Barnum made in his life many voyages across the Atlantic, but none, perhaps, pleasanter than this. On every such trip he got under rest and relief from his multitudinous business cares and arduous labors; and he always contrived to organize plenty of merry-making among his fellow-passengers. On this occasion he felt in uncommonly good spirits because he was so rapidly retrieving his well-nigh fallen fortunes. The feature of the voyage was a series of mock trials, in which a judge was selected, jurymen drawn, prisoners arraigned, counsel employed, and all the formalities of a court established. "I have the vanity to think," said he, afterwards, in telling in his own inimitable way the story of this voyage, "that if my good fortune had directed me to that profession, I should have made a very fair lawyer for I have always had a great fondness for debate and especially for the cross-examination of witnesses, unless that witness was P. T. Barnum in examination under supplementary proceedings at the instance of some note shaver, who had bought a clock note at a discount of thirty-six per cent. In this mock court, I was unanimously chosen as prosecuting attorney, and, as the court was established expressly to convict, I had no difficulty in carrying the jury and securing the punishment of the prisoner. A small fine was generally imposed, and the fund thus collected was given to a poor sailor boy who had fallen from the mast and broken his leg."

"After several of these trials had been held, a dozen or more of the passengers secretly put their heads together and resolved to place the 'showman' on trial for his life. An indictment, covering twenty pages, was drawn up by several legal gentlemen among the passengers, charging him with being the Prince of Humbugs, and enumerating a dozen special counts, containing charges of the most absurd and ridiculous description. Witnesses were then brought together, and privately instructed what to say and do. Two or three days were devoted to arranging this mighty prosecution, 'When everything was ready, I was arrested, and the formidable indictment read to me. I saw at a glance that time and talent had been brought into requisition, and that my trial was to be more elaborate than any that had preceded it. I asked for half an hour to prepare for my defense, which was granted. Meanwhile, seats were arranged to accommodate the court and spectators, and extra settees were placed for the ladies on the upper deck, where they could look down, see and hear all that transpired. Curiosity was on tip-toe, for it was evident that this was to be a long, exciting and laughable trial. At the end of half an hour the judge was on the bench the jury had taken their places; the witnesses were ready; the counsel for the prosecution, four in number, with pens, ink, and paper in profusion, were seated, and everything seemed ready. I was brought in by a special constable, the indictment read, and I was asked to plead guilty, or not guilty. I rose and In a most solemn manner, stated that I could not conscientiously plead guilty or not guilty; that I had, in fact, committed many of the acts charged in the indictment, but these acts, I was ready to show, were not criminal, but on the contrary, worthy of praise. My plea was received and the first witness called.

"He testified to having visited the prisoner's museum, and of being humbugged by the Feejee mermaid; the nurse of Washington; and by other curiosities, natural and unnatural. The questions and answers having been all arranged in advance, everything worked smoothly. Acting as my own counsel, I cross-examined the witness by simply asking whether he saw anything else in the museum besides what he had mentioned.

" 'Oh! yes, I saw thousands of other things.'

" 'Were they curious?'

" 'Certainly; many of them very astonishing.'

" 'Did you ever witness a dramatic representation in the museum?'

" 'Yes, sir, a very good one.'

" 'What did you pay for all this?'

" 'Twenty-five cents.'

" 'That will do, sir; you can step down.'

"A second, third and fourth witness were called, and the examination was similar to the foregoing. Another witness then appeared to testify in regard to another count in the indictment. He stated that for several weeks he was the guest of the prisoner, at his country residence Iranistan and he gave a most amusing description of the various schemes and contrivances which were there originated for the purpose of being carried out at some future day in the museum.

" 'How did you live there?' asked one of the counsel for the prosecution.

" 'Very well, indeed, in the daytime,' was the reply; 'plenty of the best to eat and drink except liquors. In bed, however, it was impossible to sleep. I rose the first night, struck a light, and on examination found myself covered with myriads of tattle bugs, so small as to be almost imperceptible. By using my microscope I discovered them to be infantile bedbugs. After the first night I was obliged to sleep in the coach-house in order to escape this annoyance.'

"Of course this elicited much mirth. The first question put on the cross-examination was this:

" 'Are you a naturalist, sir?'

"The witness hesitated. In all the drilling that had taken place before the trial, neither the counsel nor witnesses had thought of what questions might come up in the cross-examination, and now, not seeing the drift of the question, the witness seemed a little bewildered, and the counsel for the prosecution looked puzzled.

"The question was repeated with some emphasis.

" 'No, sir,' replied the witness, hesitatingly, 'I am not a naturalist.'

" 'Then, sir, not being a naturalist, dare you affirm that those microscopic insects were not humbugs instead of bedbugs'--(here the prisoner was interrupted by a universal shout of laughter, in which the solemn judge himself joined)--land if they were humbugs, I suppose that even the learned counsel opposed to me will not claim that they were out of place.

" 'They may have been humbugs,' replied the witness.

