CHAPTER XII

THIS WORLD, AND THE NEXT

I

After he had sensationally married his dwarfs, to the immense credit of the American Museum, Barnum had time in his fifty-fifth year for rest, reading and recreation, but he did not take it. He wrote a book, he became a state legislator, he developed East Bridgeport real estate, he lectured on Success and on Temperance, and he projected forerunners of what was to be his admission card to immortality: The Circus.

The book was _The Humbugs of the World_, the most revealing book Barnum wrote, although it is written in general terms for the information and guidance of his contemporaries rather than for the instruction or benefit of mankind. _The Humbugs of the World_ tells most about Barnum because it is abstract and subjective, and in it he gives us a better impression of his own character than in all the anecdotes of all his autobiographies.

_The Humbugs of the World_ begins with a definition of the scope of humbug by the man who styled himself “Prince of Humbugs”: “A little reflection will show that humbug is an astonishingly widespread phenomenon--in fact, almost universal.... I apprehend that there is no sort of object which men seek to attain, whether secular, moral or religious, in which humbug is not very often an instrumentality.” We all use humbug in our business, said Barnum, and religious humbugs in his opinion were a large division of the subject. In his discussion of humbug in commercial life, Barnum seems most accurate:

“Business,” he wrote, “is the ordinary means of living for nearly all of us. And in what business is there not humbug? ‘There’s cheating in all trades but ours,’ is the prompt reply from the boot-maker with his brown paper soles, the grocer with his floury sugar and chicoried coffee, the butcher with his mysterious sausages and queer veal, the dry-goods man with his ‘damaged goods wet at the great fire,’ and his ‘selling at a ruinous loss,’ the stock-broker with his brazen assurance that your company is bankrupt and your stock not worth a cent (if he wants to buy it), the horse jockey with his black arts and spavined brutes, the milk man with his tin aquaria, the land-agent with his nice new maps and beautiful descriptions of distant scenery, the newspaper man with his ‘immense circulation,’ the publisher with his ‘Great American Novel,’ the city auctioneer with his ‘Pictures by the Old Masters,’--all and every one protest each his own innocence, and warn you against the deceits of the rest. My inexperienced friend, take it for granted that they all tell the truth--about each other! and then transact your business to the best of your ability on your own judgment. Never fear but that you will get experience enough, and that you will pay well for it too; and towards the time when you shall no longer need earthly goods, you will begin to know how to buy.”

But in Barnum’s opinion there was one more thorough humbug than all the others: “The greatest humbug of all is the man who believes--or pretends to believe--that everything and everybody are humbugs.” Then follows this detailed definition of the chronic cynic:

“We sometimes meet a person who professes that there is no virtue; that every man has his price, and every woman hers; that any statement from anybody is just as likely to be false as true, and that the only way to decide which, is to consider whether the truth or a lie was likely to have paid best in that particular case. Religion he thinks one of the smartest business dodges extant, a first-rate investment, and by all odds the most respectable disguise that a lying or a swindling business man can wear. Honor he thinks is a sham. Honesty he considers a plausible word to flourish in the eyes of the greener portion of our race, as you would hold out a cabbage-leaf to coax a donkey. What people want, he thinks, or says he thinks, is something good to eat, something good to drink, fine clothes, luxury, laziness, wealth. If you can imagine a hog’s mind in a man’s body--sensual, greedy, selfish, cruel, cunning, sly, coarse, yet stupid, short-sighted, unreasoning, unable to comprehend anything except what concerns the flesh, you have your man. He thinks himself philosophic and practical, a man of the world; he thinks to show knowledge and wisdom, penetration, deep acquaintance with men and things. Poor fellow! he has exposed his own nakedness. Instead of showing that others are rotten inside, he has proved that he is. He claims that it is not safe to believe others--it is perfectly safe to disbelieve him. He claims that every man will get the better of you if possible--let him alone! Selfishness, he says, is the universal rule--leave nothing to depend on his generosity or honor; trust him just as far as you can sling an elephant by the tail. A bad world, he sneers, full of deceit and nastiness--it is his own foul breath that he smells; only a thoroughly corrupt heart could suggest such vile thoughts. He sees only what suits him, as a turkey-buzzard spies only carrion, though amid the loveliest landscape. I pronounce him who thus virtually slanders his father and dishonors his mother, and defiles the sanctities of home, and the glory of patriotism, and the merchant’s honor, and the martyr’s grave and the saint’s crown--who does not even know that every sham shows that there is a reality, and that hypocrisy is the homage that vice pays to virtue--I pronounce him--no, I do not pronounce him a humbug, the word does not apply to him. He is a fool.”

In this virulent exposé of the cynic, Barnum was right from his point of view to call that type of mind a fool’s, for that type of mind is so seldom successful. Barnum, as he indicates clearly in _The Humbugs of the World_, was constantly on the look-out for deception of different species, but his attitude was never that of the chronic cynic. His profound belief in Christianity--particularly in Universalism--and the ultimate perfectibility of man, whether in heaven or on earth, made it possible for him to denounce sincerely those who doubted man and God, and at the same time to use energetically the opportunities offered by the present imperfect state of society. He was not his own last word in degradation, the cynical humbug, because he had a sincere faith in spiritual values. It is true that he capitalized man’s machinery of Christianity for the purposes of the show business, but he himself believed piously and with sincerity in the immediate and ultimate efficacy of that machinery. Barnum felt enough to be no worse than his contemporaries, and he knew enough to be no better. He had so much sincere belief in the popular Christian ideals, and so much ability in the practice of his profession, that he was accepted by mankind as an honest as well as a successful man.

To be a humbug, by Barnum’s sanitary definition, was not to be dishonest. His humbug was not a cheat, nor an impostor, and he excluded counterfeiters, forgers, confidence men and pickpockets from his select company of happy deceivers. However, even Barnum’s distinction between humbug and dishonesty is vague, and one that allows latitude for personal opinion in specific instances. Almost every one would disagree with a few of Barnum’s examples of humbug, preferring to characterize them as pieces of thievery, and there are those who would accept some of his stories of imposture as merely innocent deceptions. No subject, based as it is on varying standards of honesty, could offer more room for difference of opinion, which is why Barnum’s consideration of it is such an excellent index of his own moral character. The true humbug, said Barnum, is the man who advertises his wares in an _outré_ manner, but who gives his customers their money’s worth after he has attracted their patronage. He wrote in _The Humbugs of the World_: “And whenever the time shall come when men are kind and just and honest; when they only want what is fair and right, judge only on real and true evidence, and take nothing for granted, then there will be no place left for any humbugs, either harmless or hurtful.” Meanwhile, he felt it was his legitimate privilege to supply the demand.

