'clock that
day I was in formal possession of the American Museum. My first
managerial act was to write and dispatch the following
complimentary note:

" 'AMERICAN MUSEUM, NEW YORK, Dec. 27th, 1841.
" 'To the President and Directors of the New York Museum:

" 'GENTLEMEN: It gives me great pleasure to inform you that you
are placed upon the Free List of this establishment until furthur
notice.                                
                             " 'P. T. BARNUM, Proprietor.'

"It is unnecessary to say that the 'President of the New York
Museum' was astounded, and when he called upon Mr. Heath, and
learned that I had bought and was really in possession of the
American Museum, he was indignant. He talked of prosecution, and
demanded the $1,000 paid on his agreement, but he did not
prosecute, and he justly forfeited his deposit money."

CHAPTER VIII. THE AMERICAN MUSEUM.

ADVERTISING EXTRAORDINARY--A QUICK-WITTED PERFORMER--NIAGARA
FALLS WITH REAL WATER--OTHER ATTRACTIONS--DRUMMOND LIGHTS.

With great hopes for the success of his project, Barnum entered
upon the management of the Museum. It was a new epoch in his
career, he felt that the opportunity of his life had presented
itself--in the show business, to be sure, but in a permanent,
substantial phase of it.

He must pay for the establishment within the stipulated time, or
forfeit all he had paid on account. A rigid plan of economy was
determined upon, his wife agreeing to support the family on $600
a year, or even on four hundred if necessary. Barnum himself made
every possible personal retrenchment. One day, some six months
after the purchase had been made, Mr. Olmsted happened into the
ticket office, while the proprietor was eating his lunch of cold
corned beef and bread.

"Is that all you eat for dinner?" asked Mr. Olmsted.

"I have not eaten a warm dinner, except on Sundays, since I
bought the Museum," was the reply, "and I don't intend to, until
I am out of debt."

"That's right," said Mr. Olmsted, heartily, "and you'll pay for
the Museum before the year is out."

And he was right.

The nucleus of this establishment, Scudder's Museum, was formed
in 1810. It was begun in Chatham Street, and was afterward
transferred to the old City Hall, and from small beginnings, by
purchases, and to a considerable degree by presents, it had grown
to be a large and valuable collection. People in all parts of the
country had sent in relics and rare curiosities. Sea captains for
years had brought and deposited strange things from foreign
lands; and besides all these gifts, the previous proprietor had
actually expended, as was stated, $50,000 in making the
collection, which valuable as it was when Barnum bought it, was
only the beginning of its subsequent greatness. In 1842 the
entire contents of Peale's Museum was purchased, and in 1850 the
Peale collection of Philadelphia was added. In 1865 the space
occupied for museum purposes was more than twice as large as in
1842. The Lecture Room, originally narrow, ill-contrived, and
inconvenient, was so enlarged and improved that it became one of
the most commodious and beautiful amusement halls in the city of
New York. At first the attractions and inducements were merely
the collection of curiosities by day, and an evening
entertainment, consisting of such variety performances as were
current in ordinary shows. Then Saturday afternoons and, soon
afterward, Wednesday afternoons, were devoted to entertainments,
and the popularity of the Museum grew so rapidly that it was
presently found expedient and profitable to open the great
Lecture Room every afternoon, as well as every evening, on every
weekday in the year. The first experiments in this direction more
than justified expectations, for the day exhibitions were always
more thronged than those of the evening.

Holidays, of course, were made the most of, and there is a record
of twelve performances, to as many audiences, being given in one
day.

By degrees the character of the stage performances were changed.
The transient attractions of the Museum were constantly
diversified, and educated dogs, industrious fleas, automatons,
jugglers, ventriloquists, living statuary, tableaux, gypsies,
Albinoes, fat boys, giants, dwarfs, rope-dancers, live "Yankees,"
pantomime, instrumental music, singing and dancing in great
variety, dioramas, panoramas, models of Niagara, Dublin, Paris,
and Jerusalem; Hannington's dioramas of the Creation, the Deluge,
Fairy Grotto, Storm at Sea; the first English Punch and Judy in
this country, Italian Fantoceini, mechanical figures, fancy
glass-blowing, knitting machines, and other triumphs in the
mechanical arts; dissolving views, American Indians, who enacted
their warlike and religious ceremonies on the stage--these, among
others, were all exceedingly successful.

No man ever understood the art of advertising better than Barnum.
Knowing that mammon is ever caught with glare, he took pains that
his posters should be larger, his transparencies more brilliant,
his puffing more persistent than anybody elses. And if he
resorted to hyperbole at times in his advertisements, it was
always his boast that no one ever went away from his Museum,
without having received the worth of his money. It used to amuse
Mr. Barnum later in life, to relate some of the unique
advertising dodges which his inventive genius devised. Here is a
fair sample, as he once told it:

"One morning a stout, hearty-looking man came into my
ticket-office and begged some money. I asked him why he did not
work and earn his living? He replied that he could get nothing to
do, and that he would be glad of any job at a dollar a day. I
handed him a quarter of a dollar, told him to go and get his
breakfast and return, and I would employ him, at light labor, at
a dollar and a half a day. When he returned I gave him five
common bricks.

" 'Now,' said I, 'go and lay a brick on the sidewalk, at the
corner of Broadway and Ann Street; another close by the Museum; a
third diagonally across the way, at the corner of Broadway and
Vesey Street, by the Astor House; put down the fourth on the
sidewalk, in front of St. Paul's Church opposite; then, with the
fifth brick in hand, take up a rapid march from one point to the
other, making the circuit, exchanging your brick at every point,
and say nothing to any one.'

" 'What is the object of this?' inquired the man.

" 'No matter,' I replied: 'all you need to know is that it brings
you fifteen cents wages per hour. It is a bit of my fun, and to
assist me properly you must seem to be as deaf as a post; wear a
serious countenance; answer no questions; pay no attention to any
one; but attend faithfully to the work, and at the end of every
hour, by St. Paul's clock, show this ticket at the Museum door;
enter, walking solemnly through every hall in the building; pass
out, and resume your work.' "

With the remark that "it was all one to him, so long as he could
earn his living," the man placed his bricks, and began his round.
Half an hour afterward, at least five hundred people were
watching his mysterious movements. He had assumed a military step
and bearing, and, looking as sober as a judge, he made no
response whatever to the constant inquiries as to the object of
his singular conduct. At the end of the first hour, the sidewalks
in the vicinity were packed with people, all anxious to solve the
mystery. The man, as directed, then went into the Museum,
devoting fifteen minutes to a solemn survey of the halls, and
afterward returning to his round. This was repeated every hour
until sundown, and whenever the man went into the Museum a dozen
or more persons would buy tickets and follow him, hoping to
gratify their curiosity in regard to the purpose of his
movements. This was continued for several days--the curious
people who followed the man into the Museum considerably more
than paying his wages--till finally the policeman, to whom Barnum
had imparted his object, complained that the obstruction of the
sidewalk by crowds, had become so serious that he must call in
his "brick man." This trivial incident excited considerable talk
and amusement; it advertised Barnum; and it materially advanced
his purpose of making a lively corner near the Museum.

Barnum realized above all that to have people pleased with his
attractions was the best advertisement he could possibly have,
and he tried honestly to keep the Museum supplied with every
novelty. A curiosity which possessed some merit, and considerable
absurdity was the celebrated model of Niagara, "with real water."

One day the enterprising proprietor was called before the Board
of Water Commissioners, and informed that he must pay a large
extra compensation for the immense amount of water that supplied
his Niagara. To the astonishment of the Board Mr. Barnum gave his
assurance that a single barrel of water per month served to run
the machine.

Apropos of this wonderful model, Barnum used to tell how he got
even with his friend, Louis Gaylord Clark, editor of the
Knickerbocker, an inveterate joker, and who was fond of guying
the Museum. The first time Clark viewed "Niagara" he assumed
great admiration.

"Well, Barnum, I declare, this is quite an idea; I never saw the
like of this before in all my life."

"No?" inquired Barnum, quite pleased.

"No," said Clark, fervently, "and I hope to the Lord, I never
will."

Barnum might have forgiven this, but Clark's next joke was too
much to bear. He came in one day and asked Barnum if he had the
club with which Captain Cook was killed. The Museum boasted a
large collection of Indian curiosities, and Barnum showed one
warlike weapon which he assured Clark was the identical club and
he had all the documents to prove it.

"Poor Cook! Poor Cook!" said Clark, musingly. "Well, Mr. Barnum,"
he continued, with great gravity, at the same time extending his
hand, "I am really very much obliged to you for your kindness. I
had an irrepressible desire to see the club that killed Captain
Cook, and I felt quite confident you could accommodate me. I have
been in half a dozen smaller museums, and as they all had it, I
was sure a large establishment like yours would not be without
it."

But Barnum's turn came. A few weeks afterward, he wrote to Clark
that if he would come to his office he was anxious to consult him
on a matter of great importance. He came, and Barnum said:

"Now, I don't want any of your nonsense, but I want your sober
advice."

Clark assured him that he would serve him in any way in his
power, and Barnum proceeded to tell him about a wonderful fish
from the Nile, offered for exhibition at $100 a week, the owner
of which was willing to forfeit $5,000, if, within six weeks,
this fish did not pass through a transformation in which the tail
would disappear and the fish would then have legs.

"Is it possible!" asked the astonished Clark.

Barnum assured him that there was no doubt of it.

Thereupon Clark advised Barnum to engage the wonder at any price;
that it would startle the naturalists, wake up the whole
scientific world, draw in the masses, and make $20,000 for the
Museum. Barnum told him that he thought well of the speculation,
only he did not like the name of the fish.

"That makes no difference whatever," said Clark; "what is the
name of the fish?"

"Tadpole," Barnum replied, with becoming gravity, "but it is
vulgarly called 'pollywog.' "

"Sold, by thunder!" exclaimed Clark, and he left.

Another story is illustrative of some of the trials incident to
theatrical management.

An actor named La Rue presented himself as an imitator of
celebrated histrionic personages, including Macready, Forrest,
Kemble, the elder Booth, Kean, Hamblin, and others. Taking him
into the green-room for a private rehearsal, and finding his
imitations excellent, Barnum engaged him. For three nights he
gave great satisfaction, but early in the fourth evening he
staggered into the Museum so drunk that he could hardly stand,
and in half an hour he must be on the stage! Barnum called an
assistant, and they took La Rue and marched him up Broadway as
far as Chambers Street, and back to the lower end of the Park,
hoping to sober him. At this point they put his head under a pump
and gave him a good ducking, with visible beneficial effect, then
a walk around the Park and another ducking, when he assured them
that he should be able to give his imitations "to a charm."

"You drunken brute," said Barnum, "if you fail, and disappoint my
audience, I will throw you out of the window."

He declared that he was "all right," and Barnum led him behind
the scenes, where he waited with considerable trepidation to
watch his movements on the stage. La Rue began by saying:

"Ladies and gentlemen: I will now give you an imitation of Mr.
Booth, the eminent tragedian."

His tongue was thick, his language somewhat incoherent, and
Barnum had great misgivings as he proceeded; but as no token of
disapprobation came from the audience, he began to hope he would
go through with his parts without exciting suspicion of his
condition. But before he had half finished his representation of
Booth, in the soliloquy in the opening act of Richard III, the
house discovered that he was very drunk, and began to hiss. This
only seemed to stimulate him to make an effort to appear sober,
which, as is usual in such cases, only made matters worse, and
the hissing increased. Barnum lost all patience, and, going on
the stage and taking the drunken fellow by the collar, apologized
to the audience, assuring them that he should not appear before
them again. Barnum was about to march him off, when he stepped to
the front, and said:

"Ladies and gentlemen: Mr. Booth has often appeared on the stage
in a state of inebriety, and I was simply giving you a truthful
representation of him on such occasions. I beg to be permitted to
proceed with my imitations."

The audience at once supposed it was all right, and cried out,
"go on, go on"; which he did, and at every imitation of Booth,
whether as Richard, Shylock, or Sir Giles Overreach, he received
a hearty round of applause. Barnum was quite delighted with his
success; but when he came to imitate Forrest and Hamblin,
necessarily representing them as drunk also, the audience could
be no longer deluded; the hissing was almost deafening, and
Barnum was forced to lead the actor off. It was his last
appearance on that stage.

Barnum always denied that the "Feejee Mermaid," which attained
such lasting notoriety, was an invention of his own. It was first
exhibited in London in 1822, where it was purchased by Mr. Moses
Kimball, of the Boston Museum, who sold it to Barnum. The
creature was really most ingeniously constructed, probably by
some Japanese. It drew like magic, and afterward served as a good
advertisement, sent throughout the country for exhibition, the
posters reading, "From Barnum's Great American Museum, New York."

Barnum believed in making his place of exhibition as attractive
as possible, and the building was decorated with flags and
banners, the posters were of the most sensational character, and
the first "Drummond Lights" ever seen in New York were placed on
top of the Museum, flooding the streets around with brilliance.

CHAPTER IX. INCREASED POPULARITY OF THE MUSEUM.

THE AMERICAN FLAG AND ST. PAUL'S--ST, PATRICK'S DAY--THE BABY
SHOW--GRAND BUFFALO HUNT--N. P. WILLIS--THE FIRST WILD-WEST SHOW.

The fame of the American Museum rose higher and higher. It is
doubtful if any place of entertainment ever attracted such
enthusiastic crowds. It was the first place visited by strangers
in the city.

The small Lecture Room had been converted into a large and
beautiful theatre, and in it many afterward celebrated actors and
actresses made their first appearance; Sothern, Barney Williams,
and the charming Mary Garmon. On holidays there were lecture
performances every hour. The actors kept on their stage clothes
from eleven o'clock in the morning until ten at night, their
meals were served in the green-room, and the company received
extra pay.

The 4th of July, 1842, was a great day in the history of the
Museum. Barnum had planned a magnificent display of American
flags, as one of the outside attractions, and applied to the
vestrymen of St. Paul's Church, opposite the Museum, for
permission to attach his flag-rope to a tree in the church-yard.
Their reply was an indignant refusal. Returning to the Museum,
Barnum directed that his original order concerning the
disposition of the flags be carried out to the letter.

The morning dawned, and the crowds on Broadway were admiring the
display, when two representatives of the baffled vestry rushed
into the office and demanded that the ropes be taken down. "The
Church of St. Paul's, where Washington worshiped, attached to a
Museum! Sacrilege!"

Barnum assumed a conciliatory tone, reminding them that he always
stopped his band playing during their week-day services, and
suggesting the fairness of the obligation being made mutual.

"If those flags are not down in ten minutes," cried one of the
vestrymen, "I will cut them down."

Then Barnum sprang to his feet and exclaimed loudly enough for
the crowd to hear:

"Well, Mister, I should just like to see you dare to cut down the
American flag on the Fourth of July; you must be a 'Britisher' to
make such a threat as that; but I'll show you a thousand pairs of
Yankee hands in two minutes, if you dare to attempt to take down
the Stars and Stripes on this great birthday of American
freedom!"

"What's that John Bull a-saying?" asked a brawny fellow, placing
himself in front of the irate vestryman. "Look here, old fellow,"
he continued, "if you want to save a whole bone in your body, you
had better slope, and never dare to talk again about hauling down
the American flag in the city of New York."

Throngs of excited, exasperated men crowded around, and the
vestryman, seeing the effect of the ruse, smiled faintly and
said, "Oh, of course it is all right," and he and his companion
quietly edged out of the crowd.

By one o'clock that day, the Museum was so densely packed that no
more visitors could be admitted, and the proprietor saw with
despair the crowds being turned away from the door. Rushing
down-stairs, he directed the carpenter to cut down the partition
and floor in the rear and to put in a temporary flight of stairs.
The egress was ready by three o'clock, and people poured out into
Ann Street, while the crowd from Broadway poured in. After that,
the egress was always ready on holidays. One of Barnum's most
amusing reminiscences related to this egress.

"Early in the following March I received notice from some of the
Irish population that they meant to visit me in great numbers on
'St. Patrick's day in the morning.' 'All right,' said I to my
carpenter, 'get your egress ready for March 17th;' and I added,
to my assistant manager: 'If there is much of a crowd, don't let
a single person pass out at the front, even if it were St.
Patrick himself; put every man out through the egress in the
rear.' The day came, and before noon we were caught in the same
dilemma as we were on the Fourth of July; the Museum was jammed,
and the sale of tickets was stopped. I went to the egress and
asked the sentinel how many hundreds had passed out?

" 'Hundreds,' he replied, 'why only three persons have gone out
by this way, and they came back, saying that it was a mistake and
begging to be let in again.'

" 'What does this mean?' I inquired; 'surely thousands of people
have been all over the Museum since they came in.'

" 'Certainly,' was the reply; 'but after they have gone from one
saloon to another, and have been on every floor, even to the
roof, they come down and travel the same route over again.'

"At this time I espied a tall Irish woman with two good-sized
children whom I had happened to notice when they came in early in
the morning.

" 'Step this way, madam,' said I, politely; 'you will never be
able to get into the street by the front door without crushing
these dear children. We have opened a large egress here, and you
can thus pass by these rear stairs into Ann Street, and thus
avoid all danger.'

" 'Sure,' replied the woman, indignantly, 'an' I'm not going out
at all, at all, nor the children either, for we've brought our
dinners and we are going to stay all day.'

"Further investigation showed that pretty much all of the
visitors had brought their dinners with the evident intention of
literally 'making a day of it.' No one expected to go home till
night; the building was overcrowded, and hundreds were waiting at
the front entrance to get in when they could. In despair, I
sauntered upon the stage behind the scenes, biting my lips with
vexation, when I happened to see the scene-painter at work, and a
happy thought struck me. 'Here,' I exclaimed, 'take a piece of
canvas four feet square and paint on it, as soon as you can, in
large letters,

                {pointing finger} TO THE EGRESS.'

"Seizing his brush, he finished the sign in fifteen minutes, and
I directed the carpenter to nail it over the door leading to the
back stairs. He did so, and as the crowd, after making the entire
tour of the establishment, came pouring down the main stairs from
the third-story, they stopped and looked at the new sign, while
some of them read audibly: 'To the Aigress.'

" 'The Aigress,' said others, 'sure that's an animal we haven't
seen,' and the throng began to pour down the back-stairs only to
find that the 'Aigress ' was the elephant, and that the elephant
was all out o' doors, or so much of it as began with Ann Street.
Meanwhile, I began to accommodate those who had long been waiting
with their money at the Broadway entrance."

Barnum had planned to expend the entire profits of the first year
in advertising, but so fast did the money pour in, that he was
often embarrassed to devise means to get rid of it, according to
his first idea. One of the most expensive advertisements
consisted of a large number of oil paintings of every animal in
zoology. These paintings were prepared secretly, and were put
between the windows of the building at night. The town was
paralyzed with astonishment, and the daily receipts took an
upward jump of nearly a hundred dollars.

Flower shows, dog shows, poultry and bird shows, with prizes to
the best specimens, had long been features of the Museum, and at
last Barnum rashly decided on a baby show. There was a prize of
one hundred dollars attached, and a committee of ladies were
appointed to decide on the best baby. The unsuspecting Barnum
stepped into the circle and announced the prize winner, but to
his astonishment the verdict did not suit anybody but the mother
of one baby. The other ninety-nine indignant mothers "jumped on"
to Mr Barnum and the committee, and denounced the whole
proceeding as impartial and unjust. Barnum offered to let them
select a new committee, and even agreed to give another hundred
dollar prize, but the storm raged with unabating fury. There were
baby shows after that, but the verdict was delivered in writing,
and Mr. Barnum never gave the prize in person.

In June, 1843, a herd of yearling buffaloes was on exhibition in
Boston. Barnum bought the lot, brought them to New Jersey, hired
the race-course at Hoboken, chartered the ferry-boats for one
day, and advertised that a hunter had arrived with a herd of
buffaloes, and that august 31st there would be a "Grand Buffalo
Hunt" on the Hoboken race-course--all persons to be admitted free
of charge.

The appointed day was warm and delightful, and no less than
twenty-four thousand people crossed the North River in the
ferry-boats to enjoy the cooling breeze and to see the "Grand
Buffalo Hunt." The hunter was dressed as an Indian, and mounted
on horseback; he proceeded to show how the wild buffalo is
captured with a lasso, but unfortunately the yearlings would not
run till the crowd gave a great shout, expressive at once of
derision and delight at the harmless humbug. This shout started
the young animals into a weak gallop and the lasso was duly
thrown over the head of the largest calf. The crowd roared with
laughter, listened to the balcony band, which was also furnished
"free," and then started for New York, little dreaming who was
the author of this sensation, or what was its object.

Mr. N. P. Willis, then editor of the Home Journal, wrote an
article illustrating the perfect good nature with which the
American public submit to a clever humbug. He said that he went
to Hoboken to witness the buffalo hunt. It was nearly four
o'clock when the boat left the foot of Barclay Street, and it was
so densely crowded that many persons were obliged to stand on the
railings and hold on to the awning-posts. When they reached the
Hoboken side a boat equally crowded was coming out of the slip.
The passengers just arriving cried out to those who were coming
away, "Is the buffalo hunt over?" To which came the reply, "Yes,
and it was the biggest humbug you ever heard of!" Willis added
that passengers on the boat with him instantly gave three cheers
for the author of the humbug, whoever he might be.

After the public had enjoyed their laugh over the Buffalo hunt,
Barnum let it become known that he was the author of the joke. Of
course, their cry of "charlatan," "humbug," and "swindler" was
louder than ever from that time, but Barnum never objected to
being celled names. The more advertising the better.

About this time Barnum engaged a band of Indians from Iowa.

The party comprised large and noble specimens of the untutored
savage, as well as several very beautiful squaws, with two or
three interesting "papooses." They lived and lodged in a large
room on the top floor of the Museum, and cooked their own
victuals in their own way. They gave their war-dances on the
stage in the Lecture Room with great vigor and enthusiasm, much
to the satisfaction of the audiences. But these wild Indians
seemed to consider their dances as realities. Hence, when they
gave a real war-dance, it was dangerous for any parties, except
their manager and interpreter to be on the stage, for the moment
they had finished their war-dance, they began to leap and peer
about behind the scenes in search of victims for their tomahawks
and scalping knives! Indeed, lest in these frenzied moments they
might make a dash at the orchestra or the audience, Barnum had a
high rope barrier placed between them and the savages on the
front of the stage.

Barnum counted one incident in connection with his Indian show as
notable, being one of the few occasions when he played the losing
card.

"After they had been a week in the Museum," he said, "I proposed
a change of performance for the week following by introducing new
dances. Among these was the Indian wedding dance. At that time I
printed but one set of posters (large bills) per week, so that
whatever was announced for Monday was repeated every day and
evening during that week. Before the wedding dance came off on
Monday afternoon, I was informed that I was to provide a large,
new, red woolen blanket, at a cost of ten dollars, for the
bridegroom to present to the father of the bride. I ordered the
purchase to be made, but was considerably taken aback when I was
informed that I must have another new blanket for the evening,
inasmuch as the savage old Indian chief, father-in-law to the
bridegroom, would not consent to his daughter's being approached
with the wedding dance unless he had his blanket present,

"I undertook to explain to the chief, through the interpreter,
that this was only a 'make believe' wedding; but the old savage
shrugged his shoulders, and gave such a terrific 'Ugh!' that I
was glad to make my peace by ordering another blanket. As we gave
two performances per day, I was out of pocket $120 for twelve
'wedding blankets' that week."

One of the beautiful squaws named Do-humme died in the Museum.
She had been a great favorite with many ladies. Do-humme was
buried on the border of Sylvan Water, at Greenwood Cemetery,
where a small monument erected by her friends, designates her
last resting-place. The poor Indians were very sorrowful for many
days, and desired to get back again to their Western wilds. The
father and the betrothed of Do-humme cooked various dishes of
food and placed them upon the roof of the Museum, where they
believed the spirit of their departed friend came daily for its
supply; and these dishes were renewed every morning during the
stay of the Indians at the Museum.

CHAPTER X. GIANTS AND DWARFS.

SCIENCE FOR THE PUBLIC--MESMERISM EXTRAORDINARY--KILLING OF A
RIVAL--THE TWO GIANTS--DISCOVERY OF "TOM THUMB"--SEEKING OTHER
WORLDS TO CONQUER--FIRST VISIT TO ENGLAND.

Barnum would never submit to being outdone by a rival. In "poker"
parlance, he would "see him and go one better." His chief
competitor now was Peale, who was running Peale's Museum, and
proudly proclaiming it to be a more scientific institution than
Barnum's. Thus, he said, he was catering to a higher class of
patrons.

"Science, indeed!" said Barnum. "I'll give him science to his
heart's content!"

Mesmerism was then a great novelty, and Peale was given
exhibitions of it. He had one subject on whom he operated daily,
with most surprising results; though at times she was
unimpressionable, and the people who had paid to come in and see
her performances complained loudly that they were being swindled.
Barnum saw here a great opportunity to squelch a rival and
increase his own fame at a single stroke. He engaged a bright
little girl who was exceedingly susceptible to such mesmeric
influences as he could induce. That is, she learned her lesson
thoroughly, and when he had apparently put her to sleep with a
few passes and stood behind her, she seemed to be duly
"impressed," as he desired; raised her hands as he willed, fell
from her chair to the floor; and if he put candy or tobacco into
his own mouth, she was duly delighted or disgusted. She never
failed in these routine performances. Strange to say, believers
in mesmerism used to witness her performances with the greatest
pleasure, and adduce them as positive proofs that there was
something in mesmerism, and they applauded tremendously--up to a
certain point.

That point was reached when, leaving the girl "asleep," Barnum
called up some one in the audience, promising to put him "in the
same state" within five minutes, or forfeit fifty dollars. Of
course, all his "passes" would not put a man in the mesmeric
state; at the end of three minutes he was as wide awake as ever.

"Never mind," Barnum would say, "looking at his watch; "I have
two minutes more, and meantime, to show that a person in this
state is utterly insensible to pain, I propose to cut off one of
the fingers of the little girl who is still asleep." He would
then take out a knife and feel of the edge, and when he turned
around to the girl whom he left on the chair, she had fled behind
the scenes, to the intense amusement of the greater part of the
audience, and to the amazement of the mesmerists who were
present.

"Why! where's my little girl?" he asked, with feigned
astonishment.

"Oh! she ran away when you began to talk about cutting off
fingers."

"Then she was wide awake, was she?"

"Of course she was, all the time."

"I suppose so; and, my dear sir, I promised that you should be
'in the same state' at the end of five minutes, and as I believe
you are so, I do not forfeit fifty dollars."

Barnum kept up this performance for several weeks, till he quite
killed Peale's "genuine" mesmerism in the rival establishment. At
the end of six months he bought Peale's Museum, and the whole,
including the splendid gallery of American portraits, was removed
to the American Museum, and he immediately advertised the great
card of a "Double Attraction," and "Two Museums in One," without
extra charge.

Barnum was now devoting all his attention and energy to this
enterprise, and was achieving great success. He made everything
contribute to its popularity. When a politician asked him for
what candidate he was going to vote, he would answer, "For the
American Museum;" and this was an index of his whole demeanor.

Among the genuine and literally "great" features of his show were
several giants. They often gave both the showman and his patrons
food for much amusement as well as wonder. The Quaker giant,
Hales, was quite a wag in his way. He went once to see the new
house of an acquaintance who had suddenly become rich, but who
was a very ignorant man. When he came back he described the
wonders of the mansion, and said that the proud proprietor showed
him everything from basement to attic; parlors, bed-rooms,
dining-room, and, said Hales, "what he calls his
'study'--meaning, I suppose, the place where he intends to study
his spelling-book!"