" 'That will do, sir; you may go,' said I; and at the same time, turning to the array of counsel, I remarked, with a smile, 'You had better have a naturalist for your next witness, gentlemen.'

" 'Don't be alarmed, sir, we have got one, and we will now introduce him,' replied the counsel.

"The next witness testified that he was a planter from Georgia, that some years since the prisoner visited his plantation with a show, and that while there he discovered an old worthless donkey belonging to the planter, and bought him for five dollars. The next year the witness visited Iranistan, the country seat of the prisoner, and, while walking about the grounds, his old donkey, recognizing his former master, brayed; 'whereupon,' continued the witness, 'I walked up to the animal and found that two men were engaged in sticking wool upon him, and this animal was afterwards exhibited by the prisoner as the woolly horse.'

"The whole court--spectators, and even the 'prisoner' himself--were convulsed with laughter at the gravity with which the planter gave his very ludicrous testimony.

" 'What evidence have you,' I inquired, 'that this was the same donkey which you sold to me?'

" 'The fact that the animal recognized me, as was evident from his braying as soon as he saw me.'

" 'Are you a naturalist, sir?'

" 'Yes, I am,' replied the planter, with firm emphasis, as much as to say, you can't catch me as you did the other witness.

" 'Oh! you are a naturalist, are you? Then, sir, I ask you, as a naturalist, do you not know it to be a fact in natural history that one jackass always brays as soon as he sees another?'

"This question was received with shouts of laughter, in the midst of which the nonplussed witness backed out of court, and all the efforts of special constables, and even the high sheriff himself, were unavailing in getting him again on the witness stand.

"This trial lasted two days, to the great delight of all on board. After my success with the 'naturalist,' not one-half of the witnesses would appear against me. In my final argument I sifted the testimony, analyzed its bearings, ruffled the learned counsel, disconcerted the witnesses, flattered the judge and jury, and when the judge had delivered his charge, the jury acquitted me without leaving their seats. The judge received the verdict, and then announced that he should fine the naturalist for the mistake he made, as to the cause of the donkey's braying, and he should also fine the several witnesses, who, through fear of the cross-fire, had refused to testify."

The trial afforded a pleasant topic of conversation for the rest of the voyage; and the morning before arriving in port, a vote of thanks was passed to Barnum, in consideration of the amusement he had intentionally and unintentionally furnished to the passengers during the voyage.

The treatment to which Barnum was subjected on his arrival in New York, was in strange and discreditable contrast to that which he had enjoyed abroad. He sometimes spoke of it in later life, though without any bitterness. He was too much of a philosopher to take it to heart. "After my arrival," he would say, "often, in passing up and down Broadway, I saw old and prosperous friends coming, but before I came anywhere near them, if they espied me, they would dodge into a store, or across the street, or opportunely meet some one with whom they had pressing business, or they would be very much interested in something that was going on over the way, or on top of the City Hall. I was delighted at this, for it gave me at once a new sensation and a new experience. 'Ah, ha!' I said to myself, 'my butterfly friends, I know you now; and, what is more to the point, if ever I get out of this bewilderment of broken clock-wheels, I shall not forget you;' and I heartily thanked the old clock concern for giving me the opportunity to learn this sad but most needful lesson. I had a very few of the same sort of experiences in Bridgeport, and they proved valuable to me."

One of Barnum's assignees was his neighbor and quondam "gamekeeper," Mr. Johnson, and he it was who had written to Barnum to return to America, to facilitate the settlement of his affairs. He now told him that there was no probability of disposing of Iranistan at present, and that therefore he might as well move back into his old home. That was August. In September, Barnum's family followed him to America, and they decided to take Mr. Johnson's advice and re-occupy Iranistan. They went to Bridgeport, to superintend arrangements, and there Barnum's second daughter, Helen, was married to Mr. S. W. Hurd, on October 20, 1857.

"Meanwhile, Iranistan, which had been closed and unoccupied for more than two years, was once more opened to the carpenters and painters whom Mr. Johnson sent there to put the house in order. He agreed with Barnum that it was best to keep the property as long as possible, and in the interval, till a purchaser for the estate appeared, or till it was forced to auction, to take up the clock notes, whenever they were offered. The workmen who were employed in the house were specially instructed not to smoke there, but nevertheless, it was subsequently discovered that some of the men were in the habit occasionally of going into the main dome to eat their dinners which they brought with them, and that they stayed there awhile after dinner to smoke their pipes. In all probability, one of these lighted pipes was left on the cushion which covered the circular seat in the dome and ignited the tow with which the cushion was stuffed. It may have been days and even weeks before this smouldering tow fire burst into flame.

Barnum was staying at the Astor House, in New York, when, on the morning of December 18, 1857, he received a telegram from his brother, Philo F. Barnum, dated at Bridgeport, and informing him that Iranistan was burned to the ground that morning. The alarm was given at eleven o'clock on the night of the 17th, and the fire burned till one o'clock on the morning of the 18th.