After making it clear that the difference between a thief and a Barnum is a great one, the author exposed various humbugs in detail. Barnum’s book contains chapters on the spiritualists of his day, adulterations of food and of drink, fraud in auctions, lottery deceptions, bogus oil and coal stocks, the Dutch tulip speculations, the South Sea Bubble, patent medicines, the Moon Hoax, ghosts and haunted houses, witchcraft, magic, adventurers, vampires, religious impostures and heathen humbugs. Many of these subjects, and others in the book which are too detailed to mention, do not fall within the scope of Barnum’s definition of a humbug; most of them are treated entertainingly, even if they were perpetrated by swindlers and impostors, with whom Barnum usually had no patience, and of whom he had no understanding. His sense of honesty and propriety as expressed in this book is great enough to lead the reader to believe that he was guilty of his own accusation in that he condoned deception only in the show business, and believed firmly that cheating in other trades was indefensible.

And even in his own trade practices which were distasteful to him, but no worse than some of his own acts, come in for rigorous moral condemnation. In discussing advertising he is very hard on the man who dares to deface landscape with billboards: “Any man with a beautiful wife or daughter would probably feel disagreeably, if he should find branded indelibly across her smooth white forehead, or on her snowy shoulder in blue and red letters, such a phrase as this: ‘Try the Jigamaree Bitters!’... A lovely nook of forest scenery or a grand rock, like a beautiful woman, depends for much of its attractiveness upon the attendant sense of freedom from whatever is low; upon a sense of purity and of romance. And it is about as nauseous to find ‘Bitters’ or ‘Worm Syrup’ daubed upon the landscape, as it would be upon the lady’s brow.”

Barnum’s favorite example of the harmless humbug type, who retained his integrity along with his notoriety, was Monsieur Mangin, the French pencil maker, to whom a chapter of _The Humbugs of the World_ is devoted. Mangin used to drive through the Champs Elysées, the Place Vendôme, the Place de la Bastille, or the Place de la Madeleine, in a large, ornamented carriage drawn by two bay horses. When he stopped his horses in one of the populous Parisian streets, his servant would hand him several large portraits of himself, which he would hang on the sides of the coach. Then gradually Monsieur Mangin would change his clothes, substituting for his hat a burnished helmet, a velvet and gold tunic for his modest business coat, steel gauntlets for his gloves. A shining brass cuirass covered his breast. The servant would also change into a medieval costume and then would play the organ which occupied part of the carriage. A large crowd collected rapidly. Mangin would rise, and in a calm, dignified, and solemn manner address his audience:

“Gentlemen, you look astonished! What is the name and purpose of this curious knight-errant? Gentlemen, I will condescend to answer your queries. I am Monsieur Mangin, the great charlatan of France! Yes, gentlemen, I am a charlatan--a mountebank; it is my profession, not from choice, but from necessity. You, gentlemen, created that necessity! You would not patronize true, unpretending, honest merit, but you are attracted by my glittering casque, my sweeping crest, my waving plumes. You are captivated by din and glitter, and therein lies my strength. Years ago I hired a modest shop in the Rue Rivoli, but I could not sell pencils enough to pay my rent, whereas, by assuming this disguise--it is nothing else--I have succeeded in attracting general attention, and in selling literally millions of my pencils; and I assure you there is at this moment scarcely an artist in France or in Great Britain who doesn’t know that I manufacture by far the best black-lead pencils ever seen. When I was modestly dressed, like any of my hearers, I was half starved. Punch and his bells would attract crowds, but my good pencils attracted nobody. I imitated Punch and his bells, and now I have two hundred depôts in Paris. I dine at the best cafés, drink the best wine, live on the best of everything, while my defamers get poor and lank, as they deserve to be. Who are my defamers? Envious swindlers! Men who try to ape me, but are too stupid and too dishonest to succeed. They endeavor to attract notice as mountebanks, and then foist upon the public worthless trash, and hope thus to succeed.”

In Paris Barnum met Mangin at a café and was introduced. Mangin had read the French edition of the autobiography, and he had been much impressed with Barnum’s methods and their success. Barnum had seen Mangin in his working clothes and he was delighted. Mangin outlined his policy, which coincided perfectly with Barnum’s lifelong practice: “First, attract the public by din and tinsel, by brilliant sky-rockets and Bengola lights, then give them as much as possible for their money.” After congratulating each other for an hour on their respective successes with the public, they parted, and as he got ready to leave Mangin told Barnum that he had a humbug in his head that would double the sale of his pencils. “Don’t ask me what it is,” he said, “but within one year you shall see it for yourself, and you shall acknowledge Monsieur Mangin knows something of human nature.” Barnum was curious; but soon afterwards he read in the newspapers that Mangin had died, leaving 200,000 francs to charity. His praises were sung in all the newspapers of France and Great Britain. After six months Mangin appeared again in Paris in the same cuirass and helmet, with the same chariot and bays, and the same servant in robes of velvet and gold. Barnum met him again, and he said that his sudden death had quadrupled the sale of his pencils and had given him a six months’ rest in the country. “You Yankees are clever,” he said, “but none of you has discovered that you should live all the better if you would die for six months.” Mangin died a few years later and left his heirs half a million francs.

Although Barnum disliked the conceited manner in which Mangin clapped him familiarly upon the back and assured him that Monsieur Mangin was equal to the Yankee humbugs, he recognized in the Frenchman a true humbug of the ideal type, whom Barnum would have been proud to recognize as one of his disciples. Notoriety at any cost to dignity, even if it had to be sought in the grave, was legitimate, if the pencils were good; whatever the deception he admitted, Barnum pointed with pride to the fact that after all the Museum show was always worth more than twenty-five cents. In _The Humbugs of the World_ Barnum did recognize that dignity was advisable for some professions. He regarded advertising as a necessity for every individual who had goods or services to sell, but he did not advise the banker or insurance broker, who aim to be the custodians of the people’s money, to adopt his methods of hyperbole. Clergymen, lawyers, and physicians, he admitted, needed different tactics, and he often changed his own methods to meet the particular demands of an occasion. His own methods were successful because his taste was varied as well as crude; he never repeated himself. Tom Thumb was followed by Jenny Lind, whose successor was the white whale, for Barnum realized early in his career what many panderers to public taste who merely copied him, failed to realize: that a baby does not play with a rattle for twenty-one years.

II

A large, and by far the most interesting, section of _The Humbugs of the World_ is devoted to religious humbugs: “The domain of humbug reaches back to the Garden of Eden, where the father of lies practised it upon our poor innocent first grandmother, Eve.” This, said Barnum, was the first and worst humbug on the human race, and next after that in scope and damage were the heathen humbugs. In his opinion all heathen religions--and by a heathen religion he meant any religion besides Christianity and Judaism, whose Bible is used in Christian churches--“always were, and are still, audacious, colossal, yet shallow and foolish humbugs. It is a curious fact that the heathen humbugs were all solemn. This was because they were intended to maintain the existing religions, which, like all false religions, could not endure ridicule.”

