chapter xxxii

of this book, in which he is mentioned as “Mr. Wilson.” When I was writing that chapter, I had no authority to append his real name to the faithful photograph of the man; but Mr. Fish gives me his consent to use it now. I need not say how pleased I was to see my friend, and how happy I was to show a representative Englishman whatever was worth seeing in the metropolis and elsewhere in the United States.

After enjoying the Christmas and New Year’s festivities in New York; taking numerous drives in our beautiful Central Park, including several sleigh-rides, which, to them, were real novelties; going the rounds of the metropolitan amusements; and “doing” the city in general and in detail, my English friends wanted to see more of the “New World,” and I was just in the humor to act as the exhibitor. In fact, I now resumed my old business of systematically organizing an extensive travelling expedition, and, almost unconsciously, became a showman of “natural curiosities” on a most magnificent scale.

We first went to Niagara Falls, going by the Hudson River and Central Railroads; and returned by way of the Erie. I saw these scenes through the eyes of my English friends, and took a special pleasure in witnessing their surprise and delight. As they extolled the beautiful Hudson, that stream looked lovelier than ever; the Catskill Mountains were higher to me than ever before; for the same reason Albany, Syracuse, and Rochester were more lively than usual; the mammoth International Hotel at Niagara Falls looked capacious enough to bag the entire islands of Great Britain; and the immense Cataract seemed large enough to drown all the inhabitants thereof. The Palace cars of the Erie Railroad astonished my friends and gave me great satisfaction. The contagion of their enthusiasm opened my eyes to marvels in spectacles which I had long dismissed as commonplace.

They wanted to go to Cuba. I had been there twice; yet I readily agreed to accompany them. We took steamer from New York in January, 1870. We had a smooth, pleasant voyage, and did not even know when we passed Cape Hatteras. In three days we had doffed all winter clothing and arrayed ourselves in white linen. Three weeks were most truly enjoyed among the novel scenes of Havana and the peculiar attractions of Mantanzas,--including a visit to the new and beautiful Cave a few miles from that city. We made a charming visit to a coffee plantation and orange orchard; another to a sugar plantation, where my English friends, as well as myself, were shocked to see the negro slaves, male and female, boys and girls, cutting and carrying the sugar cane under the lash of the mounted, booted, and spurred Spanish overseer.

But riding in our charming volantes from that plantation to the exceedingly beautiful valley of the Yumurri caused us almost to forget the sad scene we had witnessed. We all agreed as we stood on the east side of this almost celestial valley and witnessed the sun dropping behind the hill, on whose summit the royal palms were holding up their beautiful plumes, that the valley below, interspersed with its cottages and streamlets, and its rich tropical trees, shrubs and flowers, was a scene of surpassing loveliness; and I was not surprised to see the tears of joy and gratitude roll down the cheeks of the young English lady. I enjoyed the scene hugely; but as one evidence that this pleasure was derived from the enjoyment it afforded my trans-Atlantic friends, I will say that when I was in Cuba with Jenny Lind in 1851, I witnessed the same scene without emotion, so absorbed was I in business at that time. And this is a fitting opportunity for saying that in order to enjoy travelling, and indeed almost anything else, it is of the very first importance that it be done without care and with congenial companions.

We feasted upon oranges, pine apples, bananas, and other tropical fruits, and enjoyed the warm, mild days. The enjoyment was no doubt enhanced or at least better appreciated, by our reading of the freezing condition of our New York friends. The quaint buildings, and the novel manners and customs of a nation speaking a different language from our own, of course are interesting for a short time.

We went to New Orleans by steamer. We stopped a few days at the St. Charles Hotel; “did” the city; and then took passage for Memphis on a steamer which was so capacious and commodious that my English friends declared that people at “home” would scarce believe it was a steamer. A few days sail up the broad Mississippi was a real treat. The conversations which my English friend held with the Southern planters, and their manumitted slaves, caused him to somewhat change his opinions in regard to the merits of our late civil war.

From Memphis we went by rail to the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky; thence to Louisville, Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, Harrisburgh, Baltimore and Washington. A few days’ sojourn at the best hotel in the world, “The Arlington,” a visit to all the attractions in and around our national Capital including attendance at Mrs. President Grant’s levee and a talk with the President, and with numerous Senators and Members of Congress, terminated our visit. We then proceeded to Richmond; for my friend Fish had a great desire to see the Confederate Capital, and especially Libby Prison, and “Castle Thunder.” He was almost indignant when he discovered that the latter institution was a tobacco warehouse, instead of being a great castellated fortress, such as his imagination had pictured it. From Richmond we visited Baltimore and Philadelphia, and returned to New York.

In April we made up a small, congenial party of ladies and gentlemen, and visited California _via_ the Union and Central Pacific Railroads. And here let me say that this trip is one of the most delightful I ever made. The Pullman Palace Cars are so convenient and comfortable that ladies and gentlemen can make the trip to California, a distance of 3,000 miles, with no more real fatigue than they will experience in their own drawing rooms. They can dress in _dishabille_, read, lounge, write, converse, play a social game, sleep, or do what they choose, while a great portion of the route affords a constant succession of novel and delightful scenes, to be witnessed nowhere else on the face of the earth. I say emphatically, that for every person who can afford it, the trip to California is one that ought by all means to be made. Like a thing of beauty it will prove “a joy forever.”

When our party arrived at San Francisco, they all agreed in saying that if they were compelled to return home the next day, they should feel that they were well paid for their journey. In view of the strange and interesting scenes we witnessed in Salt Lake City,--a place in many respects unlike any other in the world; and in fresh remembrance of the wild, bold, rocky mountain scenery, the vast plains, the wild antelope, buffalo, and wolves, the mining districts, the curious snow sheds, and many other scenes and peculiar things brought to our notice,--I think my friends were right in their conclusions.

We took our journey leisurely. I lectured in Council Bluffs, in Omaha, and in Salt Lake City. We stopped several days in this celebrated Mormon city; and as I wished without prejudice to examine into the habits, customs, and opinions of the Mormons, we put up at the Townsend House--a very excellent hotel kept by Mr. Townsend, a New England Mormon with three or more wives. One of the principal Mormons, an Alderman and an Apostle, had visited me in New York. He devoted his time to our party for several successive days; and through his courtesy and influence we were furnished facilities for obtaining information that not one stranger in a thousand ever enjoys. We not only visited the Tabernacle and all the institutions, civil and religious, but were introduced into the families of several of the dignitaries. In turn, we were visited at our hotel by all the principal church officers. Without stopping to discuss their great error--a plurality of wives,--I must say that all of our party agreed that the Mormons of Salt Lake City were an industrious, quiet, seemingly conscientious, peaceable, God-fearing people. A serious defection has taken place in their church. The portion called the “Liberals” have renounced polygamy for the future; and this example, together with their rejection of certain theological superstitions, is giving them great influence and respect. This branch of the Mormons is growing rapidly; and I have no doubt that their influence, aided by the great influx of Gentiles caused by the Pacific Railroad, will soon serve in exterminating the plurality wife system--unless, unhappily, fanatics and fools give this system renewed strength by recklessly persecuting its devotees to martyrdom.

I lectured in the Salt Lake Theatre--a large and commodious building belonging to the Mormons. A dozen or so of Brigham Young’s wives, and scores of his children, were among the audience. As I came out of the theatre one of the Apostles introduced me to five of his wives in succession! The Mormon wives whom I visited in company of their husbands, expressed themselves pleased with their positions; but I confess I doubt their sincerity on this point. All with whom our party conversed (and some of our ladies talked with these Mormon wives in secret), expressed their solemn conviction, that polygamy was the only true domestic system sanctioned by the Almighty, although they confessed they wished it was right for a man to have but one wife.

I was introduced by her father to a girl of seventeen, named Barnum. The old man was an original Mormon. He had moved from Illinois with Brigham Young and his disciples, when they were driven out and compelled to make that wonderful and fearful journey over the plains. The daughter was born in Salt Lake City, and of course knew nothing of any other religion. I asked her laughingly if she expected to have the fifth part of a man for her husband?

“I expect I shall. I believe it is right,” she replied.

My apostolic friend took me to Brigham Young’s house early in the morning. Mr. Young had gone to Ogden to accompany some Bishops whom he was sending abroad. I left my card with his Secretary, and said I would call at four o’clock. But before noon a servant from President Young brought a message for me to call on him at one o’clock. At the hour designated I called with my friends. Brigham Young was standing in front of one of his houses--the “Bee Hive,” in which was his reception room. He received us with a smile and invited us to enter. He was very sociable, asked us many questions, and promptly answered ours. Finally he said with a chuckle:

“Barnum, what will you give to exhibit me in New York and the Eastern cities?”

“Well, Mr. President,” I replied, “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 did you not secure me some years ago when I was of no consequence?” he continued.

“Because, you would not have ‘drawn’ at that time,” I answered.

Brigham smiled and said, “I would like right well to spend a few hours with you, if you could come when I am disengaged.” I thanked him, and told him I guessed I should enjoy it; but visitors were crowding into his reception room, and we withdrew.

I subsequently met him in the street driving his favorite pair of mules attached to a nice carriage. He raised his hat and bowed, which salutation I, of course, returned. I hope that Brigham’s declining years will prompt him to receive a new “revelation,” commanding a discontinuance of the wife plurality feature of the Mormon religion.

Arriving at Sacramento, where the train stopped for half an hour, I was “interviewed” for the first time in my life by a newspaper reporter. On the same evening, in the excellent Cosmopolitan Hotel, in San Francisco, I was again “interviewed” by the chief editor of a morning paper, accompanied by his reporter. By this time I had become accustomed to this business, and when the gentlemen informed me they wanted to interview me, I asked them to be seated, pulled up an extra chair, on which to rest my feet, and said:

“Go ahead, gentlemen; I am ready.”

Well, they did “go ahead,” asking me every conceivable question, on every conceivable subject. I felt jolly and “spread myself.” The consequence was, three columns of “Barnum Interviewed” appeared next morning with a “To be continued” at the bottom; and the succeeding morning appeared three columns more. This conspicuous advertisement prepared the way for a lecture I gave in Pratt’s large hall, which was well attended.

It took us a week to “do” San Francisco, with its suburbs, including Oakland, Woodward’s celebrated and beautiful Gardens, and “Seal Rock.” When I saw that small rocky island lying only ten rods off, covered with sea lions weighing from eight hundred to two thousand pounds, the “show fever” began to rise. I offered fifty thousand dollars to have ten of the large sea lions delivered to me alive in New York, so that I could fence in a bit of the East River near Jones’ Wood, and give such an exhibition to citizens and strangers in that city. I little thought at that time that I should subsequently expend half that sum in procuring these marine monsters and transport them through the country in huge water-tanks as a small item in a mammoth travelling show.

The Chinese quarters,--where were their shops, restaurants and laundries, their Joss House, and the Chinese Theatre,--gave us a new sensation, and were quite sufficient to quench a lingering desire I had long felt to visit China and Japan. The Chinese servants and laborers are diligent, peaceable, clean, and require no watching. When I remembered how many thousands of dollars I had paid to “eye servants” for not doing what I had hired them to do, I did not feel sorry that there was a prospect of the “Celestials” extending their travels to the Eastern States.

While I was in San Francisco, a German named Gabriel Kahn brought to me his little son--literally a little one, for he is a dwarf more diminutive in stature than General Tom Thumb was when I first found him. The parents of this liliputian were anxious that I should engage and exhibit him. Several showmen had made them very liberal offers, but they had set their hearts on having “Barnum” bring him out and present him to the public.