This was, of course, a considerable loss to Barnum's estate, for the house had cost about $150,000. It was also generally regarded as a public calamity. This house had been the only building in its peculiar style of architecture of any pretension in America, and many persons had visited Bridgeport every year expressly to see it. The insurance on the mansion had usually been about $62,000, but Barnum had let some of the policies expire without renewing them, so that at the time of the fire there was only $28,000 insurance on the property. Most of the furniture and pictures were saved, generally in a damaged state.

Subsequently, the assignees sold the grounds and outhouses of Iranistan to Elias Howe, Jr., the inventor of the sewing-machine. The property brought $50,000, which, with the $28,000 insurance went into Barnum's assets to satisfy clock creditors. It was Mr. Howe's intention to erect a splendid mansion on the estate, but his untimely and lamented death prevented the fulfilment of the plan.

Seeing the necessity of making more money to assist in extricating his affairs from financial disorder, Barnum went back to England, taking with him Tom Thumb, whom he exhibited in all the principal places of England, Scotland and Wales; this was early in 1858.

The tour was a profitable one, and the money, as fast as it came in, was remitted to his agents and assignees in America.

At the suggestion of some of his American friends In London, Barnum next appeared on the lecture platform. The subject chosen was "The Art of Money Getting," although Barnum told his friends that in the light of recent events he felt more competent to speak on the art of money losing. But they assured him that his name having been associated with the Jenny Lind concerts and other great money-making enterprises, the lecture would undoubtedly prove both attractive and profitable.

The lecture was widely advertised, of course, and at the appointed time the great St. James' Hall, Regent Street, Piccadilly, was completely filled. It was the evening of December 29, 1858. We subjoin extracts from the lecture, which was closely listened to and well received by many more audiences than the one which heard it first at St. James' Hall.

Those who really desire to attain an independence, have only to set their minds upon it, and adopt the proper means, as they do in regard to any other object which they wish to accomplish, and the thing is easily done. But however easy it may be found to make money, I have no doubt many of my hearers will agree it is the most difficult thing in the world to keep it. The road to wealth is, as Dr. Franklin truly says, "as plain as the road to mill." It consists simply in expending less than we earn; that seems to be a very simple problem. Mr. Micawber, one of those happy creations of the genial Dickens, puts the case in a strong light when he says that to have an income of twenty pounds per annum, and spend twenty pounds and sixpence, is to be the most miserable of men; whereas, to have an income of only twenty pounds, and spend but nineteen pounds and sixpence, is to be the happiest of mortals. Many of my hearers may say, "we understand this; this is economy, and we know economy is wealth; we know we can't eat our cake and keep it also." Yet I beg to say that perhaps more cases of failure arise from mistakes on this point than almost any other. The fact is, many people think they understand economy when they really do not.

True economy is misapprehended, and people go through life without properly comprehending what that principle is. One says, "I have an income of so much, and here is my neighbor who has the same; yet every year he gets something ahead and I fall short; why is it? I know all about economy." He thinks he does, but he does not. There are many who think that economy consists in saving cheese-parings and candle-ends, in cutting off twopence from the laundress' bill and doing all sorts of little mean, dirty things. Economy is not meanness. The misfortune is, also, that this class of persons let their economy apply in only one direction. They fancy they are so wonderfully economical in saving a half-penny where they ought to spend twopence, that they think they can afford to squander in other directions. A few years ago, before kerosene oil was discovered or thought of, one might stop over night at almost any farmer's house in the agricultural districts and get a very good supper, but after supper he might attempt to read in the sitting-room, and would find it impossible with the inefficient light of one candle. The hostess, seeing his dilemma, would say: "It is rather difficult to read here evenings; the proverb says 'you must have a ship at sea in order to be able to burn two candles at once;' we never have an extra candle except on extra occasions." These extra occasions occur, perhaps, twice a year. In this way the good woman saves five, six, or ten dollars in that time; but the information which might be derived from having the extra light would, of course, far outweigh a ton of candles.

But the trouble does not end here. Feeling that she is so economical in tallow candles, she thinks she can afford to go frequently to the village and spend twenty or thirty dollars for ribbons and furbelows, many of which are not necessary. This false economy may frequently be seen in men of business, and in those instances it often runs to writing-paper. You find good business men who save all the old envelopes and scraps, and would not tear a new sheet of paper, if they could avoid it, for the world. This is all very well; they may in this way save five or ten dollars a year, but being so economical (only in note-paper), they think they can afford to waste time; to have expensive parties, and to drive their carriages.

True economy consists in always making the income exceed the out-go. Wear the old clothes a little longer if necessary; dispense with the new pair of gloves; mend the old dress; live on plainer food if need be; so that, under all circumstances, unless some unforeseen accident occurs, there will be a margin in favor of the income. A penny here, and a dollar there, placed at interest, goes on accumulating, and in this way the desired result is attained. It requires some training, perhaps, to accomplish this economy, but when once used to it, you will find there is more satisfaction in rational saving than in irrational spending. Here is a recipe which I recommend; I have found it to work an excellent cure for extravagance, and especially for mistaken economy: When you find that you have no surplus at the end of the year, and yet have a good income, I advise you to take a few sheets of paper and form them into a book and mark down every item of expenditure. Post it every day or week in two columns, one headed "necessaries" or even "comforts," and the other headed "luxuries," and you will find that the latter column will be double, treble, and frequently ten times greater than the former. The real comforts of life cost but a small portion of what most of us can earn.