Throughout this section of his book of revelations, Barnum was treading dangerous ground too recklessly for the good of his own faith. The glorious truths which some millions believed were revealed in other religions besides Christianity were to Barnum humbugs similar in nature to the great heathen god on whom some travelers had held a _post-mortem_ examination. As Barnum told the story in his book these Christians stole into the innermost sacred rooms of the heathen temple, where the awful god of a savage tribe reposed. They found the god wrapped in numerous cloths, and sacrilegiously they unwound the coverings until they had removed more than an hundred cloths. The god grew smaller and smaller, until at last, after all the coverings were removed, the fierce, great heathen god proved to be nothing but a cracked soda-water bottle. Barnum would be shocked at the investigations that, in the manner of the inquiring travelers, some liberal thinkers have made into the miracle of the Resurrection, but it would have been well for him, before denouncing an onion because it was nothing but peels, to be certain that potatoes grew in his own garden.

Barnum was sincerely pious and devoutly religious, and it is significant of the narrow scope of his mind that he could stop completely and bow faithfully before his own brand of worship, while he was virulent in his attacks on any forms of religious devotion whose adherents were not patrons of the American Museum in large numbers. He even went further than this personally in his dogmatism: he narrowed the truth down to Universalism, which he accepted as his own faith early in life, and which many equally devout Christians thought one of the most flagrant forms of Christian humbug. He did not attack in _The Humbugs of the World_ other Christian sects or Judaism, for that would have been too dangerous for the welfare of the Museum; he took out his contempt upon the so-called heathen religions, with their oracles, sibyls and auguries. But even in these he saw some comfort, for they were a sign to him “how universally and naturally, and humbly and helplessly too, poor human nature longs to see into the future, and longs for help and guidance from some power higher than itself.” “Thus considered,” Barnum believed, “these shallow humbugs teach a useful lesson, for they constitute a strong proof of man’s inborn natural recognition of some God, of some obligation to a higher power, of some disembodied existence; and so they show a natural human want of exactly what the Christian revelation supplies and constitute a powerful evidence for Christianity.”

The history of religious controversy would be much simpler if all adopted Barnum’s view, but his assumptions are rather large, and his proofs are childishly vague. If he had anything but an _a priori_ faith, there was ample opportunity within the scope of his book to announce it, and by neglecting to particularize some of the evidences of Christian preëminence, he leaves his own dear faith wide open to attack with his own thunder. The religious section of _The Humbugs of the World_ suggests the conclusion that Barnum’s theological philosophy was comparable to the conviction of the soldier who believed that every one was out of step except himself.

The nearest Barnum allowed himself to approach criticism of his own gods was a paragraph of condemnation of the long and “windy prayers” of young, inexperienced clergymen, which he likened in mild and forgiving terms to the prayer-mills of the heathens. There is no recognition, however, of a possibility that Mohammedans, Buddhists, and followers of Confucius may have real faiths as well as the humbugs incidental to those faiths. Christianity’s humbugs he ignored altogether, except in the matter of ordeals practised in faraway medieval days, and he pointed out their absurdities only to prove “how much more preferable is our American principle of separation in all matters of State and Church.” Even this criticism was omitted in the English edition of _The Humbugs of the World_. Barnum’s whole nationalist theology and Christian philosophy can be narrowed down to a simple assertion, to the effect that we, the Americans, are the greatest members of a Christian world. He never said this in so many words, for he had too many friends in England and France, but there was no necessity for regarding the feelings of Mohammedans or Chinese, for after all were not these peoples merely subjects for exhibition to a curious Christian world?

Personally, Barnum’s religion was an acute form of Universalism. He wrote a pamphlet which was published by the Universalist Church called “Why I am a Universalist,” in which he revealed his whole religious philosophy and much of his character. In this pamphlet, which was written one year before Barnum’s death, but which is discussed here because it is appropriate, he showed clearly that it was impossible for him to conceive that every one will not eventually seek and find salvation. He said that he could not believe that in order to complete their paradise the angels need a sight of the evil ones roasting in hell. He craved a salvation where The Woolly Horse, The Fejee Mermaid, and Joice Heth would not be thrown up to him as the sins of his days upon earth. In “Why I am a Universalist” Barnum wrote; “All Christians pray for the salvation of sinners, and yet profess to believe it will never be. The first essential of prayer is that it be in faith. The Universalist Church is the only one that believes in success.” And it must have been unbearable to the pious and practical mind of Barnum even to entertain the idea of eternal failure in the matter of the end of all. Such a faith in the “ultimate holiness and happiness of all mankind” was natural, almost inevitable, to Barnum’s character. Success on earth depended for him upon natural resource of ambition and energy, a dash of luck, stirred up in a whirlpool of notoriety. But it all depended upon ourselves. In eternity the rules were different. There was an absolute monarch, and the only comfort to a man who, like Barnum, was used to a thorough dependence upon his own head and hands, was the faith that this Great Dictator was a benevolent despot, and that paradise was a museum, in which all the varieties of human curiosities lived in harmony with no embarrassing attempt to delineate good from bad, and in which there was no wilful segregation of types on the part of the Creator, who in His everlasting mercy made them all in His own image.

Against all the texts which urged repentance before it was too late, Barnum placed the one psalm which twenty-six times declares, “His mercy endureth for ever.” His Universalism allowed wide latitude for work on earth, coupled with faith hereafter, and set no specific time limit, as Barnum expressed it, for repentance. There was no promised punishment for a Universalist who neglected the forms of repentance before his day of death. It was the only possible religion for a Barnum, and he was so grateful for its existence that besides remembering the church in his will and endowing a natural history museum at Tufts College, the Universalist college, he often argued strenuously and picturesquely in the effort to aid the dissemination of its doctrines. When he was seventy-three years old, he told a reporter for the _New York Sun_: “I believe in the ultimate holiness and happiness of all mankind. The idea of a sufficiency of repentance is revolting to common sense. Suppose a case: A pirate, who has killed in cold blood a hundred men, is caught, repents on the gallows, and says, ‘I am sorry for what I have done, and am going to Jesus.’ A certain proportion of those he has killed, say fifty per cent., having been cut off in their sins, without time for repentance, are supposed to be damned. Is it conceivable, as consistent with the justice of God, that the repentant pirate shall look over the battlements of heaven down upon those fifty whom he sent to hell, and complacently congratulate his redeemed soul upon his luck in having had time to repent before he was hanged? No: I can’t believe in that.... Now I don’t think that fear is the proper thing to incite people to do good. Putting punishment away off in a dim and indefinite future is not making much of a present influence. It reminds me of a chap who was caught by a deacon in the act of stealing a piece of silk. ‘Don’t you know that you will have to pay for that silk at the day of judgment?’ said the deacon. ‘I’d no idea you gave such a long credit, or I’d have taken two pieces,’ replied the thief. All sects do good in their way, but I prefer to have my children believe as I do--not as I was taught in my youth, however--in a God of love, instead of cruelty or vindictiveness, and that His chastisements are only parental and disciplinary.”

