CONCLUSION.

“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 YorkHerald,” 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, weslew 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 appreciatedin “the Athens of America” is well set forth in the following extracts from a two-column article in the BostonJournal:

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 thegenus homoBarnum 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 followthis 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 dozencartes 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 YorkTribune, 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.”

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 YorkWorld:

“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 BaptistUnion:

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.

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 YorkChristian 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 massefor 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.

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 massefor 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 YorkWorld, wrote a very entertaining column about the show for that journal, and “Trinculo” copied it in full in the “Amusements Gossip” of the New YorkLeader. 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, fromfelis leohimself 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 thelast. 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.

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, fromfelis leohimself 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 thelast. 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 YorkDaily Standardof 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.

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.

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.

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