The foundation of success in life is good health; that is the substratum of fortune; it is also the basis of happiness. A person cannot accumulate a fortune very well when he is sick. He has no ambition; no incentive; no force. Of course, there are those who have bad health and cannot help it; you cannot expect that such persons can accumulate wealth; but there are a great many in poor health who need not be so.

If, then, sound health is the foundation of success and happiness in life, how important it is that we should study the laws of health, which is but another expression for the laws of nature! The closer we keep to the laws of nature the nearer we are to good health, and yet how many persons there are who pay no attention to natural laws, but absolutely transgress them, even against their own natural inclination. We ought to know that the "sin of ignorance" is never winked at in regard to the violation of nature's laws; their infraction always brings the penalty. A child may thrust its finger into the flames without knowing it will burn, and so suffers; repentance, even, will not stop the smart. Many of our ancestors knew very little about the principle of ventilation. They did not know much about oxygen, whatever other "gin" they might have been acquainted with; and consequently, they built their houses with little seven-by-nine feet bedrooms, and these good old pious Puritans would lock themselves up in one of these cells, say their prayers and go to bed. In the morning they would devoutly return thanks for the "preservation of their lives" during the night, and nobody had better reason to be thankful. Probably some big crack in the window, or in the door, let in a little fresh air, and thus saved them.

Many persons knowingly violate the laws of nature against their better impulses, for the sake of fashion. For instance, there is one thing that nothing living except a vile worm ever naturally loved, and that is tobacco; yet how many persons there are who deliberately train an unnatural appetite, and overcome this implanted aversion for tobacco, to such a degree that they get to love it. They have got hold of a poisonous, filthy weed, or rather that takes a firm hold of them. Here are married men who run about spitting tobacco-juice on the carpet and floors, and sometimes even upon their wives besides. They do not kick their wives out-of-doors like drunken men, but their wives, I have no doubt, often wish they were outside of the house. Another perilous feature is that this artificial appetite, like jealousy, "grows by what it feeds on;" when you love that which is unnatural, a stronger appetite is created for the hurtful thing than the natural desire for what is harmless. There is an old proverb which says that "habit is second nature," but an artificial habit is stronger than nature. Take, for instance, an old tobacco-chewer; his love for the "quid" is stronger than his love for any particular kind of food. He can give up roast beef easier than give up the weed.

These remarks apply with tenfold force to the use of intoxicating drinks. To make money, requires a clear brain. A man has got to see that two and two make four; he must lay all his plans with reflection and forethought, and closely examine all the details and the ins and outs of business. As no man can succeed in business unless he has a brain to enable him to lay his plans, and reason to guide him in their execution, so, no matter how bountifully a man may be blessed with intelligence, if the brain is muddled, and his judgment warped by intoxicating drinks, it is impossible for him to carry on business successfully. How many good opportunities have passed, never to return, while a man was sipping a "social glass" with his friend! How many foolish bargains have been made under the influence of the "nervine," which temporarily makes its victim think he is rich. How many important chances have been put off until to-morrow, and then forever, because the wine-cup has thrown the system into a state of lassitude, neutralizing the energies so essential to success in business. Verily, "wine is a mocker." The use of intoxicating drinks as a beverage is as much an infatuation as is the smoking of opium by the Chinese, and the former is quite as destructive to the success of the business man as the latter. It is an unmitigated evil, utterly indefensible in the light of philosophy, religion or good sense. It is the parent of nearly every other evil in our country.

The safest plan, and the one most sure of success for the young man starting in life, is to select the vocation which is most congenial to his tastes. Parents and guardians are often quite too negligent in regard to this. It is very common for a father to say, for example: "I have five boys. I will make Billy a clergyman; John a lawyer; Tom a doctor, and Dick a farmer." He then goes into town and looks about to see what he will do with Sammy. He returns home, and says: "Sammy, I see watchmaking is a nice, genteel business; I think I will make you a goldsmith." He does this, regardless of Sam's natural inclinations or genius.

We are all, no doubt, born for a wise purpose. There is as much diversity in our brains as in our countenances. Some are born natural mechanics, while some have great aversion to machinery. Let a dozen boys of ten years get together, and you will soon observe two or three are "whittling" out some ingenious device; working with locks or complicated machinery. When they were but five years old their father could find no toy to please them like a puzzle. They are natural mechanics; but the other eight or nine boys have different aptitudes I belong to the latter class; I never had the slightest love for mechanism; on the contrary, I have a sort of abhorrence for complicated machinery. I never had ingenuity enough to whittle a cider-tap so it would not leak. I never could make a pen that I could write with, or understand the principle of a steam-engine. If a man was to take such a boy as I was, and attempt to make a watchmaker of him, the boy might, after an apprenticeship of five or seven years be able to take apart and put together a watch; but all through life he would be working uphill and seizing every excuse for leaving his work and idling away his time. Watchmaking is repulsive to him.