Barnum often tried to convert those of other beliefs, and especially clergymen, which would seem to indicate that the anxiety which his mind suffered at the thought that he might not be saved was greater than he would have cared to admit. He met on the street his old friend, the Rev. C. A. Stoddard, editor of _The New York Observer_, a religious publication. “Is it possible,” Barnum asked, “that the _Observer_ still sticks to the old doctrine of endless suffering?” “The _Observer_ doesn’t budge an inch from its lifelong creed and doctrines,” answered the Rev. Mr. Stoddard proudly. “Surely you must lose numerous subscribers who at this day of the ‘new orthodoxy’ cannot believe that there are childless mothers in the Paradise of God?” said Barnum. “The places of such subscribers,” the clergyman replied, “are readily filled by those, who, like myself, loath the thought of spending an eternity in the company of Judas.” “But cannot Infinite Power, Wisdom, and Goodness conquer, purify, and win even the betrayer of our Saviour, who on the cross prayed for the forgiveness of his murderers?” asked Barnum. The religious editor replied, with a good-natured, patronizing smile, “Judas would require considerable fixing up before he would be fit to come in close contact with the holy angels and saints in heaven.” “True,” said Barnum, “but will not you and I need some ‘fixing up’ for that state of perfect holiness without which no man can see God?” The Rev. Mr. Stoddard admitted that both of them would need such fixing up, “but evidently,” Barnum reflected sadly, “he cannot as yet see a chance for Judas.” Judas worried Barnum: it may be that deep in his consciousness, so deep that he himself felt its distressing murmurs but vaguely, he realized that the temptation of thirty pieces of silver would have been difficult for a practical American man of business to resist. Many of the _Observer’s_ subscribers probably thought it natural that Barnum should take such an interest in Judas, but many more forgave him because his profits were considerably greater than thirty pieces of silver, and in justice to him it must be admitted that his crimes were not of a tremendously serious nature.

But there were days of depression and remorse, when Barnum, goaded by his sincere piety, feared that he would roast in hell for the Buffalo Hunt, General Tom Thumb’s age, the model of Niagara Falls, The Fejee Mermaid, and The Woolly Horse, and maybe for sins which he kept carefully to himself, and then he could clutch at the comfort of Universalism, which offered him the hope of condonation for mankind, and the assurance that he could share in the general pardon.

III

But such doubts of his future and anxiety for his past could only occupy minutes in the busy days of such an active mind as Barnum’s always was. The smooth operation of the Museum allowed him time for other activities and gave him money to devote to them. His preoccupation with the autobiography and his interest in humbugs could not occupy all that time and required no money. East Bridgeport real estate filled in the gap. His bankruptcy had not discouraged him from business activity, and he was still infatuated with the development of his ideas for a model suburb.

After the destruction of “Iranistan” by fire, Barnum built “Lindencroft,” a modest house, as impressive as its neighbors, but not extraordinary in its architecture. During the period of Barnum’s recuperation from bankruptcy East Bridgeport had grown into the consummation of his hopes. Other large factories had followed the Wheeler & Wilson sewing machine buildings, and there were now many neat houses for mechanics and laborers where six years before there was nothing but farm land. It was one of Barnum’s greatest pleasures until the end of his life, he tells us, to drive through “those busy streets, admiring the beautiful houses and substantial factories, with their thousands of prosperous workmen, and reflecting that I had, in so great a measure, been the means of adding all this life, bustle, and wealth to the City of Bridgeport.”

As soon as he had repurchased some of his former holdings in his pet suburb, Barnum renewed his activities as a real estate operator with a philanthropic turn of mind. He began a campaign for the sale of houses and put notices in the Bridgeport newspapers urging “Every Man to Own the House He Lives In.” He offered to lend money at six per cent. to any number, not exceeding fifty “industrious, temperate, and respectable individuals who desire to build their own houses.” The houses were to be paid for in small weekly, monthly, or quarterly instalments, in amounts of not less than three per cent. per quarter. The owners could engage their own builders and build according to any reasonable plan, subject always to Barnum’s approval, but he himself bought materials in bulk, and he offered to build “nice dwellings, painted and furnished with green blinds,” for $1,500 each.

Many took advantage of either of these two offers, but many more held back. There was one slight difficulty. Mr. Barnum’s contracts of sale included a temperance pledge and a clause promising the renunciation of the use of tobacco. It puzzled Barnum and worried him that many men really preferred to pay rent month after month in dirty tenements, where they could drink, smoke, and beat their wives in freedom, to the opportunity which he offered them of living under his management in “nice dwellings, painted and furnished with green blinds.” Moralizing on the subject in his autobiography, he wrote in his bewilderment: “The money they have since expended for whisky and tobacco would have given them a house of their own, if the money had been devoted to that object, and their positions, socially and morally, would have been better than they are to-day. How many infatuated men there are in all parts of the country who could now be independent and even owners of their own carriages but for their slavery to these miserable habits!”

There was even a clause in the contracts of sale providing that if the door yards of the model cottages were not kept clean P. T. Barnum had the right to arrange for their cleaning at the expense of the owners of the houses. If these conditions were accepted, Barnum sometimes advanced as much as seven-eighths of the purchase money, and accepted in payment instalments as low as ten dollars. But the nice dwellings were the pride of his heart, and it concerned him even more than the profits of his enterprise that no tobacco juice should stain those pretty green blinds, and that the happy, smiling New England mechanics should not give off fumes of whisky as they came to pay him their rents.

There were enough sober, thoughtful, economical laborers to take advantage of Barnum’s offers, and the new suburb prospered rapidly. A horse car line, in which Barnum owned ten per cent. of the stock, was soon in operation. The toll bridges operated by Barnum and Noble were bought by the City of Bridgeport and opened to the public free of charge. East Bridgeport became a recognized part of the City of Bridgeport, and streets were named for Barnum and his daughters, Caroline, Helen, and Pauline; but none was called Charity, in the proper fear, no doubt, that no one would live in it.

