THE CIRCUS.
What a mob of boys! There’s Bill Saunders, and Ned Hoyt, and Tom Fagin, and Lewis Coates, and John Harris; and, sure as the world, there’s that little tomtit, Harry Horn, without a sign of a cap on, jumping up and down as if there were pins in his trowsers. Whatcanbe the matter, I wonder? Now they shout, “Hurra—hurra!”—but then boys are always screaming hurra. I have done breaking my neck leaning out of the window to see what is the matter. I won’t look at the little monkeys. There it goes again—“Hurra! hurra!” One would think General Washington, Lafayette, or some other great person, was coming down street. Now they move one side—ah, now I see what all the fuss is about! A great flaming red and yellow handbill is posted on the fence; and on it is written, “Pat Smith’s Circus! next Wednesday afternoon and evening.” Circus! no wonder little Harry Horn forgot to put his hat on, and jumped up and down as if he were trying to jump out of his trousers. If there is any thing that drives boyscrazy, it is a circus. I should like to know why; I have a great mind to go to Pat Smith’s Circus myself, just to find out; for I never was in a circus in my life. Yes, I will go, and I will take Nelly; she never was in a circus either. No, I won’t; I will leave her at home with black Nanny. No, I wont; I will take black Nanny too; but then I am not sure Pat Smith allows colored people in his circus. “Well, if he is such a senseless Pat as that, he may go without three twenty-five cent pieces, that’s all, for Nanny likes a little fun as well as if her skin were whiter; and if Nanny can’t come in, Nelly and I won’t. But Nanny can; Pat is not such a fool. So, come along, Nanny; come along, Nelly; it don’t matter what you wear. Walk a little faster, both of you; we must get a good seat, or we shall lose half the fun. Short people are apt to fare badly in a crowd. Here we are! This a circus! this round tent? How funny! Music inside; that’s nice; I like music; so do Nelly and Nanny. Here’s your money, Mr. Pat Smith. Goodness! you don’t mean that we have got to clamber up in those high, ricketty-looking seats, without any backs? Suppose we should fall through on the ground below? Suppose the seats should crack, and let all these people down? I think we’ll climb up to the highest seat, forin case they do break, I had rather be on the top of the pile than underneath it. That’s it; here’s a place for you, Nanny. Bless me, what a “many people,” as little Harry Horn says. Little babies, too, as I live;—well, I suppose their poor tired mothers wanted a little fun too; but the babies are better off than we, because they can have a drink of milk whenever they are thirsty. Ah, I was a little too fast there, for Pat Smith has provided lemonade, and here comes a man with a pailful. Circus lemonade!—no, I thank you; it may be very good, but I prefer taking your word for it. How the people flock in! What’s that coming in at yonder door? Nanny! Nelly!—look! Is it a small house painted slate-color? No—it is an elephant—a live elephant. What a monster! what great flapping ears! what huge paws! and what a rat-ty looking tail! I don’t like his tail; but his trunk is superb. I am afraid he has had a deal of whipping to make him behave so well. How he could make us all fly, if he chose; what mince-meat he could make of those little fat babies yonder. I am glad he don’t want to; they are too pretty to eat. What are they going to do with him, I wonder? It can’t be that they mean to make him walk up that steep pair of stairs. Yes—see him! Would you believe such a great monster could do it sogracefully? He lifts his paws as gently as a kitten. Now that’s worth seeing; but how in the world are they going to get him down, now that he has reached the top? See—he is going to back down; not one false step does he make; now he has reached the bottom. Clever old monster! It seems a shame to make such a great, grand-looking, kingly creature, perform such dancing-master tricks. Now his master lies flat on his back on the ground, and the old elephant is going to walk over him. Suppose he should set that great paw of his on his master’s stomach, and crush him as flat as a pancake? No; see how carefully he steps over him with those big legs; never so much as touching his gay scarlet-and-white tunic. Splendid old fellow, to have so much strength, and yet never use it to the harm of those who torment him with all this nonsense. How I should like to see you in your native jungles, old elephant, with all your baby elephants; your little big babies, old fellow. There he goes. I am glad they have done with him. It makes me sad to see him. Good-by, old Samson.”
What now? a lady on horseback, Mr. Pat Smith’s wife; she sits her horse very well, but that’s nothing remarkable; I can sit a horse as well as that myself; but I couldn’t make a leap on his back over that five-barredgate—mercy, no—he will break her neck, I know he will; I am afraid Mr. Pat Smith wants a second wife. Oh, see, the horse has come down safe with her on the other side of the gate; now she is going to try it again; what a woman that is! I hope Mr. Pat Smith gives her half the money that he takes this hot night, for I am sure she has earned it; but wives don’t always get what they earn, and I dare say Mrs. Pat Smith don’t.
Now here come a parcel of fellows in white tights, tight as their skin, tumbling head over heels, up side down, standing on each others’ heads, and cutting up untold and untellable capers. I must say their strong limbs are quite beautiful, just as God intended limbs should grow, just as I hope yours will grow, one of these days, though I think it may be done without your being a circus tumbler. See how nimble they are, and how like eels they twist and squirm about, leaping on each others’ shoulders like squirrels, leaping down again, running up tall poles and sitting on the top and playing there with half a dozen balls at once, which are tossed up at them from below. It is really quite wonderful, and yet I can’t help thinking had they taken as much pains to learn something really useful, as they have to learn to be funny, how much good they might do; for,after all, a monkey, or a squirrel, or an ourang-outang could do all that quite as well as a man, who is so much superior to them, quite as gracefully, and without any teaching, too; but, bless me, a circus is no place to think, and yet I wish those men’s heads were as well trained as their heels; if you listen you will find out they are not; just hear those stupid jokes they are making, how badly they pronounce, how ungrammatically they express themselves, and hear—oh, no—don’thear that! what a pity they should say any thingindelicatebefore ladies and pure little children.NowI know why fathers and mothers do not like their little boys and girls to go to the circus. Mr. Pat Smith, Mr. Pat Smith, you must leave off those stupid bad jokes, if you want to draw ladies and little children.
I wish somebody would get up agoodcircus without these faults. I can not think so badly of the people as to believe that they would like it less if it were purified. I think it might be made a very pleasant and harmless amusement for little children, who seem to want to go so much, and who have often felt so badly because their parents were not willing. Perhaps therearesuch good circuses, that I may not have heard of. I like good schools, I like study, but I should like to write over every school-room door:
“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”