Unless a man enters upon the vocation intended for him by nature, and best suited to his peculiar genius, he cannot succeed. I am glad to believe that the majority of persons do find their right vocation. Yet we see many who have mistaken their calling from the blacksmith up (or down) to the clergyman. You will see, for instance, that extraordinary linguist, the "learned blacksmith," who ought to have been a teacher of languages; and you may have seen lawyers, doctors and clergymen who were better fitted by nature for the anvil or the lapstone.

Avoid debt. Young men starting in life should avoid running into debt. There is scarcely anything that drags a person down like debt. It is a slavish position to get in, yet we find many a young man, hardly out of his "teens," running in debt. He meets a chum, and says, "Look at this: I have got trusted for a new suit of clothes." He seems to look upon the clothes as so much given to him; well, it frequently is so, but, if he succeeds in paying and then gets trusted again, he is adopting a habit which will keep him in poverty through life. Debt robs a man of his self-respect, and makes him almost despise himself. Grunting and groaning and working for what he has eaten up or worn out, and now when he is called upon to pay up he has nothing to show for his money; this is properly termed "working for a dead horse." I do not speak of merchants buying and selling on credit, or of those who buy on credit in order to turn the purchase to a profit. The old Quaker said to his farmer son, "John, never get trusted; but if thee gets trusted for anything, let it be for 'manure,' because that will help thee pay it back again."

Mr. Beecher advised young men to get in debt if they could to a small amount in the purchase of land in the country districts. "If a young man," he says, "will only get in debt for some land and then get married, these two things will keep him straight, or nothing will." This may be safe to a limited extent, but getting in debt for what you eat and drink and wear is to be avoided. Some families have a foolish habit of getting credit at "the stores," and thus frequently purchase many things which might have been dispensed with.

It is all very well to say, "I have got trusted for sixty days, and if I don't have the money the creditor will think nothing about it." There is no class of people in the world who have such good memories as creditors. When the sixty days run out you will have to pay. If you do not pay, you will break your promise, and probably resort to a falsehood. You may make some excuse or get in debt elsewhere to pay it, but that only involves you the deeper.

A good-looking, lazy young fellow, was the apprentice boy, Horatio. His employer said, "Horatio, did you ever see a snail?" "I--think--I--have," he drawled out. "You must have met him, then, for I am sure you never overtook one," said the "boss." Your creditor will meet you or overtake you and say, "Now, my young friend, you agreed to pay me; you have not done it, you must give me your note." You give the note on interest and it commences working against you; "it is a dead horse." The creditor goes to bed at night and wakes up in the morning better off than when he retired to bed, because his interest has increased during the night, but you grow poorer while you are sleeping, for the interest is accumulating against you.

Among the maxims of the elder Rothschild was one, an apparent paradox: "Be cautious and bold." This seems to be a contradiction in terms, but it is not, and there is great wisdom in the maxim. It is, in fact, a condensed statement of what I have already said. It is to say, "you must exercise your caution in laying your plans, but be bold in carrying them out." A man who is all caution will never dare to take hold and be successful; and a man who is all boldness is merely reckless, and must eventually fail. A man may go on "'change" and make fifty or one hundred thousand dollars in speculating in stocks at a single operation. But if he has simple boldness without caution, it is mere chance, and what he gains to-day he will lose to-morrow. You must have both the caution and the boldness to insure success.

The Rothschilds have another maxim: "Never have anything to do with an unlucky man or place." That is to say, never have anything to do with a man or place which never succeeds, because, although a man may appear to be honest and intelligent, yet if he tries this or that thing and always fails, it is on account of some fault or infirmity that you may not be able to discover, but nevertheless which must exist.

There is no such thing in the world as luck. There never was a man who could go out in the morning and find a purse full of gold in the street to-day, and another to-morrow, and so on, day after day. He may do so once in his life; but so far as mere luck is concerned, he is as liable to lose it as to find it. "Like causes produce like effects." If a man adopts the proper methods to be successful, "luck" will not prevent him. If he does not succeed, there are reasons for it, although, perhaps, he may not be able to see them.