Of course I felt the compliment, but was inclined to say “no,” as I had given up the exhibition business and was a man of leisure. But the marvelous manikin was such a handsome, well-formed, intelligent little fellow, speaking fluently both English and German, and withal was so pert and so captivating, that I was induced to engage him for a term of years and gave him the soubriquet of “Admiral Dot.” Indeed he was but a “dot”--or as the New York _Evening Post_ put it, the small boy of the “period”--at any rate, in the matter of growth, at a very early age he came to a “full stop;” though further, in the matter of punctuation, he compels an “exclamation” on the part of all who see him, and occasions numerous “interrogations.”

I dressed the little fellow in the complete uniform of an Admiral, and invited the editors of the San Francisco journals and also a number of ladies and gentlemen to the parlors of the Cosmopolitan Hotel to visit him. All were astonished and delighted. The newspapers stated as “news” the facts, and gave interesting details with regard to Barnum’s “discovery” of this wonderful curiosity who had been living so long undiscovered under their very noses. It was the old story of Charles Stratton, (Tom Thumb,) of Bridgeport, over again, with a new liliputian and a new locality.

Meanwhile, I told the parents of the Admiral that personally I should not exhibit their son till I returned to New York; but advised them to give the San Franciscans the opportunity to see him during the remaining few weeks of my stay in the Golden State. My friend Woodward, of Woodward’s Gardens, engaged the Admiral for three weeks, duly advertising the curious discovery by Barnum of this valuable “nugget,” further stating that as he would depart for the East in three weeks the only opportunity for the San Francisco public to see him was then offered at the Gardens.

Immediately there was an immense _furore_--thousands of ladies and children, as well as men, daily thronged the Gardens, saw the little wonder, and purchased his _carte de visite_. During the short period he remained there, little “Dot,” as dots are apt to do, “made his mark,” pocketed more than a thousand dollars for himself, besides drawing more than twice that sum for Mr. Woodward. Moreover, the extended and enthusiastic notices of the entire San Francisco press gave the Admiral a prestige and start which would favorably introduce him wherever he might show himself throughout the United States. Thus originated the public exhibition of one of the handsomest, most accomplished, and most diminutive dwarfs of whom there is any history, and the fame of the little Admiral already is rapidly spreading all over the world.

Speaking of dwarfs, it may be mentioned here, that notwithstanding my announced retirement from public life I still retained business connections with my old friend, the well-known General Tom Thumb. In 1869, I joined that celebrated dwarf in a fresh enterprise which proposed an exhibition tour of him and a party of twelve, with a complete outfit, including a pair of ponies and a carriage, entirely around the world.

This party was made up of General Tom Thumb and his wife (formerly Lavinia Warren), Commodore Nutt and his brother Rodnia, Miss Minnie Warren, Mr. Sylvester Bleeker and his wife, and Mr. B. S. Kellogg, besides an advertising agent and musicians. Mr. Bleeker was the manager, and Mr. Kellogg acted as treasurer. In the Fall of 1869, this little company went by the Union Pacific Railway to San Francisco, stopping on the way to give exhibitions at Omaha, Denver, Salt Lake City, and other places on the route, with great success. In San Francisco Pratt’s Hall, which the company occupied, was crowded day and evening for several weeks. Every one went to see them. The exhibition was profusely hand-billed and posted in Chinese as well as in English, and crowds of Celestials went to see the smallest specimens of “Mellicans” known in that region, for Admiral Dot living in San Francisco had not then been “discovered” by Barnum.

After a prolonged and most profitable series of exhibitions in San Francisco, the company visited several leading towns in California and then started for Australia. On the way they stopped at the Sandwich Islands and exhibited in Honolulu. From there they went to Japan, exhibiting in Yeddo, Yokohama and other principle places, and afterwards at Canton and elsewhere in China. They next made the entire tour of Australia, drawing immense houses at Sydney, Melbourne, and in other towns, but they did not go to New Zealand. They then proceeded to the East Indies, giving exhibitions in the larger towns and cities, receiving marked attentions from Rajahs and other distinguished personages. Afterwards they went by the way of the Suez Canal to Egypt, and gave their entertainments at Cairo; and thence to Italy, exhibiting at all available points, and arrived in Great Britain in the summer of 1871. Notwithstanding the enormous expenses attending the transportation of this company around the world, it was one of the few instances of profitably “swinging round the circle.” The enterprise was a pecuniary success, and, of course, the opportunity for sight-seeing enjoyed by the little General and his party was fully appreciated. They travelled to see as well as to be seen. Fortunately they all preserved the best of health and met with no accident during the extended tour. My name did not publicly appear in connection with this enterprise--the exhibition was conducted under the auspices of “Thumb,” but I had a large “finger in the pie.” Mr. Sylvester Bleeker, the manager, wrote me from Dublin, December 6, 1871, a letter from which I extract the following:

“If any person will perform the feat of travelling with such a company 48,946 miles, (29,900 miles by sea,) give 1,284 entertainments in 407 different cities and towns, in all climates of the world, without losing a single day, or missing a single performance through illness or accident, let him show his vouchers and I will give him the belt.”

While I am about it, I may as well confess my connection, _sub rosa_, with another little speculation during my three years’ “leisure.” I hired the well-known Siamese Twins, the giantess, Anna Swan, and a Circassian lady, and, in connection with Judge Ingalls, I sent them to Great Britain where, in all the principal places, and for about a year, their levees were continually crowded. In all probability the great success attending this enterprise was much enhanced, if not actually caused by extensive announcements in advance, that the main purpose of Chang-Eng’s visit to Europe was to consult the most eminent medical and surgical talent with regard to the safety of separating the twins.

Eminent surgeons in London and in Edinburgh examined these physiological phenomena and generally coincided in the declaration that their lives would be jeopardized and probably be forfeited if surgery should separate them. Of course, the “Reports” of these examinations were duly and officially made in all the leading medical and surgical journals, as well as the reports of lectures delivered by surgeons who had given their personal attention to the case of the twins, and these accounts in English and American journals were also translated and were widely circulated throughout Europe.

As “this establishment did not advertise in the New York _Herald_,” I was not a little amused to see several columns of editorial matter in that sheet published a few weeks before the Siamese Twins sailed for Europe, giving elaborate scientific reasons why no attempt to separate them should be made. I quite coincided with my quondam friend Bennett in his conclusions, as a proof of which I may state that I purchased and mailed marked copies of his editorial to all the leading newspapers and magazines abroad, in most of which the matter was republished, thereby affording the best of advertising and greatly increasing the receipts of the Twin treasury for many months.

But to return to my California trip. We visited “the Geysers,” and when we witnessed the bold mountain scenery through which we passed to get there, and then saw and heard the puffing, steaming, burning, bubbling acres of hot springs emitting liquids of a dozen different minerals, and of as many different colors, we said, “This would pay for coming all the way from New York, if we saw nothing else,”--and it would.

In returning from the Geysers to Calistoga we fell into the hands of the celebrated stage driver, Foss. He had been “laying” for me several days, and had said he would “give Barnum a specimen of stage driving that would astonish him.” He did it! Foss is by far the greatest stage driver of modern times. The way he handles the reins seems marvellous; and although he dashes his six-horse team, under full gallop, down the most precipitous mountain roads, making one’s hair continually to stand on end, his horses are as docile as lambs, and they know every tone of Foss’ voice and obey accordingly. I suppose that this New Hampshire Jehu is, after all, as safe a driver as ever held the ribbons.

Calistoga lies chiefly on made ground. Dig down five feet and you find water wherein an egg will boil hard in five minutes. A Japanese tea plantation is started here with prospects of success.

We devoted a fortnight to visiting the great Yo Semite Valley. We went by way of Mariposa where we saw the Mariposa grove of “big trees,” whence I sent to New York a piece of bark thirty-one inches thick! That bark was taken from a tree 102 feet in circumference, over three hundred feet high, and according to its annual layers, 837 years old. The Yo Semite has been so often and so well described that I shall not attempt a new description. Suffice it to say it is one of those great and real things in nature that goes in reality far beyond any previous conception. From the moment I got a bird’s eye view of this wonderful valley from “Inspiration Point,” until a week afterwards, when we mounted our horses to emerge from it, I could not help oft repeating, “Wonderful, wonderful, sublime, indescribable, incomprehensible; I never before saw anything so truly and appallingly grand; it pays me a hundred times over for visiting California.”

On returning to Stockton, I lectured for a Methodist church pursuant to agreement made to that effect when I left for the Yo Semite twelve days before.

On our return home we stopped at Cheyenne and took the Branch Railroad to Denver, Colorado, afterwards going fifty miles by stage to the mines at Georgetown, Golden City, Central City, and other notable places.

Returning from Denver, we stopped at the truly wonderful town of Greeley, where when we left home in April not ten persons resided, but where was now settled the “Union Colony.” This company then numbered six hundred. Greeley is now a city, two years old, containing thousands of inhabitants and increasing at a rate totally unexampled. There is no community of interests here except in such public works as the irrigating canals and the school-houses. Each inhabitant owns whatever lands and buildings he or she pays for; and real estate and other property rises in value according to the increase in the number of inhabitants. Here are millions of acres of rich valley land, which needed only the irrigation that the Cache de Poudre River is giving through the canals of the Union Colony. This model town of Greeley will ever have peace and prosperity within its borders; for no title can inhere to any land or building where intoxicating drinks are permitted to be sold. It is a “city of refuge” from the curse of strong drink; and to it for generations to come will whole families congregate as their paradise guarded by flaming swords of sobriety and order where they can live rationally, happily, and prosperously.

From Greeley we returned to New York, and my family removed to our Summer quarters in Bridgeport the last of June. Here we were visited by numerous noble friends. The late Alice Cary spent several weeks with us at Waldemere, and although her health was feeble she enjoyed the cool breezes as well as the fine drives, clam-bakes, etc., for which Bridgeport is specially renowned. Indeed, my own house was the last which this good and gifted lady ever entered except her own in New York, to which I accompanied her from Bridgeport. Her sister Phœbe, who so quickly followed Alice to the other world, was also my guest at Waldemere.

But the restless spirit of an energetic man of leisure prompted me again to travel. I went with friends to Montreal, Quebec, the Saginaw River, and the regions round about. Returning by way of Saratoga Springs, my English friends again had occasion to open their eyes at the large Union Hotel, and Congress Hall, where fifteen hundred persons dine at one time, and two thousand lodge under a single roof without crowding.

“Well, this is a big country, and you Americans do everything on a big scale, that’s a fact,” was the expression for the thousandth time of my Anglo-Saxon companions.

In September, I made up a party of ten, including my English friend, and we started for Kansas on a grand buffalo hunt. General Custar, commandant at Fort Hayes, was apprized in advance of our anticipated visit, and he received us like princes. He fitted out a company of fifty cavalry, furnishing us with horses, arms and ammunition. We were taken to an immense herd of buffaloes, quietly browsing on the open plain. We charged on them, and during an exciting chase of a couple of hours, we slew twenty immense bull buffaloes. We might have killed as many more had we not considered it wanton butchery.

My friend George A. Wells, of Bridgeport, who is a great hunter, was one of the party, and although he had slain two buffaloes, and had lost himself on the prairie, not only to his own dismay, but to the great terror for four mortal hours of all his companions, he was by no means satisfied. He wanted to camp out and hunt buffaloes for several days longer. Another Bridgeport huntsman, Mr. James Wilson, was of the same mind. But when the question was put to vote, my English friend, John Fish, who had made himself sore by hard riding; Mr. Charles B. Hotchkiss, a Bridgeport bank president, who was quite content with killing one buffalo; my right bower, David W. Sherwood, who with a single shot dropped an immense bull (as indeed he now and then has done with no other weapon than his tongue); David M. Read, a Bridgeport merchant; another Bridgeporter, Theodore W. Downs--each credited with one or two carcases on the field; and I who had brought down two and had half killed another buffalo,--all voted that we had done enough and were in favor of returning home. Whereupon Wells indignantly exclaimed:

“I was invited out here for a hunt, but you have made it a race.”