IV

It was inevitable that before the end of his career Barnum should go into politics. He had always been a pseudo-public character, whose immense notoriety was a political asset, and several times he had been asked to run for office. In the early days of his youthful editorial career, when he was the _Herald of Freedom_, Barnum was a strict Jacksonian Democrat. In 1852, after Jenny Lind’s tour had raised his esteem and increased his fortune, Connecticut Democrats offered him the nomination as governor of that state, but, though the party was in power, and election would not therefore have been difficult, he declined the honor. In spite of his decision, several votes were cast for him in the state convention. Barnum continued to be a loyal Democrat for many years, declaring upon one occasion that if he thought there was a drop of blood in his veins that was not democratic he would let it out if he had to cut the jugular vein, for he seemed to be under the impression that democratic and Democratic meant the same things. When the Democratic Party advocated secession, Barnum disagreed with his party and became a Republican and a strong supporter of President Lincoln. During the close and exciting presidential campaign of Lincoln just before the Civil War, he aided the “Wide-Awake” clubs in Bridgeport, and when the war broke out in 1861, Barnum, who was in his fifty-first year, sent four substitutes to the front and contributed money to the Union cause. He also aided in disturbing a Bridgeport pacifist meeting, where he was hoisted on the shoulders of some soldiers, and from that vantage point he made a speech which was said to be “full of patriotism” and “spiced with humor.” He was so active as a member of the Bridgeport Prudential Committee during the draft riots that he was threatened with violence to himself and the destruction of his home by fire. Sky rockets were always kept in the cellar at “Lindencroft,” in case Barnum should need aid from the arsenal or friends in other parts of the city.

In 1865 Barnum accepted the nomination of the Republican Party for a seat in the Connecticut legislature. He did this, he tells us, so that he might enjoy the privilege of voting for the Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution, by which slavery was to be abolished forever. It is difficult to understand Barnum’s reluctance to enter politics: he loved to make speeches, he was a “good mixer,” and he had a profound interest in improving his fellow citizens by forcing his own standards upon them. It may be that he felt that he could use his time to better financial advantage as a private citizen, and it may be that he shrank from the necessity for answering criticism of his character, which would have caused him embarrassment had he accepted the nomination for governor.

Barnum was elected to the Connecticut legislature. During his term of office he fought the railroads in their efforts to raise commutation rates, and in this fight he defeated the New Haven Railroad lobby. It was while he was speaking on this railroad bill in the legislature at Hartford on July 13, 1865, that Barnum received a telegram from his son-in-law, S. H. Hurd, informing him that the American Museum was in flames. Barnum makes much of the fact in his autobiography that he laid the telegram upon his desk and continued his successful speech against the railroads.

The fire in the Museum had started in the engine room, where a small engine pumped sea water for the aquaria. Smoke soon rose into the upper floors and filled the galleries of curiosities and animals. Monkeys jabbered, cats miaoued, dogs barked, parrots screeched, bears growled, a kangaroo made his own familiar cry of distress, and the birds fluttered wildly against their cages. Before long 40,000 people had been attracted by the noises and the flames. Efforts were made to rescue some of the animals, but few of them were saved, the only survivors of the fire being one bear, the educated seal, some birds, and a couple of monkeys. The crowd was delighted with the opportunity to see the curiosities free of charge, and the giantess, the fat lady, the Albino girl, and some of the ladies of the _corps de ballet_, who had lost all of their wardrobe except their ballet skirts, were followed down Fulton Street by a large and enthusiastic audience. Two white whales, who had arrived one week before the fire, were burned to death and steaming when Barnum saw them afterwards. The newspapers of the following day published long descriptions of the fire and editorials on the subject; practically the entire front page of the _Herald_ was devoted to it. Most of the newspapers attempted peculiar humor on the subject of the burned animals.

Barnum’s insurance was worth only $40,000, and he estimated the value of the lost Museum collection at $400,000. This disastrous fire tempted Barnum to retire. He considered devoting the rest of his years to East Bridgeport, possibly with the autobiography as recreation, and when he asked his friend Horace Greeley for advice, Greeley said, “Accept this fire as a notice to quit, and go a-fishing.” But fishing requires solitude and quiet, repose and a fatalistic satisfaction with whatever chance throws in the way. Fish are not caught by publicity, and that was the only bait Barnum had ever previously used. He wrote in his autobiography that his temptation to retire was offset by two worthy considerations. More than one hundred and fifty men were thrown ruthlessly out of employment by the fire, and would be kept out of employment, he thought, if he were to retire; also, he was long since convinced that his Museum was an institution, and that New York needed such an one as he had provided for more than twenty years. It may also have occurred to him, although he does not say so, that a museum was a profitable investment for capital.

Barnum’s insurance was not his only asset after the fire. His wife still owned the lease to the Museum property, which had increased tremendously in value since he had renewed it fifteen years before. A real estate agent offered the lease for sale at $225,000, and James Gordon Bennett bought it for $200,000 with the intention of building a new home for the _New York Herald_. Bennett also purchased the land on which the Museum stood and the building for $500,000, and soon afterwards he read in other newspapers that he had paid the largest sum for a piece of property of its size that had ever been paid for any property in any city in the world. He was more frightened than flattered by this statement, and he arbitrarily canceled the purchase. Then he attempted to get his $200,000 back from Barnum, but Barnum had already invested the money in bonds, and he refused to take back the lease.

The following day the _New York Herald_ refused the advertisement of the Winter Garden, where Barnum was managing a temporary museum until the Chinese Museum rooms at Broadway and Prince Street could be remodeled. Barnum was a member of the Producing Managers’ Association, which included in its number Lester Wallack, Wheatley, Stuart, and the other theatrical leaders of the period. A committee of the Association visited Bennett to protest against the exclusion of Barnum’s advertisement, but Bennett insisted that he would not publish Barnum’s advertisements, and that he had the right to run his business in his own way. The managers did not dispute this point, but they claimed the same privilege, and the next day every theatrical advertisement was withdrawn from the _Herald_. The _Herald_ had also been employed as the job printer for most of the New York theaters, and this business was taken elsewhere. Bennett continued to print some of the withdrawn advertisements, hoping to bring back the managers to his newspaper, but then the producers printed in other newspapers above their advertisements, “This Establishment does not advertise in the _New York Herald_.” The _Herald_ retaliated by printing editorials almost every day for several months on the corrupt and inartistic state of theatrical representation in New York, and Bennett praised Tony Pastor’s Bowery show as the kind of entertainment New York needed, for Pastor was not one of the protesting managers. Bennett’s virulent publicity caused the managers to prosper, and it was estimated that the _Herald_ lost $75,000 each year in advertising and printing contracts. Finally the owner of Barnum’s Museum property sued Bennett, and he was compelled to take over the property at the original price. The managers continued their boycott of the _Herald_ for two years.

During one of the meetings of the Producing Managers’ Association Barnum was urged by Lester Wallack to take a drink during the recess provided by tradition for that purpose. “Excuse me, Mr. Wallack,” said Barnum, “you know my record, and I am sure you will respect my intention of keeping it up. It has been the boast of my life that no man has ever seen a drop of anything stronger than water pass my lips for many years. Be kind enough to turn your backs!” The managers turned their backs, and when they turned again Barnum’s glass was empty, but whether he had filled it was never determined; all were too considerate to ask.