He had at one time two famous men, the French giant, M. Bihin, a
very slim man, and the Arabian giant, Colonel Goshen. These men
generally got on together very well, though, of course, each was
jealous of the other, and of the attention the rival received, or
the notice he attracted. One day they quarreled, and a lively
interchange of compliments ensued, the Arabian calling the
Frenchman a "Shanghai," and receiving in return the epithet of
"Nigger." From words both were eager to proceed to blows, and
both ran to the collection of arms, one seizing the club with
which Captain Cook, or any other man, might have been killed, if
it were judiciously wielded, and the other laying hands on a
sword of the terrific size which is supposed to have been
conventional in the days of the Crusades.

The preparations for a deadly encounter, and the high words of
the contending parties, brought a dozen of the Museum attaches to
the spot, and these men threw themselves between the gigantic
combatants. Hearing the disturbance, Barnum ran from his private
office to the dueling ground, and said:

"Look here! This is all right; if you want to fight each other,
maiming and perhaps killing one or both of you, that is your
affair; but my interest lies here: you are both under engagement
to me, and if this duel is to come off, I and the public have a
right to participate. It must be duly advertised, and must take
place on the stage of the Lecture Room. No performance of yours
would be a greater attraction, and if you kill each other, our
engagement can end with your duel."

This proposition, made in apparent earnest, so delighted the
giants that they at once burst into a laugh, shook hands, and
quarreled no more.

From giants to dwarfs. None of Barnum's attractions has been more
famous than "Tom Thumb." The story of his discovery and
engagement is dated in November, 1842. Barnum was then at
Bridgeport, Conn. One day he heard that there belonged in one of
the families of the place a phenomenally small child, and he got
his brother, Philo F. Barnum, to bring the little fellow to his
hotel. "He was," Barnum afterward said, "not two feet high; he
weighed less than sixteen pounds, and was the smallest child I
ever saw that could walk alone; he was a perfectly formed
bright-eyed little fellow, with light hair and ruddy cheeks, and
he enjoyed the best of health. He was exceedingly bashful, but
after some coaxing, he was induced to talk with me, and he told
me that he was the son of Sherwood E. Stratton, and that his own
name was Charles S. Stratton. After seeing him and talking with
him, I at once determined to secure his services from his parents
and to exhibit him in public. I engaged him for four weeks, at
three dollars a week, with all traveling and boarding charges for
himself and his mother at my expense. They came to New York
Thanksgiving day, December 8th, 1842, and I announced the dwarf
on my Museum bills as 'General Tom Thumb.' "

Barnum took the greatest pains to educate and train the
diminutive prodigy, devoting many hours to the task by day and by
night, and he was very successful, for the boy was an apt pupil,
with a great deal of native talent, and a keen sense of the
ludicrous. Barnum afterward re-engaged him for one year, at seven
dollars a week with a gratuity of fifty dollars at the end of the
engagement, and the privilege of exhibiting him anywhere in the
United States, in which event his parents were to accompany him
and Barnum was to pay all traveling expenses. He speedily became
a public favorite, and long before the year was out, Barnum
voluntarily increased his weekly salary to twenty-five dollars,
and he fairly earned it.

For two years Barnum had been the owner of the Museum. He had
enjoyed great prosperity. Long ago he had paid every dollar of
the purchase-money out of the profits of the place. All rivals
had been driven from the field. He was out of debt, and had a
handsome balance in the bank. The experimental stage was passed,
and the enterprise was an established success. It was, indeed, in
such perfect order that Barnum felt safe in leaving it to his
lieutenants, while he went forth to seek new realms of conquest.
Accordingly he made an agreement for General Tom Thumb's services
for another year, at fifty dollars a week and all expenses, with
the privilege of exhibiting him in Europe. He proposed to test
the curiosity of men and women on the other side of the Atlantic.

After arranging his business affairs for a long absence, and
making every preparation for an extended foreign tour, on
Thursday, January 18th, 1844, he went on board the new and fine
sailing ship "Yorkshire," Captain D. G. Bailey, bound for
Liverpool. The party included General Tom Thumb, his parents, his
tutor, and Professor Guillaudeu, a French naturalist. They were
accompanied by several personal friends, and the City Brass Band
kindly volunteered to escort them to Sandy Hook.

They were met at Liverpool by a large crowd of sight-seers, who
had been attracted thither by the fame of "Tom Thumb." The
curiosity of the populace was not gratified, however, for Barnum
had the child smuggled ashore unseen, under his mother's shawl.

"My letters of introduction," said the showman,  many excellent
families, and I was induced to hire a hall and present the
General to the public, for a short season in Liverpool. I had
intended to proceed directly to London, and begin operations at
'headquarters,' that is, in Buckingham Palace, if possible; but I
had been advised that the royal family was in mourning for the
death of Prince Albert's father, and would not permit the
approach of any entertainments. Meanwhile, confidential letters
from London informed me that Mr. Maddox, Manager of Princess's
Theatre, was coming down to witness my exhibition, with a view to
making an engagement. He came privately, but I was fully informed
as to his presence and object. A friend pointed him out to me in
the hall, and when I stepped up to him, and called him by name,
he was 'taken all aback,' and avowed his purpose in visiting
Liverpool. An interview resulted in an engagement of the General
for three nights at Princess's Theatre. I was unwilling to
contract for a longer period, and even this short engagement,
though on liberal terms, was acceded to only as a means of
advertisement. So soon, therefore, as I could bring my short, but
highly successful, season in Liverpool to a close, we went to
London."

CHAPTER XI. TOM THUMB IN LONDON.

AN ARISTOCRATIC VISITOR--CALLING AT BUCKINGHAM PALACE AND
HOB-NOBBING WITH ROYALTY--GETTING A PUFF IN THE "COURT CIRCULAR"
--THE IRON DUKE--A GREAT SOCIAL AND FINANCIAL SUCCESS.

The first public appearance of Tom Thumb in London occurred soon
after the arrival of the party there, at the Princess's Theatre.
A short engagement only had been made, but it was exceedingly
successful. The spectators were delighted, the manager overjoyed,
and Barnum himself pleased beyond measure. This brief engagement
answered his purpose, in arousing public interest and curiosity.
That was all the shrewd showman wanted for the present.
Accordingly, when the manager of the theatre urged a renewal of
the engagement, at a much higher price, Barnum positively
declined it. He had secured the desired advertising; now he would
exhibit on his own account and in his own way.

He therefore took a splendid mansion in Grafton Street, Bond
Street, in the fashionable and aristocratic West End of London.
Lord Talbot had lived in it, and Lord Brougham lived close by. It
was an audacious stroke for the Yankee showman to invade this
select and exclusive region, but it was successful. In response
to his invitations members of the nobility came eagerly flocking
to the house to see the wonderful child. Barnum showed himself as
exclusive as any of them, for he gave orders to his servants that
no callers were to be received who did not present cards of
invitation. This procedure he afterward explained, was entirely
proper. He had not yet announced himself as a public showman. He
was simply an American citizen visiting London, and it was
incumbent upon him to maintain the dignity of his position! His
servants, of course, exercised proper tact, and no offense was
given, although many of the nobility and gentry, who drove to his
door in carriages adorned with crests and coats of arms, were
thus turned away.

Among the early callers was the Hon. Edward Everett, the American
minister to England. He was much pleased with Mr. Barnum and his
tiny ward, and had them dine with him the next day. He also
promised that they should, if possible, be received by the Queen
at Buckingham Palace.

A few evenings afterward the Baroness Rothschild sent her
carriage for them. They were received by a half a dozen servants,
and were ushered up a broad flight of marble stairs to the
drawing-room, where they met the Baroness and a party of twenty
or more ladies and gentlemen. In this sumptuous mansion of the
richest banker in the world, they spent about two hours, and when
they took their leave a well-filled purse was quietly slipped
into Mr. Barnum's hand. The golden shower had begun to fall.

Mr. Barnum now thought the time ripe for beginning his public
exhibitions. He engaged Egyptian Hall, Piccadilly, and announced
that Tom Thumb was to be seen there. The rush of visitors was
tremendous. The aristocracy of London thronged the hall night
after night, and a phenomenal success was assured. Barnum did not
look beyond such work. True, Everett had spoken of an audience
with the Queen, but Barnum had no idea that it would ever be
granted. One day, however, he met Mr. Murray, Master of the
Queen's Household, at Everett's at breakfast, and that gentleman
asked him what were his plans for the future. Barnum replied that
he expected presently to go to the Continent, but he would most
gladly stay in London if he could get the favor of an audience
with Her Majesty.

Mr. Murray kindly offered his good offices in the case, and the
next day one of the Life Guards, a tall, noble-looking fellow,
bedecked as became his station, brought a note, conveying the
Queen's invitation to General Tom Thumb and his guardian Mr.
Barnum, to appear at Buckingham Palace on an evening specified.
Special instructions were the same day orally given by Mr.
Murray, by Her Majesty's command, to suffer the General to appear
before her, as he would appear anywhere else, without any
training in the use of the titles of royalty, as the Queen
desired to see him act naturally and without restraint.

Determined to make the most of the occasion, Mr. Barnum put a
placard on the door of the Egyptian Hall: "Closed this evening,
General Tom Thumb being at Buckingham Palace by command of Her
Majesty."

When they arrived at the palace, a Lord-in-Waiting met them, and
began "coaching" them on points of court etiquette. Mr. Barnum,
especially, was told that he must in no event speak directly to
Her Majesty, but through the medium of the aforesaid Lord. He
must also keep his face constantly turned toward the Queen, and
so, in retiring from the royal presence, must walk backward.
Having thus been instructed in the ways of royalty, Mr. Barnum
and the diminutive General were led to the presence of the Queen.

They passed through a long corridor to a broad flight of marble
steps, which led to the picture gallery, and there the Queen and
Prince Albert, the Duchess of Kent, the Duke of Wellington, and
others were awaiting their arrival. They were standing at the
further end of the room when the doors were thrown open, and the
General walked in, looking like a wax doll gifted with the power
of locomotion. Surprise and pleasure were depicted on the
countenances of the royal circle at beholding this remarkable
specimen of humanity so much smaller than they had evidently
expected to find him.

The General advanced with a firm step, and, as he came within
hailing distance, made a very graceful bow, and exclaimed, "Good
evening, ladies and gentlemen."

A burst of laughter followed this salutation. The Queen then took
him by the hand, led him about the gallery, and asked him many
questions, the answers to which kept the party in an
uninterrupted strain of merriment. The General familiarly
informed the Queen that her picture gallery was "first-rate," and
told her he should like to see the Prince of Wales. The Queen
replied that the Prince had retired to rest, but that he should
see him on some future occasion. The General then gave his songs,
dances, and imitations, and after a conversation with Prince
Albert, and all present, which continued for more than an hour,
they were permitted to depart.

But before this Mr. Barnum had broken the instructions in
etiquette which had been so carefully impressed upon him by the
Lord-in-Waiting. When the Queen began asking him questions, he
answered her, as she addressed him, through the lordly medium, as
he had been told. That was inconvenient and irksome, however, and
presently Barnum addressed his reply directly to her. The
Lord-in-Waiting was horror-struck, but the Queen did not appear
to be displeased, for she instantly followed her guest's example,
and spoke thereafter directly to him. In a few minutes Her
Majesty and the Yankee showman were talking together with the
greatest ease and freedom.

"I felt," said Mr. Barnum afterward, "entirely at ease in her
presence, and could not avoid contrasting her sensible and
amiable manners with the stiffness and formality of upstart
gentility at home or abroad.

"The Queen was modestly attired in plain black, and wore no
ornaments. Indeed, surrounded as she was by ladies arrayed in the
highest style of magnificence, their dresses sparkling with
diamonds, she was the last person whom a stranger would have
pointed out in that circle as the Queen of England.

"The Lord-in-Waiting was perhaps mollified toward me when he saw
me following his illustrious example in retiring from the royal
presence. He was accustomed to the process, and therefore was
able to keep somewhat ahead (or rather aback) of me, but even _I_
stepped rather fast for the other member of the retiring party.
We had a considerable distance to travel in that long gallery
before reaching the door, and whenever the General found he was
losing ground, he turned around and ran a few steps, then resumed
his position of backing out, then turned around and ran, and so
continued to alternate his methods of getting to the door, until
the gallery fairly rang with the merriment of the royal
spectators. It was really one of the richest scenes I ever saw;
running, under the circumstances, was an offense sufficiently
heinous to excite the indignation of the Queen's favorite poodle
dog, and he vented his displeasure by barking so sharply as to
startle the General from his propriety. He, however, recovered
immediately, and with his little cane, commenced an attack on the
poodle, and a funny fight ensued, which renewed and increased the
merriment of the royal party.

"This was near the door of exit. We had scarcely passed into the
ante-room, when one of the Queen's attendants came to us with the
expressed hope of her Majesty that the General had sustained no
damage, to which the Lord-in-Waiting playfully added, that in
case of injury to so renowned a personage, he should fear a
declaration of war by the United States!"

The visitors were then escorted about the Palace, and treated to
refreshments. Before leaving Mr. Barnum bethought him of the
"Court Circular," in which the doings of the Royal Family were
chronicled to the world. Would his reception by the Queen be
mentioned in it? Certainly. Well, then, would it not be possible
to secure something more than mere mention; some words of special
commendation; a "free advertisement" in fact? He would try it! So
he inquired where he could find the gentleman who prepared the
circular, and was informed that that functionary was in the
Palace at that very moment.

"He was sent for," related Mr. Barnum, "by my solicitation, and
promptly acceded to my request for such a notice as would attract
attention. He even generously desired me to give him an outline
of what I sought, and I was pleased to see afterward, that he had
inserted my notice verbatim.

"This notice of my visit to the Queen wonderfully increased the
attraction of 'Gen. Tom Thumb,' and compelled me to obtain a more
commodious hall for my exhibition. I accordingly moved to a
larger room in the same building."

On their second visit to the Queen, they were received in what is
called the Yellow Drawing Room, a magnificent apartment. It is on
the north side of the gallery, and is entered from that
apartment. It was hung with drapery of rich yellow satin damask,
the couches, sofas, and chairs being covered with the same
material. The vases, urns, and ornaments were all of the most
exquisite workmanship. The room was panelled in gold, and the
heavy cornices beautifully carved and gilt. The tables, pianos,
etc., were mounted with gold, inlaid with pearl of various hues,
and of the most elegant designs.

They were ushered into this gorgeous drawing-room before the
Queen and royal circle had left the dining-room, and, as they
approached, the General bowed respectfully, and remarked to Her
Majesty, "that he had seen her before," adding, "I think this is
a prettier room than the picture gallery; that chandelier is very
fine."

The Queen smilingly took him by the hand, and said she hoped he
was very well.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, "I am first-rate."

"General," continued the Queen, "this is the Prince of Wales."

"How are you, Prince?" said the General, shaking him by the hand,
and then standing beside the Prince, he remarked, "the prince is
taller than I am, but I feel as big as anybody," upon which he
strutted up and down the room as proud as a peacock, amid shouts
of laughter from all present.

The Queen then introduced the Princess Royal, and the General
immediately led her to his elegant little sofa, which he took
with him, and with much politeness sat down beside her. Then,
rising from his seat, he went through his various performances,
and the Queen handed him an elegant and costly souvenir, which
had been expressly made for him by her order, for which, he told
her, "he was very much obliged, and would keep it as long as he
lived." The Queen of the Belgians (daughter of Louis Philippe)
was present on this occasion. She asked the General where he was
going when he left London.

"To Paris," he replied.

"Whom do you expect to see there?" she continued.

Of course all expected he would answer, "the King of the French,"
but the little fellow replied.

"Monsieur Guillaudeu."

The two queens looked inquiringly, and when Mr. Barnum informed
them that M. Guillaudeu was his French naturalist, they laughed
most heartily.

On their third visit to Buckingham Palace, Leopold, King of the
Belgians, was also present. He was highly pleased, and asked a
multitude of questions. Queen Victoria desired the General to
sing a song, and asked him what song he preferred to sing.

"Yankee Doodle," was the prompt reply.

This answer was as unexpected to Mr. Barnum as it was to the
royal party. When the merriment it occasioned had somewhat
subsided, the Queen good-humoredly remarked, "that is a very
pretty song, General, sing it, if you please." The General
complied, and soon afterward retired.

The Queen sent to Barnum a handsome fee for each of his visits,
but that was only a small part of the benefits which his
acquaintance with her brought to him. Such was the force of Court
example that it was now deemed unfashionable, almost disloyal,
not to have seen Tom Thumb. Carriages of the nobility, fifty or
sixty at a time, were to be seen at Barnum's door in Piccadilly.
Egyptian Hall was crowded at every exhibition, and the net
profits there were on the average more than $500 per day from
March 20th to July 20th. Portraits of the tiny General were for
sale everywhere, and were eagerly purchased by thousands. Musical
compositions were dedicated to him, and songs were sung in his
honor. Week after week he was the subject of Punch's wittiest
cartoons; and of course all this was just so much free
advertising. Besides his three public performances per day, the
little General attended three or four private parties per week,
for which they were paid eight to ten guineas each. Frequently he
would visit two parties in the same evening, and the demand in
that line was much greater than the supply. The Queen Dowager
Adelaide requested the General's attendance at Marlborough House
one afternoon. He went in his court dress, consisting of a richly
embroidered brown silk-velvet coat and short breeches, white
satin vest with fancy colored embroidery, white silk stockings
and pumps, wig, bagwig, cocked hat, and dress sword.

"Why, General," said the Queen Dowager, "I think you look very
smart to-day."

"I guess I do," said the General, complacently.

A large party of the nobility were present. The old Duke of
Cambridge offered the little General a pinch of snuff, which he
declined. The General sang his songs, performed his dances, and
cracked his jokes, to the great amusement and delight of the
distinguished circle of visitors.

"Dear little General," said the kind-hearted Queen, taking him
upon her lap, "I see you have no watch. Will you permit me to
present you with a watch and chain?"

"I would like them very much," replied the General, his eyes
glistening with joy as he spoke.

"I will have them made expressly for you," responded the Queen
Dowager; and at the same moment she called a friend and desired
him to see that the proper order was executed. A few weeks
thereafter they were called again to Marlborough House. A number
of the children of the nobility were present, as well as some of
their parents. After passing a few compliments with the General,
Queen Adelaide presented him with a beautiful little gold watch,
placing the chain around his neck with her own hands.

This watch, also, served the purpose of an advertisement, and a
good one, too. It was not only duly heralded, but was placed upon
a pedestal in the hall of exhibition, together with the presents
from Queen Victoria, and covered with a glass vase. These
presents, to which were soon added an elegant gold snuff-box
mounted with turquois, presented by his grace the Duke of
Devonshire, and many other costly gifts of the nobility and
gentry, added to the attraction of the exhibition.

The Duke of Wellington called frequently to see the little
General at his public levees. The first time he called, the
General was personating Napoleon Bonaparte, marching up and down
the platform, and apparently taking snuff in deep meditation. He
was dressed in the well-known uniform of the Emperor. Barnum
introduced him to the "Iron Duke," who inquired the subject of
his meditations. "I was thinking of the loss of the battle of
Waterloo," was the little General's immediate reply. This display
of wit was chronicled throughout the country, and was of itself
worth thousands of pounds to the exhibition.

General Tom Thumb had visited the King of Saxony and also Ibrahim
Pacha, who was then in London. At the different parties he
attended, he met, in the course of the season, nearly all of the
nobility. Scarcely a nobleman in England failed to see General
Tom Thumb at his own house, at the house of a friend, or at the
public levees at Egyptian Hall. The General was a decided pet
with some of the first personages in the land, among whom were
Sir Robert and Lady Peel, the Duke and Duchess of Buckingham,
Duke of Bedford, Duke of Devonshire, Count d'Orsay, Lady
Blessington, Daniel O'Connell, Lord Adolphus Fitzclarence, Lord
Chesterfield, and many other persons of distinction They had the
free entree to all the theatres, public gardens, and places of
entertainment, and frequently met the principal artists, editors,
poets, and authors of the country. Albert Smith wrote a play for
the General, entitled "Hop o' my Thumb," which was presented with
great success at the Lyceum Theatre, London, and in several of
the provincial theatres.

Thus the London visit and the tour of England were successful
beyond all anticipation, and it was with an overflowing purse
that Barnum set out with his charge for the French capital.

CHAPTER XII. IN FRANCE.

ARRIVAL IN PARIS--VISIT TO THE TUILERIES--LONGCHAMPS--"TOM PONCE"
ALL THE RAGE--BONAPARTE AND LOUIS PHILIPPE--TOUR THROUGH
FRANCE--BARNUM'S PURCHASE.

Barnum having returned from a preliminary trip to France, in
which all arrangements, even to starting the first paragraphs in
the Paris papers were made, now went back accompanied by Tom
Thumb. They reached Paris some days before the exhibition was
opened, but on the day following their arrival, a special command
reached them to appear at the Tuileries on the next Sunday
evening.

At the appointed hour the General and his manager were ushered
into the presence of the King, the Queen, the Count de Paris,
Prince de Joinville, the Duchess d'Orleans, and a dozen more
distinguished persons, among whom was the editor of the Journal
des Debats.

At the close of the General's performances, which he went through
with to the evident delight of all present, the King gave him a
large emerald and diamond brooch, at the same time saying to Mr.
Barnum: "You may put it on the General, if you please." Which
command was obeyed, to the gratification of the King and the
immense delight of the General.

The King was so condescending and affable that Mr. Barnum at
length ventured to ask a favor of him. The Longchamps celebration
was close at hand--a day once devoted to religious ceremony, but
now conspicuous for the display of court and fashionable
equipages in the various drives and parks--and after the King had
conversed with Mr. Barnum on various topics in a familiar manner,
the diplomatic showman remarked that he had hastened his arrival
in Paris for the express purpose of taking part in the Longchamps
celebration. The General's carriage, he explained, with its
ponies and little coachman and footman, was so small that it
would be in great danger in the crowd unless the King would
graciously permit it to appear in the avenue reserved for the
court and the diplomatic corps

The King smiled, and after a few minutes' consultation with one
of the officers of his household. said: "Call on the Prefect of
Police to-morrow afternoon and you will find a permit ready for
you."

After a two hours' visit they retired, the General loaded with
presents.

The next morning all the newspapers chronicled the royal
audience, the Journal des Debats giving a full account of the
interview and of the General's performances.

Thus all Paris knew that Tom Thumb, in all his glory, was in the
city.

Longchamps day arrived, and conspicuous among the splendid
equipages on the grand avenue, Tom Thumb's beautiful little
carriage, with four ponies and liveried and powdered coachman and
footman, rode along in the line of carriages bearing the
ambassadors to the Court of France. The air was fairly rent with
cheers for "le General Tom Ponce."

The first day's receipts were 5,500 francs--over three hundred
dollars, and this sum might have been doubled had there been room
for more visitors. The elite of Paris flocked to the exhibition.
There were afternoon and evening performances, and seats were
reserved in advance at an extra price for the entire two months.

The papers were full of praises for the performance; Figaro gave
a picture of an immense mastiff running away with the General's
horse and carriage in his mouth.

Statuettes and pictures of "Tom Ponce" appeared everywhere; a
cafe on one of the boulevards took the name of "Tom Ponce," with
a life-size statue of the General for a sign. Eminent painters
here, as in London, asked to paint his portrait, but the
General's engagements were so pressing that he had little time to
sit to artists. All the leading actors and actresses came to see
him, and he received many fine presents from them. The daily
receipts continued to increase, and the manager had to take a cab
to carry home the silver at night.

Twice more was the General summoned to appear before the royal
family at the Tuileries, and on the King's birthday a special
invitation was sent him to view the display of fireworks in honor
of the anniversary.

The last visit to the Court was made at St. Cloud. The papers, in
speaking of the General's characterizations, mentioned that there
was one costume which Tom Thumb wisely kept at the bottom of his
trunk. This was the uniform of Napoleon Bonaparte, and by special
request of the King, it was worn at St. Cloud. The affair was
quite sub rosa, however, none of the papers mentioning it.

At the end of the visit each of the royal company gave the
General a magnificent present, overwhelmed him with kisses,
wishing him a safe journey through France, and a long and happy
life. After making their adieux they retired to another part of
the palace to permit the General to change his costume and to
partake of a collation which was served them. As they were
leaving the palace they passed the sitting-room where the royal
family were spending the evening. The door was open, and some one
spying the General there was a call for him to come in and shake
hands once more. They went in, finding the Queen and her ladies
engaged in embroidering, while one young lady read aloud. They
all kissed and petted the General many times around before
finally permitting him to depart.

After leaving Paris they made a most profitable tour, including
the cities of Rouen, Orleans, Brest, and Bordeaux, where they
were invited to witness a review of 20,000 soldiers by the Dukes
de Nemours and d'Aumale. Thence to Toulon, Montpelier, Nismes,
Marseilles, and many other less important places. At Nantes,
Bordeaux, and Marseilles the General appeared in the theatres in
a part written for him in a French play called "Petit Poncet."

During their stay in Paris, Barnum made a characteristically
profitable investment. A Russian Prince, who had lived in great
splendor in Paris, died suddenly, and his household effects were
sold at auction. There was a magnificent gold tea-set, a dinner
service of silver, and some rare specimens of Sevres china, the
value of which were impaired by the Prince's initials being on
them. The initials were "P. T ," and Mr. Barnum bought them, and
adding "B." to the other letters, had a very fine table service
appropriately marked.

CHAPTER XIII. IN BELGIUM.

PRESENTED TO KING LEOPOLD AND THE QUEEN--THE GENERAL'S JEWELS
STOLEN--THE FIELD OF WATERLOO--AN ACCIDENT--AN EXPENSIVE
EQUIPAGE--"THE CUSTOM OF THE COUNTRY."

The day after the arrival of the party in Brussels they were
summoned to the palace. The king and queen had seen the General
in London, but they wished their children and the distinguished
people of the court to have the same pleasure.

After a delightful visit they came away, the General, as usual,
laden with gifts.

The following day the exhibition opened, and from the first was
crowded by throngs of the best people in the city. One day, in
the midst of the exhibition, it was discovered that the case
containing all the valuable presents Tom Thumb had received from
royalty' etc., was missing.

The alarm was instantly given, and the police notified. A reward
was offered of 2,000 francs, and, after a day or two, the thief
was captured and the jewels returned. After that the case of
presents was more carefully guarded.

Everyone who goes to Brussels is supposed to visit the field of
Waterloo; so, before they left, the entire party--Tom Thumb,
Barnum, Prof. Pinte (tutor), and Mr. Stratton (father of the
General), and Mr. H. G. Sherman, went together.

After visiting the church in the village of Waterloo and viewing
the memorial tablets there, they passed to the house where Lord
Uxbridge--Marquis of Anglesey--had had his leg amputated. There
is a little monument in the garden over the shattered limb, and a
part of the boot that covered it was seen in the house. Barnum
procured a three-inch bit of the boot for his Museum, at the same
time remarking, that if the lady in charge was as liberal to all
visitors, that boot had held out wonderfully since 1815.

On approaching the ground they were beset by a dozen or more
guides, each one professing to know the exact spot where every
man had stood, and each claiming to have himself taken part in
the struggle, although most of them were less than twenty-five,
and the battle had been fought some thirty years before. They
finally accepted one old man, who at first declared that he had
been killed in the front ranks, but afterward acknowledged that
he had only been wounded and left on the field for dead three
days.

After having the location of Napoleon's Guard, the Duke of
Wellington, the portion of the field where Blucher entered with
the Prussian army, pointed out to them, and the spots where fell
Sir Alexander Gordon and other celebrities, they asked the guide
if he knew where Captain Tippitiwichet, of Connecticut, was
killed? "Oh, oui, Monsieur," replied the guide confidently. After
pointing out the precise spots where fictitious friends from
Coney Island, New Jersey, Cape Cod and Saratoga had received
their death-wounds, they paid the old humbug and dismissed him.