But every man had killed his buffalo, some had killed two, and we were satisfied. We had plenty of buffalo and antelope meat, and on the whole our ten days’ sport afforded another “sensation,”--a feeling so necessary to one in my state. But “sensations” cannot be made to order every day. I am, therefore, taught by an experience of three years’ “retirement” from business, that it is better to be moderately engaged in some legitimate occupation so long as health and energy permit. If a man is regularly in “harness,” though he may do but a small portion of the drawing, he will at least so far occupy his mind as not to need spasmodic excitements.

Hence, although my worldly possessions--trivial indeed in comparison with the wealth of some of America’s millionaires--were yet as ample as I cared to acquire, nevertheless from the very necessity of my active nature, in the Autumn of 1870 I began to prepare a great show enterprise, requiring five hundred men and horses to transport and conduct it through the country. Selecting as manager of this gigantic enterprise Mr. William C. Coup, whom I had favorably known for some years as a capital showman and a man of good judgment, integrity, and excellent executive ability, we spent several weeks in blocking out and perfecting our course of action. As one project after another, involving the outlay of thousands upon thousands of dollars, was laid before Manager Coup, he began to open his eyes pretty widely, and before we had been three weeks in consultation, he exclaimed:

“Why, Mr. Barnum, such a show as you are projecting after a while would ruin the richest man in America, for the expenses would double the receipts every day!”

I begged Mr. Coup not to be alarmed, reminding him that I was not wholly inexperienced in the show business, and that, in any event, I was to “foot the bills.” It is true that the enormous expense of this vast scheme involved a greater risk than any showman had ever before dared to assume. My main object in setting on foot this great travelling exhibition was to open a safety valve for my pent up energies, and I felt far more anxious to put before the public a grand and triumphant show than I did to add a penny to my competence.

When my plans were made public, the proprietors of the travelling shows throughout the country, with scarcely an exception, declared that my exhibition necessarily must prove a failure, for, they said, “No travelling show in the world ever took in one-half so much money per day as Barnum’s daily expenses will be.” I knew that this was nearly true; but in reply to their ill-omened prognostications, I only said: “Well, but you see, no show that has travelled ever drew out one-half of the people; I expect to attract all of them.” I confess I felt that my reputation for always giving my patrons more than their money’s worth, and also for scrupulously excluding from my exhibitions everything objectionable to the refined and moral, would inevitably draw out large numbers of people who are not in the habit of attending ordinary travelling shows. With these views, I had confidence in my undertaking from the start, and I expended money like water in order fully to carry out my intentions and desires.

Previous business arrangements prevented my opening, at the first, in New York; but I did the next best thing by going to the next best place for the benefit and convenience of my numerous New York friends and patrons, and opened in Brooklyn April 10, 1871. At the outset the exhibition was truly a mammoth one. It embraced a museum, menagerie, caravan and hippodrome--all first-class and unsurpassed in previous shows--and Dan. Costello’s celebrated circus was added. It was an exhibition absolutely colossal, exhaustive, and bewilderingly various as the most liberal expenditure and years of experience could possibly make it. My motto through life has been: “Get the best, regardless of expense.” My aim was to combine in the several shows more startling and entirely novel wonders of creation than were ever before seen in one collection anywhere in the world, and to furnish my patrons with wholesome instruction and innocent amusement, without the taint of anything that should seem immoral or exceptionable. In all this I fully succeeded, and I declare with pride that this grand combination has proved to be the crowning success of my managerial life.

My canvas covered about three acres of ground, and would hold nearly ten thousand people, yet from the start in Brooklyn, and throughout the entire Summer tour, it was of daily occurrence that from one thousand to three thousand people were turned away. After an extraordinarily successful week in Brooklyn, I visited all the leading places in the immediate vicinity; then the principal towns in Connecticut; next through Rhode Island to Boston. How the great combination was received and appreciated in “the Athens of America” is well set forth in the following extracts from a two-column article in the Boston _Journal_:

The arrival in Boston last Monday of Barnum’s new enterprise, comprising a museum, menagerie, caravan and hippodrome, to which is gratuitously added Dan. Costello’s mammoth circus, has produced a sensation in this city never before equalled by any amusement enterprise known to New England. We have had our anniversaries, reviews, parades, the Odd Fellows, and to-day shall have Fisk’s famous “Ninth.” But after all, nothing seems to equal or eclipse the great Barnum and his immense amusement enterprise, which is the theme of universal comment and observation here, as elsewhere. “Have you seen Barnum?” is the question that is heard in the streets, counting houses, stores and shops, the public being as anxious to see the veteran Show King as they are to visit his big show. We confess that Barnum is a curiosity, and always has been for the last thirty years, during which time he has figured prominently before the American people, until the fame of him is as familiar to both worlds as household words. Verily, who has not heard of P. T. Barnum and the famous American Museum? We don’t mean that as a specimen of the _genus homo_ Barnum is very different from other specimens who have gained notoriety and success; but simply as an embodiment of the very best representative type of a shrewd, enterprising, wide awake American, who has achieved an immense success in his specialty as the greatest amusement caterer of the nineteenth century. Through two disastrous conflagrations his immense museum collection in New York, however, the accumulations of half a century, were in a single day almost entirely swept out of existence. This was a serious loss to the public, as it was to Mr. Barnum, although he is said to have taken it as coolly and imperturbably as the apple woman round the corner would the loss of a Roxbury russet. Already advancing in years, and thinking, no doubt, he had served the public long enough, Mr. Barnum concluded, after the loss of his museum, to retire permanently from the show business, and, taking Horace Greeley’s advice, go a fishing or seek the shades of a more quiet and private life for the balance of his days. A man, however, like P. T. Barnum, who has spent a whole life amid scenes of bustle and excitement, with a constant tension of muscle and brain, catering for the ever recurring demands of a curious public, naturally fond of amusements, especially the marvellous and sensational, is rarely satisfied to withdraw suddenly, like the tortoise, within his own shell, and let the outside world “wag” without taking an active interest in passing events. Thus Mr. Barnum’s retirement, although surrounded by every luxury that money could furnish, became the veriest prison to every element, nervous, physical and intellectual, of his being, and it is no wonder, under these circumstances, that he became absolutely “restive under rest.” His ambition, like ancient “Utica,” he felt to be too much “pent up,” and as “volcanoes bellow ere they disembogue,” so “smoke betrays the wild consuming fire.” Like Dan. Costello’s famous gymnasts his vaulting ambition has fairly o’erleapt itself, for by a single bound he comes before the public in a new role, having on his hands an “elephant” more ponderous and expensive to manage than the famous quadruped that used to be seen “plowing” on his Bridgeport farm, not for agricultural purposes exactly, but as a “rocket thrown up to attract public attention to my Broadway American Museum.” About a year ago Mr. Barnum, desirous to do good in his day and generation, instituted and put on wheels his present mammoth enterprise, at a cost of nearly three-quarters of a million dollars, which has met with a success unparalleled in the annals of the show business. This success is so sudden and complete as to astonish everybody, and none more so than professionals themselves. Knowing the interest the public feels in all that pertains to P. T. Barnum, and especially his “last great effort,” (Barnum himself calls it his last great “splurge,” which we readily grant in deference to his known modesty,) we sent one of our reporters to interview the whole affair, and as his injunctions were imperative to “stick to facts” (_fiat justitia ruat codum_), our readers will be able to judge of the big show as it appeared. One thing is very evident. Since starting from New York, Barnum’s show has been patronized by the largest concourse of people ever known in New England. His transit across the country has been like “Sherman’s March to the Sea,” while his entertainments have been visited by the great masses, including eminent clergymen and their families, and the most respectable of all persuasions--in fact, by everybody, “without reference to race, color, or previous condition,” etc. Barnum’s great procession, which made its first appearance in the streets last Monday, is one of the grandest and most magnificent pageants of the kind that ever appeared in Boston. The great cortege is varied and almost interminable in length. The cages, chariots, carriages and vans--no two being painted or finished alike--are of unique workmanship, elaborate design and gorgeously painted and gilded. The mottoes inscribed on the cages are peculiarly curt and Barnamish. The massively carved chariot, called the Temple of Juno, which, in construction, is somewhat telescopic, that is, lets up and down to the extent of thirty feet or more, by means of machinery, is of solid carved work, gilt all over with the precious metals and studded profusely with plated mirrors, which give to the tableau a truly gorgeous and magnificent effect. Upon an elevated seat, just beneath a rich and unique oriental canopy of the most elaborate finish, sits, in perfect nonchalance, the representative Queen, surrounded by gods and goddesses in mythological costume, giving a striking picture of an oriental pageant, as seen in the days of the Roman Emperors. This gorgeous car, built in London expressly for Barnum, is forty feet high, and is rendered picturesque in effect by the team of elephants, camels and dromedaries which lead or escort the van. The entire procession is the longest and most varied ever witnessed here, and consisted of about seventy cages, wagons and chariots, and 250 horses. But let us follow this grand street demonstration to the grounds selected for the great exposition, for we are a little anxious to know what becomes of so many horses, wagons, housings, traps and paraphernalia in general. The lot on which the three colossal tents are pitched presents a really novel and interesting sight. From two to three acres of land are required for all the purposes of exhibition, hotel caravansary, ecurie, horse tents, etc. Immediately after returning from the pageant the cages containing the living wild animals, and all the museum curiosities, are driven under the spacious tents and arranged in regular order, those containing the animals being arranged in the caravan and menagerie, while the others are classified in the museum department. The horses are detached from the cages, dens and chariots by experienced grooms and immediately removed to eight long rows of horse tents, which are located in a separate lot, containing about thirty horses each, these being principally draft and baggage horses, as the ring stock is conveyed to hotel and livery stables. Of the 245 people connected with this varied show, two-thirds were employed in getting their breakfast. The establishment is equipped with portable stoves and accomplished cooks. The meals are served in large tents, and in this way all the attaches but the artists are fed. Everything connected with the enterprise is first class--a fact which strikes one, turn which way he will. Not only is everything done for the comfort and convenience of the people engaged with it, but the same thoughtfulness is manifested in behalf of the horses, whether used for draught purposes, or as accessories to the arenic performances. The tents in which the horses are kept are large, and ample room is assigned each animal. In fact they are complete stables with patent mangers and all the modern stable appointments. The best rye straw is used for bedding, and never were horses better provided with the little notions which certainly contribute to their comfort, and which are probably in exact accordance with a horse’s idea of good living. A veterinary surgeon is regularly employed, and the health of the horses is, we have reason to believe, much closer looked after than the health of many people is by their family physician. The wagons used for the conveyance of baggage when the company is moving are converted into sleeping rooms at night, by letting down shelves, which, when equipped with bedding and blankets form very comfortable berths. Each wagon accommodates twelve persons. Another feature worthy of notice is the manner in which the baggage is carried. If each person carried a “Saratoga,” of course it would require some fifty wagons to carry the trunks. To obviate this difficulty, the clothing and other personal effects of the employees are kept in one large wagon. The possessions of each one are numbered. This wagon is in charge of a clerk, who has reduced his business to a science, and with the same skill that a photographer picks out your old “negative” from among a thousand others, when you order an additional dozen _cartes de visite_, this gentleman can produce the article called for at a moment’s notice. Having satisfied ourselves that Barnum’s numerous employees know how to groom their stock, as well as how to “keep a hotel,” we will now take our readers with us to the great show, the doors of which are by this time opened (of course they must buy their own tickets, for the management are not in the habit of “papering” their house rather than play to empty benches), and we shall see whether Phineas has kept faith with the public, for we have a glimmering recollection that he promised not long ago to make this last great effort the “crowning success of his managerial life,” which we are of course bound to believe, although we have also a sort of inquisitive penchant to “look for the proofs.” Already the masses of curious sight-seers are occupying every foot of available ground, the three ticket wagons being literally besieged, from which the necessary cards of admission are being rapidly distributed at fifty cents per head for adults, children half price, and very soon the three colossal tents are full to overflowing with anxious spectators. The first impression that one receives on entering is that of bewilderment, such is the magnitude, extent, variety and uniqueness of the combination. Here in almost endless variety we see gathered together from all parts of the earth a miniature representation of the wonder world, that nobody but Barnum would ever have thought of securing for a travelling exhibition.