After James Gordon Bennett’s death, Barnum again advertised in the _Herald_. James Gordon Bennett, the younger, recalling his father’s animosity against Barnum, tried to renew the feud in the pages of the _Herald_. Barnum was in London at the time, and he wrote the new editor: “Young man, I knew you when you rode the hobby-horse which I bought for Tom Thumb, and which your father and mother brought you to see, and I have a right to give you some advice.” What that advice was Barnum never said, but the _Herald_ soon forgot its feud and praised the circus as much as its contemporaries.

Four months after the Museum fire Barnum reopened his Museum in a granite building at Broadway and Prince Street, with new curiosities gathered from all over the country.

After one term in the Connecticut legislature, Barnum intended to return to private life, but one of the directors of the New York and New Haven Railroad remarked that if he could help it, Barnum would not be in the next legislature. Barnum accepted the challenge, and he was reëlected in 1866.

He was nominated for Congress by the Republicans in 1867. His Democratic opponent was William H. Barnum, not a relative, who was the political boss of Fairfield County, the district for which they were nominated. During the summer of 1867 Barnum entertained many political guests at his Bridgeport home, among whom were the Speaker of the House of Representatives and several United States senators. It is likely that he foresaw for himself a career of usefulness and notoriety as a federal law-maker and national entertainer. The campaign was highly competitive, for both Barnums had advantages which appealed to large numbers of their constituents. P. T. Barnum sent his opponent a challenge to debate the issues of the day on one evening each week until election, in order that the people might be enabled to vote understandingly. He promised in his letter to conduct his part of the debate with fairness, consideration, and proper respect for his adversary. But W. H. Barnum was one of the most astute politicians in the state of Connecticut, and he apparently realized that to appear on the same platform with P. T. Barnum, the famous lecturer and entertainer, would be to practise bad psychology, for he declined the kind offer. It was rumored that votes were being bought at wholesale by the Democratic Barnum, and a loyal Republican wrote P. T. Barnum, asking if he did not intend “to fight fire with fire.” Barnum grasped the opportunity of publishing the request and his reply in the _Bridgeport Standard_ and the _New York Tribune_, two newspapers which always remained friendly to his interests and his activities. His reply is characteristic because of its sonority and righteous invective:

“Your kind letter of the 20th inst. has caused me painful emotions. I now wish to say, once for all, that under no conceivable circumstances will I permit a dollar of mine to be used to purchase a vote or to induce a voter to act contrary to his honest convictions.

“The idea that the intelligent reading men of New England can be bought like sheep in the shambles, and that the sacred principles which have so far guided them in the terrible struggle between liberty and slavery can now, in this eventful hour of national existence, be set up at auction and knocked down to the highest bidder, seems to me as preposterous as it is shameful and humiliating. But if it is possible that occasionally a degraded voter can thus be induced to ‘sell his birthright for a mess of pottage,’ God grant that I may be a thousand times defeated sooner than permit one grain of gold to be accursed by using it so basely!

“I will not believe that American citizens can lend themselves to the contemptible meanness of sapping the very life-blood of our noble institutions by encouraging a fatal precedent, which ignores all principle and would soon prevent any honest man, however distinguished for his intelligence and loyalty, from representing his district in our national councils. None could then succeed except unprincipled vagabonds, who, by the lavish expenditure of money, would debauch and degrade the freemen whose votes they coveted.

“No, sir! Grateful as I am for the distinguished honor of receiving a unanimous nomination for Congress from the loyal Union party in my district, I have no aspiration for that high position if it is only to be attained by bringing into disgrace the noble privilege of the _free elective franchise_. Think for a moment what a deadly weapon is being placed in the hands of tyrants throughout the civilized world, with which to destroy such apostles of liberty as John Bright and Garibaldi, if it can be said with truth that American citizens have become so corrupt and degraded, so lost to a just estimate of the value and true nobility of the ballot, that it is bought and sold for money.

“My dear sir, any party that can gain a temporary ascendancy by such atrocious means, not only poisons the body politic of a free and impartial government, but is also sure to bring swift destruction upon itself. And so it should be.

“I am unaccustomed to political life, and know but little of the manner of conducting a campaign like the present. I believe, however, it is customary for the State Central Committee to assess candidates, in order that they shall defray a proper portion of the expenses incurred for speakers and documents to _enlighten_ the voters upon the political issues of the day. To that extent I am willing and anxious to be taxed; for ‘light and knowledge’ are always desired by the friends of human rights and of public order.

“But I trust that all money used for any other purpose in the pending election will come from the pockets of those who now (as during the rebellion) are doing their utmost to aid traitors, and who, still unrepenting, are vindictively striving to secure at the ballot-box what their Southern allies failed to accomplish on the field of battle. If any of our friends misapprehend my true sentiments upon the subject of bribery, corruption, and fraud, I hope you will read them this letter.

“Truly yours, “P. T. BARNUM.”

And in a postscript he appended a copy of the Connecticut law of bribery in elections.

But “the intelligent reading men of New England” apparently could be bought “like sheep in the shambles,” and they poisoned “the body politic of a free and impartial government” by electing W. H. Barnum instead of P. T. Barnum. The forces of corruption, fraud, bribery, and rebellion gained a victory, possibly temporary, but still a victory. After the election some voters in Bridgeport contested the election of William H. Barnum, charging that it had been procured by bribery, the importation of voters from other states, and by the use of forged naturalization papers for foreigners. But they were not successful, and “the noble privilege of the free elective franchise” was brought into disgrace by the presence in the national councils of the Democratic candidate for more than eight years thereafter.

Possibly P. T. Barnum’s defeat was not due altogether to fraud, if any fraud was practised. There was much honest opposition to the presence of P. T. Barnum, of the American Museum, in Congress. The opposition was national as well as local. The _New York Nation_, uninspired by the heat of Connecticut factions, felt that Barnum’s place was in a museum, and some Republicans in Connecticut felt that Congress was not a museum. “A circular in opposition to the nomination of P. T. Barnum” was distributed to Connecticut voters; it was made up of excerpts from newspapers throughout the state, and these papers not only opposed showmanship in Congress, but also discussed Barnum’s moral character. The _Hartford Press_ wrote:

“The Republicans of the Fourth District have, in the nomination of Mr. P. T. Barnum for Congress, selected a man of world-wide reputation. Unfortunately his widest reputation _is not his best_. Mr. Barnum is called a ‘humbug,’ and he accepts the title, under his own definition of the term. He believes in carrying on the ‘show business’ in the humbug manner, and frankly avows his course and justifies it. _We_ cannot regard it _as he does_. We cannot agree that it is right to _paint a common dove_ and then exhibit it as a _rare and singular variety of that bird_.”

The tenor of the other comments in the circular was the same. Barnum was denounced as a candidate for Congress because he was the self-confessed Prince of Humbugs, and no other congressman had ever before admitted the charge.