Upon leaving the field they were met by another crowd of peasants
with relics of the battle for sale. Barnum bought a large number
of pistols, bullets, brass French eagles, buttons, etc., for the
Museum, and the others were equally liberal in their purchases.
They bought also maps, guide-books and pictures, until Mr.
Stratton expressed his belief that the "darned old battle of
Waterloo" had cost more since it was fought than it ever did
before.

Some months afterwards, while they were in Birmingham, they made
the acquaintance of a firm who manufactured and sent to Waterloo
barrels of these "relics" every year.

Four or five miles on the road home they had the misfortune to
break the axle-tree of the carriage. It was past one o'clock, and
the exhibition was advertised to commence in Brussels at two. Of
course, they could not expect to walk the distance in less than
three hours, and Barnum was disposed to give up the afternoon
performance altogether. But Mr. Stratton could not bear the idea
of losing six or eight hundred francs, so, accompanied by the
interpreter, Prof. Pinte, he rushed down the road to a
farm-house, followed leisurely by the rest of the party.

Mr. Stratton asked the old farmer if he had a carriage. He had
not. "Have you no vehicle?" he inquired.

"Yes, I have that vehicle," he replied, pointing to an old cart
filled with manure, and standing in his barnyard.

"Thunder! is that all the conveyance you have got?" asked
Stratton. Being assured that it was, Stratton concluded that it
was better to ride in a manure-cart than not to get to Brussels
in time.

"What will you ask to drive us to Brussels in three-quarters of
an hour?" demanded Stratton.

"It is impossible," replied the farmer; "I should want two hours
for my horse to do it in."

"But ours is a very pressing case, and if we are not there in
time we lose more than five hundred francs," said Stratton.

The old farmer pricked up his ears at this, and agreed to get
them to Brussels in an hour for eighty francs. Stratton tried to
beat him down, but it was of no use.

"Oh, go it, Stratton," said Sherman; "eighty francs you know is
only sixteen dollars, and you will probably save a hundred by it,
for I expect a full house at our afternoon exhibition to-day."

"But I have already spent about ten dollars for nonsense," said
Stratton, "and we shall have to pay for the broken carriage
besides."

"But what can you do better?" chimed in Professor Pinte.

"It is an outrageous extortion to charge sixteen dollars for an
old horse and cart to go ten miles. Why, in old Bridgeport, I
could get it done for three dollars," replied Stratton, in a tone
of vexation

"It is the custom of the country," said Professor Pinte, "and we
must submit to it."

"Well, it's a thundering mean custom, anyhow," said Stratton,
"and I won't stand such imposition."

"But what shall we do?" earnestly inquired Mr. Pinte. "It may be
a high price, but it is better to pay that than to lose our
afternoon performance and five or six hundred francs."

This appeal to the pocket touched Stratton's feelings; so,
submitting to the extortion, he replied to our interpreter,
"Well, tell the old robber to dump his dung-cart as soon as
possible, or we shall lose half an hour in starting."

The cart was "dumped" and a large, lazy-looking Flemish horse was
attached to it with a rope harness. Some boards were laid across
the cart for seats, the party tumbled into the rustic vehicle, a
red-haired boy, son of the old farmer, mounted the horse, and
Stratton gave orders to "get along." "Wait a moment," said the
farmer, "you have not paid me yet." "I'll pay your boy when we
get to Brussels, provided he gets there within the hour," replied
Stratton.

"Oh, he is sure to get there in an hour," said the farmer, "but I
can't let him go unless you pay in advance." The minutes were
flying rapidly, the anticipated loss of the day exhibition of
General Tom Thumb flitted before his eyes, and Stratton, in very
desperation, thrust his hand into his pocket and drew forth
sixteen five-franc pieces, which he dropped, one at a time, into
the hand, of the farmer, and then called out to the boy, "There
now, do try to see if you can go ahead."

The boy did go ahead, but it was with such a snail's pace that it
would have puzzled a man of tolerable eyesight to have determined
whether the horse was moving or standing still. To make it still
more interesting, it commenced raining furiously. As they had
left Brussels in a coach, and the morning had promised a pleasant
day, they had omitted umbrellas. They were soon soaked to the
skin, but they "grinned and bore it" a while without grumbling.
At length Stratton, who was almost too angry to speak, desired
Mr. Pinte to ask the red haired boy if he expected to walk his
horse all the way to Brussels.

"Certainly," replied the boy; "he is too big and fat to do
anything but walk. We never trot him."

Stratton was terrified as he thought of the loss of the day
exhibition; and he cursed the boy, the cart, the rain, the luck,
and even the battle of Waterloo itself. But it was all of no use;
the horse would not run, but the rain did--down their backs.

At two o'clock, the time appointed for the exhibition, they were
yet some seven miles from Brussels. The horse walked slowly and
philosophically through the pitiless storm, the steam
majestically rising from the old manure-cart, to the no small
disturbance of their unfortunate olfactories. "It will take two
hours to get to Brussels at this rate," growled Stratton. "Oh,
no," replied the boy; "it will only take about two hours from the
time we started."

"But your father agreed to get us there in an hour," answered
Stratton.

"I know it," responded the boy, "but he knew it would take more
than two."

"I'll sue him for damages, by thunder!" said Stratton.

"Oh, there would be no use in that," chimed in Mr. Pinte, "for
you could get no satisfaction in this country."

"But I shall lose more than a hundred dollars by being two hours
instead of one," said Stratton.

"They care nothing about that; all they care for is your eighty
francs," remarked Pinte.

"But they have lied and swindled me," replied Stratton.

"Oh, you must not mind that; it is the custom of the country."

The party arrived in Brussels precisely two hours and a half from
the time they left the farmer's house. Of course it was too late
for the afternoon performance, and hundreds of people had been
turned away disappointed.

CHAPTER XIV. IN ENGLAND AGAIN.

EGYPTIAN HALL AND THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS--THE SPECIAL
TRAIN--OXFORD--STRATFORD-ON-AVON--GUY OF WARWICK RELICS--PURCHASE
OF THE "HAPPY FAMILY"--RETURN TO AMERICA.

In London the General again opened his levees in Egyptian Hall,
with increased success. His unbounded popularity on the
Continent, and his receptions by King Louis Philippe, of France,
and King Leopold, of Belgium, had added greatly to his prestige
and fame. Those who had seen him when he was in London months
before came to see him again, and new visitors crowded by
thousands to the General's levees.

Besides giving these daily entertainments, the General appeared
occasionally for an hour, during the intermissions, at some place
in the suburbs; and for a long time he appeared every day at the
Surrey Zoological Gardens, under the direction of the proprietor,
Mr. W. Tyler. This place subsequently became celebrated for its
great music hall, in which Spurgeon, the sensational preacher,
first attained his notoriety. The place was always crowded, and
when the General had gone through with his performances on the
little stage, in order that all might see him, he was put into a
balloon, which, secured by ropes, was then passed around the
ground, just above the people's heads. Some forty men managed the
ropes and prevented the balloon from rising; but, one day, a
sudden gust of wind took the balloon fairly out of the hands of
half the men who had hold of the ropes, while others were lifted
from the ground, and had not an alarm been instantly given, which
called at least two hundred to the rescue, the little General
would have been lost.

In October Barnum made a flying visit to America, remaining long
enough to renew the lease of the Museum building, and to attend
to various other business matters. When he returned he was
accompanied by his wife and daughters. They took a furnished
house, which, during all their three months' residence, was the
scene of constant hospitality, all the distinguished people in
London being entertained there.

When the engagement at Egyptian Hall expired they made an
extensive tour through England and Scotland, going as far north
as Aberdeen. The General's Scotch costumes, his national dances
and the "bit of dialect" which he had acquired had long been a
feature of the performance and was especially admired in
Scotland. The party travelled much of the time in Barnum's own
carriage, the General's carriage, ponies and other properties
being conveyed in a huge van. They found this way of travelling
more comfortable than the other, besides enabling them to visit
out of the way places, where often the most successful
exhibitions were given.

There was one occasion when their carriage broke down, and, as
they had advertised a performance in Rugby that evening, they
decided to take the cars; but on arriving at the station they
found the last train gone. Barnum immediately looked up the
superintendent and told him that they must have an extra train
for Rugby, without an instant's delay.

"Extra train?" said he, with surprise and a half-sneer, "extra
train? why you can't have an extra train to Rugby for less than
sixty pounds."

"Is that all? well, get up your train immediately, and here are
your sixty pounds. What in the world are sixty pounds to me, when
I wish to go to Rugby, or elsewhere, in a hurry."

The astonished superintendent took the money, bustled about, and
the train was soon ready. He was greatly puzzled to know what
distinguished person--he thought he must be dealing with some
prince, or, at least, a duke--was willing to give so much money
to save a few hours of time, and he hesitatingly asked whom he
had the honor of serving.

"General Tom Thumb."

The performance at Rugby netted L160, which not only covered
expenses but left a handsome margin.

When they were in Oxford, a dozen or more of the students came to
the conclusion that, as the General was a little fellow, the
admission fee to his entertainments should be paid in the
smallest kind of money. They accordingly provided themselves with
farthings, and as each man entered, instead of handing in a
shilling for his ticket, he laid down forty-eight farthings. The
counting of these small coins was a great annoyance to Mr.
Stratton, the General's father, who was ticket-seller, and after
counting two or three handfuls, vexed at the delay which was
preventing a crowd of ladies and gentlemen from buying tickets,
Mr. Stratton lost his temper, and cried out:

"Blast your quarter-pennies! I am not going to count them! you
chaps who haven't bigger money can chuck your copper into my hat
and walk in."

Mr. Stratton was a genuine Yankee, and thoroughly conversant with
the Yankee vernacular which he used freely. In exhibiting the
General, Barnum often said to visitors that Tom Thumb's parents,
and the rest of the family, were persons of the ordinary size,
and that the gentleman who presided in the ticket-office was the
General's father. This made poor Stratton an object of no little
curiosity, and he was pestered with all sorts of questions; on
one occasion an old dowager said to him:

"Are you really the father of General Tom Thumb?"

"Wa'al," replied Stratton, "I have to support him!"

This evasive answer is common enough in New England, but the
literal dowager had her doubts, and promptly rejoined:

"I rather think he supports you!"

Although Barnum was in Europe on business, he made the most of
his opportunities for sight-seeing, and in his few leisure hours
managed to visit nearly every place of interest both in England
and on the continent.

While in Birmingham, with his friend Albert Smith, then author
and afterwards a successful showman, he visited
Stratford-on-Avon, where lived and wrote the greatest of English
poets--Shakespeare.

While breakfasting at the Red House Inn, at Stratford, they
called for a guide-book of the town, and to Barnum's great
delight the volume proved to be Washington Irving's
"Sketch-book." His pleasure was even more increased when he
discovered, on reading the vivid and picturesque description of
Stratford, that Irving had stopped at the very same hotel where
they were awaiting breakfast.

After visiting the house as well as the church where is the tomb
of the poet, they took a post-chaise for Warwick Castle, fourteen
miles away.

The Earl of Warwick and his family being absent, the visitors
were shown through the apartments. One guide took them over the
Castle, another escorted them to the top of "Guy's Tower,"
another showed them the famous Warwick Vase. They were
congratulating themselves on not being called upon for any more
tips, when the old porter at the lodge informed them that for a
consideration he could show them more interesting things
connected with the Castle than any they had yet seen. They tossed
him his fee, and he produced what purported to be Guy of
Warwick's sword, shield, helmet, breastplate, walking-staff, etc.
The armor must have weighed two hundred pounds and the sword
alone one hundred. Barnum listened, and gazed in silence at the
horse-armor, large enough for an elephant, and a pot called
"Guy's porridge-pot," which could have held seventy gallons, but
when the old man produced the ribs of a mastodon which he
declared had belonged to a huge dun cow, which had done much
injury to many persons before being slain by the dauntless Guy,
he drew a long breath, and feelingly congratulated the old porter
on his ability to concentrate more lies than anyone had ever
before heard in so small a compass.

"I suppose," said Barnum, "that you have told these marvellous
tales so often that you almost believe them yourself."

"Almost," answered the old man, with a broad grin.

"Come now, old fellow," continued Barnum,  "what will you take
for the entire lot of these old traps? I want them for my Museum
in America."

"No money would buy these priceless relics of a bygone age,"
replied the porter, leering.

"Never mind," exclaimed the showman; "I'll have them duplicated
for my Museum, so that Americans can see them without coming
here, and in that way I'll burst up your old show."

The porter was paralyzed with astonishment at this threat, and
Albert Smith was convulsed with laughter. He afterwards told
Barnum that he first derived his idea of becoming a showman from
this day at Warwick, and Barnum's talk about his doings and
adventures in the business.

They visited that same day Kenilworth and Coventry, in which
latter place Barnum discovered the exhibition known as the "Happy
Family," about two hundred birds and animals of opposite natures,
dwelling in one cage in perfect harmony. He was so delighted with
it that he bought it on the spot, and hired the manager to
accompany the exhibition to New York, where it became a famous
feature of the Museum.

Albert Smith afterwards published a chapter in Bentley's
Magazine, entitled "A Day with Barnum," in which he said they
accomplished business with such rapidity that, when he attempted
to write out the accounts of the day, he found the whole thing so
confused in his brain that he came near locating "Peeping Tom" in
the house of Shakespeare, while Guy of Warwick WOULD stick his
head above the ruins of Kenilworth, and the Warwick Vase appeared
in Coventry.

With the exception of two brief trips to America, Barnum had been
abroad with General Tom Thumb three years. The season had been
one of unbroken pleasure and profit. They had visited nearly
every city and town in France, Belgium, England, Scotland, and
the cities of Belfast and Dublin in Ireland. After this truly
triumphant tour, they set sail in February, 1847, for New York.

Barnum was a man who never could bear to see injustice done. On
one of his business trips to America he took passage on a Cunard
steamer, commanded by a Captain Judkins. Among the passengers was
the celebrated preacher, Robert Baird. One Sunday after dinner
Barnum asked Mr. Baird if he would be willing to preach to the
passengers in the forward cabin. The captain had read the
Episcopal service that morning, but it was done as a mere matter
of form, without the slightest suggestion of devotion in its
observance.

Mr. Baird consented to preach, and Barnum, after mentioning it to
the other passengers, who were delighted at the prospect, went to
the captain and said: "Captain, the passengers desire to have Dr.
Baird conduct a religious service in the forward cabin. I suppose
there is no objection?" The rest of the story may as well be told
in Barnum's own words. To his inquiry, the captain replied
gruffly:

"Decidedly there is, and it will not be permitted."

"Why not?"

"It is against the rules of the ship."

"What! to have religious services on board?"

"There have been religious services once to-day, and that is
enough. If the passengers do not think that is good enough, let
them go without," was the captain's hasty and austere reply.

"Captain," Barnum replied, "do you pretend to say you will not
allow a respectable and well-known clergyman to offer a prayer
and hold religious services on board your ship at the request of
your passengers?"

"That, sir, is exactly what I say. So, now, let me hear no more
about it."

By this time a dozen passengers were crowding around his door,
and expressing their surprise at his conduct. Barnum was
indignant, and used sharp language.

"Well," said he, "this is the most contemptible thing I ever
heard of on the part of the owners of a public passenger ship.
Their meanness ought to be published far and wide."

"You had better 'shut up,' " said Captain Judkins, with great
sternness.

"I will not 'shut up,' " he replied; "for this thing is perfectly
outrageous. In that out-of-the-way forward cabin you allow, on
week-days, gambling, swearing, smoking and singing till late at
night; and yet on Sunday you have the impudence to deny the
privilege of a prayer-meeting, conducted by a gray-haired and
respected minister of the gospel. It is simply infamous!"

Captain Judkins turned red in the face; and, no doubt feeling
that he was "monarch of all he surveyed," exclaimed in a loud
voice:

"If you repeat such language, I will put you in irons."

"Do it, if you dare," said Barnum, feeling his indignation rising
rapidly. "I dare and defy you to put your finger on me. I would
like to sail into New York harbor in handcuffs, on board a
British ship, for the terrible crime of asking that religious
worship may be permitted on board. So you may try it as soon as
you please; and, when we get to New York, I'll show you a touch
of Yankee ideas of religious intolerance."

Turning on his heel, he walked over to Mr. Baird and told him how
matters stood, adding, with a laugh:

"Doctor, it may be dangerous for you to tell of this incident
when you get on shore; for it would be a pretty strong draught
upon the credulity of many of my countrymen if they were told
that my zeal to hear an orthodox minister preach was so great
that it came near getting me into solitary confinement. But I am
not prejudiced, and I like fair play."

The old doctor replied: "Well, you have not lost much; and, if
the rules of this ship are so stringent I suppose we must
submit."

The captain afterwards came to Barnum and apologized for the rude
manner in which he had carried out the rules of the ship. Barnum
was not at the time a teetotaler, and the two men "washed down"
their differences in a bottle of champagne, and were excellent
friends from that moment.

CHAPTER XV. AT HOME.

PARTNERSHIP WITH TOM THUMB--VISIT TO CUBA--IRANISTAN, HIS FAMOUS
PALACE AT BRIDGEPORT--AGRICULTURAL EXPERIENCES--BARNUM'S
GAME-KEEPER AND THE GREAT GAME DINNER--FRANK LESLIE.

One of Barnum's principal objects in returning to America at this
time was to insure the permanence of his "American Museum." He
had a lease of the property, which had yet three years to run.
But he wanted to make sure of it after that term had expired. Mr.
Olmsted, the former owner, was now dead, and It was not certain
that the new proprietor would renew the lease. If not, another
home for the great show must be secured, and Barnum decided that
in that event he would buy land on Broadway and erect a building
to suit him. The new owner of the old property was persuaded,
however, to renew the lease for a term of twenty-five years. The
building covered an area of fifty-six by one hundred feet and was
four stories high. Barnum agreed to pay for it a rental of
$10,000 a year in addition to the taxes and all assessments.
Then, as the place was not large enough for his purposes, he
rented and connected with it the upper floors of several adjacent
buildings. The Museum was at this time enormously prosperous, and
was thronged with visitors from morning to late at night.

Tom Thumb's European reputation was of course a great
advertisement, and it was "worked for all it was worth." He
appeared at the Museum daily for four weeks, and drew such crowds
of visitors as had never been seen there before. He afterwards
spent a month in Bridgeport with his kindred. To prevent being
annoyed by the curious, who would be sure to throng the houses of
his relatives, he exhibited two days at Bridgeport, and the
receipts, amounting to several hundred dollars, were presented to
the Bridgeport Charitable Society.

Barnum's contract with Tom Thumb had expired on January 1, 1845,
while they were in England, and they had then formed a
partnership, dividing equally between them the profits of their
enterprise; excepting during the first four weeks of their return
to New York, during which time the General waived his partnership
rights and exhibited himself for a salary of $50 a week. Mr.
Stratton, Tom Thumb's father, was now a rich man, and he settled
a handsome fortune upon his tiny son.

Soon a tour of America was arranged, the party consisting of Mr.
Barnum and Tom Thumb and his parents. They began at Washington,
in April, 1847, where they visited President and Mrs. Polk at the
White House. Thence they went to Richmond, to Baltimore, and to
Philadelphia, where they took in  $5,594.91 in twelve days. Next
they visited Boston and Lowell; Providence, where they received
nearly $1,000 in a day; New Bedford, Fall River, Salem,
Worcester, Springfield, Albany, Troy, Niagara Falls, Buffalo and
various other places. During the whole year's tour their receipts
averaged from $400 to $500 per day, and their expenses only from
$25 to $30. On their way back to New York they stopped at all
large towns along the Hudson river, and then went to New Haven,
Hartford, Portland and some other New England cities.

Absence did not make them forgotten in New York, however, but
only increased public interest in them. When he returned to his
Museum Mr. Barnum found that he himself had come to be regarded
as one of its chief curiosities. "If I showed myself about the
Museum, or wherever else I was known, I found eyes peering and
fingers pointing at me, and could frequently overhear the remark,
'There's Barnum.' On one occasion, soon after my return, I was
sitting in the ticket-office, reading a newspaper. A man came and
purchased a ticket of admission. 'Is Mr. Barnum in the Museum?'
he asked. The ticket-seller, pointing to me, answered, 'This is
Mr. Barnum.' Supposing the gentleman had business with me, I
looked up from the paper. 'Is this Mr. Barnum?' he asked. 'It
is,' I replied. He stared at me for a moment, and then, throwing
down his ticket, exclaimed, 'It's all right; I have got the worth
of my money;' and away he went, without going into the Museum at
all."

In the fall of 1847 they went South, visiting and giving
exhibitions at Charleston, Columbia, Augusta, Savannah,
Milledgeville, Macon, Columbus, Montgomery, Mobile and New
Orleans. At the last-named place they spent three weeks,
including the Christmas holidays. After New Year's they went to
Cuba, and were received at Havana by the Captain-General and the
aristocracy of the city. For a month they gave exhibitions in
Havana and Matanzas with great success. The only serious drawback
was the hotels, which they did not find good; indeed, it was
difficult for them to get enough to eat. The Washington House, at
Havana, where they lived for some time, was characterized by Mr.
Barnum as "first-rate bad!"

From Cuba they returned to New Orleans, and thence to New York by
way of the Mississippi river, St. Louis, Louisville, Cincinnati
and Pittsburg. And then, in May, 1848, it was agreed that Barnum
should travel no more with the little General. "I had," says
Barnum, "competent agents who could exhibit him without my
personal assistance, and I preferred to relinquish a portion of
the profits rather than continue to be a travelling showman. I
had now been a straggler from home most of the time for thirteen
years, and I cannot describe the feelings of gratitude with which
I reflected that, having by the most arduous toil and
deprivations succeeded in securing a satisfactory competence, I
should henceforth spend my days in the bosom of my family."

Barnum had selected the city of Bridgeport, Conn., for his home,
and thither he now repaired. He wanted to be near New York, and
he considered the northern shore of Long Island Sound the most
beautiful country he had ever seen. Bridgeport was about the
right distance from New York, and was well situated. It was also
an enterprising place, with the promise of a prosperous future.
Some three or four years before this time Barnum had purchased
seventeen acres of land at the western side of the city, and for
two years had been building a palace upon it, the famous
"Iranistan," which was now nearly ready for him to occupy.

In telling how he came to erect this gorgeous and eccentric home,
Barnum once said that in visiting Brighton, England, he had been
greatly pleased with the pavilion built there by George IV. It
was at that time the only specimen of Oriental architecture in
England, and the style had not been introduced into America. "I
concluded to adopt it, and engaged a London architect to furnish
me a set of drawings after the general plan of the pavilion,
differing sufficiently to be adapted to the spot of ground
selected for my homestead. On my second return visit to the
United States, I brought these drawings with me and engaged a
competent architect and builder, giving him instructions to
proceed with the work, not 'by the job' but 'by the day,' and to
spare neither time nor expense in erecting a comfortable,
convenient, and tasteful residence. The work was thus begun and
continued while I was still abroad, and during the time when I
was making my tour with General Tom Thumb through the United
States and Cuba. Elegant and appropriate furniture was made
expressly for every room in the house. I erected expensive
water-works to supply the premises. The stables, conservatories
and out-buildings were perfect in their kind. There was a
profusion of trees set out on the grounds. The whole was built
and established literally 'regardless of expense,' for I had no
desire even to ascertain the entire cost."

Into this splendid place he moved on November 14, 1848, nearly a
thousand fellow-citizens of Bridgeport, rich and poor alike,
participating in the "housewarming" as his guests. The estate was
called, in reference to its Oriental appearance, Iranistan, which
being interpreted means "a Persian home." This name was the
subject of many a joke, as the place itself was of much
wonderment and admiration.

The next two years were spent by Mr. Barnum chiefly at home with
his family, though he paid frequent visits to his various places
of business and amusement; business for him, amusement for the
world. He had for several years a fine Museum in Baltimore, which
was afterward the property of John E. Owens, the actor. In 1849
he also opened a Museum in Philadelphia, at the corner of
Chestnut and Seventh streets. He spent some time in Philadelphia,
until the Museum was profitably established, and then turned it
over to a manager. Two years later he sold it for a good price.
While he was running it, however, his old rival, Peale, conducted
a strong opposition show in Masonic Hall, near by. The
competition between them proved disastrous to Peale, who failed
and was sold out by the sheriff. Barnum and his friend, Moses
Kimball, purchased most of his effects and divided them between
Barnum's American Museum in New York and Kimball's Museum in
Boston.

Barnum took an active interest in the affairs of Bridgeport and
of the State of Connecticut. In 1848, soon after settling in
Iranistan, he was elected President of the Fairfield County
Agricultural Society. He was not much of a practical farmer,
although he had bought a hundred or more acres of farm land near
his residence and felt a deep interest in agricultural affairs.
He had imported a lot of choice livestock, which he had at
Iranistan, and had gone pretty deeply into fancy poultry raising.
So he was considered eligible to the office of President of the
Agricultural Society.

In 1849 the Society insisted that he should deliver the annual
address. "I begged to be excused on the ground of incompetency,"
he said, "but my excuses were of no avail, and as I could not
instruct my auditors in farming, I gave them the benefit of
several mistakes which I had committed. Among other things, I
told them that in the fall of 1848 my head-gardener reported that
I had fifty bushels of potatoes to spare. I thereupon directed
him to barrel them up and ship them to New York for sale. He did
so, and received two dollars per barrel, or about sixty-seven
cents per bushel. But, unfortunately, after the potatoes had been
shipped, I found that my gardener had selected all the largest
for market, and left my family nothing but 'small potatoes' to
live on during the winter. But the worst was still to come. My
potatoes were all gone before March, and I was obliged to buy,
during the spring, over fifty bushels of potatoes, at $1.25 per
bushel! I also related my first experiment in the arboricultural
line, when I cut from two thrifty rows of young cherry-trees any
quantity of what I supposed to be 'suckers,' or 'sprouts,' and
was thereafter informed by my gardener that I had cut off all his
grafts!"

A friend of Barnum's, Mr. J. D. Johnson, had a fine place near
Iranistan; and Barnum owned a couple of acres just beyond and
adjoining his property. This plot Barnum presently converted into
a deer park, stocking it with fine animals from the Rocky
Mountains. From its location, however, everybody supposed it to
be a part of Johnson's estate, and to confirm this notion--in a
waggish spirit--a member of Johnson's family put up in the park a
conspicuous sign, which every passer-by on the street could read:

"All persons are forbid trespassing on these grounds, or
disturbing the deer.
                   --J. D. JOHNSON."

Barnum "acknowledged the corn," and was much pleased with the
joke. Johnson was delighted, and bragged considerably of having
got ahead of Barnum, and the sign remained undisturbed for
several days. It happened, at length, that a party of friends
came to visit him from New York, arriving in the evening. Johnson
told them that he had got a capital joke on Barnum; he would not
explain, but said they should see it for themselves the next
morning. Bright and early he led them into the street, and, after
conducting them a proper distance, wheeled them around in front
of the sign. To his dismay he discovered that I had added
directly under his name the words "Game-keeper to P. T. Barnum."

Thereafter Mr. Johnson was known among his friends and
acquaintances as "Barnum's gamekeeper."

Johnson had his revenge, however. Some time afterward Barnum
became president of the Pequonnock Bank, and gave each year a
grand dinner at Iranistan to the directors. In preparing for
these banquets he would send to the West for some boxes of
prairie chickens and other choice game. So, one day, Johnson saw
a big case at the railroad station, addressed to Barnum, and
marked "Game."

"See here," said he to the station-master, "I am Mr. Barnum's
game-keeper, and I'll take charge of that!"

And he did so, taking it to his house, and then notifying Barnum
that it could only be redeemed at cost of a new hat. He knew very
well that Barnum would rather give him a dozen hats than lose the
box; and he added that unless he got the hat very soon he would
give a game dinner on his own account! Barnum sent an order for
the hat in a hurry, and recovered his game, enjoying the whole
joke as much as Johnson did.