Then follows in the same article a detailed account of the leading attractions, which want of space precludes me from copying. The notice concludes as follows:

With all these unique and bewildering attractions our faith has been wonderfully increased, and we shall no longer doubt why it is that P. T. Barnum is the happiest and most successful show proprietor that ever came before the American public, and no man more than he deserves, as he is constantly receiving, their unstinted and unprecedented patronage. The great show is now on its triumphant tour through Northern New England, and will no doubt be visited by myriads everywhere, as it has been here and elsewhere.

From Boston my exhibition went through New Hampshire and into Maine as far as Waterville. Why the show did not go to towns beyond in the State is fully and amusingly explained in the following, which appeared in the New York _Tribune_, August 19, 1871:

BARNUM’S MENAGERIE AND CIRCUS.

One of the greatest successes ever achieved in the annals of the sawdust ring has been accomplished the present season by P. T. Barnum’s Museum, Menagerie and Circus. From the inception of the enterprise success has crowned its efforts. Mr. Barnum’s name in itself has been a tower of strength, and to his direction and general control its success is due. There are few men that have the courage to invest nearly $500,000 in so precarious a business, and to run it at a daily expense of nearly $2,500. But Mr. Barnum had faith that the public would respond liberally to his appeal. One great secret of his success has been ever to give the public a great deal for their money, and to fix the prices of admission at popular rates. But we doubt if he expected so great a success as has recently, in the State of Maine, been showered upon him. It is worthy of being recorded as equal to Jenny Lind’s triumphal American tour. It had originally been the intention to make a tour with the great show as far east as Bangor, Me., and it was so announced, but subsequently they found that there were many bridges over which it was impossible for the large chariots to pass, and that the show would be obliged to make stands at several small towns en route which could not possibly pay the running expenses even if every inhabitant attended, consequently it was decided that Lewiston, Me., should be the terminus of their eastern tour. The following letter, dated Winthrop, Me., July 30, from a correspondent, will best convey the idea of the great interest and enthusiasm there manifested by the people:

“The business in Maine has been immense, contrary to the predictions of showmen generally. Since entering the State, except at Brunswick, where it rained hard all day, they have been compelled to show three times daily to accommodate the vast crowds that flocked from every direction. While exhibiting at Gardiner and Augusta persons came all the way from Bangor. When they reached Waterville, a scene occurred which has never been equaled in this or any other country. The village was crowded with people who had come from the surrounding country, many of them travelling a distance of seventy-five miles, and all the morning crowds were pouring in from all points of the compass in carriages, wagons, ox-carts, and on foot. Near the circus tents, in an adjoining field, were several large tents pitched, which had served to shelter the people the previous night who had come long distances and encamped there. The authorities of the village had taken the precaution to stop the sale of all spiritous liquors during that day, and had caused barrels of water and plenty of ice to be placed at the street corners, for the free use of all. Carts were provided at the expense of the village to constantly replenish the barrels. The early morning performance was commenced and it was found that they could not accommodate a tithe part of their patrons, and ere its close an excursion train of twenty-seven cars, crowded in every part, came in from Bangor, closely followed by another of seventeen cars from Belfast. Seeing this vast accession to the already large numbers of visitors, the manager was somewhat puzzled how to accommodate them. Finally, it was decided to give a continuous exhibition, giving an act in the circus department every few moments. This style of performance was kept up without cessation until nine o’clock in the evening, when a heavy shower of rain falling, afforded the manager an excuse to close the exhibitions. The men and horses were completely exhausted, and their next drive being forty-eight miles to Lewiston, where they were to exhibit three times, they shipped all the ring horses by railroad, to give them an opportunity for much needed rest. On driving out of Augusta, on July 29, they narrowly escaped an accident similar to the one which happened in New Jersey. One of the passenger wagons, with twelve passengers and having four horses attached, had driven down a steep hill, when suddenly they came upon a locomotive crossing the road immediately in front of them. The driver, with great presence of mind, suddenly pulled the horses to the right, making an abrupt turn, which overturned the wagon, breaking the arm of Mr. Summerfield, one of the business men, bruising several others, and injuring somewhat severely Josephe, the French giant, who was compelled to remain behind the show for a couple of days.”

From Maine we went across Vermont, exhibiting in the more important places, to Albany and Troy. At Albany it was impossible to secure a suitable locality for the exhibition short of a distance of two miles from the city; yet here distance seemed literally to “lend enchantment to the view,” for every exhibition was thronged, and here as everywhere, thousands were turned away who were unable to find room.

Our route from Albany was along the line of the New York Central Railroad to Buffalo, and back by the Erie Railway to the Hudson River, exhibiting nearly everywhere, and after exhibitions at Catskill, Poughkeepsie and Newburg, returning to New York. Our tour through the country was more than a carnival--it was a perfect ovation; and best of all, the public and the press, with one accord, pronounced the exhibition even better and greater than I had advertised.

At the close of the travelling season I desired to exhibit my great show to my New York patrons, and to return again to the metropolis where, in days gone by, the children, the parents, and the grandparents of the present generation have flocked in millions to my museum. Accordingly I secured the Empire Rink immediately after the close of the American Institute Fair, and opened in that building November 13, 1871. At least ten thousand people were present, and in response to an enthusiastic welcoming call, I made a few remarks, the report of which I copy from the next morning’s New York _World_:

“A popular Eastern poet has said the noblest art a human being can acquire is the power of giving happiness to others. I sincerely hope this is true, for my highest ambition during the last thirty years has been to make the public happy. When I introduced the Swedish nightingale, Jenny Lind, to the American public in 1851, a thrill of pleasure was felt throughout the land by our most refined and intellectual citizens, as well as by every lover of melody in the humblest walks of life. As a museum proprietor for nearly thirty years I catered successfully to the pleasures of many millions of persons. Nor have my efforts been confined to this continent. As a public exhibitor I have appeared before kings, queens and emperors in the Old World, and have given gratification to many millions of their devoted subjects. Fifty years ago some moralists taught that it was wicked to laugh, but all divines of the present day have abandoned that untenable and austere position, and now almost universally agree that laughter is not only conducive to health, but very proper and to be encouraged, for, as the bard of Avon justly says: ‘With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.’ In fact, Mr. Beecher permits laughing in his church, holding that it is as right to laugh as to cry. It has been said that I have caused more people to laugh than any other man on this continent. Ten years ago one of our first families in Fifth avenue were conversing regarding the duties, responsibilities, and trials of this life. Their little daughter of seven was present. The father remarked that it was a pretty hard world to live in--full of struggles, labors, toils and disappointments. The mother added that there was much poverty and suffering in the world, etc., but the little girl chirped in, ‘Well, I think it is a beautiful and pleasant world. I have my dear mamma and papa, and my good grandma there, besides I have Barnum’s Museum to go to, and surely I don’t want a happier world than this.’ My great object has been to elevate the standard of amusements, to render them instructive as well as amusing, to divest them of all vulgar and immoral tendencies, and to make all my exhibitions worthy the patronage of the best and most respectable families. Finally, my great desire has been to give my patrons ten times the worth of their money, and in this my last crowning effort to overshadow and totally eclipse all other exhibitions in the world.”

And the metropolitan press, people and patronage combined, only repeated with more emphasis, the universal testimony of the country as to the extent and merits of this great show. Want of space permits me to copy only two or three of the favorable articles which appeared from day to day during the entire exhibition in the columns of the New York press. The following is from the Baptist _Union_:

RARE CURIOSITIES.

Mr. P. T. Barnum has organized at the Empire Rink a very large exhibition, combining a Museum, Menagarie, International Zoölogical Garden, Polytechnic Institute and Hippodrome. Having examined the various departments of this vast combination, we do not hesitate to recommend our friends to go with their families to visit it, and they will enjoy a treat seldom offered in a lifetime. The department of natural history is especially excellent and interesting, and embraces the largest and rarest collection of wild animals ever exhibited together in this or probably in any other country. Everything connected with the entertainments admirably harmonizes with the good taste and respectability which give to all of Mr. Barnum’s enterprises a refinement and morality which commend them to the most scrupulous. The great Hippodrome Pageant, in which appear so many elephants, camels, dromedaries, horses and ponies, with men, women and children in costumes representing the Arabs and Bedouins of the desert, Roman knights, heralds, warriors, kings, princes and bashaws of the olden time, is truly interesting and grand, and is worth going a long distance to see.

That popular religious journal, the New York _Christian Leader_, edited by the Rev. G. H. Emerson, speaks as follows:

A GOOD SERMON FOR SHOWMEN.

The success which everywhere attends Barnum’s great show ought to be evidence to the managers who furnish amusement to the public that profanity and indecency of speech and gesture--all of which Mr. Barnum excludes by promptly and indignantly discharging the offender--are not of the nature of supply meeting a popular demand. If a man is coarse and vulgar himself, he usually has manhood enough left not to take his wife and children where coarseness and vulgarity are sure to be witnessed. Mr. Barnum’s combination is now doing for canvas what his Jenny Lind enterprise did for public halls. Its patrons are not individuals, but communities. For example, the factories of Paterson, N. J., were compelled to suspend, the operative population having left, _en masse_ for the show. But this swimming and unsurpassed success would come to a full stop in one day if profanity and indecency, instead of being rigorously forbidden, were encouraged. The community at large respects decency. The show, bewildering, various and mammoth beyond a precedent, is now on its way through New England, in one sense, like “Sherman’s march to the sea,” and a patronage never before anticipated is organized in advance. It is big, and, better still, it is clean--clean to the eye and to the moral sense.

“Nym Crinkle,” the Dramatic Critic of the New York _World_, wrote a very entertaining column about the show for that journal, and “Trinculo” copied it in full in the “Amusements Gossip” of the New York _Leader_. The following is extracted from the article:

BARNUM’S UNIVERSAL SHOW.

Barnum, who long ago beat all creation, is now exhibiting his spoils at the Rink. Animated nature and animated art make a stunning combination, especially when the combination is all in

## active operation, as it generally is about two o clock in the

afternoon and eight o’clock in the evening. Then one can enjoy the howls of the animals, the rush and scurry of the arena, the rattlebang of the band, and the delight of ten thousand people, without stopping to discriminate. It is something for the veteran showman to say he has been able to stir the metropolis with his caravan as other and less indifferent villages are stirred by smaller shows. The combination, as shows are rated, is really an extraordinary one, and when it arrives at an average Western city it doubles the population for them, contributing of its own multitudinous teamsters, tricksters, and stirrers-up about three hundred people, with as many more ravening beasts thrown in.