It is unfortunate for the story of his life that Barnum was never admitted to Congress. His speeches, which in his own small district of Connecticut were “full of patriotism” and “spiced with humor,” would have been uncontrolled in the national assembly. In introducing General Oglesby, Governor of Illinois, at a political meeting in Bridgeport a few years after his defeat for Congress, Barnum referred to the distinguished guest as “a veritable Sucker,” an allusion to the popular nickname for early Illinois settlers, who drew their drinking water through long reeds to purify it. “This Sucker,” said Barnum, the political chairman, “of fifty-five has lately gone and married a young wife. I cannot blame him for that; if he can afford such a luxury, it is nobody’s business.”[18]

Though he would not have added dignity to the House of Representatives, Barnum’s speeches could not have been anything but distinctive, if it is permissible to judge from the few political orations he delivered during his short political career. His speeches in Congress would have amused the nation, if they did not contribute to its political philosophy, and on the strength of his originality and notoriety he might have become a senator and a candidate for President of the United States, but the sudden check to his political activities forced him to confine his talents for oratory to the show business. He was urged at one time to be the candidate for President of the United States on the Prohibition ticket, but he refused that honorary position.

Barnum asserted several times in his autobiography his reluctance to enter public life: “As I have already remarked, politics were always distasteful to me. I possess naturally too much independence of mind, and too strong a determination to do what I believe to be right, regardless of party expediency, to make a lithe and oily politician. To be called on to favor applications from office-seekers, without regard to their merits, and to do the dirty work too often demanded by political parties; to be ‘all things to all men,’ though not in the apostolic sense; to shake hands with those whom I despised, and to kiss the dirty babies of those whose votes were courted, were political requirements which I felt I could never acceptably fulfil.” But Barnum’s vanity and the feeling that he was deserving made it impossible for him to resist any distinction which was offered to him. Besides, he now had plenty of leisure which needed occupation.

During this period of his career Barnum often lectured throughout the country. In 1866 he lectured on “Success in Life” under the auspices of the Associated Western Literary Societies, touring Ohio, Pennsylvania, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, Missouri and Iowa. For this work he received one hundred dollars and his expenses for each lecture. He delivered five lectures each week at these terms from the summer of 1866 until New Year’s Day, 1867. Before this tour he had lectured in Virginia, Ohio, Kentucky, and Illinois for other organizations, and as soon as he finished the second tour he took up the work of campaigning for Congress, so that his vocal powers must have been inexhaustible. He apparently took great interest in the advance publicity of his lectures, and there is a letter from him to an agent on this subject:

“DEAR SIR,

“Yours of yesterday is recd. I am glad you are advertising so thoroughly. Much depends upon that. You will be so good as to send the notices to the Mayor and to Mr. Ainsworth. It would be very well to say in the advertisements that I have taken legal steps to prevent the publication of the Lecture.

“I think I had better leave here at 3.30 and arrive at 5.10 on Wednesday unless you think that would be too late. I shall require a table or desk about 4 feet high and a _good light_, although I shall have much to say without notes. But notes are necessary for the _statistics_.

“I enclose you the General’s autograph. There should be a one sheet bill posted early Wednesday morning--reading

GO AND HEAR BARNUM His Amusing and Instructive Experiences in the ‘Art of Money-Getting.’ TO-NIGHT

“I propose to have one or two thousand such bills printed in 2 colors so that they will be good for any place where I am to speak. I will send you say 100 of these bills on Tuesday and will write you what they cost, and you can use them or any portion of them or not as you please. They will doubtless be cheaper & more effective than you could get a single hundred for.

“Truly yours, “P. T. BARNUM.

“P. S. The _Manchester Weekly Advertiser_ says: ‘The audience _thoroughly enjoyed_ the lecture _from the beginning to the end_, and our opinion is that it was _decidedly clever_, and just what we should expect from Mr. Barnum.’

“You can do as you think proper about inserting the above in Wednesday’s advertisement--or the small bills. B.”[19]

Barnum devoted to charity the proceeds of his lectures, except those delivered on “The Art of Money-Getting” immediately after his bankruptcy. Barnum’s lectures do not read well. They were filled with homely sentiments, platitudes, and the jokes he had used so often before. Although he exhibited flashes of wit, he was not a great humorist. He would have done well to consider Josh Billings’s “Hints to Comik Lekturers”:

“No man kan be a helthy phool unless he was nussed at the brest of wisdom.

“Those who fail in the comik bizzness are them who hav bin put out to nuss, or bin fetched up on a bottle.

“If a man iz a genuine humorist he iz superior tew the bulk ov hiz aujience, and will oftentimes hav tew take hiz pay for hiz services in thinking so.”

V

The New Museum on Broadway was not so successful as the old, and Barnum joined with Van Amburgh, of Van Amburgh’s Menagerie, in an effort to form a large traveling show, consisting of Barnum’s curiosities and Van Amburgh’s animals, which would tour the country in summer and exhibit at the Museum in winter. Van Amburgh was the most popular lion tamer in the show business, and he was also a good showman: he literally made a lion lie down with a lamb in one of his cages, and he also introduced a little child to lead them.

Barnum owned forty per cent. of the stock of the new enterprise, and he lent it his valuable name as general manager, but he did not take an active part in its management. The new combined museum and menagerie was more popular than any other place of amusement in New York, and Barnum made many efforts to add to its collections. John Greenwood, formerly manager of Barnum’s American Museum, was sent abroad in the _Quaker City_, on the same voyage of the ship in which Mark Twain traveled with the Innocents Abroad, and this trip resulted in many new curiosities from the Holy Land. The following letter to a friend in London, written about the time of the partnership with Van Amburgh, will illustrate one of Barnum’s methods of collecting material:

“MUSEUM, NEW YORK, Dec. 20, ’67.

“MY DEAR LINDSAY--OR LINDLEY:

“It is so long since we have met, or communicated, I have forgotten how to _spell_ your _name_!

“I had hoped to have seen you last summer on my way to the Great Exposition, but the continued illness of my wife prevented me from going over _at all_. I am glad, however, to hear a good account from you by the Tom Thumb party--Kellogg Wells &c.

“I have a singular sort of commission for you to execute for me. It is to look at some wild animals for me to add to my Zoölogical Collection. Ordinarily I send such things to my friend Fillingham, but lately I think a circus & menagerie Co. here have enlisted him in their service, hence I wish you to make the inquiries for me _without communicating_ the same to _Fillingham_ or _anybody else_.