In 1848, Mr. Frank Leslie, afterward famous as a publisher, came
to America, bringing letters of introduction to Barnum from
friends in England, and Barnum gave him a start in business by
employing him to prepare an elaborate illustrated catalogue of
the American Museum. This he did in an admirable manner, and
hundreds of thousands of copies of it were distributed throughout
the country.

CHAPTER XVI. JENNY LIND.

DARING VENTURE--BARNUM'S AMBASSADOR--UNPRECEDENTED TERMS
OFFERED--TEXT OF THE CONTRACT--HARD WORK TO RAISE THE GUARANTEE
FUND--EDUCATING THE AMERICAN MIND TO RECEIVE THE FAMOUS SINGER.

The next enterprise undertaken by Barnum was an entirely new
departure. It was justly regarded by him as bold in its
conception, complete in its development, and astounding in its
success. To the end of his days he looked upon it with pride and
satisfaction. Probably it did more than anything else in all his
career to give him a permanent and supreme position in the esteem
of the public.

This enterprise was the bringing of Jenny Lind to America for a
concert tour.

Miss Lind, often called the "Swedish Nightingale," was one of the
most remarkable singers of the world, in that or any generation.
All Europe was enraptured by her art, and her fame had encircled
the globe. Barnum had never heard her, as she had not visited
London until a few weeks after his return to America. But her
reputation was enough to determine him to engage her, if
possible, for an American tour. So he sent Mr. J. H. Wilton, an
English musician, who was visiting New York, back to London to
negotiate terms with her. Barnum agreed to pay Wilton his
expenses if he had to return without her; but a handsome sum if
he succeeded in bringing the songstress to America with him. He
told Wilton to engage her on shares if possible. If not, to
engage her for any sum up to a thousand dollars a night, for any
number of nights up to 150, besides paying all her expenses,
including servants, carriages, etc., and not more than three
musical assistants. He also offered to secure her by placing the
whole $150,000 in the hands of her London bankers in advance!

Wilton went to London, had some correspondence with her, and then
went to Lubeck, where she was singing. She told him frankly that
she had, since he first wrote to her, been busy making inquiries
about Barnum's character, trustworthiness, etc., and that she was
perfectly satisfied with what she had found out. There were,
however, four other men negotiating with her to the same end. One
of these gentlemen was a well-known opera manager in London;
another, a theatrical manager in Manchester; a third, a musical
composer and conductor of the orchestra of Her Majesty's Opera in
London; and the fourth, Chevalier Wyckoff, who had conducted a
successful speculation some years previously by visiting America
in charge of the celebrated danseuse, Fanny Ellsler.

She also insisted that, under whatever auspices she should go to
America, she should have as an accompanist Mr.--afterwards
Sir--Julius Benedict, the composer, and Signor Belletti, an
eminent Italian singer.

Finally, on January 9, 1850, Wilton succeeded in his mission.
Miss Lind agreed to come to America under Barnum's management,
and an elaborate contract was drawn up and signed This historic
document was as follows:

MEMORANDUM of an agreement entered into this ninth day of
January, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and
fifty, between John Hall Wilton, as agent for PHINEAS T. BARNUM,
of New York, in the United States of North America, of the one
part, and Mademoiselle JENNY LIND, Vocalist, of Stockholm, in
Sweden, of the other part, wherein the said Jenny Lind doth
agree:

First. To sing for the said Phineas T. Barnum in one hundred and
fifty concerts, including oratorios within (if possible) one year
or eighteen months from the date of her arrival in the city of
New York--the said concerts to be given in the United States of
North America and Havana. She, the said Jenny Lind, having full
control as to the number of nights or concerts in each week, and
the number of pieces in which she will sing in each concert, to
be regulated conditionally with her health and safety of voice,
but the former never less than one or two, nor the latter less
than four; but in no case to appear in operas.

Second. In consideration of said services, the said John Hall
Wilton, as agent for the said Phineas T. Barnum, of New York,
agrees to furnish the said Jenny Lind with a servant as
waiting-maid, and a male servant to and for the sole service of
her and her party; to pay the travelling and hotel expenses of a
friend to accompany her as a companion; to pay also a secretary
to superintend her finances; to pay all her and her party's
travelling expenses from Europe, and during the tour in the
United States of North America and Havana; to pay all hotel
expenses for board and lodging during the same period; to place
at her disposal in each city a carriage and horses with their
necessary attendants, and to give her in addition the sum of two
hundred pounds sterling, or one thousand dollars, for each
concert or oratorio in which the said Jenny Lind shall sing.

Third. And the said John Hall Wilton, as agent for the said
Phineas T. Barnum, doth further agree to give the said Jenny Lind
the most satisfactory security and assurance for the full amount
of her engagement, which will be placed in the hands of Messrs.
Baring Brothers, of London, previous to the departure, and
subject to the order of the said Jenny Lind, with its interest
due on its current reduction by her services in the concerts or
oratorios.

Fourth. And the said John Hall Wilton, on the part of the said
Phineas T. Barnum, further agrees, that should the said Phineas
T. Barnum, after seventy-five concerts, have realized so much as
shall, after paying all current expenses, have returned to him
all the sums disbursed, either as deposits at interest, for
securities of salaries, preliminary outlay, or moneys in any way
expended consequent on this engagement, and in addition, have
gained a clear profit of at least fifteen thousand pounds
sterling, then the said Phineas T. Barnum will give the said
Jenny Lind, in addition to the former sum of one thousand dollars
current money of the United States of North America, nightly,
one-fifth part of the profits arising from the remaining
seventy-five concerts or oratorios, after deducting every expense
current and appertaining thereto; or the said Jenny Lind agrees
to try, with the said Phineas T. Barnum, fifty concerts or
oratorios on the aforesaid and first-named terms, and if then
found to fall short of the expectations of the said Phineas T.
Barnum, then the said Jenny Lind agrees to reorganize this
agreement, on terms quoted in his first proposal, as set forth in
the annexed copy of his letter; but should such be found
necessary, then the engagement continues up to seventy-five
concerts or oratorios, at the end of which, should the aforesaid
profit of fifteen thousand pounds sterling have not been
realized, then the engagement shall continue as at first--the
sums herein, after expenses for Julius Benedict and Giovanni
Belletti, to remain unaltered, except for advancement.

Fifth. And the said John Hall Wilton, agent for the said Phineas
T. Barnum, at the request of the said Jenny Lind, agrees to pay
to Julius Benedict, of London, to accompany the said Jenny Lind,
as musical director, pianist, and superintendent of the musical
department, also to assist the said Jenny Lind in one hundred and
fifty concerts or oratorios, to be given in the United States of
North America and Havana, the sum of five thousand pounds
(L5,000) sterling, to be satisfactorily secured to him with
Messrs. Baring Brothers, of London, previous to his departure
from Europe, and the said John Hall Wilton agrees further, for
the said Phineas T. Barnum, to pay all his travelling expenses
from Europe, together with his hotel and travelling expenses
during the time occupied in giving the aforesaid one hundred and
fifty concerts or oratorios--he, the said Julius Benedict, to
superintend the organization of oratorios if required.

Sixth. And the said John Hall Wilton, at the request, selection,
and for the aid of the said Jenny Lind, agrees to pay to Giovanni
Belletti, barytone vocalist, to accompany the said Jenny Lind
during her tour and in one hundred and fifty concerts or
oratorios in the United States of North America and Havana, and
in conjunction with the aforesaid Julius Benedict, the sum of two
thousand five hundred pounds (L2,500) sterling, to be
satisfactorily secured to him previous to his departure from
Europe, in addition to all his hotel and travelling expenses.

Seventh. And it is further agreed that the said Jenny Lind shall
be at full liberty to sing at any time she may think fit for
charitable institutions, or purposes independent of the
engagement with the said Phineas T. Barnum, with a view to
mutually agreeing as to the time and its propriety, it being
understood that in no case shall the first or second concert in
any city selected for the tour be for such purpose, or wherever
it shall appear against the interests of the said Phineas T.
Barnum.

Eighth. It is further agreed that should the said Jenny Lind, by
any act of God, be incapacitated to fulfil the entire engagement
before mentioned, that an equal proportion of the terms agreed
upon shall be given to the said Jenny Lind, Julius Benedict, and
Giovanni Belletti, for services rendered to that time.

Ninth. It is further agreed and understood, that the said Phineas
T. Barnum shall pay every expense appertaining to the concerts or
oratorios before mentioned, excepting those for charitable
purposes, and that all accounts shall be settled and rendered by
all parties weekly.

Tenth. And the said Jenny Lind further agrees that she will not
engage to sing for any other person during the progress of this
said engagement with the said Phineas T. Barnum, of New York, for
one hundred and fifty concerts or oratorios, excepting for
charitable purposes as before mentioned; and all travelling to be
first and best class.

In witness hereof to the within written memorandum of agreement
we set hereunto our hand and seal.

[L. S.]   JOHN HALL WILTON, Agent for Phineas

          T. Barnum, of New York, U. S.

[L. S.]   JENNY LIND.

[T. S.]   JULIUS BENEDICT.

[L. S.]   GIOVANNI BELLETTI.

In the presence of C. ACHILLING, Consul of His Majesty the King
of Sweden and Norway.

Extract from a letter addressed to John H. Wilton by Phineas T.
Barnum, and referred to in paragraph No. 4 of the annexed
agreement:

                    NEW YORK, November 6, 1849.

MR. J. HALL WILTON:

Sir. In reply to your proposal to attempt a negotiation with
Mlle. Jenny Lind to visit the United States professionally, I
propose to enter into an arrangement with her to the following
effect: I will engage to pay all her expenses from Europe,
provide for and pay for one principal tenor, and one pianist,
their salaries not exceeding together one hundred and fifty
dollars per night; to support for her a carriage, two servants,
and a friend to accompany her and superintend her finances. I
will furthermore pay all and every expense appertaining to her
appearance before the public, and give her half of the gross
receipts arising from concerts or operas. I will engage to travel
with her personally, and attend to the arrangements, provided she
will undertake to give not less than eighty, nor more than one
hundred and fifty concerts, or nights' performances.             
           PHINEAS T. BARNUM.

I certify the above to be a true extract from the letter.        
            J. H. WILTON.

There was no Atlantic cable in those days, and Barnum did not
know the result of Wilton's embassy until the latter returned to
America. Barnum was in Philadelphia when Wilton landed in New
York, on February 19. Wilton at once telegraphed to him that he
had secured the singer, who was to come over and begin her
concerts in September. The great showman was startled, and felt
pretty nervous; and as so long a time was to elapse before she
came over, he thought it best to keep the whole matter a secret
for a time.

When we reflect how thoroughly Jenny Lind, her musical powers,
her character, and wonderful successes, were subsequently known
by all classes in this country as well as throughout the
civilized world, it is difficult to realize that, at the time
this engagement was made, she was comparatively unknown on this
side the water. We can hardly credit the fact that millions of
persons in America had never heard of her, that other millions
had merely read her name, but had no distinct idea of who or what
she was. Only a small portion of the public were really aware of
her great musical triumphs in the Old World, and this portion was
confined almost entirely to musical people, travellers who had
visited the Old World, and the conductors of the press.

Barnum telegraphed to Wilton to keep the matter secret, and next
morning set out for New York. But it was too late. When he got to
New York, he found the news of the engagement in full in all the
papers. Everybody was talking about it, and wondering who Jenny
Lind was, and Barnum soon perceived that he must improve the
time, from then to September, in educating the public up to an
approximate appreciation of her worth.

His first act was to send, as per agreement, the sum of $187,000
to Miss Lind's bankers in London. It was not altogether easy for
him to do this. After he had scraped together all his available
cash he was still short a large sum. He had plenty of securities
in the form of second mortgages that were perfectly good, but no
one in Wall street would lend him a dollar on them.

In his extremity, he at last went to the president of the bank
where he had transacted his business for the past eight years. "I
offered him," said Barnum afterward, "as security for a loan, my
second mortgages, and, as additional security, I offered to make
over to him my contract with Jenny Lind, with a written guaranty
that he should appoint a receiver, who, at my expense, should
take charge of all the receipts over and above $3,000 per night,
and appropriate them toward the payment of my loan He laughed in
my face, and said: 'Mr. Barnum, it is generally believed in Wall
street that your engagement with Jenny Lind will ruin you. I do
not think you will ever receive so much as $3,000 at a single
concert.' I was indignant at his want of appreciation, and
answered him that I would not at that moment take $150,000 for my
contract; nor would I. I found, upon further inquiry, that it was
useless in Wall street to offer the 'Nightingale' in exchange for
'Goldfinches.' I finally was introduced to Mr. John L. Aspinwall,
of the firm of Messrs. Howland & Aspinwall, and he gave me a
letter of credit from his firm on Baring Brothers, for a large
sum on collateral securities, which a spirit of genuine respect
for my enterprise induced him to accept.

"After disposing of several pieces of property for cash, I footed
up the various amounts, and still discovered myself $5,000 short.
I felt that it was indeed the last feather that breaks the
camel's back.' Happening casually to state my desperate case to
the Rev. Abel C. Thomas, of Philadelphia, for many years a friend
of mine, he promptly placed the requisite amount at my disposal.
I gladly accepted his proffered friendship, and felt that he had
removed a mountain-weight from my shoulders."

And now nothing remained to do but to arouse public curiosity and
interest. Barnum was a master-hand at that work, and never did he
show himself more of a master than on this occasion. He kept the
press literally teeming with notices in one form or another. Here
is a sample of the strain in which he wrote:

"Perhaps I may not make any money by this enterprise; but I
assure you that if I knew I should not make a farthing profit, I
would ratify the engagement, so anxious am I that the United
States should be visited by a lady whose vocal powers have never
been approached by any other human being, and whose character is
charity, simplicity, and goodness personified.

"Miss Lind has great anxiety to visit America. She speaks of this
country and its institutions in the highest terms of praise. In
her engagement with me (which includes Havana), she expressly
reserves the right to give charitable concerts whenever she
thinks proper.

Since her debut in England, she has given to the poor from her
own private purse more than the whole amount which I have engaged
to pay her, and the proceeds of concerts for charitable purposes
in Great Britain, where she has sung gratuitously, have realized
more than ten times that amount."

And so it came to pass that, before September rolled around,
curiosity, interest and enthusiasm over the great singer were at
fever heat, and New York thought and dreamed only of her coming.

Never, in the history of music or in the history of
entertainments in America, has the advent of a foreign artist
been hailed with so much enthusiasm.

A large share of this public interest was natural and genuine,
and would, in any event, have been accorded to Miss Lind. But a
considerable portion of it was due to the shrewd and energetic
advertising of Mr. Barnum. Under any auspices the great singer's
tour in America would have been successful; but under no other
management would it have approximated to what it was under
Barnum.

CHAPTER XVII. ARRIVAL OF JENNY LIND.

FIRST MEETING WITH BARNUM--RECEPTION IN NEW YORK--POEMS IN HER
HONOR--A FURORE OF PUBLIC INTEREST--SALE OF TICKETS FOR THE FIRST
CONCERT--BARNUM'S CHANGE IN TERMS--TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS FOR
CHARITY--ENORMOUS SUCCESS OF THE FIRST CONCERT.

Jenny Lind sailed for America on Wednesday morning, August 21,
1850. She was accompanied by Messrs. Benedict and Belletti, Mr.
Wilton, her two cousins, and three or four servants. She also
brought with her a piano for her use. Mr. Barnum had engaged the
necessary accommodations for the company on the steamship
Atlantic, and their departure from England was an event of great
public interest. In America their coming was looked upon much as
the visit of a royal personage would have been. It was expected
that the steamer would reach New York on Sunday, September 1st.
Mr. Barnum, however, determined to be on hand to meet his
distinguished guest at no matter what time she reached the port.
He, therefore, went on Saturday to Staten Island, and spent the
night at the house of his friend, Dr. Doane, the health officer
of the port.

The steamship was sighted just before noon on Sunday, and soon
afterward Mr. Barnum, who went out with the health officer, was
standing on the deck where, for the first time, he met the famous
singer. After they had shaken hands and uttered a few commonplace
words of greeting Miss Lind asked him when and where he had heard
her sing.

"I never had the pleasure of seeing you before in my life," he
replied.

"How is it possible that you dared risk so much money on a person
whom you never heard sing?" she asked in great surprise.

"I risked it," answered Barnum, "on your reputation, which in
musical matters I would much rather trust than my own judgment."

The fact was that, although Barnum did rely largely upon Miss
Lind's reputation as an artist, he also took into account her
equally great reputation for benevolence, generosity and general
loveliness of disposition. He knew that these traits of character
would appeal with a special force to the warm-hearted and
enthusiastic American public. Indeed, he afterward confessed that
had it not been for this peculiarity of her disposition, he never
would have ventured to make the engagement with her; and he
always believed that as many people came to see and hear her on
this account as on account of her skill as a singer.

Seldom has any visitor to New York received a more remarkable
greeting than did the "Swedish Nightingale." Mr. Barnum's efforts
to arouse public interest in her had not been in vain. The whole
city was anxious to get the first possible glimpse of her. But
beside this bona fide interest in her, Mr. Barnum had seen to it
that her landing was made all possible use of as an
advertisement. On the wharf at which she landed a bower of green
trees, decorated with flags, had been prepared. There were also
two handsome triumphal arches, on one of which was inscribed,
"Welcome, Jenny Lind!" and on the other, "Welcome to America!"

Probably the singer thought, and possibly some of the general
public also imagined, that these decorations had been erected by
the city government, or at least by some committee of
public-spirited citizens. Mr. Barnum, however, never found fault
with any one for suspecting that he was chiefly responsible for
them, and there is every reason to believe that the cost of them
was to be found entered in his books, charged to the account of
advertising.

Thousands of people were thronged along the water front, on the
piers and on the shipping, to greet the Atlantic as it reached
its dock. So great was the rush to see the illustrious guest that
one man was crowded overboard, an incident which Miss Lind
herself witnessed, and at which she was much alarmed. He was
rescued with no other harm than a thorough wetting. Barnum's
carriage was in waiting for Miss Lind, and the great showman
himself, after placing her within it, mounted the box at the
driver's side. He took that seat as a legitimate advertisement,
and his presence there aided those who filled the windows and
sidewalks along the entire way to the Irving House, and there
were many thousands of them, in coming to the conclusion that
Jenny Lind had really arrived.

Five minutes after Miss Lind had entered the hotel, Barnum
invited her to look out of a window opening on Broadway. When she
did so she saw a throng of not less than twenty thousand persons
gathered to do her honor. And there that throng remained all the
rest of the afternoon and until late in the evening. At her
request Barnum took dinner with her that afternoon. According to
the European custom she offered to pledge his health in a glass
of wine, and was doubtless much surprised at his response. He
said to her: "Miss Lind, I do not think you can ask any other
favor on earth which I would not gladly grant. But I am a
teetotaler, and must beg to be permitted to drink to your health
and happiness in a glass of cold water."

Late that night Miss Lind was serenaded by the New York Musical
Fund Society, which numbered, on that occasion, two hundred
musicians. They were escorted to the hotel by about three hundred
firemen, clad in their picturesque uniform and bearing flaming
torches. Fully thirty thousand spectators were at this hour
gathered about the hotel, and in response to their vociferous
calls Miss Lind stepped upon the balcony and bowed to them.

Such was the great singer's first day in America, and for several
weeks thereafter the public interest in her was scarcely less
demonstrative. Her rooms were thronged by visitors, among whom
were the most notable people in society, in the learned
professions and in public life. The street before the hotel was
almost blocked day after day by the carriages of fashionable
people, and Barnum's only anxiety was lest the aristocratic part
of the community should monopolize her altogether, and thus mar
his interest by cutting her off from the sympathy she had excited
among the common people. The shop-keepers of the city showered
their attentions upon her, sending her cart-loads of specimens of
their most valuable wares, for which they asked no other return
than her acceptance and her autograph acknowledgment. Gloves,
bonnets, shawls, gowns, chairs, carriages, pianos, and almost
every imaginable article of use or ornament was named for her.
Songs and musical compositions were dedicated to her, and poems
were published in her honor. Day after day and week after week
her doings formed the most conspicuous news in the daily
journals.

Some weeks before Miss Lind's arrival in America Barnum had
offered a prize of two hundred dollars for the best ode, to be
set to music and sung by her at her first concert. Its topic was
to be, "Greeting to America." In response several hundred poems
were sent in, mostly pretty poor stuff; though several of them
were very good. After a great deal of hard work in reading and
considering them, the Prize Committee selected as the best the
one offered by Bayard Taylor. It was set to music by Julius
Benedict, and was as follows:

GREETING TO AMERICA

WORDS BY BAYARD TAYLOR--MUSIC BY JULIUS BENEDICT.

I greet with a full heart the Land of the West,
     Whose Banner of Stars o'er a world is unrolled;
Whose empire o'ershadows Atlantic's wide breast,
     And opens to sunset its gateway of gold!
The land of the mountain, the land of the lake,
     And rivers that roll in magnificent tide--
Where the souls of the mighty from slumber awake,
     And hallow the soil for whose freedom they died!

Thou Cradle of empire! though wide be the foam
     That severs the land of my fathers and thee,
I hear, from thy bosom, the welcome of home,
     For song has a home in the hearts of the Free!
And long as thy waters shall gleam in the sun,
     And long as thy heroes remember their scars,
Be the hands of thy children united as one,
     And Peace shed her light on thy Banner of Stars!

This award gave general satisfaction, although a few
disappointed competitors complained. This remarkable competition
and the other features of Miss Lind's reception in America,
attracted so much attention in England that the London Times in
one day devoted several columns of space to the subject.

Of course the American press literally teemed with matter about
Miss Lind and Barnum. The poetical competition demanded much
attention, and presently a witty pamphlet was published, entitled
"Barnum's Parnassus; being Confidential Disclosures of the Prize
Committee on the Jenny Lind Song." It pretended to give all or
most of the poems that had been offered in the competition,
though of course none of them were genuine. Many of them,
however, contained fine satirical hits on the whole business;
such, for example, as the following:

BARNUMOPSIS.

A RECITATIVE.

When to the common rest that crowns his days,
     Dusty and worn the tired pedestrian goes,
What light is that whose wide o'erlooking blaze
     A sudden glory on his pathway throws?

'Tis not the setting sun, whose drooping lid
     Closed on the weary world at half-past six;
'Tis not the rising moon, whose rays are hid
     Behind the city's sombre piles of bricks.

  It is the Drummond Light, that from the top
     Of Barnum's massive pile, sky-mingling there,
Dart's its quick gleam o'er every shadowed shop,
     And gilds Broadway with unaccustomed glare.

  There o'er the sordid gloom, whose deep'ning tracks
     Furrow the city's brow, the front of ages,
Thy loftier light descends on cabs and hacks,
     And on two dozen different lines of stages!

O twilight Sun, with thy far darting ray,
     Thou art a type of him whose tireless hands
Hung thee on high to guide the stranger's way,
     Where, in its pride, his vast Museum stands.

Him, who in search of wonders new and strange,
     Grasps the wide skirts of Nature's mystic robe
Explores the circles of eternal change,
     And the dark chambers of the central globe.

He, from the reedy shores of fabled Nile,
     Has brought, thick-ribbed and ancient as old iron,
That venerable beast, the crocodile,
     And many a skin of many a famous lion.

  Go lose thyself in those continuous halls,
     Where strays the fond papa with son and daughter;
And all that charms or startles or appals,
     Thou shalt behold, and for a single quarter.

  Far from the Barcan deserts now withdrawn,
     There, huge constrictors coil their scaly backs;
There, cased in glass, malignant and unshorn,
     Old murderers glare in sullenness and wax.

  There many a varied form the sight beguiles,
     In rusty broadcloth decked and shocking hat,
And there the unwieldy Lambert sits and smiles,
     In the majestic plenitude of fat.

Or for thy gayer hours, the orang-outang
     Or ape salutes thee with his strange grimace,
And in their shapes, stuffed as on earth they sprang,
     Thine individual being thou canst trace!

  And joys the youth in life's green spring, who goes
     With the sweet babe and the gray headed nurse,
To see those Cosmoramic orbs disclose
     The varied beauties of the universe.

And last, not least, the marvellous Ethiope,
     Changing his skin by preternatural skill,
Whom every setting sun's diurnal slope
     Leaves whiter than the last, and whitening still.

  All that of monstrous, scaly, strange and queer,
     Has come from out the womb of earliest time,
Thou hast, O Barnum, in thy keeping here,
     Nor is this all--for triumphs more sublime

  Await thee yet! I, Jenny Lind, who reigned
     Sublimely throned, the imperial queen of song,
Wooed by thy golden harmonies, have deigned
     Captive to join the heterogeneous throng.

  Sustained by an unfaltering trust in coin,
     Dealt from thy hand, O thou illustrious man,
Gladly I heard the summons come to join
     Myself the immeasurable caravan.

A number of complimentary greetings in verse were also sent in to
Miss Lind by various writers of more or less eminence, among them
being the following from Mrs. Lydia H. Sigourney:

THE SWEDISH SONGSTRESS AND HER CHARITIES.

BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.

Blest must their vocation be
Who, with tones of melody,
Charm the discord and the strife
And the railroad rush of life,

And with Orphean magic move
Souls inert to life and love.
But there's one who doth inherit
Angel gift and angel spirit,
Bidding tides of gladness flow
Through the realms of want and woe;
'Mid lone age and misery's lot,
Kindling pleasures long forgot,
Seeking minds oppressed with night,
And on darkness shedding light,
She the seraph's speech doth know,
She hath done their deeds below;
So, when o'er this misty strand
She shall clasp their waiting hand,
They will fold her to their breast,
More a sister than a guest.

The first concert was announced for the evening of September
11th, and it was to take place in the great hall of Castle
Garden, afterward famous as the landing-place for emigrants at
New York. The tickets for this occasion were sold at auction, and
the first one was bid up to the extraordinary figure of $225.
This was bid and the ticket was secured by John N. Genin, a
hatter; and the public notice which was thereby attracted to him
was such a great advertisement for his business that within a few
years thereafter he amassed a fortune. It was afterward stated
that Mr. Genin was Barnum's brother-in-law, and that his high bid
for this ticket was a pre-arranged job; but there was no truth in
this whatever. The auction itself was regarded as an occasion of
such public interest that the proprietors of the Garden, where it
was held, charged a shilling admission fee to it. No less than
3,000 persons paid this fee and attended the auction, and the
first day's sale aggregated 1,000 tickets, which brought a total
sum of $10,141.

A few days after her arrival Barnum told Miss Lind that it would
be desirable to make a change in the terms of their contract, if
she would consent. She was startled at this, and asked him what
the change was to be. "I am convinced," replied Barnum, "that
this enterprise will be far more successful than either of us
anticipated. So I wish to stipulate that you shall receive not
only $1,000 for each concert, beside all expenses, but also that,
after taking out $5,500 per night for expenses and for my
services, the balance shall be equally divided between you and
me."

She looked at him in utter bewilderment, unable to understand his
proposition. He repeated it, and at last made her realize what it
was that he proposed to do. Then she grasped him by the hand and
exclaimed: "Mr. Barnum, you are a gentleman of honor; you are
generous; it is just as I was told. I will sing for you as long
as you please. I will sing for you in America--in
Europe--anywhere!"

The day before the first concert Mr. Barnum told Miss Lind that,
judging by appearances, her portion of the proceeds of the first
concert, over and above her fee of $1,000, would amount to at
least $10,000. She immediately resolved to devote every dollar of
it to charity, and forthwith sent for the Mayor of the city,
under whose advice she acted in selecting the various
institutions among which it was to be distributed.