The first living curiosity that one meets at the Rink is Barnum himself uncaged. He still holds to the notion that it is worth fifty cents to look at him, and one dollar to read his life; and as nearly everybody has looked at him and read his life, we presume the rest of the world agrees with him. Still it is curious to observe how the healthy and hearty world, thronging to see the monkeys and the mermaids, mingle awe with their admiration of the greatest curiosity of all. They are subdued by a sense of the showman’s power. They skirt carefully round the edges of his greatness, so as not to attract too much of his attention, for who could tell at what moment, if he so chose, he would exhibit them. We say the healthy and hearty world, for of course the unhealthy and deformed world, which we all know was made to be exhibited, throngs as of old in supplicating procession after him. Three-legged women and four-legged men, and double-headed children may be seen at all hours congregating on the Third avenue in the vicinity of the Rink, seeking audience of the great showman. Indeed, the observant traveller on this great thoroughfare will know, hours before he gets to the Rink, that he is approaching Barnum, by the strange monstrosities, woolly horses, Albino children, and living skeletons that will be observed wending their way from all parts of the world to the great show in hope of getting engagements. Of course, all this adds to the excitement and interest of the eager multitude. But the animals and curiosities inside constitute the real attraction to the public; and a very fine collection of animals it is. The eight or ten royal Abyssinian and Babylonian lions roar less like sucking doves than any that have had their jaws stretched among us since Van Amburgh’s time. As for the rhinoceros, he deserves especial attention, because, as the card on his cage informs us, he is the unicorn of Scripture. But he doesn’t look a bit like the agile fellow that fought for the crown on his hind legs, (ah, he was an artist,) for he eats too much hay, and nothing can be more absurd and contrary to the revolutionary character of the unicorn dear to heraldry than this iron-clad monster eating hay with the demureness of a cow. Still there is danger in his cage, the keeper informs us, and he ought to know, for he probably lived there at some time with him in order to find him out. And he further assures us that the reason Mr. Barnum employs him to take care of the beast is that he is an old sailor, nobody else being able to go round his horn. Time, however would not suffice to relate the wonders of the yak and guayga and the wart hog, none of which are popular pets, nor to tell of the infinite variety of the feline tribe, from _felis leo_ himself to the tiniest cougar. This collection of animals makes what is called the Zoölogical Garden, a distinct apartment of the show. There is a collection of camels--about forty--and several elephants, eating peanuts with singularly disproportioned taste, at the east end, and here, we observe, is the menagerie. The camels, each with his hump tastefully covered with a camel’s hair shawl, wait with meek patience for the ring-master to call them, and they all slide out on their cushioned feet like dusty spectres. It would be well to visit the collection of wild animals after this, and then inspect the exhibition of animated nature, reserving the caravan till the last. But the conscientious visitor has the hippodrome, the hippotheatron, the circus, the arena and the ring to inspect, and unless he hurries up, he will not get through in time. We have found it in our experience that the best plan is to cut the arena, the hippodrome, and the hippotheatron, and stick to the circus. The circus will be found worthy of the carefulest study. It will be found to have a largeness that is new, and certainly it would be difficult to find more performers or have them do more. The Rink, thanks to Barnum, is a popular resort. We forget how many miles of promenade there are through the zoölogical department of the menagerie, but we know that thousands of people may be seen there of a pleasant afternoon, adding a biological interest to the zoölogical exhibit that is well worth noting.

The following is from the New York _Daily Standard_ of Dec. 28, 1871:

UNBOUNDED ENTERPRISE.

Mr. P. T. Barnum is the only man in the show-business who thoroughly comprehends the demands of the public, and is willing to satisfy them at any expenditure of time and means. His projects are conceived on a gigantic scale, very far in advance of the conservatism so characteristic of even liberal managers. His expensive expeditions to Labrador, some years ago, to capture white whales for the American Museum, and another expedition to South Africa, in 1859, which secured the first and only living hippopotamus ever seen on this continent, involved an outlay sufficient to organize and completely furnish a first-class show. A third even more hazardous expedition was sent to the North Pacific to capture seals, sea lions, and other marine monsters, which were transported thousands of miles in immense water tanks. These are but a few in many instances of that large and comprehensive liberality that distinguishes all of Mr. Barnum’s enterprises, and is the source of his managerial triumphs and the foundation of his financial success. Obstacles, that to others seem insurmountable, only spur him on to greater effort. No article of real novelty or merit which will enhance the attractions of his exhibitions is suffered to escape for lack of energy, or for want of liberal expenditure of money. It is this spirit that has enabled Mr. Barnum to combine in one exhibition the most complete and colossal collection of animate and inanimate curiosities ever assembled in the world.

In the spring of 1871, when the great show was about to enter upon its first campaign, complete as it seemed to the manager and to other experts, Mr. Barnum thought a most valuable feature might be added. He telegraphed to the whaling ports of New England, and sent messages to San Francisco and Alaska, to know if a group of sea lions and other specimens of the phocine tribe could be secured. Finally, through his agents in San Francisco, he organized an expedition to Alaska. By the first of July, several fine specimens of seals and sea lions, some of the latter weighing more than 1,000 pounds each, were brought in tanks over the Union Pacific Railway, were safely landed at Bridgeport, and, thereafter, were forwarded to the show, then on its travels through New England. As these delicate animals are likely to die, arrangements have been made to keep good the supply, and December 16, 1871, Mr. Barnum received a telegram from San Francisco that six more sea lions had just arrived at that port for him. Two of these will be sent, by arrangement, to the Zoölogical Gardens, in Regent’s Park, London, and the rest, with several seals captured in the same expedition, will be added to Barnum’s show next spring.

Mr. Barnum’s active and enterprising agents are in Europe, Asia, Africa, South America, and elsewhere in the world, wherever anything rare and valuable--bird, beast, reptile, or other animate or inanimate curiosity--can be secured, which will add to the interest of the exhibition. In the menagerie, and the hippodrome also, experts are constantly engaged in training elephants, camels, performing horses, and other animals, and are thus preparing new and attractive features, some of which will be as novel to the show profession as they will be new and attractive to the public.

I might fill hundreds of pages with the notices of the New York papers during the protracted exhibition at the Empire Rink. Every day, almost, the journals had something new to say about the show, from the simple fact that nearly every day the addition of some new animal or attraction, or fresh features in the ring performances compelled new notices. The exhibition continued with unabated success and patronage till after the holidays, when necessary preparations for the spring campaign, including the repainting of all the wagons, compelled me to close.

I must make mention merely of two genuine curiosities from California--the one a section of one of the big trees, and the other a bright young Digger Indian, who was my guide through the Yosemite Valley. I little thought when I saw the big trees that I should soon secure for exhibition in New York a gigantic section of one of them, with the bark, which, set up as it enclosed the tree, enclosed, on one occasion, at the Empire Rink, two hundred children from the Howard Mission. The Digger was equally a curiosity in his way. One day when the baboon escaped from his cage, and defied all the efforts of the keepers to capture him, my Digger Indian lassooed him, and brought him down with a run and a rope in less than no time. His services in, and with, this “line” on other occasions were more memorable.

I cannot close this additional narrative without warning my readers, and the public generally, that the enormous success of my great combination has stimulated unscrupulous smaller showmen to feeble imitations, which, in some instances, are, and are intended to be, downright frauds upon the public. Nearly every circus and menagerie in the country has lately added what is called a “museum,” and in some cases they have employed a man named, or supposed to be named, Barnum, intending to advertise under the title of “Barnum’s Show,” thereby deceiving and swindling the public. The trick is very transparent, and can be successful, if at all, only in very rural regions, where the newspapers fail to penetrate. The so-called “Museums” may embrace a stuffed animal or two, and a small show of wax-works. Indeed, some of these minor managers have bought cast-off curiosities from me, and cheap rubbish from old museums, with which to set up the “new features” in their circuses or menageries. The whole public knows that there is but one P. T. Barnum, and but one show in the country of sufficient importance to bear his name. I trust to my name and my long-worked-for and well-earned reputation to insure the public against imposition from the attempts of my imitators, who are as unprincipled as they will be unsuccessful in their efforts to defraud me and to delude the public.

CONCLUSION.

In sending these last pages to the printer in March, 1872, I may say that my manager, Mr. Coup, his assistants, and myself, have been busy ever since New Year’s in reorganizing our great travelling show, building new wagons and cages, and painting, gilding and repairing the others. One of the great carved, mirrored and gilded chariots, from England, used by me in 1871, is a grand affair, made telescopic, and when extended to its full height reaches an altitude of forty feet, on the top of which, in our street processions, we place a young lady, costumed to personate the Goddess of Liberty. The re-gilding of this one vehicle preparatory to opening our spring campaign cost about five thousand dollars--enough to build a nice house in the country. The wintering of my horses and wild animals, salaries of employees and expense of fitting up properly for the next season, cost over $50,000. During the winter my agents abroad have shipped me many interesting and expensive curiosities. Indeed, ship after ship has brought me so many rare animals and works of art that I have sometimes been puzzled to find places to store them.

Two beautiful Giraffes, or Camelopards, were despatched to me, but one died on the Atlantic, making three of these tender and valuable animals that I have lost within a year. The only one on this continent at this present writing is mine. He is a beauty. I own another, which is now in the Royal Zoölogical Gardens, Regent’s Park, London, ready to be shipped at any moment should I unfortunately be obliged to send a message by the Atlantic Cable announcing the death of my present pet.

[Illustration]

Other managers gave up trying to import Giraffes several years ago, owing to the great cost and care attending them. No Giraffe has ever lived two years in America. These very impediments, however, incited me to always have a living Giraffe on hand, at whatever cost--for, of course, their scarcity enhances their attraction and value as curiosities. I hear that my example has stimulated the manager of a small show to try and obtain a Giraffe. I am educating the public curiosity and taste to demand so much that is rare and valuable, that many managers will soon give up the show business, as several have this spring, while others must be more liberal and enterprising if they succeed.

Hitherto many small showmen who could raise cash and credit to the amount of $20,000, would get half a dozen cages of cheap animals, two or three fourth-rate circus riders, a few acrobats or tumblers, a clown, and three or four broken down “ring horses;” then buying some ready printed dashy show-bills _mis_-representing their show, they would announce a great menagerie and circus, and perhaps clear the cost of their show the first season; for there are some persons who are bound to go to “the show” whatever may be its merits. But the public are generally getting sick of this same old story, and as my Broadway American Museum years ago served to reform or extinguish “one horse shows,” so I trust that the immensity of my travelling show will serve to elevate and extend public expectations and improve public exhibitions.

[Illustration]

Several immense Sea Lions and Barking Seals have also been captured by my agents at Alaska and are added to the “innumerable caravan.” Some of these marine monsters weigh a thousand pounds each, and each consumes from sixty to a hundred pounds of fish per day. It is very curious to see them floundering in and out of the immense water tanks in which I transport them through the country. Their tremendous roar may often be heard the distance of a mile.

Among my equestrian novelties is an Italian Goat taught in Europe to ride on horseback, leap through hoops and over banners, alighting on his feet on the back of the horse while at full speed. I named him “Alexis” in honor of the Russian Prince. He appeared at Niblo’s Garden, New York, in February, and created much enthusiasm.

Numerous artists in different parts of Europe have been engaged all winter in making for my show extraordinary Musical and other Automatons and Moving Tableaux, so marvelous in their construction as to seem enchanted or to be possessed of life.