We all depend, more or less, upon the public for our support. We all trade with the public--lawyers, doctors, shoemakers, artists, blacksmiths, showmen, opera singers, railroad presidents, and college professors. Those who deal with the public must be careful that their goods are valuable; that they are genuine, and will give satisfaction. When you get an article which you know is going to please your customers, and that when they have tried it they will feel they have got their money's worth, then let the fact be known that you have got it. Be careful to advertise it in some shape or other, because it is evident that if a man has ever so good an article for sale, and nobody knows it, it will bring him no return. In a country like this, where nearly everybody reads, and where newspapers are issued and circulated in editions of five thousand to two hundred thousand, it would be very unwise if this channel was not taken advantage of to reach the public in advertising. A newspaper goes into the family, and is read by wife and children, as well as the head of the house; hence hundreds and thousands of people may read your advertisement, while you are attending to your routine business. Many, perhaps, read it while you are asleep. The whole philosophy of life is, first "sow," then "reap." That is the way the farmer does; he plants his potatoes and corn, and sows his grain, and then goes about something else, and the time comes when he reaps. But he never reaps first and sows afterwards. This principle applies to all kinds of business, and to nothing more eminently than to advertising. If a man has a genuine article, there is no way in which he can reap more advantageously than by "sowing" to the public in this way. He must, of course, have a really good article, and one which will please his customers; anything spurious will not succeed permanently, because the public is wiser than many imagine. Men and women are selfish, and we all prefer purchasing where we can get the most for our money; and we try to find out where we can most surely do so.

You may advertise a spurious article, and induce many people to call and buy it once, but they will denounce you as an impostor and swindler, and your business will gradually die out and leave you poor. This is right. Few people can safely depend upon chance custom. You all need to have your customers return and purchase again. A man said to me, "I have tried advertising and did not succeed; yet I have a good article."

I replied, "My friend, there may be exceptions to a general rule. But how do you advertise?"

"I put it in a weekly newspaper three times, and paid a dollar and a half for it." I replied: "Sir, advertising is like learning--'a little is a dangerous thing!' "

A French writer says that "The reader of a newspaper does not see the first insertion of an ordinary advertisement; the second insertion he sees, but does not read; the third insertion he reads; the fourth insertion, he looks at the price; the fifth insertion, he speaks of it to his wife; the sixth insertion, he is ready to purchase, and the seventh insertion, he purchases." Your object in advertising is to make the public understand what you have got to sell, and if you have not the pluck to keep advertising, until you have imparted that information, all the money you have spent is lost.

Work at it, if necessary, early and late, in season and out of season, not leaving a stone unturned, and never deferring for a single hour that which can be done just as well now. The old proverb is full of truth and meaning: "Whatever is worth doing at all, is worth doing well." Many a man acquires a fortune by doing his business thoroughly, while his neighbor remains poor for life, because he only half does it. Ambition, energy, industry, perseverance, are indispensable requisites for success in business.

Fortune always favors the brave, and never helps a man who does not help himself. It won't do to spend your time like Mr. Micawber, in waiting for something to "turn up." To such men one of two things usually "turns up:" the poor-house or the jail; for idleness breeds bad habits, and clothes a man in rags. The poor spendthrift vagabond said to a rich man:

"I have discovered there is money enough in the world for all of us, if it was equally divided; this must be done, and we shall all be happy together."

"But," was the response, "if everybody was like you, it would be spent in two months, and what would you do then?"

"Oh! divide again; keep dividing, of course!"

I was recently reading in a London paper an account of a like philosophic pauper, who was kicked out of a cheap boarding-house because he could not pay his bill, but he had a roll of papers sticking out of his coat pocket, which, upon examination, proved to be his plan for paying off the national debt of England without the aid of a penny. People have got to do as Cromwell said: "Not only trust in Providence, but keep the powder dry." Do your part of the work, or you cannot succeed. Mahomet, one night, while encamping in the desert, overheard one of his fatigued followers remark: "I will loose my camel, and trust it to God." "No, no, not so," said the prophet; "tie thy camel, and trust it to God." Do all you can for yourselves, and then trust to Providence, or luck, or whatever you please to call it, for the rest.

Some men have a foolish habit of telling their business secrets. If they make money they like to tell their neighbors how it was done. Nothing is gained by this, and ofttimes much is lost. Say nothing about your profits, your hopes, your expectations, your intentions. And this should apply to letters as well as to conversation. Goethe makes Mephistophiles say: "Never write a letter nor destroy one." Business men must write letters, but they should be careful what they put in them. If you are losing, money, be specially cautious and not tell of it or you will lose your reputation.

Preserve your integrity. It is more precious than, diamonds or rubies. The old miser said to his sons: "Get money; get it honestly, if you can, but get money." This advice was not only atrociously wicked, but it was the very essence of stupidity. It was as much as to say, "if you find it difficult to obtain money honestly, you can easily get it dishonestly. Get it in that way." Poor fool! Not to know that the most difficult thing in life is to make money dishonestly! not to know that our prisons are full of men who attempted to follow this advice; not to understand that no man can be dishonest without soon being found out, and that when his lack of principle is discovered, nearly every avenue to success is closed against him forever. The public very properly shun all whose integrity is doubted. No matter how polite and pleasant and accommodating a man may be, none of us dare to deal with him if we suspect "false weights and measures." Strict honesty not only lies at the foundation of all success in life (financially), but in every other respect. Uncompromising integrity of character is invaluable. It secures to its possessor a peace and joy which cannot be attained without it--which no amount of money, or houses and lands, can purchase. A man who is known to be strictly honest, may be ever so poor, but he has the purses of all the community at his disposal--for all know that if he promises to return what he borrows, he will never disappoint them. As a mere matter of selfishness, therefore, if a man had no higher motive for being honest, all will find that the maxim of Dr. Franklin can never fail to be true--that "honesty is the best policy."