The amount of money actually received for tickets for the first
concert was $17,864.05. So it appeared that Barnum's estimate had
been a little too high, and Miss Lind's portion was too small to
realize the $10,000 which she was to give to charity. Barnum
therefore proposed to make a similar arrangement for the second
concert, and to count neither of these first two in the regular
engagement. To this she agreed. The second concert was given on
September 13th, and the receipts, which amounted to $14,203.03,
were disposed of as before, and she was thus enabled to give the
$10,000 to charity. The third concert, which was the first of the
regular series, was given on September 17th.

Barnum's arrangements of the concert-room for the singer's
appearance were very complete. One hundred ushers, adorned with
rosettes and carrying wands tipped with ribbons, looked after the
seating of the audience. In order to prevent confusion the doors
were opened at five o'clock, although the concert was not to
commence until eight. The result was that the five thousand
persons who attended made their entry without crowding and
without confusion.

The reception of Jenny Lind, on her first appearance, in point of
enthusiasm, was probably never before equalled. As Mr. Benedict
led her towards the footlights, the entire audience rose to their
feet and welcomed her with three cheers, accompanied by the
waving of thousands of hats and handkerchiefs. This was perhaps
the largest audience to which Jenny Lind had ever sung. She was
evidently much agitated, but the orchestra commenced, and before
she had sung a dozen notes of "Casta Diva," she began to recover
her self-possession, and long before the scena was concluded she
was as calm as if she was in her own drawing-room. Towards the
last portion of the cavatina, the audience were so completely
carried away by their feelings, that the remainder of the air was
drowned in a perfect tempest of acclamation. Enthusiasm had been
wrought to its highest pitch, but the musical powers of Jenny
Lind exceeded all the brilliant anticipations which had been
formed, and her triumph was complete. At the conclusion of the
concert Jenny Lind was loudly called for, and was obliged to
appear three times before the audience could be satisfied. Then
they called vociferously for "Barnum," and he "reluctantly"
responded to their demand.

On this first night Julius Benedict firmly established with the
American people his European reputation as a most accomplished
conductor and musical composer; while Signor Belletti inspired an
admiration which grew warmer and deeper in the minds of the
public, to the end of his career in this country.

"The Rubicon was passed," says Barnum. "The successful issue of
the Jenny Lind enterprise was established. I think there were a
hundred men in New York, the day after her first concert, who
would have willingly paid me $200,000 for my contract. I received
repeated offers for an eighth, a tenth, or a sixteenth,
equivalent to that price. But mine had been the risk, and I was
determined mine should be the triumph."

The triumph of Jenny Lind is a legitimate part of Barnum's
history, and it will be of interest to the present generation to
read what the musical critics of that day thought of that
wonderful singer. Here is the New York Tribune's account of her
opening concerts in America:

"Jenny Lind's first concert is over, and all doubts are at an
end. She is the greatest singer we have ever heard and her
success is all that was anticipated from her genius and her fame.
As this is something of an era in our history of art, we give a
detailed account of all that took place on the occasion.

"All the preparatory arrangements for the concert were made with
great care, and from the admirable system observed, none of the
usual disagreeable features of such an event were experienced.
Outside of the gate there was a double row of policemen extending
up the main avenue of the Battery grounds. Carriages only were
permitted to drive up to the gate from the Whitehall side, and
pass off into Battery-place. At one time the line of carriages
extended to Whitehall and up State street into Broadway.
Everything was accomplished in a quiet and orderly manner. The
chief of police, with about sixty men, came on the ground at 5
o'clock, and maintained the most complete order to the end.

"Mr. Barnum, according to promise, had put up a substantial
frame-work, and thrown an immense awning over the bridge, which
is some 200 feet in length. This was brilliantly lighted, and had
almost the appearance of a triumphal avenue on entering the gate.

"There was an immense crowd on the Battery, clustering around the
gates during the whole evening, but no acts of disorder occurred.
When Jenny Lind's carriage came, but very few persons knew it,
and no great excitement followed. The principal annoyance was
occasioned by a noisy crowd of boys in boats, who gathered around
the outer wall of the castle, and being by their position secure
from the police, tried to disturb those within by a hideous
clamor of shouts and yells, accompanied by a discordant din of
drums and fifes. There must have been more than 200 boats and a
thousand persons on the water. They caused some annoyance to that
portion of the audience in the back seats of the balcony, but the
nuisance was felt by none in the parquet. By 10 o'clock they had
either become tired or ashamed of the contemptible outrage they
were attempting, and dispersed. We may here remark that if the
river police asked for by Chief Matsell had been in existence
this attempt could not have been made.

"On entering the castle, a company of ushers, distinguished by
their badges, were in readiness to direct the visitors to that
part of the hall where their seats were located. Colored lamps
and hangings suspended to the pillars indicated at a glance the
different divisions, and the task of seating the whole audience
of near seven thousand persons was thus accomplished without the
least inconvenience. The hall was brilliantly lighted, though
from its vast extent the stage looked somewhat dim. The wooden
partition which was built up in place of the drop-curtain, is
covered with a painting representing the combined standards of
America and Sweden, below which are arabesque ornaments in white
and gold. Considering the short time allowed for these
improvements, the change was remarkable. The only instance of bad
taste which we noticed was a large motto, worked in flowers,
suspended over the pillars of the balcony directly in front of
the stage. 'Welcome, Sweet Warbler' (so ran the words), was not
only tame and commonplace, but decidedly out of place.

"The sight of the grand hall, with its gay decoration, its
glittering lamps, and its vast throng of expectant auditors, was
in itself almost worth a $5 ticket. We were surprised to notice
that not more than one-eighth of the audience were ladies. They
must stay at home, it seems, when the tickets are high, but the
gentlemen go, nevertheless. For its size, the audience was one of
the most quiet, refined and appreciative we ever saw assembled in
this city. Not more than one-third were seated before 7 o'clock,
and when the eventful hour arrived they were still coming in. A
few of the seats were not taken when the orchestra had assembled,
and Mr. Benedict, who was greeted with loud cheers on his
appearance, gave the first flourish of his baton.

"The musical performance commenced with Jules Benedict's overture
to his opera, The Crusaders, himself conducting the orchestra of
60 instruments. It was an admirably balanced and effective
orchestra, and notwithstanding that we had to listen as it were
round a corner, we felt the unity and full force of its strong
chords, and traced the precise and delicate outline of its
melodies with a distinctness which proved that a clear musical
idea was there, too clearly embodied to be lost even in that vast
space. We liked the first half of the composition best; it had
the dark shading and wild vigor and pathos of Von Weber; the
allegro which set in upon it was more in the light popular manner
of Auber and the French. Yet Mr. Benedict has proved his mastery
in this work, which the vast audience acknowledged with very
hearty plaudits.

"Signor Belletti was the next mark of expectation. In one of
Rossini's most ornate and florid bravura songs (from Maometto
Secondo) he produced a barytone of such warm, rich, solid,
resonant and feeling quality as we perhaps have never heard in
this country (though without closer observation from the less
remote position in which a barytone naturally requires to be
heard, we hardly dare to place it above Badiali's); while in
refinement of conception and of execution he left little to be
desired.

"Now came a moment of breathless expectation. A moment more, and
Jenny Lind, clad in a white dress, which well became the frank
sincerity of her face, came forward through the orchestra. It is
impossible to describe the spontaneous burst of welcome which
greeted her. The vast assembly rose as one man, and for some
minutes nothing could be seen but the waving of hands and
handkerchiefs, nothing heard but a storm of tumultuous cheers.
The enthusiasm of the moment, for a time beyond all bounds, was
at last subdued after prolonging itself by its own fruitless
efforts to subdue itself, and the divine songstress, with that
perfect bearing, that air of all dignity and sweetness, blending
a child-like simplicity and half-trembling womanly modesty with
the beautiful confidence of genius and serene wisdom of art,
addressed herself to song, as the orchestral symphony prepared
the way for the voice in Casta Diva. A better test-piece could
not have been selected for her debut. Every soprano lady has sung
it to us; but nearly every one has seemed only trying to make
something of it, while Jenny Lind WAS the very music of it for
the time being. We would say no less than that; for the wisest
and honestest part of criticism on such a first hearing of a
thing so perfect, was to give itself purely up to it, without
question, and attempt no analysis of what too truly fills one to
have yet begun to be an object of thought.

"If it were possible, we would describe the quality of that
voice, so pure, so sweet, so fine, so whole and all-pervading, in
its lowest breathings and minutest fioriture as well as in its
strongest volume. We never heard tones which in their sweetness
went so far. They brought the most distant and ill-seated auditor
close to her. They WERE tones, every one of them, and the whole
air had to take the law of their vibrations. The voice and the
delivery had in them all the good qualities of all the good
singers. Song in her has that integral beauty which at once
proclaims it as a type for all, and is most naturally worshipped
as such by the multitude.

"Of those who have been before her we were most frequently
reminded of Madame Bishop's quality (not quantity) of voice.
Their voices are of metal somewhat akin. Jenny Lind's had
incomparably more power and more at all times in reserve; but it
had a shade of that same veiled quality in its lowest tones,
consistently with the same (but much more) ripeness and
sweetness, and perfect freedom from the crudeness often called
clearness, as they rise. There is the same kind of versatile and
subtile talent, too, in Jenny Lind, as appeared later in the
equal inspiration and perfection of her various characters and
styles of song. Her's is a genuine soprano, reaching the extra
high notes with that ease and certainty which make each highest
one a triumph of expression purely, and not a physical marvel.
The gradual growth and sostenuto of her tones; the light and
shade, the rhythmic undulation and balance of her passages; the
bird-like ecstacy of her trill; the faultless precision and
fluency of her chromatic scales; above all, the sure reservation
of such volume of voice as to crown each protracted climax with
glory, not needing a new effort to raise force for the final
blow; and indeed all the points one looks for in a mistress of
the vocal art were eminently her's in Casta Diva. But the charm
lay not in any POINT, but rather in the inspired vitality, the
hearty, genuine outpouring of the whole--the real and yet truly
ideal humanity of all her singing. That is what has won the world
to Jenny Lind; it is that her whole soul and being goes out in
her song, and that her voice becomes the impersonation of that
song's soul if it have any, that is, if it BE a song. There is
plainly no vanity in her, no mere aim to effect; it is all frank
and real and harmoniously earnest.

"She next bewitched all by the delicate naivete and sparkling
espieglerie, interchanged with true love pathos, of her duet with
Belletti, from Rossini's I Turchi in Italia, the music being in
the same voice with that of his 'Barber of Seville.' The distinct
rapidity, without hurry, of many passages, was remarkable in both
performers. But perhaps the most wonderful exhibition of her
vocal skill and pliancy and of her active intimacy with nature
was in the Trio Concertante, with two flutes, from Meyerbeer's
'Camp of Silesia.' Exquisitely her voice played in echo between
the tasteful flute-warblings of Messrs. Kyle and Siede.

"But do not talk of her flute-like voice; the flute-tone is not
one a real voice need cultivate; except where it silvers the
edges of a dark mass of orchestral harmony, the flute's
unmitigated sweetness must and should contrast with the more
clarionet and reed-like quality of a voice as rich and human as
that of Jenny Lind.

"Naturally the favorites of the evening were the two national
songs. Her Swedish 'Herdsman's Song' was singularly quaint, wild
and innocent. The odd musical interval (a sharp seventh) of the
the echo, as if her singing had brought the very mountains there,
were extremely characteristic. This was loudly encored and
repeated; and when again encored was of course answered with her
'Greeting to America,' the National Prize Song, written by Bayard
Taylor, and set to a vigorous and familiar style of music, well
harmonizing with the words, by Benedict. The greeting had a soul
in it coming from those lips.

"We have but now to acknowledge the fine style of Belletti's
Largo al Factotum (though the gay barber's song always requires
the stage) and the admirable orchestra performance of Weber's
Overture to Oberon.

"We are now sure of Jenny Lind, the singer and the artist. Last
night she was herself, and well accompanied, and gloriously
responded to. But we have yet to hear her in the kind of music
which seems to us most to need and to deserve such a singer--in
the Agatha of Der Freyschutz, and in Mozart and the deep music of
the great modern German operas.

"At the close the audience (who made no movement to leave till
the last note had been uttered) broke out in a tempest of cheers,
only less vehement than those which welcomed her in Casta Diva.
She came forward again, bowed with a bright, grateful face, and
retired. The cheers were now mingled with shouts of 'Barnum!' who
at last came forward, and with some difficulty obtained
sufficient order to speak. 'My friends,' said he, 'you have often
heard it asked, 'Where's Barnum?" Amid the cheers and laughter
which followed, we only caught the words: 'Henceforth, you may
say, 'Barnum's nowhere!' '

"Mr. Barnum, after expressing his gratification at the splendid
welcome which had been given Mdlle. Lind, stated that he would
disclose a piece of news which he could no longer keep secret,
and which would show how well that welcome was deserved. Mdlle.
Lind on Monday morning informed him that it was her intention to
give her share of the net proceeds of the present concert,
amounting to considerable more than $10,000, to the various
charities in the city.

"The announcement was a signal for another storm. We did not
count the number of cheers given, but we never witnessed such a
pitch of enthusiasm. Mr. Barnum then proceeded to read the list
of her donations, interrupted at every name by a fresh burst of
applause:

To the Fire Department Fund . . . . . . . . . $3,000

     Musical Fund Society. . . . . . . . . . . .2,000

     Home for the Friendless . . . . . . . . . . .500

     Society for the Relief of Indigent Females. .500

     Dramatic Fund Association . . . . . . . . . .500

     Home for Colored and Aged Persons . . . . . .500

     Colored and Orphan Association. . . . . . . .500

     Lying-in Asylum for Destitute Females . . . .500

     New York Orphan Asylum. . . . . . . . . . . .500

     Protestant Half-Orphan Asylum . . . . . . . .500

     Roman Catholic Half-Orphan Asylum . . . . . .500

     Old Ladies' Asylum. . . . . . . . . . . . . .500

               Total . . . . . . . . . . . . .$10,000

"In case the money coming to her shall exceed this sum, she will
hereafter designate the charity to which it is to be
appropriated. Mr. Barnum was then about retiring, when there was
a universal call for Jenny Lind. The songstress, however, had
already taken her departure, and the excited crowd, after giving
a few more cheers, followed her example, and slowly surged out of
the castle door, and down the canopied bridge, in a glow of
good-humor and admiration. A few disorderly vagrants collected on
the bridges leading to the Bath Houses, hooted at the throng as
it passed out, but everybody went home quietly, with a new joy at
his heart, and a new thought in his brain.

"Jenny Lind's second concert was in every respect as complete a
triumph as the first. The audience numbered upward of SEVEN
THOUSAND, filling the vast amphitheatre to the topmost circles of
the gallery. The sight of that dense sea of heads, from either
extremity of the balcony, reminded us of one of Martin's grand,
gloomy pictures, and the resemblance was further increased by the
semi-oriental appearance of the hall, with its long, light
pillars dropping from the centre, as well as by the dimness of
its illumination, the lamps, many and bright as they were, being
lost in the immense area of the building.

"The concert was a repetition of the first, with the only
difference that the orchestra volunteered the "Wedding March,"
from Mendelssohn's "Midsummer Night's Dream," whose short,
crackling blaze of harmony received full justice from the sure
and well-tempered brass instruments. Weber's overture to "Oberon"
was finely rendered, and the composition is as fine a specimen of
musical fairy-land as could be found before young Mendelssohn
dreamed Shakspere's dream over in his own way.

"In Jenny Lind we still feel that it is not easy to separate the
singer from the person. She sings herself. She does not, like
many skilful vocalists, merely recite her musical studies, and
dazzle you with splendid feats unnaturally acquired; her singing,
through all her versatile range of parts and styles, is her own
proper and spontaneous activity--integral, and whole. Her
magnificent voice, always true and firm, and as far beyond any
instrument as humanity is beyond nature, seems like the audible
beauty of her nature and her character. That she is an artist in
the highest sense is a question long since settled, and any
little incidental variation from the bold and perfect outline of
success in any special effort, as the faltering of her voice from
natural embarrassment in the commencing of Casta Diva that first
night, could not to a true listener at all impede the recognition
of the wonderful art which could afford a little to humanity on
so trying an occasion. For she was as it were beginning her
career anew; literally to her was this a new world; and she felt
for a moment as if in her first blushing maidenhood of song. This
second time the hesitation of the voice in that commencement was
not felt. The note began soft and timid and scarce audible, as
the prayer of Norma might have done; but how it gradually swelled
with the influx of divine strength into the soul! The grand
difficulty in the opening andante movement of Casta Diva lies in
its broad, sustained phrasing, in the long, generous undulation
of its rhythm, which with most singers drags or gets broken out
of symmetry. Jenny Lind conceived and did it truly. The
impassioned energy of the loud-pleading syncopated cries in which
the passage attains its climax; the celestial purity and
penetrating sweetness of that highest note afterward; the
exquisite cadenza to the andante; and the inspiring eloquence of
the allegro: Ah! bello a me ritorna, were far beyond anything WE
have had the fortune hitherto to hear.

"They that sat, or even stood, in Castle Garden, may mark down a
white day in their calendar. In point of audience, programme,
execution and inspiration, it was the greatest concert, so far.
If anything more had been needed to confirm the impression which
Jenny Lind had previously made on an American public, and to
place her continued success beyond the possibility of doubt, last
night's experience certainly supplied it.

"It was foreseen in the morning that the attendance would be
greater even than on Friday night. The American Museum and Hall's
Music Store were besieged through the whole day and up to the
very hour of commencement. At the former place the crowding for
tickets was tremendous, the very sidewalk in front being
blockaded most of the time. At seven o'clock, when we took up the
line of march for Castle Garden, both sides of Broadway were
thronged, and the main avenue of the Battery was filled with a
steady stream of persons pressing into the Castle gate. As on the
first night, a double line of policemen had been formed, which
effectually prevented all disorder. A few more lamps were
introduced into the hall, rendering its aspect much more light
and cheerful. By eight o'clock the vast hall was crowded to
overflowing. Scarcely a foot of space was unoccupied; from the
very edge of the ceiling to the orchestral platform in the
centre, around the immense span of the building, there was but
one dense mass of heads. We should, at a rough guess, estimate
the number in the auditory at SEVEN THOUSAND. A much larger
proportion than on former nights were ladies, and for the first
time we caught glimpses of the fashionable society from above
Bleecker. It is worthy of note, that the first and second
concerts, immense as they were, were composed almost entirely of
the intelligent and appreciative middle class.

"Some disturbance was created by a rush to obtain seats, made by
those who had promenade tickets for the balcony, the moment the
orchestra began to collect. This proceeding, in violation of the
specified arrangements, was most disgraceful. The ushers did all
they could to prevent it, but in spite of all their efforts many
persons who arrived before the hour of commencement were deprived
of their seats. It would be a good plan to have a few policemen
in the balcony on future occasions.

"The orchestra commenced with Rossini's Overture to "William
Tell"--perhaps the finest piece of instrumental picture music
since Haydn's Creation and the Pastoral Symphony of Beethoven.
Its fresh and vivid coloring, its atmospheric changes, its smart
Alpine vigor and heroic ensemble, were made as present and as
real as any sixty instruments could make them. Exquisitely did
those three violoncellos sketch the first scene of soft, cool
sunset on the unruffled lake; the mellow Corno Anglaise, male
partner to the oboe, sweetly woke the flute-like mountain echoes;
the low moan and whistle of the storm rose life like in the
crescendo of the violins, and as it died away the startling
quick-step of liberty leaped strong and simultaneous from such a
tutti as we have hardly heard from any orchestra. We can believe
that Mr. Benedict was quite sincere in telling them he had not
conducted a better orchestra in Europe. The other Overture to
Masaniello was also splendidly played, but the composition is, to
our taste, too hackneyed to fill out the programme of a Jenny
Lind before the largest audience in the world. The accompaniments
to the singing were usually given with sympathetic precision, and
subdued shading or vigorous seconding, as the case required. We
cannot speak too well of M. Benedict's control of his forces.

"The second piece was the Viravviso ("As I View Now") from La
Somnambula, delivered in the richest and most vibrating barytone
that WE Americans have heard, by Sig. Belletti. Now that we have
heard him from a nearer position, we have not a doubt left of his
superiority in voice, style, execution to all our Italian
favorites of the same register hitherto. He absolutely glorified
the cavatina which rapidly grew commonplace with Brough, and had
but half recovered even in the hands of the worthy Italian
artists who have since sung it on the stage for us. His crowning
achievement last night, however, was the actual singing of a
Tarentella by Rossini--a kind of movement which we have hitherto
heard only from instruments--a whirling, spinning, delirious,
top-like movement in which the singer seems galvanized and
tyrannized by one too happy and all-mastering idea in spite of
himself. The audience too, in spite of themselves, were sucked
into its whirling ecstacy, and it was imperatively encored. In
Mozart's Non piu Andrai the chaster prototype of Rossini's Largo
al factotum, his vocalization was elastic, spirited and elegant,
but the effect of such a piece was necessarily lost upon the
outer circles of so vast an auditory.

"For other variety there was a brilliant show duett on themes
from La Somnambula for piano and violin by Messrs. Benedict and
Noll, and a solo on the pianoforte by that most promising young
artist, Hoffman. For this he chose De Meyer's fantasy on
Semiramide, decidedly of the modern monster school of pianoforte
composition, though quite a vigorous, graceful and redeeming
specimen thereof.

"And now for the 'Queen of Song'--or, if so qualifying it will
better suit the Italians, the NORTHERN Queen of Song.

"She commenced with one of the most tender and graceful, and
hereabouts least hackneyed airs of Bellini--the Qui la Voce from
I Puritani. Her liquid purity of voice and graceful gliding
through its flowery labyrinthine passages was to us not more
remarkable than the true but quiet fervor which animated it.
Jenny Lind shows no feeling! and excites none! draws no tears!
True Art supplies the place of tears by touching the emotions
which are deeper and serener, and not a whit less human. But of
this more fully when we have room.

"The splendid song from Mozart's 'Magic Flute,' Non Paventar,
brought into play the salient diamonds of her highest voice,
which arches like the tall shaft of a fountain sparkling in the
sun. The introduction, a bold, exhorting strain, in grandiose
style, full of large intervals, was given with a glorious fervor,
and no lark ever carolled more blithely or more at ease than her
voice as it soared to F in alt! Benedict's English ballad, 'Take
this Lute,' she sang with a simplicity and pathos that won the
audience completely; and no part seemed more genuine or more
expressive than the difficult cadenza at its close.

"The romanza from Robert le Diable was perhaps the most
fascinating of her more studied performances. This, like all her
brilliant things, if not impassioned in the cheaper superficial
sense, was at all events vital, and from the soul. She is never
mechanical, whatever you may say about want of passion. Is any
tragic pathos, such as is ready on the smallest occasion, or on
none, more admirable and more inspiring, more from the inmost
soul, than is that gushing up of a full, glad, true heart which
is her native mood of song, and which was so glorious last night
in the Ah! non Giunge from Somnambula? The rapturous encore to
this was answered by the Swedish 'Herdsman's Song.'

"It was in the song from Mozart's 'Magic Flute' that we first
fully KNEW the voice and art and soul of Jenny Lind. She warmed
to that music. It is narrow criticism which imprisons such a
singer within the partial scope, albeit classical, of the Italian
School; ignores that vital part of her which may exceed the
conventional requirements of such a School, and condemns whatever
in her is most characteristic, and in contrast with its models.
It has been well said by those who make the most intelligent
reference to those models and that school, that the style of the
Swedish Nightingale is sui generis, as marked as her own
personality. True, you would not say of her, in the conventional
Italian sense of the word, what is often said in first
acknowledgment of a good singer: 'She has STYLE'--meaning the one
style which is assumed as the standard. If we are to limit style
to that sense, Mdlle. Lind has more than style; she has
genius--Northern genius, to be sure, which is precisely what she
should have to make her greatness genuine. Song is original in
her; and from her singing we drink in new life, after long
satiety of such passion-sweets as have become habits rather than
fresh inspirations in the delightful--we may almost say
perfected--but yet confined music of the Italians.

"It is, perhaps, too late to await the advent of a Queen of Song
from the warm South. The South has had its turn; it has fulfilled
its mission; the other end of the balance now comes up. The
Northern Muse must sing her lesson to the world. Her fresher,
chaster, more intellectual, and (as they only SEEM to some) her
colder strains come in due season to recover our souls from the
delicious languor of a Music which has been so wholly of the
Feelings, that, for the want of some intellectual tonic and some
spiritual temper, Feeling has degenerated into mere Sensibility
and a very cheap kind of superficial, skin-deep excitability that
usurps the name of Passion.

"We admire and feel and love the Melody of Italy. We reverence
her native gift of song, her popular sensibility to it. We have
been again and again transported by her best vocal artists who
have visited these shores, and they are not THE best--the
world-wide celebrities, we have to confess, are only traditions
to us--traditions, however, to which we yield ourselves in full
faith. From what we HAVE heard and experienced of Italian
singing, we know, as well as if we had heard Grisi, Pasta and
Rubini, that it is not IN the genius of the Italian School to
produce or hardly to appreciate such a new revelation of song as
this human nightingale or canary of Sweden.

"Is this underrating the Italian music? By no means. That is an
established fact, and has its characteristic worth. Equally so,
but in a contrasted way has the music of the North, which, till
this Nightingale appeared, had found its utterance mainly through
instruments and orchestras. Now it finds worthy utterance in
song. But of its peculiar characteristic we must take another
time to speak."

CHAPTER XVIII. CONTINUED TRIUMPH.

SUCCESSFUL ADVERTISING--THE RESPONSIBILITIES OF RICHES--VISIT TO
IRANISTAN--OVATIONS AT BOSTON, PHILADELPHIA, BALTIMORE AND
WASHINGTON--VISIT TO MT. VERNON--CHARLESTON--HAVANA--FREDERICKA
BREMER.

All of Barnum's inventive powers were called into play
effectually to advertise his song-bird. Biographies of Jenny Lind
were circulated. "Foreign correspondence" raved over her talents,
narratives of her benevolence filled the papers; her pictures and
her name were seen everywhere. So when she made her first
appearance, it was before an audience already wrought up to a
high pitch of enthusiasm in her behalf. Never before, or after
for that matter, was any singer so lauded by the press. The
following editorial from the New York Herald of September 10th,
1850, is a fair sample:

"What ancient monarch was he, either in history or in fable, who
offered half his kingdom (the price of box-tickets and choice
seats in those days) for the invention of an original sensation,
or the discovery of a fresh pleasure? That sensation--that
pleasure which royal power in the Old World failed to
discover--has been called into existence at a less price, by Mr.
Barnum, a plain republican, and is now about to be enjoyed by the
sovereigns of the New World.

"Jenny Lind, the most remarkable phenomenon in the musical art
which has for the last century flashed across the horizon of the
Old World, is now among us, and will make her debut to-morrow
night to a house of nearly ten thousand listeners, yielding in
proceeds by auction, a sum of forty or fifty thousand dollars.
For the last ten days our musical reporters have furnished our
readers with every matter connected with her arrival in this
metropolis, and the steps adopted by Mr. Barnum in preparation
for her first appearance. The proceedings of yesterday,
consisting of the sale of the remainder of the tickets, and the
astonishing, the wonderful sensation produced at her first
rehearsal on the few persons, critics in musical art, who were
admitted on the occasion, will be found elsewhere in our columns.

"We concur in everything that has been said by our musical
reporter, describing her extraordinary genius--her unrivalled
combination of power and art. Nothing has been exaggerated, not
an iota. Three years ago, more or less, we heard Jenny Lind on
many occasions, when she made the first great sensation in
Europe, by her debut at the London Opera House. Then she was
great in power--in art--in genius; now she is greater in all. We
speak from experience and conviction. Then she astonished, and
pleased, and fascinated the thousands of the British aristocracy;
now she will fascinate, and please, and delight, and almost make
mad with musical excitement, the millions of the American
democracy. To-morrow night, this new sensation--this fresh
movement--this excitement excelling all former excitements--will
be called into existence, when she pours out the notes of Casta
Diva, and exhibits her astonishing powers--her wonderful
peculiarities, that seem more of heaven than of earth--more of a
voice from eternity, than from the lips of a human being.