But perhaps the most rare and curious addition to my great show, and certainly the most difficult to obtain, is a company of four wild FIJI CANNIBALS! I have tried in vain for years to secure specimens of these “man-eaters.” At last the opportunity came. Three of these Cannibals having fallen into the hands of their Royal enemy, who was about to execute, and perhaps to eat them, the missionaries and my agent prevailed upon the copper-colored king to accept a large sum in gold on condition of his majesty’s granting them a reprieve and leave of absence to America for three years, my agent also leaving a large sum with the American Consul to be forfeited if they were not returned within the time stipulated. Accompanying them is a half-civilized Cannibal woman, converted and educated by the Methodist missionaries. She reads fluently and very pleasantly from the Bible printed in the Fijian language, and she already exerts a powerful moral influence over these savages. They take a lively interest in hearing her read the history of our Saviour. They earnestly declare their convictions that eating human flesh is wrong, and faithfully promise never again to attempt it. They are intelligent and docile. Their characteristic war dances and rude marches, as well as their representations of Cannibal manners and customs, are peculiarly interesting and instructive. It is perhaps needless to add that the bonds for their return will be forfeited. They are already learning to speak and read our language, and I hope soon to put them in the way of being converted to Christianity, even if by so doing the title of “Missionary” be added to the many already given me by the public.

[Illustration]

The following happy hit is from the pen of Rev. HENRY WARD BEECHER as it appeared in that excellent paper of which he is editor, the N. Y. _Christian Union_ of Feb. 28th, 1872:

“Should not a paternal government set some limit to the enterprise of Brother Barnum; with reference, at least, to the considerations of public safety? Here, upon our desk, lies an indication of his last perilous venture. He invites us “and one friend”--no conditions as to “condition” specified--to a private exhibition of _four living cannibals_, which he has obtained from the Fiji Islands, for his travelling show. We have beaten up, in this office, among the lean and tough, and those most easily spared in an emergency, for volunteers to visit the Anthropophagi, and report; but never has the retiring and self-distrustful disposition of our employees been more signally displayed. This establishment was not represented at that exposition. If Barnum had remembered to specify the “Feeding-time,” we might have dropped in, in a friendly way, at some other period of the day.”

I may add that at the above exhibition several editors brought their daughters. These blooming young ladies refused to sit on the front seat, in the fear of being eaten; but I remarked that there was more danger of some of the young gentlemen swallowing them alive, than there was from the cannibals. The belles subsided and were safe.

And now comes a joke so huge and ludicrous that I laugh over it daily, although there is a serious aspect to it. Every shipment of curiosities that has arrived from abroad this winter has served to put my worthy Manager Coup in great agony.

“I tell you, Mr. Barnum, you are getting this show too big,” has been repeated by my perplexed manager a hundred times since New Year’s.

“Never mind,” I reply, “we ought to have a _big_ show--the public expect it, and will appreciate it.”

“So here must go six thousand dollars more for a Giraffe wagon and the horses to draw it,” says Coup, “and this makes more than seventy additional horses that your importations since last fall have rendered necessary.”

“Well, friend Coup, we have the _only_ Giraffe in America,” I replied.

“Yes, sir, that is all very well, but no country can support such an expensive show as you are putting on the road.”

And that is poor Coup’s doleful complaint continually.

But now comes a more serious side, and here is where the joke comes in. I had wintered about five hundred horses, and was preparing to add at least another hundred to my retinue. I induced my son-in-law, Mr. S. H. Hurd, to sell out his business, take stock in the show, and become its treasurer and assistant manager. Hurd is clear-headed, but he moves cautiously, and “looks before he leaps.” On a cold, clear morning in February, 1872, Mr. Coup, Mr. Hurd, and several of our leading assistants and counsellors called at my house. Their countenances were solemn, not to say lugubrious; their jaws seemed firmly set, and altogether I discovered something ominous in their appearance. I saw that there was solid business ahead, but I said with a smile:

“Gentlemen, I am right glad to see you. I confess you don’t look very jolly, but never mind, unbosom yourselves, and tell me what is up.”

Manager Coup opened the ball.

“I am very sorry to say, Mr. Barnum,” said that honest, good-hearted manager, “that our business here is important and serious. Although we, of course, like to bow to your decisions, and are ready to acknowledge that your experience is greater than ours, we have had a long and serious consultation this morning, and have unanimously concluded that your show is more than twice too large to succeed; that you will lose nearly four hundred thousand dollars if you try to drag it all through the country, and that your only chance of success is to sell off more than half of your curiosities and horses and wagons, or else divide them into three, or certainly two distinct shows.”

“Is this a _mutiny_, gentlemen?” I asked, with a feeling and countenance far from solemn.

“By no means a mutiny, father,” said Hurd, “but really it is a very serious affair. We have been making a careful and close calculation.” Here he drew from his pocket a sheet of paper covered with figures, and read from it: “The expenses of your exhibitions, including nearly a thousand men and horses, the printing, board, salaries, &c., will average more than $4,000 per day. But call it $4,000. You show thirty weeks--180 days. Thus your expenses for the tenting season, besides wear and tear and general depreciation, will be at least $720,000. This is about twice as much as any show ever took in one season, except your own, last year. This is the year of the presidential election, which, on account of political excitement and mass meetings, always injures travelling shows. We have carefully looked over the towns which you will be able to touch this summer, not going west of Ohio, for you cannot get beyond that State in a single season, and we compute your receipts at not over $350,000, which would leave you a loser of $370,000.”

“Are you not a little mistaken in some of your estimates?” I asked.

“Mr. Barnum, figures never lie,” exclaimed Mr. Coup, with great earnestness, and, pulling a pocket-map from his breast pocket, he opened it, and I saw that he was set down for the next spokesman.

“Our teams cannot travel with heavy loads more than an average of twenty miles per day,” continued Coup; “now please follow the lines marked on this map, and you will find that we are compelled to make seventy-one stands where there are not people enough within five miles to give us an average of $1,000 per day. That will involve a loss of $213,000, and, I tell you, that taking accidents, storms, and other risks, the season will be ruinous if you don’t reduce the show more than one-half.”

“Coup,” I replied, “did not thousands of people come fifty, sixty, a hundred miles last year, by railroad excursions, to see my show?”

He confessed that they did.

“Well,” I replied, “if you have lost faith in the discernment of the public, I have not, and I propose to prove it.” Then, laughing heartily, I added:

“Gentlemen, I thank you for your advice; but I won’t reduce the show a single hair or feather; on the contrary, I will add five or six hundred dollars per day to my expenses!”

My assembled “cabinet” rolled their eyes in astonishment.

“Father, are you crazy?” asked Hurd, with a look of despair.

“Not much,” I replied.

“Now,” I continued, “I see the show is too big to drag from village to village by horse power, and I have long suspected it would be, and have laid my plans accordingly. I will immediately telegraph to all the principal railroad centres between here and Omaha, Nebraska, and within five days I will tell you what it will cost to transport my whole show, taking leaps of a hundred miles or more in a single night when necessary, so as to hit good-sized towns every day in the season. If I can do this with sixty or seventy freight cars, six passenger cars and three engines, within such a figure as I think it ought to be done for, I will do it.”

The “cabinet” adjourned for five days, and it was worth something to see how astonished, and apparently pleased, the various members looked as they withdrew.

At the appointed time all met again. The railroad telegrams were generally favorable, and we, then and there, resolved to transport the entire Museum, Menagerie and Hippodrome, all of the coming season, by rail, enlisting a power which, if expended on traversing common wagon roads, would be equivalent to _two thousand men and horses_.

If life and health are spared me till another spring, I will report the result of thus setting on foot a mighty “army with banners.” But if it is wisely appointed that some other hand shall record it, I confidently trust that the American public will bear witness that I found great pleasure in contributing to their rational enjoyment.

P T B

APPENDIX II.

WRITTEN UP TO FEBRUARY, 1873.

A REMARKABLE CAMPAIGN.

RECORD OF EVENTS--IMMENSE BUSINESS--RETROGRADING NOT MY NATURE--TREASURER’S REPORT--SURPRISED AT LAST--EXCITEMENT IN THE RURAL DISTRICTS--CAMPING OUT--“SEEING BARNUM”--AN “INCIDENT OF TRAVEL”--DOWN THE BANK--A TERRIBLE NIGHT--A TEMPERANCE CREW--CLOSE OF THE TENTING SEASON--WESTWARD HO!--FREE LECTURES--WALDEMERE--A FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLAR DOOR-YARD--VISIT OF HORACE GREELEY--TRIP TO COLORADO--MY NEW ENTERPRISE--FOURTEENTH STREET HIPPODROME--GRAND OPENING--A BRILLIANT AUDIENCE--DEPARTURE FOR THE SOUTH--NEW ORLEANS IN WINTER--NEWS OF THE CONFLAGRATION--“BUSINESS BEFORE PLEASURE”--EN ROUTE FOR HOME--SPEECH AT THE ACADEMY--SEASON OF 1873--CONCLUSION.

Readers of the preceding pages will expect in this Appendix a brief resumé of events relating to my Great Travelling World’s Fair for the season of 1872. Connected as I have been with so many gigantic undertakings, and the subject of so many and varied experiences, it can hardly be thought strange if I have taught myself not to be surprised at anything in the way of business results. The idea of attempting to transport by rail any company or combination requiring sixty-five cars--to be moved daily from point to point--was an experiment of such magnitude that railroad companies could not supply my demands, and I was compelled to purchase and own all the cars. Up to this time in life, my record is clear for never retrograding after once embarking in any undertaking, and I did not propose to establish a contrary precedent at this late day, so, at the appointed time, the great combination moved westward by rail: The result is known. It visited the States of New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, Pennsylvania, District of Columbia, Virginia, Ohio, Indiana, Kentucky, Illinois, Missouri, Kansas, Iowa, Minnesota, Wisconsin and Michigan. In order to exhibit only in large towns, it was frequently necessary to travel one hundred miles in a single night, arriving in season to give three exhibitions and the usual street pageant at 8 o’clock A.M. By means of cheap excursion trains, thousands of strangers attended daily from along the lines of the various railroads, for a distance of fifty, seventy-five and even a hundred miles. Other thousands came in wagons, on horse-back and by every means of conveyance that could be pressed into service, until by 10 o’clock--the hour for the morning exhibition--the streets, sidewalks and stores were filled with strangers. It was universally conceded that the money invested by these country customers, who took this opportunity to visit the town and make purchases, exceeded by many thousands of dollars the amount I took away. Indeed, my own expenditures at each point where we exhibited, averaged one-half my gross receipts.

Some idea of the excitement throughout the country, may be formed from the fact that, upon arriving at daylight, we usually found wagon loads of rural strangers--men, women and children--who had come in during the night, and “pitched camp.” They had arrived at a most unseasonable hour for pleasure, but this nocturnal experience was no barrier when they had the ultimatum of “seeing Barnum.” Notwithstanding our transportation was necessarily done at night, under all the disadvantages of darkness and usually by three trains, it is gratifying to look back upon the great railroad campaign of 1872 as entirely free from serious accident. A few minor casualties occurred. At 1 o’clock on the morning of June 8, several of our cars and cages were precipitated down an embankment at Erie, Penn., by the gross carelessness of a switchman, and the utter recklessness of two locomotive engineers. The accident resulted in no loss of life, but the crushed cages, the roaring of the animals, the general excitement, coupled with the fact that the night was one of Egyptian darkness, all combined to form an “incident of travel” long to be remembered. It is also a source of satisfaction to record that nothing like riotous conduct, quarreling or disturbing elements of any nature have annoyed us during the tenting season. I attribute this to one fact, _viz._, that my employees are _teetotalers_ and of gentlemanly behavior; that they fully appreciate the wisdom of my forty years’ motto--“WE STUDY TO PLEASE”--and consequently make every effort to preserve decorum, and make visitors as happy as possible during the few hours they are with us.