I hold that no man ought ever to indorse a note or become security for any man, be it his father or brother, to a greater extent than he can afford to lose and care nothing about, without taking good security. Here is a man that is worth twenty thousand dollars; he is doing a thriving manufacturing or mercantile trade; you are retired and living on your money; he comes to you and says:

"You are aware that I am worth twenty thousand dollars, and don't owe a dollar: if I had five thousand dollars in cash, I could purchase a particular lot of goods and double my money in a couple of months; will you indorse my note for that amount?"

You reflect that he is worth twenty thousand dollars, and you incur no risk by indorsing his note; you like to accommodate him, and you lend your name without taking the precaution of getting security. Shortly after, he shows you the note with your indorsement cancelled, and tells you, probably truly, "that he made the profit that he expected by the operation;" you reflect that you have done a good action, and the thought makes you feel happy. By and by the same thing occurs again and you do it again; you have already fixed the impression in your mind that it is perfectly safe to indorse his notes without security.

But the trouble is, this man is getting money too easily. He has only to take your note to the bank, get it discounted, and take the cash. He gets money for the time being without effort; without inconvenience to himself. Now mark the result. He sees a chance for speculation outside of his business. A temporary investment of only $10,000 is required. It is sure to come back before a note at the bank would be due. He places a note for that amount before you. You sign it almost mechanically. Being firmly convinced that your friend is responsible and trustworthy, you indorse his notes as a "matter of course."

Unfortunately the speculation does not come to a head quite so soon as was expected, and another $10,000 note must be discounted to take up the last one when due. Before this note matures the speculation has proved an utter failure and all the money is lost. Does the loser tell his friend, the indorser, that he has lost half of his fortune? Not at all. He don't even mention that he has speculated at all. But he has got excited; the spirit of speculation has seized him; he sees others making large sums in this way (we seldom hear of the loser), and, like other speculators, he "looks for his money where he loses it." He tries again. Indorsing notes has become chronic with you, and at every loss he gets your signature for whatever amount he wants. Finally you discover your friend has lost all of his property and all of yours. You are overwhelmed with astonishment and grief, and you say "it is a hard thing; my friend here has ruined me," but, you should add, "I have also ruined him." If you had said in the first place, "I will accommodate you, but I never indorse without taking ample security," he could not have gone beyond the length of his tether, and he would never have been tempted away from his legitimate business. It is a very dangerous thing, therefore, at any time, to let people get possession of money too easily; it tempts them to hazardous speculations, if nothing more. Solomon truly said, "He that hateth suretiship is sure."

We sometimes see men who have obtained fortunes suddenly become poor. In many cases this arises from intemperance, and often from gaming and other bad habits. Frequently it occurs because a man has been engaged in "outside operations" of some sort. When he gets rich in his legitimate business, he is told of a grand speculation where he can make a score of thousands. He is constantly flattered by his friends, who tell him that he is born lucky, that everything he touches turns into gold. Now if he forgets that his economical habits, his rectitude of conduct and a personal attention to a business which he understood, caused his success in life, he will listen to the siren voices. He says:

"I will put in twenty thousand dollars. I have been lucky, and my good luck will soon bring me back sixty thousand dollars."

A few days elapse, and it is discovered he must put in ten thousand dollars more; soon after he is told "it is all right," but certain matters not foreseen require an advance of twenty thousand dollars more, which will bring him a rich harvest; but before the time comes around to realize the bubble bursts, he loses all he is possessed of, and then he learns what he ought to have known at the first, that however successful a man may be in his own business, if he turns from that and engages in a business which he don't understand, he is like Samson when shorn of his locks--his strength has departed, and he becomes like other men.

If a man has plenty of money, he ought to invest something in everything that appears to promise success, and that will probably benefit mankind; but let the sums thus invested be moderate in amount, and never let a man foolishly jeopardize a fortune that he has earned in a legitimate way by investing it in things in which he has had no experience.

When a man is in the right path he must persevere. I speak of this because there are some persons who are "born tired;" naturally lazy and possessing no self-reliance and no perseverance. But they can cultivate these qualities, as Davy Crockett said:

"This thing remember, when I am dead,
Be sure you are right, then go ahead."

It is this go-aheaditiveness, this determination not to let the "horrors" or the "blues" take possession of you, so as to make you relax your energies in the struggle for independence, which you must cultivate.

How many have almost reached the goal of their ambition, but, losing faith in themselves, have relaxed their energies, and the golden prize has been lost forever.

It is, no doubt, often true, as Shakespeare says:

"There is a tide in the affairs of men,
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune."

If you hesitate, some bolder hand will stretch out before you and get the prize. Remember the proverb of Solomon: "He becometh poor that dealeth with a slack hand; but the hand of the diligent maketh rich."