"We speak soberly--seriously--calmly. The public expectation has
run very high for the last week--higher than at any former period
of our past musical annals. But high as it has risen, the
reality--the fact--the concert--the voice of Jenny Lind--will far
surpass all past expectations. Jenny Lind is a wonder, and a
prodigy in song--and no mistake."

Barnum had not hoped to manage such an enormous enterprise as
this one, without some trouble and anxiety, but he soon
discovered that in this case, realization far exceeded
anticipation. He often declared that from the first concert,
September 11th, 1850, until the ninety-third concert, June 9th,
1851, he did not experience a single waking moment that was free
from care.

Miss Lind was utterly unprepared for the enthusiasm of her
American audience, and it is scarcely to be wondered at that she
should appear to listen at first to the dishonorable counsels of
some of her friends, who constantly besought her to break her
contract with Barnum, who, they urged, was "coining money out of
her genius," and to take the enterprise into her own hands. But
whether Miss Lind realized that Mr. Barnum's management was
largely responsible for her triumph, or whether she was simply
too high-minded to consider such a breach of honor, certain it is
that she continued to stand by her contract. John Jay, her
lawyer, took every occasion to interfere, and Barnum suffered
much from his unreasonable intrusions. The following letter,
written to Mr. Joshua Bates of Baring Bros. & Co., London, will
show the difficulties which beset the perplexed manager:        
                     
                                   "NEW YORK, October 23, 1850.

"JOSHUA BATES, Esq.:

"Dear Sir: I take the liberty to write you a few lines, merely to
say that we are getting along as well as could reasonably be
expected. In this country you are aware that the rapid
accumulation of wealth always creates much envy, and envy soon
augments to malice. Such are the elements at work to a limited
degree against myself, and although Miss Lind, Benedict and
myself have never, as yet, had the slightest feelings between us,
to my knowledge, except those of friendship, yet I cannot well
see how this can long continue in the face of the fact that,
nearly every day they allow persons (some moving in the first
classes of society) to approach them, and spend hours in
traducing me; even her attorney, Mr. John Jay, has been so blind
to her interests, as to aid in poisoning her mind against me, by
pouring into her ears the most silly twaddle, all of which
amounts to nothing and less than nothing--such as the regret that
I was a showman, exhibiter of Tom Thumb, etc., etc.

"Without the elements which I possess for business, as well as my
knowledge of human nature, acquired in catering for the public,
the result of her concerts here would not have been pecuniarily
one-half as much as the present--and such men as the Hon. Edward
Everett, G. G. Howland, and others, will tell you that there is
no charlatanism or lack of dignity in my management of these
concerts. I know as well as any person, that the merits of Jenny
Lind are the best capital to depend upon to secure public favor,
and I have thus far acted on this knowledge. Everything which
money and attention can procure for their comfort, they have, and
I am glad to know that they are satisfied on this score. All I
fear is, that these continued backbitings, if listened to by her,
will, by and by, produce a feeling of distrust or regret, which
will lead to unpleasant results.

"The fact is, her mind ought to be as free as air, and she
herself as free as a bird, and being satisfied of my probity and
ability, she should turn a deaf ear to all envious and malevolent
attacks on me. I have hoped that by thus briefly stating to you
the facts in the case, you might be induced for her interests as
well as mine to drop a line of advice to Mr. Benedict and another
to Mr. Jay on this subject. If I am asking or expecting too much,
I pray you to not give it a thought, for I feel myself fully able
to carry through my rights alone, although I should deplore
nothing so much as to be obliged to do so in a feeling of
unfriendliness. I have risked much money on the issue of this
speculation--it has proved successful. I am full of perplexity
and anxiety, and labor continually for success, and I cannot
allow ignorance or envy to rob me of the fruits of my enterprise.
                        "Sincerely and gratefully yours,         
                                              "P. T. BARNUM."

Miss Lind's benevolence had been so largely extolled that it was
not surprising that she should have been continually beset by
applicants for charity.

In almost all cases she gave liberally in sums varying from $20
to $1,000, and to one Swedish friend, it is said, she actually
gave $5,000.

On her return from Boston to New York the whole party stopped at
Iranistan, Mr. Barnum's Bridgeport place. The next morning Miss
Lind was escorted over the grounds, the beauty of which delighted
her. "Do you know, Mr. Barnum," she said, "that if you had not
built Iranistan, I should never have come to America for you?"
Mr. Barnum, much surprised, asked her to explain.

"I had received several applications to visit the United States,"
she continued, "but I did not much like the appearance of the
applicants, nor did I relish the idea of crossing 3,000 miles of
ocean; so I declined them all. But the first letter which Mr.
Wilton, your agent, addressed me, was written upon a sheet headed
with a beautiful engraving of Iranistan. It attracted my
attention. I said to myself, a gentleman who has been so
successful in his business as to be able to build and reside in
such a palace cannot be a mere 'adventurer.' So I wrote to your
agent, and consented to an interview, which I should have
declined, if I had not seen the picture of Iranistan."

"That, then, fully pays me for building it," replied Barnum.

The night after Miss Lind's arrival in Boston, there was a
display of fireworks, in her honor, in front of the Revere House,
which was followed by a torchlight procession by the Germans of
the city. At Philadelphia, they were met by such a dense throng
of people that it was with the greatest difficulty that they
pressed through the crowds to their hotel. Jenny was suffering
from a very severe headache and retired at once to her rooms.
Outside, the streets were packed with the thousands that had
followed them to the door, and were now clamoring for Jenny Lind.

Knowing that the noise would seriously disturb the sensitive
songstress, Barnum tried to induce the crowd to disperse; but
they declared they would not until Miss Lind appeared on the
balcony. In despair he finally put Jenny's bonnet and shawl on
her companion, Miss Ahmansen, who went out on the balcony and
bowed gracefully to the multitude, who gave three hearty cheers
and dispersed.

Miss Lind hated crowds, and always wished her arrival in any city
kept secret, so as to avoid the excitement of a public reception,
but Barnum knew that the success of the enterprise depended in a
large measure on this very excitement.

One day Miss Lind remarked to Mr. Barnum, "I have just heard that
you and I are to be married. Now how do you suppose such a report
ever originated?"

"Probably from the fact that we are 'engaged,' suggested Barnum,
the inveterate punster.

Miss Lind always went to church when she could do so without
attracting too much attention, always inquiring for the Swedish
church wherever it could be found.

One Sunday in Baltimore, Miss Caroline Barnum, now Mrs. David W.
Thompson, of New York, went with a friend of hers who resided in
the city, into the choir, where she joined in the singing.

A number of people in the audience had seen her with her father
the day previous and supposed her to be Jenny Lind. Like
lightning the news that Jenny Lind was in the choir, flew through
the church, and when Miss Barnum, whose voice was not at all
extraordinary, rose with the rest to sing, the congregation
listened breathlessly. "Heavenly!" "Exquisite!" "Angelic!" sighed
the excited audience. The two young ladies, all unconscious of
the furore they had inspired were utterly astonished when, after
church, the crowd pressed round them so closely that they had the
greatest difficulty in reaching their carriage.

The day after their appearance in Washington, President Fillmore
called, and left his card, Miss Lind being out. Jenny was very
much flurried when she returned, and was prepared to call at the
White House immediately, as would have been proper had Mr.
Fillmore been the head of any European country. Barnum assured
her, however, that etiquette was not so strict in America, and
she postponed her visit until the next day, when with Benedict,
Belletti and Mr. Barnum she spent several delightful hours in the
President's family.

The President, the Cabinet and nearly every member of Congress
attended both concerts. The great Statesman Webster was so
pleased with one of her songs that he drew himself up to his full
height and bowed profoundly, to Miss Lind's great gratification.
Of all the distinguished men who called upon her in Washington,
none impressed her like Webster. She walked up and down in great
excitement after he had gone, exclaiming: "Ah! Mr. Barnum, what a
man! I have never before seen such a man!"

Miss Lind was escorted through both Houses of Congress and
through the Capitol and grounds, by Hon. C. F. Cleveland,
Representative from Connecticut. She was very much pleased with
everything and asked innumerable questions about the American
Government.

During their stay in Washington, they were invited by Colonel
Washington, then owner of Mt. Vernon, to visit the home and the
tomb of the first President.

The party first visited the tomb and then proceeded to the house
where they were introduced to Mrs. Washington and several other
ladies.

Much interest was shown by Miss Lind in examining the various
mementos of the great man, and when before leaving, Mrs.
Washington presented her with a book from the library with
Washington's autograph on the title page, she was overwhelmed
with emotion.

Miss Lind had been through so much excitement in the North that
she determined to see no callers during her stay in the South.
One young lady, the daughter of a wealthy planter, was so
determined to see her, that she bribed a maid to lend her her cap
and apron, and let her carry in Miss Lind's tea. This incident
amused Barnum immensely, but Miss Lind was much vexed, declaring
the young lady's motive to be curiosity rather than admiration.
The voyage from Wilmington to Charleston had been very rough, the
trip requiring over thirty-six hours. When they arrived at last,
the vessel had been given up for lost and the wreck had been
telegraphed all over the country. The voyage to Havana was very
much pleasanter, however.

Arriving there, they found the house which Mr. Barnum had sent a
man on to provide for them, anything but comfortable. Miss Lind,
especially, was much displeased, and, hiring a carriage, she
drove off, accompanied by an interpreter. She was gone four
hours, to the great alarm of the rest of the party. Returning,
she announced that she had hired a charming house in the suburbs,
and invited the whole company to be her guests during their stay
in Havana. It is needless to say they accepted her invitation.

There, freed from all care and annoyance and away from the too
zealous counsellors, she spent a delightful month, seeing no
callers, coming and going as she pleased, and romping like a
schoolgirl in the great court-yard back of the house. She used to
force Mr. Barnum to play ball with her until he was exhausted and
fain to beg off. Then she would laugh and say: "Oh, Mr. Barnum!
you are too fat and lazy; you cannot stand it to play ball with
me."

The celebrated Swedish authoress, Fredericka Bremer, spent a few
days with them in their Havana retreat.

CHAPTER XIX. HAVANA.

CONQUEST OF THE HABANEROS--THE ITALIAN AND HIS DOG--MAD
BENNETT--A SUCCESSFUL RUSE--RETURN TO NEW ORLEANS--A LUDICROUS
INCIDENT--UP THE MISSISSIPPI--LEGERDEMAIN.

Soon after arriving at Havana, Barnum made a discovery. The
Habaneros, not accustomed to the high prices which opera tickets
command in the States, had determined that they would force
Barnum to lower the admission fee. This the manager refused to
do, and it soon became evident that although they attended the
concerts, they were not disposed to show the singer the least
favor. It was, therefore, with much inward trepidation that
Barnum watched the curtain rise on the first concert. The
following account of that concert is taken from the New York
Tribune:

"Jenny Lind soon appeared, led on by Signor Belletti. Some three
or four hundred persons clapped their hands at her appearance,
but this token of approbation was instantly silenced by at least
two thousand five hundred decided hisses. Thus having settled the
matter that there should be no forestalling of public opinion,
and that it applause was given to Jenny Lind in that house it
should first be incontestably earned, the most solemn silence
prevailed. I have heard the Swedish Nightingale often in Europe
as well as in America, and have ever noticed a distinct
tremulousness attending her first appearance in any city. Indeed
this feeling was plainly manifested in her countenance as she
neared the foot-lights; but when she witnessed the kind of
reception in store for her--so different from anything she had
reason to expect--her countenance changed in an instant to a
haughty self-possession, her eyes flashed defiance, and, becoming
immovable as a statue, she stood there perfectly calm and
beautiful. She was satisfied that she now had an ordeal to pass
and a victory to gain worthy of her powers. In a moment her eye
scanned the immense audience, the music began and then
followed--how can I describe it?--such heavenly strains as I
verily believe mortal never breathed except Jenny Lind, and
mortal never heard except from her lips. Some of the oldest
Castilians kept a frown upon their brow and a curling sneer upon
their lips; their ladies, however, and most of the audience began
to look surprised. The gushing melody flowed on, increasing in
beauty and glory. The caballeros, the senoras and senoritas began
to look at each other; nearly all, however, kept their teeth
clenched and their lips closed, evidently determined to resist to
the last. The torrent flowed deeper and faster, the lark flew
higher and higher, the melody grew richer and grander; still
every lip was compressed. By and by, as the rich notes came
dashing in rivers upon our enraptured ears, one poor critic
involuntarily whispered a 'brava.' This outbursting of the soul
was instantly hissed down. The stream of harmony rolled on till,
at the close, it made a clean sweep of every obstacle, and
carried all before it. Not a vestige of opposition remained, but
such a tremendous shout of applause as went up I never before
heard.

"The triumph was most complete. And how was Jenny Lind affected?
She who stood a few moments previous like adamant, now trembled
like a reed in the wind before the storm of enthusiasm which her
own simple notes had produced. Tremblingly, slowly, and almost
bowing her face to the ground, she withdrew. The roar and
applause of victory increased. 'Encore! encore! encore!' came
from every lip. She again appeared, and courtesying low, again
withdrew; but again, again and again did they call her out and at
every appearance the thunders of applause rang louder and louder.
Thus five times was Jenny Lind called out to receive their
unanimous and deafening plaudits."

With tears of joy rolling down his cheeks, Barnum rushed behind
the scenes, and met her as she was withdrawing after the fifth
encore.

"God bless you, Jenny," he cried, "you've settled them!"

"Are you satisfied?" said the singer, throwing her arms around
his neck and weeping for joy. This was the first she had known of
the opposition, all hint of it having been kept from her by Mr.
Barnum, but she fully sympathized with him in his determination
not to lower the prices.

The papers continued to cry out for a reduction, and this caused
many people to stay away from the concerts, expecting Barnum to
yield. But when, after three concerts, it was announced that the
next one, devoted to charity, was also to be Miss Lind's
farewell, they became very much excited. Committees waited on
them to request more concerts, which resulted only in refusals:
some of the leading Dons offered to guarantee them $25,000, for
three concerts, but Barnum assured them that there was not money
enough in the Island of Cuba to induce him to consent.

The proceeds of the fourth concert were distributed between two
hospitals and a convent, besides giving $500 to Barnum's old
protege Vivalla, the little Italian plate-dancer, whom they had
met in Havana. The poor fellow's fortunes were at a very low ebb,
having lost the use of his left side from paralysis. He supported
himself by exhibiting a performing dog, which turned a spinning
wheel and did several other tricks. Miss Lind had heard of his
case and was very anxious that part of the benefit money should
be given him.

The morning after the concert the bell rang and Barnum found, on
going to the door, a procession of children from the convent
which had received a large sum of money from Miss Lind. The
children were attended by ten or twelve priests in rich
vestments. They had come to see the songstress and to thank her
in person. But Jenny shrank from appearing before such a stately
deputation: "Tell them I cannot see them," she exclaimed. "They
have nothing to thank me for. If I have done good it was no more
than my duty." And the grand procession with its wreaths and
banners, were obliged to depart.

The same day, Vivalla called and brought her a basket of fruit.
With tears of joy, he called down every blessing on the head of
the benevolent lady. "I shall go back to Italy! I shall see my
brothers and sisters again!" he cried. Miss Lind had gone for a
drive, but Barnum promised to give her the fruit and the message.
As he was passing out the door he hesitated end said: "Mr.
Barnum, I should like so much to have the good lady see my dog
turn a wheel. It is very nice; he can spin very good; shall I
bring the dog and the wheel for her? She is such a good lady, I
wish to please her very much." Mr. Barnum told the grateful
fellow that Miss Lind had refused to see the priests from the
convent that morning, because she never received thanks for
favors, and that he was quite welcome to the money.

When Miss Lind returned and heard the story, she exclaimed: "Poor
man, poor man, do let him come; its all the good creature can do
for me;" then with tears rolling down her face--"I like that, I
like that; do let him come and bring his dog. It will make him so
happy."

"God bless you, it WILL make him happy," said Barnum. "He shall
come to-morrow." And he went himself to tell Vivalla that Jenny
Lind would see his dog perform, the next day at four precisely.

"I will be punctual," said Vivalla, quite overcome with emotion,
"but I was SURE she would like to see my dog perform."

For full half an hour before the time appointed did Jenny Lind
sit in her window on the second floor and watch for Vivalla and
his dog. A few minutes before the appointed hour, she saw him
coming. "Ah, here he comes! here he comes!" she exclaimed in
delight, as she ran down stairs and opened the door to admit him.
A negro boy was bringing the small spinning-wheel, while Vivalla
led the dog. Handing the boy a silver coin, she motioned him
away, and taking the wheel in her arms, she said, "This is very
kind of you to come with your dog. Follow me. I will carry the
wheel up stairs." Her servant offered to take the wheel, but no,
she would let no one carry it but herself. She called the whole
party to her parlor, and for one full hour did she devote herself
to the happy Italian. She went down on her knees to pet the dog
and to ask Vivalla all sorts of questions about his performances,
his former course of life, his friends in Italy, and his present
hopes and determinations. Then she sang and played for him, gave
him some refreshments, finally insisted on carrying his wheel to
the door, and her servant accompanied Vivalla to his
boarding-house.

Poor Vivalla! He was probably never so happy before, but his
enjoyment did not exceed that of Miss Lind. A few months later,
however, the Havana correspondent of the New York Herald
announced the death of Vivalla, and stated that the poor
Italian's last words were about Jenny Lind and Mr. Barnum.

In the party which accompanied Barnum to Havana was a man who had
formerly kept the Peale Museum in New York, afterwards managing
the establishment for Mr. Barnum. At present he was acting as
ticket-taker.

He was a curious fellow, at times full of fun and gayety and at
other times melancholy to the verge of insanity. Madness ran in
his family, and one of his brothers, in a moment of frenzy had
blown his brains out. Barnum knew of Bennett's tendency to
melancholy and watched him constantly. When they were on board
the steamer "Falcon" on their way back to New Orleans, a
thrilling incident occurred which Barnum afterwards related in
this way:

Mr. James Gordon Bennett, editor of the New York Herald, and his
wife, were also passengers. After permitting one favorable notice
in his paper, Bennett had turned around, as usual, and had abused
Jenny Lind and bitterly attacked me. I was always glad to get
such notices, for they served as inexpensive advertisements to my
museum.

"Ticket-taker Bennett, however, took much to heart the attacks of
Editor Bennett upon Jenny Lind. When Editor Bennett came on board
the 'Falcon,' his violent name-sake said to a by-stander:

" 'I would willingly be drowned if I could see that old scoundrel
go to the bottom of the sea.'

"Several of our party overheard the remark and I turned
laughingly to Bennett and said: Nonsense; he can't harm any one,
and there is an old proverb about the impossibility of drowning
those who are born for another fate.'

"That very night, however, as I stood near the cabin door,
conversing with my treasurer and other members of my company,
Henry Bennett came up to me with a wild air, and hoarsely
whispered:

" 'Old Bennett has gone forward alone in the dark--and I am going
to throw him overboard!'

"We were all startled, for we knew the man, and he seemed
terribly in earnest. Knowing how most effectively to address him
at such times, I exclaimed:

" 'Ridiculous! you would not do such a thing.'

" 'I swear I will,' was his savage reply. I expostulated with
him, and several of our party joined me.

" 'Nobody will know it,' muttered the maniac, 'and I shall be
doing the world a favor.'

"I endeavored to awaken him to a sense of the crime he
contemplated, assuring him that it could not possibly benefit any
one, and that from the fact of the relations existing between the
editor and myself, I should be the first to be accused of his
murder. I implored him to go to his stateroom, and he finally did
so, accompanied by some of the gentlemen of our party. I took
pains to see that he was carefully watched that night, and,
indeed, for several days, till he became calm again. He was a
large, athletic man, quite able to pick up his name-sake and drop
him overboard. The matter was too serious for a joke, and we made
little mention of it; but more than one of our party said then,
and has said since, what I really believe to be true, that 'James
Gordon Bennett would have been drowned that night had it not been
for P. T. Barnum.' "

Bennett's end was tragic, as might be expected. Sometime after
the Havana journey Barnum sent him to London. He conducted the
business successfully, wrote up the accounts to a penny, then
handing the papers to a mutual friend with directions to give
them to Barnum when he should arrive, he went to his lodgings and
committed suicide.

"In New Orleans the wharf was crowded by a great concourse of
persons, as the steamer "Falcon" approached. Jenny Lind had
enjoyed a month of quiet, and dreaded the excitement which she
must now again encounter.

"Mr Barnum, I am sure I can never get through that crowd," she
said in despair.

"Leave that to me. Remain quiet for ten minutes, and there shall
be no crowd here," replied Barnum.

Taking his daughter on his arm, she drew her vail over her face
and they descended the gangway.

"That's Barnum, I know him," called out several persons at the
top of their voices.

"Open the way, if you please for Mr. Barnum and Miss Lind!" cried
Le Grand Smith over the railing of the ship, the deck of which he
had just reached from the wharf.

"Don't crowd her, if you please, gentlemen," said Barnum, and so
pushing and squeezing they reached the carriage and drove to Miss
Lind's apartments. A few minutes later Jenny and her companion
came quietly in a carriage and were in the house before the ruse
was discovered. In answer to the calls of the crowd she appeared
on the balcony, and bowed to the throng, which gave her three
cheers and dispersed.

A very funny incident occurred in New Orleans. Next to the
theatre where the concerts were given, was an exhibition in the
large open lots of mammoth hogs, grizzly bears and other animals.

A gentleman had a son about twelve years old, who had a wonderful
ear for music. He could whistle or sing any tune after hearing it
once. His father did not know nor care for a single note, but so
anxious was he to please his son, that he paid thirty dollars for
two tickets to the concert.

"I liked the music better than I expected," said he the next day,
"but my son was in raptures. He was so perfectly enchanted that
he scarcely spoke the whole evening, and I would on no account
disturb his delightful reveries. When the concert was finished we
came out of the theatre. Not a word was spoken. I knew that my
musical prodigy was happy among the clouds, and I said nothing. I
could not help envying him his love of music, and considered my
thirty dollars as nothing, compared to the bliss which it secured
to him. Indeed, I was seriously thinking of taking him to the
next concert, when he spoke. We were just passing the numerous
shows upon the vacant lots. One of the signs attracted him, and
he said, 'Father, let us go in and see the big hog!' The little
scamp! I could have horse-whipped him!' said the father, who
loving a joke, could not help laughing at the ludicrous incident.

The party took passage to Cairo, Illinois, in the beautiful river
steamer "Magnolia." They had made arrangements with the captain
to delay in Natchez and in Memphis where concerts were given.

The time on board the steamer was pleasantly spent in reading and
watching the scenery. One day they had a musicale in the ladies'
cabin for the gratification of the passengers, at which Miss Lind
volunteered to sing. Barnum amused the passengers with his
inexhaustible fund of anecdotes and stories, and the tricks of
legerdemain, which he had learned and used in the South under
rather different circumstances. Among other tricks, he made a
silver piece disappear so mysteriously that the negro barber who
witnessed the feat, came to the conclusion that the great man
must be in league with the devil. "The next morning," says Mr.
Barnum, "I seated myself in the barber's chair and the darkey
began to talk:

" 'Beg pardon, Mr. Barnum, but I have heard a great deal about
you, and I saw more than I wanted to see last night. Is it true
that you have sold yourself to the devil, so that you can do what
you've a mind to?'

" 'Oh, yes," was my reply, 'that is the bargain between us.'

" 'How long did you agree for?' was the question next in order.

" 'Only nine years,' said I. 'I have had three of them already.
Before the other six are out, I shall find a way to nonplus the
old gentleman, and I have told him so to his face.'

"At this avowal, a larger space of white than usual was seen in
the darkey's eyes, and he inquired, 'Is it by this bargain that
you get so much money?'

" 'Certainly. No matter who has money, nor where he keeps it, in
his box or till, or anywhere about him, I have only to speak the
words and it comes.'

"The shaving was completed in silence, but thought had been busy
in the barber's mind, and he embraced the speediest opportunity
to transfer his bag of coin to the iron safe in charge of the
clerk.

The movement did not escape me, and immediately a joke was afoot.
I had barely time to make two or three details of arrangement
with the clerk, and resume my seat in the cabin, ere the barber
sought a second interview, bent on testing the alleged powers of
Beelzebub's colleague.

" 'Beg pardon, Mr. Barnum, but where is my money? Can you get
it?'

" 'I do not want your money,' was the quiet answer. 'It is safe.'

" 'Yes, I know it is safe--ha! ha!--it is in the iron safe in the
clerk's office--safe enough from you?'

" 'It is not in the iron safe!' said I. This was said so quietly,
yet positively, that the colored gentleman ran to the office, and
inquired if all was safe. 'All right,' said the clerk. 'Open, and
let me see,' replied the barber. The safe was unlocked and lo!
the money was gone!

"In mystified terror the loser applied to me for relief. 'You
will find the bag in your drawer,' said I, and there it was
found!

"His curiosity was still great. 'Please do another trick,' said
he.

" 'Very well,' I replied, 'stand perfectly still.'

"He did so, and I commenced muttering some mysterious words, as
if performing an incantation.

" 'What are you doing?' said the barber.

" 'I am changing you into a black cat,' I replied, 'but don't be
afraid; I will change you back again, if I don't forget the words
to do it with.'

"This was too much for the terrified darkey; with an awful
screech he rushed to the side of the boat resolved to drown
rather than undergo such a transformation.

"He was captured and brought back to me, when I dispelled his
fright by explaining the way in which I had tricked him. Relieved
and reassured, he clapped his hands and executed an impromtu jig,
exclaiming, 'Ha! ha! when I get back to New Orleans won't I come
de Barnum ober dem niggers!' "

CHAPTER XX. THE TRIALS OF AN IMPRESSARIO.

ST. LOUIS--THE SECRETARY'S LITTLE GAME--LEGAL ADVICE--SMOOTH
WATERS AGAIN--BARNUM'S EFFORTS APPRECIATED--AN EXTRAVAGANT
ENCONIUM.

The concerts at Natchez and Memphis were extremely successful.
The sixty-first concert was given in St. Louis, and on the
morning of their arrival in the city Miss Lind's secretary came
to Mr. Barnum, commissioned, as he claimed, by the singer, and
told the Manager that as sixty concerts had already been given,
Miss Lind proposed to avail herself of one of the conditions of
the contract and cancel the engagement next morning. Much
startled by this sudden complication, but outwardly undisturbed,
Barnum asked if Miss Lind had authorized the notice. "I so
understand it," was the secretary's reply. Thinking that it might
be another scheme of her advisers and that Miss Lind herself
might possibly know nothing of it, Barnum told the secretary that
he would see him again in an hour. He then proceeded to his old
friend Sol Smith for legal advice. They went over the contract
together, Barnum telling his friend of the annoyances he had
suffered from Miss Lind's advisers, and they both agreed that if
she broke the contract thus suddenly, she was bound to pay back
all that she had received over the stipulated $1000, for each
concert. As she had been paid $137,000, for sixty concerts, this
extra money amounted to something like $77,000.

Barnum then went back to the secretary and told him that he was
ready to settle with Miss Lind and to close the engagement.

"But," said he, evidently much surprised, "you have already
advertised concerts in Louisville and Cincinnati, have you not?"

"Yes," answered Barnum calmly, "but you may take the contracts
for halls and printing off my hands at cost." He further offered
the assistance of his agent and his own personal services to give
Miss Lind a good start on her own account.

The secretary emboldened by this liberality then made a
proposition so extraordinary that Barnum at once saw that Miss
Lind could have had nothing to do with the scheme.