With wonderful unanimity the public and the press acknowledged that I exhibited much more than I advertised, and that no combination of exhibitions that ever travelled had shown a tithe of the instructive and amusing novelties that I had gathered together. This universal commendation is, to me, the most gratifying feature of the campaign, for not being compelled to do business merely for the sake of profit, my highest enjoyment is to delight my patrons. The entire six months’ receipts of the Great Travelling World’s Fair exceeded one million dollars. The expenses of 156 days were nearly $5,000 per day, making about $780,000, besides the interest on a million dollars capital, and the wear and tear of the whole establishment. Although these daily expenses were more than double the receipts of any other show ever organized in any country, the financial result surprised every one, and even I, who had anticipated so much, was a little “set back” when my treasurer made his final report. It will be remembered that it was the year of a heated presidential campaign, when factional strife and political ambition might be expected to monopolize public attention to the serious detriment of amusements generally. I think I may with truth say that no other man in America would have dared to assume such risk. All well known showmen agree that without _my name_, which is recognized as the synonym of “OLD RELIABLE--always giving my patrons thrice the worth of their money,” the enormous outlay I incurred would have swamped any other proprietor of this vast collection of novelties, requiring the services of 1,000 men and 300 horses. The tenting season proper, closed at Detroit October 30th, when we were patronized by the largest concourse of people ever assembled in the State of Michigan.

During this season of unparalleled prosperity, I made it my custom to be present at all large cities and prominent points, and superintend in person the gigantic combination. Frequently I was invited by leaders in the temperance cause or by the “Young Men’s Christian Associations” to lecture on temperance, which invitation I accepted when in my power, but always upon conditions that the lecture should be free and open to all. As a matter of fact I may be permitted to say that upon these occasions more people were turned away than gained admission, but whether these crowds were attracted by an interest in the temperance cause, or from a desire to get a glimpse of the old showman, I have never been fully satisfied. My manager and assistants insist that the latter is true, and that my free lectures, especially in the large cities, result to my pecuniary disadvantage, as fully satisfying many who otherwise would patronize the exhibition to gratify their curiosity. However, as our immense pavilions are always crowded, I can see no real cause for complaint. At my stage of life I confess to a deeper interest in the noble cause of temperance than I ever had in the largest audience ever assembled under canvas. If but one-half the people who have signed the pledge at these lectures keep it through life, I shall feel that my labors in this direction will not have been devoid of valuable and beneficent results.

Early in the presidential canvass I published a general invitation offering the free use of my immense Hippodrome pavilion to either of the great political parties, for holding mass meetings. No building in the West would accommodate the masses seeking admission upon these occasions, and “open air” gatherings were at a discount, even with enthusiastic politicians. My immense circus canvas had a seating capacity of 12,000, and was proof against ordinary storms. My offer gave the free use of this immense tent between the hours of 4 and 6 P.M. The invitation was accepted in some instances where the exhibition and the political gathering were billed for the same day.

When not with the company I spent most of my time at my ideal home--Waldemere. To me who have travelled so far and seen so much, and whose life seems destined to be an eventful one, this delightful summer retreat is invested with new charms at each successive visit. The beautiful groves seem still more beautiful, the foliage more green, the entire scenery more picturesque and the broad expanse of water--with the Long Island shore visible in the mazy background--sparkles in the sunlight with additional brilliancy. Possibly my affection for Waldemere is due in some degree to the fact that I can here look upon thriving shade trees and spacious drives of my own creation, and that wherever art has beautified nature, it has but utilized plans and carried out suggestions of my own. In 1871 I attached to Waldemere a new building for a library. Its architecture was so beautiful and unlike the main edifice that after expending $10,000 on it, I was obliged to lay out $30,000 on the house to make it “correspond!” It was the old story of the man’s new sofa over again. When the building was enlarged, the lawn on the east side appeared too narrow, so I purchased a slip of land (seven acres) on that side for $50,000. The land is worth it for building lots at present prices, but I could not help half agreeing with a neighboring farmer who said, “well, that Barnum is the queerest man I ever saw. He’s gone and spent $50,000 for a little potato patch to put on his door-yard.” The past season my summer home was made still more attractive by the frequent presence of distinguished personal friends, whom I took delight in entertaining. Their sojourn I endeavored to make agreeable, and in after years their recollections of Waldemere will, I trust, be pleasing reminiscences of a quiet visit and unfeigned hospitality. In August I received a visit from my esteemed friend, the late Horace Greeley. Mine was one of the few private residences he visited during the campaign, and the last, I think, which he sought for relaxation or pleasure. I have every reason to believe that he spoke the true sentiment of his heart when he assured me of his enjoyment while at my house, and never did a careworn journalist, and him too the very central figure of a heated political campaign, stand more in need of repose and perfect freedom from mental excitement than did Mr. Greeley at this time. I arranged an old-fashioned clam bake, at which were present congenial spirits from home and abroad. Mr. Greeley laid aside all restraint. He mingled freely with the guests, and his native genial humor and ready wit contributed greatly to the enjoyment. The keenest observer could have detected nothing like care or anxiety upon his countenance, and the stranger would have pointed him out as a quiet farmer enjoying a day at the sea-side.

Although not much of a politician I have my political preferences. Mr. Greeley was my life-long personal friend. I gave him my support. Once I ventured my opinion that his election was doubtful. He replied that a more important result than his election would be, that, running upon so liberal a platform as that adopted at Cincinnati, would compel all

## parties to recognize a higher standard regarding public justice and the

rights of others. “My chief concern,” he added, “is to do nothing in this canvass that I shall look back upon with an unapproving conscience.”

In October I visited Colorado accompanied by my English friend John Fish, and a Bridgeport gentleman who has an interest with me in a stock-raising ranche in the southern part of that Territory. We took the Kansas Pacific Railroad to Denver, seeing many thousands of wild buffalo--our train sometimes being stopped to let them pass. The weather was delightful. We spent several days in the new and flourishing town of Greeley. I gave a temperance lecture there; also at Denver. At the latter city, in the course of my remarks, I told them I never saw so many disappointed people as at Denver. The large audience looked surprised, but were relieved when I added, “half the inhabitants came invalids from the East, expecting to die, and they find they cannot do it. Your charming climate will not permit it!” And it is a fact. I am charmed with Colorado, the scenery and delightful air, and particularly would I recommend as a place of residence to those who can afford it, the lively, thriving city of Denver. To those who have their fortunes yet to make, I say “go to Greeley.”

We took the narrow gauge road from Denver to Pueblo, stopping at Colorado Springs and the “Garden of the gods.” The novel scenery here amply paid us for our visit. From Pueblo I proceeded forty miles by carriage to our cattle ranche, and spent a couple of days there very pleasantly. We have several thousand head of cattle there, which thrive through the winter without hay or fodder of any kind.

At the close in Detroit of the great Western railroad tour, I equipped and started South a Museum, Menagerie and Circus, which, while it made no perceptible diminution in the main body, was still the largest and most complete travelling expedition ever seen in the Southern States. Louisville was designated as the rendezvous and point of consolidation of the various departments, and the new expedition gave its initial exhibition in the Falls City, November 4th. Much of the menagerie consisted of animals of which I owned the duplicate, and hence could easily spare them without injuring the variety in my zoölogical collection. I was aware also that many of the rare specimens would thrive better in a warmer climate, and as the expense of procuring them had been enormous, I coupled my humanitarian feelings with my pecuniary interests and sent them South.

And now in this routine of events for 1872, I record one important project with mingled feelings of pleasure and pain. In August I purchased of Mr. L. B. Lent the building and lease in Fourteenth street, New York, known as the Hippotheatron. One purpose was to open a Museum, Menagerie and Hippodrome that would give employment to two hundred of my people who otherwise would be idle during the winter. Another and main object was to take the inaugural steps toward the foundation of a permanent establishment, where the higher order of arenic entertainments could be witnessed under all the advantages of a thoroughly equipped, refined and moral dramatic entertainment. My project combined not only a circus, but a museum of the world’s wonders and a menagerie that should equal in extent and variety the great zoölogical collection of London. I realized the importance of an establishment in New York where old and young could seek innocent amusement, and where Christian parents could take their children and feel that the exhibition contributed not only to their enjoyment but to their instruction. The press generally had kindly acknowledged the success of my efforts in bringing the modern arena up to its proper standard among the fashionable amusements of the day. By divesting the ring of all objectionable features, and securing the highest talent of both hemispheres, my circus had become popularized among the better classes, for whose good opinion it has ever been my fortune to cater. At an expense of $60,000 I enlarged and remodeled the building, so as to admit my valuable collection of animals, museum of life-size automatons, and living curiosities. The entire edifice was so thoroughly built over as to leave but little to remind the visitor of the original structure. The amphitheatre had a seating capacity of 2,800. It consisted of parquette and balcony, each completely encircling the ring, and the former luxuriously fitted up with cushioned arm-chairs and sofa seats. The grand opening took place Monday evening, November 18th. In theatrical parlance, the house was crowded from “pit to dome.” The leading citizens of the metropolis were present, many of whom on that occasion patronized an equestrian entertainment for the first time. Viewed from the center of the ring, the vast amphitheatre presented a scene of bewildering beauty. The dazzling lights, the delightful music of the orchestra, the gorgeous surroundings, and the brilliant audience--filling the numerous circles of seats which rose one above another to the most remote outskirts of the building--all formed a picture so unlike anything ever before seen in New York, as to bring out detailed and eulogistic editorials from the press of the following morning. Being recognized among the audience, I was called into the ring, when I briefly thanked my friends for their generous appreciation. From this date the establishment was open daily from 11 A.M. to 10 P.M., with hippodrome performances afternoon and evening.

On December 16th, four weeks after the inauguration of the new Fourteenth street building, I started for New Orleans, to visit my southern show. I found the Crescent City luxuriating in its usual winter rains, and paddling through its regular rations of mud and slush--happy in its very dreariness. The contentment of the native population of New Orleans reaches the sublime. The average citizen accepts rain and its kindred elements as special attractions indigenous to that climate; and unless the levee breaks and the turbulent Mississippi overflows the city, they see no occasion to murmur. During the brief intervals of sunshine I rode through the principal streets, met several old acquaintances, and renewed friendships formed many years ago. Changes I found, it is true, but they are changes resulting from nature rather than from human hands. The ravages of time and natural decay seem to offset all the thrift of which New Orleans can boast. No Northerner--no matter how frequent his visits--fulfills his destiny until he drives to the suburbs and plucks his fill of oranges. Upon the occasion of my visit political dissensions monopolized public attention. What with the continual skirmishing between the municipal, State and general governments, the city was in a most disagreeable turmoil; and one retired at night quite uncertain as to what administration would be in power in the morning. Once I had occasion to inquire for the governor’s address, and my companion innocently asked, “Which one?” Compared to the civic and military imbroglio in New Orleans in December, the political situation of Mexico was one of placid serenity.

It was while quietly seated at the breakfast table, at the St. Louis Hotel, in the Crescent City, on Tuesday, December 24th, that the waiter handed me a telegram. I had been reading in the morning papers of the flooding of my show grounds on Canal street, and of the change of location my manager had been forced to make. These annoyances had prepared me when I read the despatch to fully appreciate Longfellow’s words,

“So disasters come not singly.”

It was as follows:

NEW YORK, Dec. 24.

_To_ P. T. BARNUM, _New Orleans_:

About 4 A.M. fire discovered in boiler-room of circus building; everything destroyed except 2 elephants, 1 camel.