“I want to purchase any of the following animals at a reasonable price--Zebras, Gnu or horned horse--a small Rhinoceros--Giraffe, Hippopotamus--Polar Bear--African Wart Hogs, Lamas--Striped & spotted Hyenas, double humped Camels--Kangaroos & almost any other animals not natives of this country. I have written the Secry of the Zoölogical Gardens, Regents Park, so it is not necessary to apply there, but I want you to apply in person or by note to _Jamrack_ the great animals man in London, also to any other persons in London who trade in living Wild Animals--and also write to such parties in Liverpool or any other part of Great Britain as keep wild animals on exhibition or for sale. ☞ Don’t let them know or suspect _who_ you apply for. Let them think it is for some traveling concern in Great Britain or France, & especially don’t let _Jamrack_ suspect America, for he has an agent here and as soon as you can get lists of animals & prices please write them to me. Possibly it might pay to put an advertisement in the _Era_ for me once saying the advertiser wishes to buy the wild animals of a Zoölogical Garden or Collection, or will buy at reasonable prices wild animals of almost any description, and especially Zebra, Gnu or horned horse (here go on & name the others which I have mentioned). If you think it would also be advisable to put it once in the _Times_ or _Telegraph_ you can do so, although I don’t want to expend money on uncertainties & can hardly think it will help much to advertise, except perhaps once in _Era_--but of that I leave you to judge, only don’t do _more_ than one insertion in one or all of the papers named above. Hoping to hear from you soon & not wishing you to take steps which will incur much expense I am

“Your old friend, “P. T. BARNUM.”

Barnum planned to form the nucleus for a public zoölogical garden in New York from his menagerie, and he also planned to make his Museum collection a public institution, which would eventually be taken over by the government and opened to the public free of charge. For this purpose he persuaded President Andrew Johnson to give him a letter of instruction to consuls abroad to collect as much material as possible for Barnum’s Museum. Barnum’s scheme was indorsed by leading citizens and editors, including Horace Greeley, William Cullen Bryant, Henry Ward Beecher and Simeon Draper. General Grant donated the hat he had worn during his Civil War campaigns to Barnum’s Museum. But on March 3, 1868, the new Museum was burned to the ground.

[Illustration: BARNUM, THE VETERAN SHOWMAN

A caricature by Spy drawn from life in 1889 for “Vanity Fair,” London.

_Houdini Collection_]

[Illustration: BARNUM’S BRIDGEPORT HOME

“IRANISTAN--AN ORIENTAL VILLA”]

It was one of the coldest days of that year, and the elements combined to advertise Barnum, for the streams of water that were played upon the blazing building froze into sparkling coverings of ice, and the next morning a gorgeous spectacle was presented free of charge to thousands of New Yorkers, who stood in the cold all day to watch the lights and shades the sun made on the ice-covered ruins. The sight is noted in the annals of the time as a picture no artist could have painted.

Barnum lost much money in the fire, and Van Amburgh’s collection of lions and tigers died painfully. This time Barnum determined he would retire and devote himself entirely “to serious reflections on the ends and aims of human existence,” social pleasures, and intellectual pursuits. George Wood, proprietor of Wood’s Museum, Barnum’s most important rival, offered him three per cent. of his receipts for the right to say that Wood’s Museum was the successor to Barnum’s Museum. He thus capitalized his valuable name, and he was firmly convinced that now his public life was ended. The organization which was to make his name most famous, the circus, was not even present in the recesses of his mind.

He bought more Bridgeport real estate, planted trees, laid out streets, and continued his endeavors to improve the City of Bridgeport in spite of the strenuous opposition of those whom he characterized as “old fogies.” He himself was sixty years old at the time. “Conservatism,” Barnum said in this connection, “may be a good thing in the state, or in the church, but it is fatal to the growth of cities.” In spite of the conservatives, however, he was able to consummate his plans for Seaside Park, a lovely tract of municipal land off Long Island Sound, and to-day a bronze statue of P. T. Barnum, cast when he was an aged man, looks tranquilly with sad eyes across the wide stretch of Long Island Sound, as if he were searching tirelessly, but somewhat wearied, for new curiosities in the distance.

The health of Mrs. Barnum had been delicate for many years, and she no longer felt fit to manage “Lindencroft.” Barnum sold the house, and soon afterwards he purchased land near his beloved Seaside Park. Here he built a house, which was described by a friend and admirer as “a pleasant mélange of Gothic, Italian, and French architecture.” The new home was christened “Waldemere,” an Americanization of _Waldammeer_, “Woods-by-the-Sea.”[20] Whenever the master of the house was at home, a white silk flag with the initials “P. T. B.” in blue was hoisted on the “Waldemere” flagpole for the information of his friends and visiting admirers. Barnum also purchased for $80,000 a New York City mansion on Fifth Avenue at Thirty-ninth Street.

Thus having made elaborate provision for the comfort of his leisure, Barnum sat down to enjoy it, and soon afterwards he discovered that he had nothing to do that was enjoyable. Reading was only a pastime, writing without a special purpose tiresome, and friends were always occupied with their own business. He took up lecturing again, but he could not find in it a constant occupation. The arrival of an English friend, John Fish, who had based his success in his Manchester cotton mill on Barnum’s principles of success as laid down in the autobiography, suggested travel. Barnum showed John Fish and his young daughter, Nancy, the United States. They visited Niagara Falls, Washington, Cuba, and New Orleans, and then went to California. On this trip Barnum stopped off at Salt Lake City, where he lectured to a select audience of Mormons, including many of the wives of Brigham Young. By invitation he visited Brigham Young at the presidential mansion, known as the Bee-Hive, and he was received cordially. “Barnum,” said Brigham Young, “what will you give me to exhibit me in New York and the eastern cities?” “Well, Mr. President,” said Barnum earnestly, “I’ll give you half the receipts, which I will guarantee shall be $200,000 per year, for I consider you the best show in America.” “Why didn’t you secure me years ago when I was of no consequence?” asked Brigham Young. “Because you would not have ‘drawn’ at that time,” was Barnum’s reply.

In San Francisco Barnum discovered another valuable dwarf. He was smaller than General Tom Thumb, and handsome; his father, Gabriel Kahn, a German, asked Barnum to exhibit his son, and Barnum could not resist the temptation. He hesitated, for he had determined to retire, but the dwarf was pert in both German and English, and Barnum finally engaged him for a long term of years, christening him immediately “Admiral Dot, the Eldorado Elf.” Admiral Dot was exhibited in San Francisco for three weeks under Barnum’s management, and his levees were crowded. Then the party returned to New York. Admiral Dot was joined later by a nephew, known as Major Atom. Barnum was also financially interested in the world tour of General Tom Thumb, Mrs. Tom Thumb, Minnie Warren, and Commodore Nutt and his brother, Rodnia Nutt. He also arranged a tour for The Siamese Twins in Great Britain. Interest was aroused in this enterprise by the previous announcement that they were visiting Great Britain to consult eminent surgeons with a view to their separation. Of course, they had no intention of becoming by a stroke of the knife merely two Siamese, instead of The Siamese Twins, but the publicity was effective.

All these enterprises, however, were only silent partnerships, and Barnum was not satisfied with such comparative inactivity. His energies, unassuaged by travel and entertainment, insisted upon a wider outlet, and in 1870, when he was sixty years old, he organized the first forerunner of what was later to become the famous Barnum & Bailey circus.