"Now suppose," he asked, "Miss Lind should wish to give some
fifty concerts in this country, what would you charge as
manager?"

"A million dollars a concert," answered Barnum promptly; then he
added, "Now see here; I don't believe Miss Lind has authorized
you to make this proposition. If she has, just bring me a line to
that effect, over her own signature, and her check for the amount
due me by the terms of our contract, some $77,000, and we will
close our business connection at once."

"But why not make a new arrangement," persisted the secretary,
"for fifty more concerts, by which Miss Lind will pay you
liberally, say $1,000 a concert?"

"For the simple reason that I hired Miss Lind, and not she me,"
replied Barnum, "and because I ought never to take a farthing
less for my risk and trouble than the contract gives me. I have
voluntarily given Miss Lind more than twice as much as I
originally contracted to give her, or as she expected to receive
when she engaged with me. Now if she is not satisfied I wish to
settle instantly and finally. If you do not bring me her decision
to-day, I shall ask her for it in the morning."

The next morning Barnum asked him again for the written
communication from Miss Lind; the secretary replied that it was
all a "joke," and that he merely wanted to see what the manager
would say to the proposition. He begged that nothing would be
said to Miss Lind concerning it. So it is altogether likely that
she knew nothing of it. The four concerts at St. Louis were given
and the program as arranged for the other cities was carried out,
with no more troublous incidents occurring.

To show that Barnum's efforts as manager of the Jenny Lind
enterprise were appreciated, we copy the dedication of Sol
Smith's Autobiography published in 1854. Smith was one of the
characters of his time, being celebrated as a comedian, an
author, a manager and a lawyer:

"TO PHINEAS T. BARNUM, PROPRIETOR OF THE AMERICAN MUSEUM, ETC.

"Great Impressario. Whilst you were engaged in your grand Jenny
Lind speculation, the following conundrum went the rounds of the
American newspapers:

" 'Why is it that Jenny Lind and Barnum will never fall out?'
Answer: 'Because he is always for-getting, and she is always
for-giving.'

"I have never asked you the question directly, whether you, Mr.
Barnum, started that conundrum, or not; but I strongly suspect
that you did. At all events, I noticed that your whole policy was
concentrated into one idea--to make an angel of Jenny, and
depreciate yourself in contrast.

"You may remember that in this city (St. Louis), I acted in one
instance as your 'legal adviser,' and as such, necessarily became
acquainted with all the particulars of your contract with the
so-called Swedish Nightingale, as well as the various
modifications claimed by that charitable lady, and submitted to
by you after her arrival in this country; which modifications (I
suppose it need no longer be a secret) secured to her--besides
the original stipulation of one thousand dollars for every
concert, attendants, carriages, assistant artists, and a pompous
and extravagant retinue, fit (only) for a European
princess--one-half of the profits of each performance. You may
also remember the legal advice I gave you on the occasion
referred to, and the salutary effect of your following it. You
must remember the extravagant joy you felt afterwards, in
Philadelphia, when the 'Angel' made up her mind to avail herself
of one of the stipulations in her contract, to break off at the
end of a hundred nights, and even bought out seven of that
hundred--supposing that she could go on without your aid as well
as with it. And you cannot but remember, how, like a rocket-stick
she dropped, when your business connection with her ended, and
how she 'fizzed out' the remainder of her concert nights in this
part of the world, and soon afterwards retired to her domestic
blissitude in Sweden.

"You know, Mr. Barnum, if you would only tell, which of the two
it was that was 'for-getting,' and which 'for-giving;' and you
also know who actually gave the larger portion of those sums
which you heralded to the world as the sole gifts of the 'divine
Jenny.'

"Of all your speculations--from the negro centenarian, who didn't
nurse General Washington, down to the Bearded Woman of
Genoa--there was not one which required the exercise of so much
humbuggery as the Jenny Lind concerts; and I verily believe there
is no man living, other than yourself, who could, or would, have
risked the enormous expenditure of money necessary to carry them
through successfully--travelling, with sixty artists; four
thousand miles, and giving ninety-three concerts, at an actual
cost of forty-five hundred dollars each, is what no other man
would have undertaken --you accomplished this, and pocketed by
the operation but little less than two hundred thousand dollars!
Mr. Barnum, you are yourself, alone!

"I honor you, oh! Great Impressario, as the most successful
manager in America or any other country. Democrat, as you are,
you can give a practical lesson to the aristocrats of Europe how
to live. At your beautiful and tasteful residence, 'Iranistan' (I
don't like the name, though), you can and do entertain your
friends with a warmth of hospitality, only equalled by that of
the great landed proprietors of the old country, or of our own
'sunny South.' Whilst riches are pouring into your coffers from
your various 'ventures' in all parts of the world, you do not
hoard your immense means, but continually 'cast them forth upon
the waters,' rewarding labor, encouraging the arts, and lending a
helping hand to industry in all its branches. Not content with
doing all this, you deal telling blows, whenever opportunity
offers, upon the monster Intemperance. Your labors in this great
cause alone should entitle you to the thanks of all good men,
women and children in the land. Mr. Barnum, you deserve all your
good fortune, and I hope you may long live to enjoy your wealth
and honor.

"As a small installment towards the debt, I, as one of the
community, owe you, and with the hope of affording you an hour's
amusement (if you can spare that amount of time from your
numerous avocations to read it), I present you with this little
volume, containing a very brief account of some of my
'journey-work' in the South and West; and remain, very
respectfully,
                 "Your friend, and affectionate uncle,
                                             "SOL SMITH.

"CHOUTEAU AVENUE, ST. LOUIS,
"NOV. 1, 1854."

Although Barnum never acknowledged it, there was a vast deal of
truth in Mr. Smith's statements.

Whenever Miss Lind sang for charity she gave what she might have
earned at a regular concert; Barnum always insisted upon paying
for the hall, orchestra, printing and other expenses. But Miss
Lind received the entire credit for liberality and benevolence.

It is but just to say, however, that she frequently remonstrated
with Barnum and declared that the expenses ought to be deducted
from the proceeds of the concert, but he always insisted on doing
what he called his share.

CHAPTER XXI. CLOSING THE GRAND TOUR.

APRIL FOOL JOKES AT NASHVILLE--A TRICK AT CINCINNATI--RETURN TO
NEW YORK--JENNY LIND PERSUADED TO LEAVE BARNUM--FINANCIAL RESULTS
OF THE ENTERPRISE.

Five concerts were given at St. Louis, and then they went to
Nashville, Tenn., where the sixty-sixth and sixty-seventh of the
series were given. At the latter place, Jenny Lind, accompanied
by Barnum and his daughter, Mrs. Lyman, visited "The Hermitage,"
where Barnum himself had years before seen "Old Hickory" Jackson.
While there, the prima donna heard, for the first time in her
life, wild mocking birds singing in the trees, and great was her
delight thereat.

They spent the first of April, 1851, at Nashville. In the
forenoon of the day, the various members of the party amused
themselves by playing little "April Fool" jokes on Barnum, and
after dinner he took his revenge upon them. Securing a supply of
telegraph blanks and envelopes, he set to work preparing messages
full of the most sensational and startling intelligence, for most
of the people in the party. Almost every one of them presently
received what purported to be a telegraphic despatch. Barnum's
own daughter did not escape. She was informed that her mother,
her cousin, and several other relatives, were waiting for her in
Louisville, and various other important and extraordinary items
of domestic intelligence were communicated to her. Mr. Le Grand
Smith was told by a despatch from his father that his native
village in Connecticut, was in ashes, including his own
homestead, etc. Several of Barnum's employees had most liberal
offers of engagements from banks and other institutions at the
North. Burke, and others of the musical professors, were offered
princely salaries by opera managers, and many of them received
most tempting inducements to proceed immediately to the World's
Fair in London.

One married gentleman received the gratifying intelligence that
he had for two days been the father of a pair of bouncing boys
(mother and children doing well), an event which he had been
anxiously looking for during the week, though on a somewhat more
limited scale. In fact, nearly every person in the party engaged
by Barnum received some extraordinary telegraphic intelligence;
and, as the great impressario managed to have the despatches
delivered simultaneously, each recipient was for some time busily
occupied with his own personal news.

By and by each began to tell his neighbor his good or bad
tidings; and each was, of course, rejoiced or grieved, according
to circumstances. Several gave Mr. Barnum notice of their
intention to leave him, in consequence of better offers; and a
number of them sent off telegraphic despatches and letters by
mail, in answer to those received.

The man who had so suddenly become the father of twins,
telegraphed to his wife to "be of good cheer," and that he would
"start for home to-morrow." And so cleverly did Barnum manage the
whole business that his victims did not discover how they had
been fooled until next morning, when they read the whole story in
a local newspaper, to which it had been given by Barnum himself.

From Nashville, Jenny Lind and a few of the party went to the
Mammoth Cave, and thence to Louisville, the others going directly
to the latter point by steamer. There they were joined by Signor
Salvi, whom Barnum had engaged at Havana. Three concerts were
given at Louisville, and they then proceeded to Cincinnati,
accompanied by George D. Prentice, the famous editor of The
Louisville Journal. A stop was made at Madison long enough to
give one concert, and they reached Cincinnati the next morning.
There was a tremendous crowd on the wharf, and Barnum was afraid
that an attempt to repeat the ruse he had played with his
daughter at New Orleans would not work here, as an account of it
had been published in the Cincinnati papers, and everyone would
be suspecting it. But he was fertile in expedients, and quickly
devised another scheme.

So he took Miss Lind on his arm and boldly started to walk down
the gang-plank in the face of the crowd. As he did so, Le Grand
Smith, who was in the plot, called out from the deck of the boat,
as if he had been one of the passengers, "That's no go, Mr.
Barnum; you can't pass your daughter off for Jenny Lind this
time." The remark elicited a peal of merriment from the crowd,
several persons calling out, "that won't do, Barnum! You may fool
the New Orleans folks, but you can't come it over the 'Buckeyes.'
We intend to stay here until you bring out Jenny Lind!" They
readily allowed him to pass with the lady whom they supposed to
be his daughter, and in five minutes afterwards the Nightingale
was complimenting Mr. Coleman upon the beautiful and commodious
apartments which were devoted to her in the Burnett House.

A concert was given at Wheeling, and another at Pittsburg, and
then, early in May, the company returned to New York. There they
gave fourteen concerts, partly at Castle Garden and partly at
Metropolitan Hall, making ninety-two of the regular series.

Miss Lind now came within the influence of various legal and
other advisers, who seemed intent on creating trouble between her
and her manager. Barnum soon discovered this state of affairs,
but was little troubled by it. Indeed he really hoped that they
would persuade her to stop at the hundredth concert, for he was
already worn out with the constant excitement and unremitting
exertions of the tour. He thought that perhaps it would be well
for Miss Lind to try giving a few concerts on her own account, or
under some other manager, in order to disprove what her friends
had told her, namely, that Mr. Barnum had not managed the
enterprise as successfully as he might have done.

Accordingly he was much pleased when, after the eighty-fifth
concert, she told him that she had decided to pay the forfeit of
$25,000, and terminate the concert tour after the one hundredth
performance. After the second series of concerts in New York,
they went to Philadelphia, where Barnum had advertised the
ninety-third and ninety-fourth concerts. As he did not care
enough for the probable profits of the last seven of the hundred
concerts to run the risk of disturbing the very friendly
relations which had so far existed between him and Miss Lind, he
now offered to relinquish the engagement, if she desired it, at
the end of the ninety-third concert. The only terms he required
were that she would allow him $1,000 for each of the remaining
seven concerts, besides the $25,000 forfeit already agreed upon.
She accepted this offer, and the engagement was forthwith ended.

After parting with Barnum, Miss Lind gave a number of concerts,
with varied success. Then she went to Niagara Falls for a time,
and afterward to Northampton, Massachusetts. While living at the
latter place she visited Boston, and was there married to Otto
Goldschmidt. He was a German composer and pianist, who had
studied music with her in Germany, and to whom she had long been
much attached. He had, indeed, travelled with her and Barnum
during a portion of their tour, and had played at several of the
concerts.

After the end of their engagement, Barnum and Miss Lind met on
several occasions, always in the friendliest manner. Once, at
Bridgeport, she complained rather bitterly to him of the
unpleasant experiences she had had since leaving him. "People
cheat me and swindle me very much," said she, "and I find it very
annoying to give concerts on my own account."

"I was always," said Mr. Barnum, sometime afterward, "supplied
with complimentary tickets when she gave concerts in New York,
and on the occasion of her last appearance in America I visited
her in her room back of the stage, and bade her and her husband
adieu, with my best wishes. She expressed the same feeling to me
in return. She told me she should never sing much, if any more,
in public; but I reminded her that a good Providence had endowed
her with a voice which enabled her to contribute in an eminent
degree to the enjoyment of her fellow beings, and if she no
longer needed the large sums of money which they were willing to
pay for this elevating and delightful entertainment, she knew by
experience what a genuine pleasure she would receive by devoting
the money to the alleviation of the wants and sorrows of those
who needed it."

"Ah! Mr. Barnum," she replied, "that is very true; and it would
be ungrateful in me to not continue to use, for the benefit of
the poor and lowly, that gift which our kind Heavenly Father has
so graciously bestowed upon me. Yes, I will continue to sing so
long as my voice lasts, but it will be mostly for charitable
objects, for I am thankful to say that I have all the money which
I shall ever need."

It is pleasant to add that this noble resolution was carried out.
A large proportion of the concerts which she gave after her
return to Europe and during the remainder of her entire public
career, were devoted to objects of charity. If she consented, for
example, to sing for a charitable object in London, the fact was
not advertised at all, but the tickets were readily disposed of
in private for from $5 to $10 each.

As for Mr. Barnum, he was glad to enjoy a season of rest and
quiet after such an arduous campaign. After leaving Miss Lind, in
Philadelphia, therefore, he went to Cape May for a week and then
to his home Iranistan, where he spent the remainder of the
summer.

It is interesting, as a matter of record, to review at this
point, the financial results of this notable series of concerts.
The following recapitulation is entirely accurate, being taken
from Mr. Barnum's own account books:

JENNY LIND CONCERTS.

TOTAL RECEIPTS, EXCEPTING OF CONCERTS DEVOTED TO CHARITY.
----
New York .............. $17,864.05
  "      ..............  14,203.03
                       -----------
No. 1. "................ 12,519.59        
    2. "................ 14,266.09
    3. "................ 12,174.74
    4. "................ 16,028.39         
    5. Boston............ 16,479.50
    6. "................ 11,848.62
    7. "................ 8,639 92
    8. "................ 10,169.25
    9. Providence........ 6,525.54
   10. Boston............ 10,524.87
   11. "................ 5,240.00
   12. "................ 7,586.00
   13. Philadelphia...... 9,291.25
   14. "................ 7,547.00
   15. "................ 8,458.65
   16. New York.......... 6,415.90
   17. "................ 4,009.70
   18. "................ 5,982.00
   19. "................ 8,007.10
   20. "................ 6,334.20         
   21. "................ 9,429.15
   22. "................ 9,912.17      
   23. "................ 5,773.40      
   24. "................ 4,993.50  
   25. "................ 6,670.15  
   26. "................ 9,840.33   
   27. "................ 7,097.15      
   28. "................ 8,263.30      
   29. "................ 10,570.25
   30. "................ 10,646.45      
   31. Philadelphia...... 5,480.75      
   32. "................ 5,728.65      
   33. "................ 3,709.88            
   34. "................ 4,815.48            
   35. Baltimore......... 7,117.00      
   36. "................ 8,357.05           
   37. "................ 8,406.50
   38. "................ 8,121.33
   39. Washington City... 6,878.55                              
   40. "................ 8,507.05
   41. Richmond.......... 12,385.21      
   42. Charleston........ 6,775.00
   43. "................ 3,653.75      
   44. Havana............ 4,666.17
   45. "................ 2,837.92
   46. Havana............ 2,931.95
   47. New Orleans....... 12,599.85
   48. "................ 10,210.42
   49. "................ 8,131.15
   50. "................ 6,019.85
   51. "................ 6,644.00
   52. "................ 9,720.80
   53. "................ 7,545.50
   54. "................ 6,053.50
   55. "................ 4,850.25
   56. "................ 4,495.35
   57   "................ 6,630.35
   58. "................ 4,745.10
   59. Natchez........... 5,000.00
   60. Memphis........... 4,539.56
   61. St. Louis......... 7,811.85
   62. "................ 7,961.92
   63. "................ 7,708.70
   64. "................ 4,086.50
   65. "................ 3,044.70
   66. Nashville......... 7,786.30
   67. "................ 4,248.00
   68. Louisville........ 7,833.90
   69. "................ 6,595.60
   70. "................ 5,000.00
   71. Madison........... 3,693.25
   72. Cincinnati........ 9,339.75
   73. "................ 11,001.50
   74. "................ 8,446.30
   75. "................ 8,954.18
   76. "................ 6,500.40
   77. Wheeling.......... 5,000.00
   78. Pittsburg......... 7,210.58  
   79. New York.......... 6,858.42      
   80. "................ 5,453.00  
   81. "................ 5,463.70  
   82. "................ 7,378.35         
   83. "................ 7,179.27  
   84. "................ 6,641.00  
   85. "................ 6,917.13
   86. New York.......... 6,642.04
   87. "................ 3,738.75
   88. "................ 4,335.28
   89. "................ 5,339.23
   90. "................ 4,087.03
   91. "................ 5,717.00
   92. "................ 9,525.80
   93. Philadelphia...... 3,852.75

Of Miss Lind's half receipts of the first two Concerts she
devoted $10,000 to charity in New York. She afterwards gave
Charity Concerts in Boston, Baltimore, Charleston, Havana, New
Orleans, New York and Philadelphia, and donated large sums for
the like purposes in Richmond, Cincinnati and elsewhere. There
were also several Benefit Concerts, for the Orchestra, Le Grand
Smith, and other persons and objects.

RECAPITULATION.

New York  35 Concerts. Receipts, $286,216.64 Average, $8,177.50

Philadelphia   8    " "          48,884,41 "   6,110 55
Boston         7    " "          70,388.16 "   10,055.45
Providence     1    " "           6,525.54 "   6,525.54
Baltimore      4    " "          32,101.83 "   8,000.47
Washington     2    " "          15,385 60 "   7,692.80
Richmond       1    " "          12,385.21 "   12,385.21
Charleston     2    " "          10,428.75 "    5,214.37
Havana         3    " "          10,436.04 "    3478.68
New Orleans   l2    " "          87,646.12 "   7,303.84
Natchez        1    " "           5,000.00 "   5,000.00
Memphis        1    " "           4,539.56 "   4,539.56
St. Louis      5    " "          30,613.67 "   6,122.73
Nashville      2    " "          12,034 30 "   6,017.15
Louisville     3    " "          19,429.50 "   6,476.50
Madison        1    " "           3,693.25 "   3,693.25
Cincinnati     5    " "          44,242.13 "   8,848.43
Wheeling       1    " "           5,000.00 "   5,000.00
Pittsburg      1    " "           7,210.58 "   7,210.58

Total   95 Concerts. Receipts, $712,161.34  Average, $7,496.43

JENNY LIND'S RECEIPTS.

From the Total Receipts of Ninety-five Concerts.....$712,161.34
Deduct the receipts of the first two, which, as between P. T.
Barnum and Jenny Lind were aside from the contract, and are not
numbered in the table.....32,067.08

Total Receipts of Concerts from No. 1 to No. 93....$680,094.26
Deduct the Receipts of the 28 Concerts, each of which fell short
of $5,500.....$123,311.15 Also deduct $5,500 for each of the
remaining 65 Concerts.........................357,500.00
480,811.15

Leaving the total excess, as above....$199,283.11 Being equally
divided, Miss Lind's portion was....$99,641.55 Barnum paid her
$1,000 for each of the 93 Concerts.....93,000.00 Also one-half
the receipts of the first two Concerts...16,033.54

Amount paid to Jenny Lind.....................$208,675.09 She
refunded to Barnum as forfeiture, per contract, in case she
withdrew after the 100th Concert..........$25,000 She also paid
him $1,000 each for the seven concerts
relinquished..........................7,000 $32,000.00

JENNY LIND'S net avails of 95 concerts................$176,675.09
P. T. BARNUM'S gross receipts, after paying Miss Lind
....535,486.25

TOTAL RECEIPTS of 95 Concerts $712,161.34

The highest prices paid for tickets were at auction, as follows:
John N. Genin, in New York, $225; Ossian E. Dodge, in Boston,
$625; Col. William C. Ross, in Providence, $650; M. A. Root, in
Philadelphia, $625; Mr. D'Arcy, in New Orleans, $240; a keeper of
a refreshment saloon in St. Louis, $150; a Daguerrotypist, in
Baltimore, $100. After the sale of the first ticket the premium
usually fell to $20, and so downward in the scale of figures. The
fixed price of tickets ranged from $7 to $3. Promenade tickets
were from $2 to $1 each.

CHAPTER XXII. A FEW SIDE ISSUES.

THE EXPEDITION TO CEYLON--HARNESSING AN ELEPHANT TO A
PLOW--BARNUM AND VANDERBILT--THE TALKING MACHINE--A FIRE AT
IRANISTAN--MOUNTAIN GROVE CEMETERY.

The great showman did not allow even so great an enterprise as
the Jenny Lind concerts to monopolize his attention. In 1849 he
planned the formation of a great travelling show, combining the
features of a museum, a menagerie and a circus. In this he
associated with himself Mr. Seth B. Howes, who was already a
noted and successful showman, and also Mr. Stratton, the father
of Tom Thumb. In order to procure a supply of novelties for this
show they chartered the ship "Regatta," and sent it from New York
in May, 1850, to Ceylon. The object of this voyage, was to
procure, either by purchase or by capture, a number of living
elephants and other wild animals. To make sure of a sufficient
supply of fodder for them, nearly a thousand tons of hay were
purchased in New York and taken out aboard the ship. Five hundred
tons of it were left at the Island of St. Helena, to be taken up
on the return trip, and a great supply of staves and hoops were
also left there for the construction of water casks.

This extraordinary mission was successful. In almost exactly a
year from the day of sailing the ship returned to New York. Its
novel cargo was unloaded, the ten elephants which had been
secured were harnessed in pairs to a gigantic chariot, and the
whole show paraded up Broadway past the Irving House. It was
reviewed from the window of that hotel by Jenny Lind, who was
stopping there on her second visit to New York. An elaborate
outfit of horses, wagons, tents, etc., was added, the whole
costing over $100,000, and then the show went on the road under
the nominal leadership of Tom Thumb. It was called, "Barnum's
Great Asiatic Caravan, Museum and Menagerie;" it travelled about
the country for four years, and yielded to its proprietors
enormous profits.

At the end of this tour Barnum sold out the entire establishment,
including animals, cages, chariots and everything else, excepting
one elephant. This huge brute he took to his farm at Bridgeport,
for advertising purposes. It occurred to him that if he should
keep the animal there for a time and put him to some novel use,
such as working on the farm, it would set people to talking and
greatly add to public curiosity and interest in his American
Museum.

He accordingly took the elephant to Bridgeport and put him in
charge of a competent keeper, who was dressed in a striking
Oriental costume. A six acre field close by the New York and New
Haven railroad track was set apart for their use. Barnum gave the
keeper a time-table of the road and directed him to make a point,
whenever trains were passing, always to be busily engaged with
the elephant at plowing or other agricultural work as close to
the track as possible. Of course the passengers noticed the
strange spectacle, items concerning it appeared in the
newspapers, extending even to the press of foreign lands, and
thousands of people came from all parts of the country to witness
the strange sight. Every mail brought numerous letters inquiring
about it. Many of these were from the officers of agricultural
societies in all parts of the United States, making serious and
earnest inquiry as to the utility of the elephant as an
agricultural animal. These letters were greatly diversified in
tone, but the substance of their inquires was about as follows:

1. "Is the elephant a profitable agricultural animal?"

2. "How much can an elephant plow in a day?"

3. "How much can he draw?"

4. "How much does he eat?"--this question was invariably asked,
and was a very important one.

5. "Will elephants make themselves generally useful on a farm?"

6. "What is the price of an elephant?"

7. "Where can elephants be purchased?"

Then would follow a score of other inquiries, such as, whether
elephants were easily managed; if they would quarrel with cattle;
if it was possible to breed them; how old calf elephants must be
before they would earn their own living; and so on indefinitely.

Barnum presently began to be alarmed lest some one should buy an
elephant and thus share the fate of the man who drew one in a
lottery and did not know what to do with him. "Accordingly," he
says, "I had a general letter printed, which I mailed to all my
anxious inquirers. It was headed 'strictly confidential,' and I
then stated, begging my correspondents 'not to mention it,' that
to me the elephant was a valuable agricultural animal, because he
was an excellent advertisement to my museum; but that to other
farmers he would prove very unprofitable for many reasons. In the
first place, such an animal would cost from $3,000 to $10,000; in
cold weather he could not work at all; in any weather he could
not earn half his living; he would eat up the value of his own
head, trunk and body every year; and I begged my correspondents
not to do so foolish a thing as to undertake elephant farming."

The result of this experiment in advertising was highly
successful. Newspaper correspondents sent highly colored accounts
of it all over the world, and numerous pictures of the elephant
harnessed to a plow appeared in the illustrated papers and
magazines. After the field had been plowed over fifty or sixty
times, Barnum concluded that the elephant had been "worked for
all he was worth," and sold him to Van Amburgh's menagerie.

In 1851 Mr. Barnum became a part owner of the steamship "North
America," which he proposed to run between America and Ireland as
a passenger and freight vessel. This idea was presently
abandoned, and the ship was sent around Cape Horn to San
Francisco and put into service on the Pacific Mail Line,
Commodore Cornelius Vanderbilt having purchased a one-half
interest in it and Mr. Barnum retaining one-third interest in the
remaining half. After she had made several trips Barnum called
upon Mr. Vanderbilt at his office and introduced himself. It was
their first meeting, and this is Barnum's own account of the
interview:

" 'Is it possible you are Barnum?' exclaimed the Commodore, in
surprise, 'why, I expected to see a monster, part lion, part
elephant, and a mixture of rhinoceros and tiger! Is it possible,'
he continued, 'that you are the showman who has made so much
noise in the world?'

"I laughingly replied that I was, and added that if I too had
been governed in my anticipation of his personal appearance by
the fame he had achieved in his line, I should have expected to
have been saluted by a steam whistle, and to have seen him
dressed in a pea jacket, blowing off steam, and crying out 'all
aboard that's going.'

" 'Instead of which,' replied Mr. Vanderbilt, 'I suppose you have
come to ask me to walk up to the Captain's office and settle.'

"After this interchange of civilities, we talked about the
success of the 'North America' in having got safely around the
Horn, and of the acceptable manner in which she was doing her
duty on the Pacific side.

" 'We have received no statement of her earnings yet,' said the
Commodore, 'but if you want money, give your receipt to our
treasurer, and take some.'

"A few months subsequent to this, I sold out my share in the
steamship to Mr. Daniel Drew."

Numerous smaller enterprises also marked this stage of Mr.
Barnum's career. Some of these were connected with his museum,
while others were entirely independent of it. Thus in 1844, in
Paris, besides purchasing Robt. Houdin's ingenius automatic
writer and other costly curiosities for the museum, he had made
at great expense, a huge panorama of the funeral of Napoleon
Bonaparte. This gigantic picture showed every event of that
pageant, beginning with the embarkation of the body at St. Helena
and ending with its final entombment at the Hotel des Invalides.
This exhibition, after having had its day at the American Museum,
was sold, and extensively and profitably exhibited elsewhere.
While Barnum was in London, during the same year, he engaged a
company of "Campanalogians, or Lancashire Bell Ringers," then
performing in Ireland, to make an American tour. They were really
admirable performers, and by means of their numerous bells of
various sizes, they produced the most delightful music. They
attracted much attention in various parts of the United States,
in Canada, and in Cuba.