S. H. HURD, Treasurer.

Calling for pen, ink and paper, I then and there cabled my European agents to send duplicates of all animals lost, with positive instructions to have everything shipped in season to reach New York by the middle of March. They were further directed to procure at any cost specimens never seen in America, and through sub-agents to purchase and forward curiosities--animate and inanimate--from all parts of the globe. Cable dispatches were also sent to the celebrated inventors and manufacturers of automatons, in Paris, to lose no time in making and purchasing everything new and wonderful in the way of mechanical effects. This feature of my great exhibition had proved so attractive that I determined at once not only to duplicate it, but to enlarge this department to double its original size. I then dispatched the following to my son-in-law:

NEW ORLEANS, Dec. 24.

_To_ S. H. HURD, _New York_:

Tell editors I have cabled European agents to expend half million dollars for extra attractions; will have new and more attractive travelling show than ever early in April.

P. T. BARNUM.

These details attended to, I could see no further occasion for delaying breakfast and taking a calm view of the situation.

The total destruction of this beautiful building and its valuable contents, was an item of news for which I was ill prepared, and the extent of which calamity I could scarcely comprehend. I could realize in a measure a vast conflagration, with its excitement and contingent incidents, but I could not think without a shudder of the terrible sufferings of one hundred wild beasts, in their frantic, howling efforts to escape the flames. For a moment I was disposed to censure my agents and employees for permitting such a wholesale destruction of these poor animals. Then I remembered the reliable men I employed, and could not but feel assured that everything in their power had been done. The four beautiful giraffes--the only ones in the United States, and which alone cost $80,000--were lost in the general sacrifice. I learned afterwards that every effort was made to rescue them, but the poor innocent pets were utterly paralyzed with fear, and could not be made to move, even after the lattice inclosure had been torn away. Had they escaped the burning building, the terrible cold night would doubtless have killed them before they could have been sheltered from the weather. No pecuniary compensation could satisfy me for the loss of these and many other rare animals.

Returning to New York I learned that my loss on building and property amounted to the neighborhood of $300,000. To meet this I held insurance polices to the amount of $90,000. My equestrian company, in which I took great pride, and which I had hoped to give employment during the winter, was of course left idle until the opening of the summer season. The members lost their entire wardrobe, a loss of which can only be appreciated by professionals. I was pleased to see a disposition manifested to render them some assistance, and encouraged it so far as lay in my power. A benefit was arranged under the auspices of the Equestrian Benevolent Association of the United States. The order has for its object the relief of unfortunate members, and, as in the present case, its broad mantle of charity includes worthy professionals not members of the Association. The affair came off at the Academy of Music, Tuesday, January 7, 1873, afternoon and evening. Many stars in the Equestrian, Dramatic and Musical firmament volunteered for the occasion, and the two entertainments were largely attended. Being called upon to “define my position,” I stepped upon the stage and made a few off-hand remarks, which were reported in the morning papers as follows:

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: I have catered for so many years for the amusement of the public, that the beneficiaries on this occasion seem to have thought that the showman himself ought to be a part of the show; and, at their request, I come before you. I sincerely thank you, in their behalf, for your patronage on this occasion. How much they need your substantial sympathy, the ashes across the street can tell you more eloquently than human tongue could utter. Those ashes are the remnants of “all the worldly goods” of some who appeal to you to-day.

For myself, I have been burned out so often, I am like the singer who was hissed on the stage; “Hiss away,” said he, “I am used to it.” My pecuniary loss is very serious, and occurring as it did, just before the holidays, it is all the more disastrous.

It may perhaps gratify my friends to know, however, that I am still enabled to invest another half million of dollars without disturbing my bank account. The public will have amusements, and they ought to be those of an elevating and an unobjectionable character. For many years it has been my pleasure to provide a class of instructive and amusing entertainments, to which a refined Christian mother can take her children with satisfaction.

I believe that no other man in America possesses the desire and facilities which I have in this direction. I have, therefore, taken steps, through all my agents in Europe and this country, which will enable me to put upon the road, early in April, the most gigantic and complete travelling museum, menagerie and hippodrome ever organized.

It has been asked whether I will build up a large museum and menagerie in New York. Well, I am now nearly sixty-three years of age. I can buy plenty of building sites and get plenty of leased lots for a new museum; but I cannot get a new lease of life.

Younger members of my family desire me to erect in this city an establishment worthy of New York and of myself. It will be no small undertaking; for if I erect such an establishment, it will possess novel and costly features never before attempted. I have it under consideration, and within a month shall determine whether or not I shall make another attempt; of one thing, however, you may be assured, ladies and gentlemen, although conflagrations may, for the present, disconcert my plans, yet while I have life and health no fire can burn nor water quench my ambition to gratify my patrons at whatever cost of money or of effort. I shall never lend my name where my labors and heart do not go with it, and the public shall never fail to find at any of my exhibitions their money’s worth ten times told.

The following paragraph from the New York _Tribune_ of January 16, 1873, will give an inkling of what I am about, as I send these last pages to press:

BARNUM AND THE AUTOMATON TALKER.

Mr. Phineas T. Barnum, the genial showman, contributes a good deal to our amusement, and all New Yorkers have a kindly side for him. Here is _The Philadelphia Press’s_ account of his latest achievement:

“Early yesterday morning Prof. Faber received a call, at the Girard House, from the renowned showman, P. T. Barnum, who is now on a visit to Philadelphia in pursuit of wonders for his great travelling show. Within two hours Prof. Faber had given notice to the Emperor of Austria of his forfeiture of £200 for not exhibiting his talking machine at the Vienna Exposition next summer, and a contract was signed by Mr. Barnum, agreeing to pay $20,000 for the services of Mr. and Mrs. Faber and their wonderful automaton talker during the tenting season of 1873. No more marvelous exhibition was ever seen in a travelling tent. It is the most wonderful achievement of ingenuity that this age of new inventions has yet witnessed. Although it looks no more like a talking machine than an old-fashioned weaver’s loom, or a modern sewing machine, it converses plainly and distinctly in all languages, giving every intonation of the human voice to extraordinary perfection. Mr. Barnum says that 10,000,000 of visitors will hear this wonderful wooden conversationalist during the coming Summer.”

It is amusing to witness the difference in men’s dispositions. I arrived in New York from New Orleans the night before New Year’s, just a week after the fire. I found my manager, Mr. Coup, and my son-in-law, Mr. Hurd, in rather low spirits. I laughed at them and called them my deacons, but begged them not to go into mourning.

“It’s astonishing how you can laugh when you know our museum building and all of our rare animals are burned up, and we cannot get more in time for the spring show,” drawled the lugubrious Coup, in an injured tone.

“If the fire had waited ten days till the holidays were over, we should have been $50,000 dollars better off,” chimed in the chop-fallen Hurd.

“If the skies had fallen we should have caught larks,” I replied; “but as the skies did not fall, let us be content with what is still left us.”

“As for you, Coup,” I continued, “you talk about what we _cannot_ do; now, have I not told you often enough, the word ‘_can’t_’ is not in my dictionary?”

“But you can’t help the fire, can you?” retorted Coup.

“I shall not try, but I can restore all it has destroyed, and much more,” I replied; “and I will do it within three months at furthest.”

“That is easier said than done,” responded Coup with a sigh.

“Surely, Father, you don’t think we can get a new show upon the road before July, do you?” asked Mr. Hurd.

“I repeat that I see nothing to prevent our exhibiting the largest and best show on this earth, three months from to-day,” I replied; “all that is required are energy, pluck, courage, and a liberal outlay of money. All our golden chariots and cages, our horses, harness, canvas tents and wagons are saved, besides which we have thirty new cages nearly finished. Telegraphs, Atlantic cables and our agents abroad, can supply us all the curiosities and animals we want, before the last of March next, if we will supply them with money enough.”

But my advisers thought I was too sanguine, and they said as much. Coup even proposed to lie still a year, and start our show again in 1874. But I replied that my “years” were too few and too precious to be wasted in that way; and although I would never put a show upon the road that did not exceed in magnitude and merit that which we had lost, I felt every confidence in accomplishing this before April, if we would all work hard.

Strange enough, before we parted on that evening of December 31st, I received a cable message from my trusty agent, Robert Fillingham of London, saying he had purchased for me a pair of giraffes or camelopards and a full supply of lions, tigers and other animals. He added: “All the Governmental Zoölogical Gardens here and on the continent sympathize with you, and are ready to dispose of any animals you wish. The mechanicians of Paris and Geneva are at work on automatons and other attractions for your travelling museum.”

“Don’t that electricity beat the world?” exclaimed Mr. Coup with great delight.

“Just put a little of it into your blood,” I replied, “and we will beat the world.”

The spirits of my associates were thoroughly revived, and at this present writing, on the 20th day of February, I have already received more rare wild animals and other curiosities than I ever had before at one time, with promise of many more within a month, and Messrs. Hurd and Coup are in high feather.

“Mr. Barnum,” said Coup this morning, “this new show of ours, got up in so short a time, is the _miracle_ of the age.”

“Well, my dear fellow,” I replied, “the public like miracles; keep performing them and you are sure of success. You can never do so much for the public, but they will do more for you in return. Give them the best show possible, at whatever cost; keep it free from objectionable features, and never fear; your efforts will surely be appreciated, and you will receive a generous support. Remember, ‘Excelsior’ is our motto.”

These are the feelings which inspire us as we energetically prepare for our third campaign, and although I see plenty of hard work ahead, I also see bright skies, smiling faces, and assured success.

FINIS.

In concluding this brief resumé of the last year’s events, I would seem ungrateful did I fail to acknowledge my heartfelt thankfulness to the public and the press, for the generous and unqualified expressions of sympathy on account of the great calamity of December 24th. Editors throughout the United States and Europe have written of this conflagration, and of those which preceded it, and have attributed to me a degree of perseverance I fear beyond my deserts. If the fiery ordeal has had any visible effect, it has been to increase my desire to identify my name with a class of entertainments at once moral, amusing and instructive. Colossal as was the Great Travelling World’s Fair of 1872, that of 1873 will surpass it.

With full confidence in that just discrimination which recognizes and rewards true merit, I remain, as ever, the public’s obedient servant.

P. T. B.

FEBRUARY, 1873.

* * * * *

Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:

MONSTER JULIEN CONCERTS=> MONSTER JULLIEN CONCERTS {pg 18}

EMS AND WEISBADEN=> EMS AND WIESBADEN {pg 20}

GUILLADEU=> GUILLAUDEU {pg 21}

A TERIBLE DUEL BETWEEN BENTON AND BIBBINS=> A TERRIBLE DUEL BETWEEN BENTON AND BIBBINS {pg 38}

the opporunity for a practical joke=> the opportunity for a practical joke {pg 61}

all such occacasions=> all such occasions {pg 399}

By using my microsope=> By using my microscope {pg 449}

road runs to the beatiful=> road runs to the beautiful {pg 554}

offered for a singe admission=> offered for a single admission {pg 603}

which ber bulky frame=> which her bulky frame {pg 644}

the oldest man, the fatest=> the oldest man, the fattest {pg 646}

tolerably glowing counnance=> tolerably glowing countenance {pg 688}

my meed of praise=> my need of praise {pg 468}

thoroughly indentified=> thoroughly identified {pg 468}

bowed, which salutatation=> bowed, which salutation {pg 850}

prospect of the the “Celestials”=> prospect of the “Celestials” {pg 851}

in in days gone by=> in days gone by {pg 861}

attrractive features=> attractive features {pg 863}

the interest of the the exhibition=> the interest of the exhibition {pg 863}