After the loss of the bell ringers to the English public Barnum
secured and sent thither a party of sixteen North American
Indians, who were widely exhibited. On his return to America
after his first visit to Europe he engaged an ingenious workman
to construct an automatic orator. This was a life-size and
remarkably life-like figure, and when worked from a key-board
similar to that of a piano it actually uttered words and
sentences with surprising distinctness. It was exhibited for
several months in London and elsewhere in England, but though it
was really a wonderful machine and attracted the earnest
attention of some people, it was not a popular success. The Duke
of Wellington visited it several times, and at first he thought
that the "voice" proceeded from the exhibiter, whom he assumed to
be a skilful ventriloquist. He was asked to touch the keys with
his own fingers, and, after some instruction in the method of
operating, he was able to make the machine speak, not only in
English but also in German, with which language the Duke seemed
familiar. Thereafter, he entered his name on the exhibiter's
autograph book, and certified that the "Automaton Speaker" was an
extraordinary production of mechanical genius.

Barnum also secured duplicates of the models of machinery
exhibited at the Royal Polytechnic Institution in London and a
great many interesting panoramas and pictures. These were all
exhibited at his museum in New York and afterwards sold to other
travelling showmen who exhibited them throughout the country. In
the summer of 1850 he added to the museum his famous Chinese
collection, including a Chinese family of two men, two "small
footed" women, and two children.

Few of his curiosities attracted more attention than the
performances of the "Scotch Boys." One of these was securely
blindfolded, and then, in answer to questions put by the other,
accurately described any objects presented by persons who
attended the surprising exhibition. The mystery, which was merely
the result of patient practice, consisted wholly in the manner in
which the question was propounded; in fact, the question
invariably carried its own answer; for instance:

"What is this?" meant gold; "Now what is this?" silver; "Say,
what is this?" copper; "Tell me what this is?" iron; "What is the
shape?" long; "Now, what shape?" round; "Say what shape?" square;
"Please say what this is," a watch; "Can you tell what is in this
lady's hand?" a purse; "Now, please say what this is?" a key;
"Come now, what is this?" money; "How much?" a penny; "Now, how
much?" sixpence; "Say how much," a quarter of a dollar; "What
color is this?" black; "Now, what color is this?" red; "Say what
color?" green; and so on, ad infinitum. To such perfection was
this brought that it was almost impossible to present any object
that could not be quite closely described by the blindfolded boy.

In 1850, the celebrated Bateman children acted for several weeks
at the American Museum, and in June of that year Barnum sent them
to London with their father and Mr. Le Grand Smith, where they
played in the St. James Theatre, and afterwards in the principal
provincial theatres. The elder of these children, Miss Kate
Bateman, subsequently attained the highest histrionic distinction
in America and abroad, and reached the head of her profession.

Miss Catharine Hayes and Herr Begnis were engaged by Barnum in
the fall of 1852 to give a series of sixty concerts in
California, and the enterprise proved highly profitable, although
Mr. Barnum intrusted its execution to his agents, not caring
himself to travel so far. Before she set out for California Miss
Hayes, with her mother and sister, spent several days at
Iranistan to attend the marriage of Barnum's eldest daughter,
Caroline, to Mr. David W. Thompson.

The wedding was to take place in the evening, and on the
afternoon of that day Mr. Barnum went to Bridgeport to get shaved
for the occasion. While he was lying in the barber's chair, half
of his face shaved and the other half covered with lather, his
prospective son-in-law, Mr. Thompson, drove up to the door of the
shop and rushed in, exclaiming excitedly, "Mr. Barnum, Iranistan
is in flames!" Barnum jumped up from the chair and, half shaved
and with the lather still on his face, jumped into the wagon and
started for home with the horse on a run. "I was greatly
alarmed," he afterward said, "for the house was full of visitors
who had come from a distance to attend the wedding, and all the
costly presents, dresses, refreshments, and everything prepared
for a marriage celebration to which nearly a thousand guests had
been invited, were already in my house. Mr. Thompson told me he
had seen the flames bursting from the roof, and it seemed to me
that there was little hope of saving the building.

"My mind was distressed, not so much at the great pecuniary loss
which the destruction of Iranistan would involve, as at the
possibility that some of my family or visitors would be killed or
seriously injured in attempting to save something from the fire.
Then I thought of the sore disappointment this calamity would
cause to the young couple, as well as to those who were invited
to the wedding. I saw that Mr. Thompson looked pale and anxious.

" 'Never mind!' said I; 'we can't help these things; the house
will probably be burned; but if no one is killed or injured, you
shall be married to-night, if we are obliged to perform the
ceremony in the coach-house.'

"On our way, we overtook a fire company, and I implored them to
'hurry up their machine.' Arriving in sight of Iranistan, we saw
huge volumes of smoke rolling out from the roof and many men on
the top of the house were passing buckets of water to pour upon
the fire. Fortunately, several men had been engaged during the
day in repairing the roof, and their ladders were against the
house. By these means and with the assistance of the men employed
upon my grounds, water was passed very rapidly, and the flames
were soon subdued without serious damage. The inmates of
Iranistan were thoroughly frightened; Catherine Hayes and other
visitors, packed their trunks and had them carried out on the
lawn; and the house came as near destruction as it well could and
escape."

While Miss Hayes was at Bridgeport she gave, at Barnum's request,
a concert for the benefit of "Mountain Grove Cemetery," and the
large proceeds were devoted to the erection of the stone tower
and gateway that now adorn the entrance to that beautiful resting
place of the dead. Barnum had bought the eighty acres of land for
this cemetery a few years before from several farmers. He had
been in the habit of tramping over it, gunning, and while thus
engaged, had observed its admirable fitness for the purposes of a
cemetery. After the title deeds for the property were secured, it
was offered for a cemetery, and at a meeting of citizens, several
lots were subscribed for. enough. indeed, to cover the amount of
the purchase money. Thus was begun the "Mountain Grove Cemetery,"
which is now beautifully laid out and adorned with many tasteful
and costly monuments. Among these are Barnum's own substantial
granite monument, the family monuments of Harral, Bishop,
Hubbell, Lyon, Wood, Loomis, Wordin, Hyde, and others, and
General Tom Thumb erected a tall marble shaft which is surmounted
by a life-size statue of himself. There is no more charming
burial-ground in the whole country; yet when the project was
suggested, many persons preferred an intermural cemetery to this
rural resting-place for their departed friends; though now all
concur in considering it fortunate that this adjunct was secured
to Bridgeport before the land could be permanently devoted to
other purposes.

Mr. Dion Boucicault also lectured at Bridgeport for the benefit
of this cemetery and Tom Thumb gave an entertainment for the same
object. At Barnum's request and under his management, Tom Thumb
and his wife, and Commodore Nutt and his wife, gave several
exhibitions and entertainments for the benefit of the Bridgeport
Charitable Society, the Bridgeport Library, and other local
institutions.

CHAPTER XXIII. SOME DOMESTIC ENTERPRISES.

PUTTING A PICKPOCKET ON EXHIBITION--TRAVELLING INCOGNITO--THE
PEQUONNOCK BANK--THE NEW YORK CRYSTAL PALACE--A POEM ON AN
INCIDENT AT IRANISTAN.

In the summer of 1853 Alfred Bunn, formerly manager of Drury Lane
Theatre, London, arrived in Boston. He was then one of the most
notable figures in the theatrical world. It was he who had made
the first engagement with Jenny Lind to appear in London. She had
been induced to break this engagement, however, through the
solicitations of Mr. Lumley, of Her Majesty's Theatre, with the
result that Mr. Lumley had to pay to Mr. Bunn heavy damages for
the breach of contract. Barnum and Bunn had never met, though
they knew each other well by reputation, and indeed Bunn labored
under the delusion that he had met Barnum, for soon after his
arrival he hastened to New York and entered Barnum's private
office at the Museum with the exclamation, "Well, Barnum, do you
remember me?"

Barnum was confident that he had never seen him before, and
indeed did not really know who he was. But, quick as a flash, he
thought that the ex-manager of Drury Lane must be the only living
Englishman with presumption enough to accost him in this way. So
he answered without hesitation, "Why, this is Mr. Bunn, isn't
it?"

"Ah, my boy," said Bunn, slapping him familiarly on the back, "I
thought you would remember me. Well, Barnum, how have you been
since I last saw you?"

Barnum replied in a manner that encouraged his impression that
they were old acquaintances, and during the next two hours they
had much gossip about men and affairs in London. Bunn called upon
Barnum several times after that, and probably never realized that
Barnum really had been in London two or three years without
making his acquaintance. When Barnum went to London again in 1858
he renewed his acquaintance with Bunn and they became great
chums.

The years 1851, 1852 and 1853 were mostly spent at Bridgeport,
with frequent visits to New York of a day or two each. In the
last-named year he resigned the office of President of the
Fairfield County Agricultural Society, but in accepting his
resignation the society insisted that it should not go into
effect until after the annual fair of 1854 His administration of
the affairs of the society had been very successful, especially
in relation to the fairs and cattle shows.

The manner in which Barnum turned every circumstance to account
in the interest of these fairs is well shown in his dealings with
a pickpocket at the fair of 1853. The man was caught in the act
of taking a pocket-book from a country farmer, and on arrest was
found to be a notorious English thief. He had already victimized
many other visitors to the fair, and there was almost a state of
panic among the visitors. The fair was to close the next day.

Early the next morning the thief was taken before a justice,
legally examined, and was bound over for trial. Barnum then
obtained consent from the Sheriff that the fellow should be put
on the fair grounds, for the purpose of giving those who had been
robbed an opportunity of identifying him. For this purpose he was
handcuffed and placed in a conspicuous position, where of course
he was "the observed of all observers." Then Barnum papered the
country round about with handbills, stating that, for the last
day of the fair, the managers had secured an extraordinary
attraction. They would, he said, exhibit, safely handcuffed, and
without extra charge, a live pickpocket, who had on the day
preceding been caught in the act of robbing an honest farmer.
Crowds of people rushed in to see the show, parents for miles
around brought their children to see the awful example of
iniquity, and great was the profit to the treasury of the fair.

At the close of his presidency in 1854 Barnum was asked to
deliver the opening speech at the County Fair at Stamford. He did
so, delivering simply a portion of his lecture on "The Philosophy
of Humbug." The next morning, as he was being shaved in the
village barber's shop, which was at the time crowded with
customers, the ticket-seller to the fair came in. Here is
Barnum's own account of what followed:

"What kind of a house did you have last night?" asked one of the
gentlemen in waiting.

"Oh, first-rate, of course. Barnum always draws a crowd," was the
reply of the ticket-seller, to whom I was not known.

Most of the gentlemen present, however, knew me, and they found
much difficulty in restraining their laughter.

"Did Barnum make a good speech?" I asked.

"I did not hear it. I was out in the ticket-office. I guess it
was pretty good, for I never heard so much laughing as there was
all through his speech. But it makes no difference whether it was
good or not," continued the ticket-seller, "the people will go to
see Barnum."

"Barnum must be a curious chap," I remarked.

"Well, I guess he is up to all the dodges."

"Do you know him?" I asked.

"Not personally," he replied; "but I always get into the Museum
for nothing. I know the doorkeeper, and he slips me in free."

"Barnum would not like that, probably, if he knew it," I
remarked.

"But it happens he don't know it," replied the ticket-seller, in
great glee.

"Barnum was on the cars the other day, on his way to Bridgeport,"
said I, "and I heard one of the passengers blowing him up
terribly as a humbug. He was addressing Barnum at the time, but
did not know him. Barnum joined in lustily, and indorsed
everything the man said. When the passenger learned whom he had
been addressing, I should think he must have felt rather flat."

"I should think so, too," said the ticket-seller.

This was too much, and we all indulged in a burst of laughter;
still the ticket-seller suspected nothing. After I had left the
shop, the barber told him who I was. I called into the
ticket-office on business several times during the day, but the
poor ticket-seller kept his face turned from me, and appeared so
chapfallen that I did not pretend to recognize him as the hero of
the joke in the barber's shop.

There were many incidents similar to the foregoing in Barnum's
career. One occurred on board a steamboat, going from New York to
Bridgeport. As they entered the harbor of the latter city a
stranger asked the great showman to point out "Barnum's house"
from the deck. Barnum did so, and then another bystander
remarked, "I know all about that house, for I did a lot of
painting there for several months while Barnum was in Europe." He
went on to say that it was the meanest and worst contrived house
he ever saw, and added, "It will cost old Barnum a mint of money
and not be worth two cents after it is finished." "I suppose from
that that old Barnum didn't pay you very punctually," observed
Barnum himself. "Oh, yes; he pays promptly every Saturday night,"
said the other; "there's no trouble about that. He has made half
a million by exhibiting a little boy whom he took from Bridgeport
and whom we never thought any great shakes until Barnum took him
and trained him."

Presently one of the other passengers told this man who Barnum
was, and nothing more was seen of him.

On another occasion, says Barnum, I went to Boston by the Fall
River route. Arriving before sunrise, I found but one carriage at
the depot. I immediately engaged it, and, giving the driver the
check for my baggage, told him to take me directly to the Revere
House, as I was in great haste, and enjoined him to take in no
other passengers, and I would pay his demands. He promised
compliance with my wishes, but soon afterwards appeared with a
gentleman, two ladies, and several children, whom he crowded into
the carriage with me, and, placing their trunks on the
baggage-rack, started off. I thought there was no use in
grumbling, and consoled myself with the reflection that the
Revere House was not far away. He drove up one street and down
another for what seemed to me a very long time, but I was wedged
in so closely that I could not see what route he was taking.

After half an hour's drive he halted, and I found we were at the
Lowell Railway Depot. Here my fellow-passengers alighted, and
after a long delay the driver delivered their baggage, received
his fare, and was about closing the carriage door preparatory to
starting again. I was so thoroughly vexed at the shameful manner
in which he had treated me, that I remarked:

"Perhaps you had better wait till the Lowell train arrives; you
may possibly get another load of passengers. Of course my
convenience is of no consequence. I suppose if you land me at the
Revere House any time this week, it will be as much as I have a
right to expect."

"I beg your pardon," he replied, "but that was Barnum and his
family. He was very anxious to get here in time for the first
train, so I stuck him for $2, and now I'll carry you to the
Revere House free."

"What Barnum is it?" I asked.

"The Museum and Jenny Lind man," he replied.

The compliment and the shave both having been intended for me, I
was of course mollified, and replied, "You are mistaken, my
friend, _I_ am Barnum."

"Coachee" was thunderstruck, and offered all sorts of apologies.

"A friend at the other depot told me that I had Mr. Barnum on
board," said he, "and I really supposed he meant the other man.
When I come to notice you, I perceive my mistake, but I hope you
will forgive me. I have carried you frequently before, and hope
you will give me your custom while you are in Boston. I never
will make such a mistake again."

The Pequonnock Bank of Bridgeport was organized in the spring of
1851. Barnum had no interest whatever in it, not holding a single
share of the stock. He was, however, unanimously elected
President of it. He accepted the office, but as he knew he could
not devote much time to it, requested that Mr. Hubbell, then
Mayor of Bridgeport, should be made Vice-President.

Mr. Barnum also invested $20,000, as special partner, in a
company for the publication of an illustrated weekly newspaper in
New York. This was The Illustrated News. The first number was
issued on the 1st of January, 1853, and within a month it had
seventy thousand circulation. Various complications arose, which
greatly annoyed Barnum, and at the end of the first year the
whole concern was sold out without loss.

He was earnestly urged, in February, 1854, to accept the
presidency of the Universal Exposition, which was held in New
York in the famous Crystal Palace. At first he positively
declined. But the matter was persistently urged upon him by many
influential gentlemen, who represented to him that the success of
the enterprise depended upon his acceptance of the position. The
result was that at last he did accept it, and he entered upon its
duties with all the vigor he could command. The concern was
almost bankrupt, and to save it from utter ruin Barnum advanced
large sums of money from his own purse. By this means and by
various other efforts, such as the re-inauguration, the famous
Jullien concerts, etc., here stored a semblance of prosperity.
But it was uphill work, and after a time he resigned the
presidency and abandoned the institution to its fate.

A little incident which occurred at Iranistan, in the winter of
1852, was observed by a lady from Philadelphia who was visiting
there at the time. She afterward made it the subject of a poem,
which Mr. Barnum prized highly. It was as follows:

WINTER BOUQUETS.

AN INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF AN AMERICAN CITIZEN.

The poor man's garden lifeless lay
     Beneath a fall of snow;
But Art in costly greenhouses,
     Keeps Summer in full glow.
And Taste paid gold for bright bouquets,
     The parlor vase that drest,
That scented Fashion's gray boudoir,
     Or bloomed on Beauty's breast.

  A rich man sat beside the fire,
     Within his sculptured halls;
Brave heart, clear head, and busy hand
     Had reared those stately walls.
He to his gardener spake, and said
     In tone of quiet glee--
"I want a hundred fine bouquets--
    Canst make them, John, for me?

  John's eyes became exceeding round,
     This question when he heard;
He gazed upon his master,
     And he answered not a word.
"Well, John," the rich man laughing said,
     "If these too many be,
What sayest to half the number, man?
     Canst fifty make for me?"

  Now John prized every flower, as 'twere
     A daughter or a son;
And thought, like Regan--"What the need
     Of fifty, or of one?"
But, keeping back the thought, he said,
     "I think, sir, that I might;
But it would leave my lady's flowers
     In very ragged plight."

  "Well, John, thy vegetable pets
     Must needs respected be;
We'll halve the number once again--
    Make twenty-five for me.
And hark ye, John, when they are made
     Come up and let me know;
And I'll give thee a list of those
     To whom the flowers must go,"

  The twenty-five bouquets were made,
     And round the village sent;
And to whom thinkest thou, my friend,
     These floral jewels went?
Not to the beautiful and proud--
     Not to the rich and gay--
Who, Dives-like, at Luxury's feast
     Are seated every day.

An aged Pastor, on his desk
     Saw those fair preachers stand;
A Widow wept upon the gift,
     And blessed the giver's hand.
Where Poverty bent o'er her task,
     They cheered the lonely room;
And round the bed where sickness lay,
     They breathed Health's fresh perfume

  Oh! kindly heart and open hand--
     Those flowers in dust are trod,
But they bloom to weave a wreath for thee,
     In the Paradise of God.
Sweet is the Minstrel's task, whose song
     Of deeds like these may tell;
And long may he have power to give,
     Who wields that Dower so well!

CHAPTER XXIV. THE JEROME CLOCK COMPANY.

FOUNDING EAST BRIDGEPORT--GROWTH OF THE CITY--THE JEROME CLOCK
BUBBLE--A RUINED MAN--PAYING HONEST DEBTS--DOWN IN THE DEPTHS.

In the year 1851 Mr. Barnum had purchased from William H. Noble,
of Bridgeport, Conn., the undivided half of his late father's
homestead--fifty acres of land on the east side of the river,
opposite the city of Bridgeport. Together they bought the one
hundred and seventy-four acres adjoining, and laid out the entire
property in regular streets, and lined them with trees. A
beautiful grove of eight acres was reserved for a park. This they
intended for a nucleus of a new city, to be known as East
Bridgeport.

They then commenced selling alternate lots, at the same price as
the land had cost them by the acre, always on condition that a
suitable dwelling-house, store or manufactory should be erected
on the ground within a year; that every building should be placed
at a certain distance from the street; that the style of
architecture should be approved by the sellers; that the grounds
be inclosed with suitable fences, and that in all respects the
locality should be kept desirable for respectable residents.

A new foot-bridge was built across the river, connecting the new
town with the city of Bridgeport, and a public toll-bridge, which
belonged to Barnum and Noble, was thrown open to the public free.
They also erected a covered drawbridge at a cost of $16,000,
which was made free to the public for several years.

They built and leased to a union company of young coach-makers a
large manufactory, which was one of the first buildings erected
in the town, and which went into operation on the first day of
the year 1852.

In addition to the inducements of low prices for the lots, the
owners advanced one-half, two-thirds, and sometimes all the funds
to erect buildings, permitting the purchasers to repay them in
small sums at their own convenience. The town, under such
favorable auspices, began to develop and to grow with great
rapidity.

No one of Barnum's schemes had ever interested him as this one
did. He was willing to listen to any one who thought they had a
project favorable to the advancement of the new city. It was the
man's weak spot, and it was this weak spot which was destined to
be touched once too often.

There was a small clock factory in the town of Litchfield, in
which Barnum was a stockholder. Thinking always of his beloved
enterprise, it occurred to him at length that if the Litchfield
clock company could be transferred to East Bridgeport, it would
necessarily bring with it numerous families to swell the
population. A new stock company was formed, under the name of the
"Terry and Barnum Manufacturing Company," and in 1852 a factory
was built in East Bridgeport.

It will be seen how recklessly the owners of the site were
spending money. They looked for their profits wholly from the
sale of the reserved lots, which they felt sure would bring high
values.

In 1855 Mr. Barnum was visited by the President of the Jerome
Clock Company, Mr. Chauncey Jerome, with a proposition that the
concern, which was reputed to be very wealthy, should be removed
to East Bridgeport. Negotiations were opened, and at last Barnum
was offered a transfer of the great manufactory with its seven
hundred to one thousand employees, if he would lend his name as
security for $110,000 in aid of the company.

He was shown an official report of the directors of the company,
exhibiting a capital of $400,000 with a surplus of $187,000. They
were in need of money to tide over a dull season and a market
glutted with goods. The company also was represented as being
extremely loth to dismiss any of their employees, who would
suffer greatly if their means of livelihood were taken from them.
The company was reputed to be rich; the President, Mr. Chauncey
Jerome, had built a church in New Haven, at a cost of $40,000,
and proposed to present it to a congregation; he had given a
clock to a church in Bridgeport, and these things showed that he,
at least, thought he was wealthy. The Jerome clocks were for sale
all over the world, even in China, where the Celestials were said
to take out the "movements," and use the cases for little temples
for their idols, "Thus proving that faith was possible without
'works,' " as Mr. Barnum said.

Further testimony came in the form of a letter from the cashier
of one of the New Haven banks, expressing the highest confidence
in the financial strength of the company. Barnum afterwards
learned that his correspondent represented a bank which was one
of the largest creditors of the concern.

Barnum finally agreed to lend the clock company his notes for a
sum not to exceed $50,000, and to accept drafts to an amount not
to exceed $60,000. He also received the written guarantee of the
President, Chauncey Jerome, that in no event should he lose by
the loan, as he would be personally responsible for the
repayment. Mr. Barnum was willing that his notes should be taken
up and renewed an indefinite number of times just so the maximum
of $110,000 was not exceeded. Upon the representation that it was
impossible to say exactly when it would be necessary to use the
notes, Barnum was induced to put his name to several notes for
$3,000, $5,000 and $10,000, leaving the date of payment blank, it
being stipulated that the blanks should be filled to make the
notes payable in five, ten, or even sixty days from date. On the
other hand, it was agreed that the Jerome Company should exchange
its stock with the Terry and Barnum stockholders, thus absorbing
that concern, and unite the whole business in East Bridgeport.

Three months later Barnum's memoranda showed that the entire
$110,000 had been used. He was then solicited by the New York
agent of the company for five additional notes for $5,000 each.
The request was refused unless they would return an equal amount
of his own cancelled notes, since the agent assured him that they
were cancelling these notes "every week." The cancelled notes
were brought him next day and he renewed them. This he did
afterwards very frequently, until at last his confidence in their
integrity became so firmly established that he ceased to ask to
see the notes that had been taken up, but furnished new paper as
often as it was desired.

But gradually the rumor that the banks were hesitating about
discounting his paper came to Barnum's ears. Wondering at this,
he made a few inquiries, which resulted in the startling
discovery that his notes had never been taken up, as represented
by the Jerome Company, and that some of the blank-date notes had
been made payable in twelve, eighteen and twenty-four months.
Further investigation revealed the fact that he had indorsed for
the company to the amount of over half a million dollars, and
that most of the notes had been exchanged for old Jerome Company
notes due to the banks and other creditors.

Barnum simply went to work, paid every debt he owed in the world,
and--failed!

The Jerome Company also failed, and in addition to absorbing
Barnum's fortune, was able to pay only about fifteen per cent. of
its own obligations. Of course it never removed to East
Bridgeport at all.

The failure was a nine-days' wonder all over the country. Never
had Barnum achieved such notoriety. As he expressed it, he was
taken to pieces, analyzed, put together again, kicked, "pitched
into," tumbled about, preached to, preached about, and made to
serve every purpose to which a sensation loving world could put
him.

Barnum declared that he could stand the abuse, the cooling of
false friends and even the loss of fortune, but it made him
furious to read and hear the moralizings over the "instability of
ill-gotten gains." His fortune, if made quickly, had been
honestly worked for and honorably acquired, though envious people
pretended not to believe it.

CHAPTER XXV. THE WHEAT AND THE CHAFF.

FALSE AND TRUE FRIENDS--MEETING OF BRIDGEPORT CITIZENS--BARNUM'S
LETTER--TOM THUMB'S OFFER--SHILLABER'S POEM--BARNUM'S MESSAGE TO
THE CREDITORS OF THE JEROME CLOCK COMPANY--REMOVAL TO NEW
YORK--BEGINNING LIFE ANEW AT FORTY-SIX.

But while misfortune reveals a man his foes, it also shows him
his friends. Barnum was overwhelmed with offers of assistance,
funds were declared at his disposal, both for the support of his
family and to re-establish him in business. "Benefits" by the
score were offered him, and there was even a proposition among
leading citizens of New York to give a series of benefits.

Every one of these offers Barnum declined on his unvarying
principle of never accepting a money favor. The following
correspondence is taken from the New York papers of the time, and
will show the stand he took in the matter:

                                 NEW YORK, June 2d, 1856.

MR. P. T. BARNUM:

Dear Sir. The financial ruin of a man of acknowledged energy and
enterprise is a public calamity. The sudden blow, therefore, that
has swept away, from a man like yourself, the accumulated wealth
of years, justifies, we think, the public sympathy. The better to
manifest our sincere respect for your liberal example in
prosperity, as well as exhibit our honest admiration of your
fortitude under overwhelming reverses, we propose to give that
sympathy a tangible expression by soliciting your acceptance of a
series of benefits for your family, the result of which may
possibly secure for your wife and children a future home, or at
least rescue them from the more immediate consequences of your
misfortune.

Freeman Hunt, E. K. Collins, Isaac V. Fowler, James Phalen,
Cornelius Vanderbilt, F. B. Cutting, James W. Gerard, Simeon
Draper, Thomas McElrath, Park Godwin, R. F. Carman, Gen. C. W.
Sanford, Philo Hurd, President H. R. R.; Wm. Ellsworth, President
Brooklyn Ins. Co.; George S. Doughty, President Excelsior Ins.
Co.; Chas. T. Cromwell, Robert Stuyvesant, E. L. Livingston, R.
Busteed, Wm. P. Fettridge, E. N. Haughwout, Geo. F. Nesbitt,
Osborne Boardman & Townsend, Charles H. Delavan, I. & C. Berrien,
Fisher & Bird, Solomon & Hart, B. Young, M. D., Treadwell, Acker
& Co., St. Nicholas Hotel; John Wheeler, Union Square Hotel; S.
Leland & Co., Metropolitan Hotel; Albert Clark, Brevoort House;
H. D. Clapp, Everett House; John Taylor, International Hotel;
Sydney Hopman, Smithsonian Hotel; Messrs. Delmonico, Delmonico's;
Geo. W. Sherman, Florence's Hotel; Kingsley & Ainslee, Howard
Hotel; Libby & Whitney, Lovejoy's Hotel; Howard & Brown, Tammany
Hall; Jonas Bartlett, Washington Hotel; Patten & Lynde, Pacific
Hotel; J. Johnson, Johnson's Hotel, and over 1,000 others.