Perseverance is sometimes but another word for self-reliance. Many persons naturally look on the dark side of life, and borrow trouble. They are born so. Then they ask for advice, and they will be governed by one wind and blown by another, and cannot rely upon themselves. Until you can get so that you can rely upon yourself, you need not expect to succeed. I have known men, personally, who have met with pecuniary reverses, and absolutely committed suicide, because they thought they could never overcome their misfortune. But I have known others who have met more serious financial difficulties, and have bridged them over by simple perseverance, aided by a firm belief that they were doing justly, and that Providence would "overcome evil with good."

Learn something useful. Every man should make his son or daughter learn some trade or profession, so that in these days of changing fortunes--of being rich to-day and poor to-morrow--they may have something tangible to fall back upon. This provision might save many persons from misery, who by some unexpected turn of fortune have lost all their means.

Let hope predominate, but be not too visionary. Many persons are always kept poor because they are too visionary. Every project looks to them like certain success, and therefore they keep changing from one business to another, always in hot water, always "under the harrow." The plan of "counting the chickens before they are hatched" is an error of ancient date, but it does not seem to improve by age.

Do not scatter your powers. Engage in one kind of business only, and stick to it faithfully until you succeed, or until your experience shows that you should abandon it. A constant hammering on one nail will generally drive it home at last, so that it can be clinched. When a man's undivided attention is centred on one object, his mind will constantly be suggesting improvements of value, which would escape him if his brain was occupied by a dozen different subjects at once. Many a fortune has slipped through a man's fingers because he was engaged in too many occupations at a time. There is good sense in the old caution against having too many irons in the fire at once.

Be systematic. Men should be systematic in their business. A person who does business by rule, having a time and place for everything, doing his work promptly, will accomplish twice as much and with half the trouble of him who does it carelessly and slipshod. By introducing system into all your transactions, doing one thing at a time, always meeting appointments with punctuality, you will find leisure for pastime and recreation; whereas the man who only half does one thing, and then turns to something else, and half does that, will have his business at loose ends, and will never know when his day's work is done, for it never will be done. Of course, there is a limit to all these rules. We must try to preserve the happy medium, for there is such a thing as being too systematic. There are men and women, for instance, who put away things so carefully that they can never find them again. It is too much like the "red-tape" formality at Washington, and Mr. Dick-ens' "Circumlocution Office,"--all theory and no result.

To get rich is not always equivalent to being successful. "there are many rich poor men," while there are many others, honest and devout men and women, who have never possessed so much money as some rich persons squander in a week, but who are nevertheless really richer and happier than any man can ever be while he is a transgressor of the higher laws of his being.

The inordinate love of money, no doubt, may be and is "the root of all evil," but money itself, when properly used, is not only a "handy thing to have in the house," but affords the gratification of blessing our race by enabling its possessor to enlarge the scope of human happiness and human influence. The desire for wealth is nearly universal, and none can say it is not laudable, provided the possessor of it accepts its responsibilities, and uses it as a friend to humanity.

The history of money-getting, which is commerce, is a history of civilization, and wherever trade has flourished most, there, too, have art and science produced the noblest fruits. In fact, as a general thing, money-getters are the benefactors of our race. To them in a great measure, are we indebted for our institutions of learning and of art, our academies, colleges and churches. It is no argument against the desire for, or the possession of, wealth, to say that there are sometimes misers who hoard money only for the sake of hoarding, and who have no higher aspiration than to grasp everything which comes within their reach. As we have sometimes hypocrites in religion, and demagogues in politics, so there are occasionally misers among money-getters. These, however, are only exceptions to the general rule. But when, in this country, we find such a nuisance and stumbling block as a miser, we remember with gratitude that in America we have no laws of primogeniture, and that in the due course of nature the time will come when the hoarded dust will be scattered for the benefit of mankind. To all men and women, therefore, do I conscientiously say, make money honestly, and not otherwise, for Shakespeare has truly said, "He that wants money, means and content, is without three good friends."

Money is in some respects like fire; it is a very excellent servant but a terrible master. When you have it mastering you; when interest is constantly piling up against you, it will keep you down in the worst kind of slavery. But let money work for you, and you have the most devoted servant in the world. It is no "eye-servant." There is nothing animate or inanimate that will work so faithfully as money when placed at interest, well secured. It works night and day, and in wet or dry weather.

Do not let it work against you; if you do, there is no chance for success in life so far as money is concerned. John Randolph, the eccentric Virginian, once exclaimed in Congress, "Mr. Speaker, I have discovered the philosopher's stone: pay as you go." This is, indeed, nearer to the philosopher's stone than any alchemist has ever yet arrived.

Barnum and the newspapers had always been on the best of terms, and in nearly every instance the press praised the lecture in most unqualified terms. The following extract from the London Times is a fair sample of many notices which he received:

"We are bound to admit that Mr. Barnum is one of the most entertaining lecturers that ever addressed an audience on a theme universally intelligible. The appearance of Mr. Barnum, it should be added, has nothing of the 'charlatan' about it, but is that of the thoroughly respectable man of business; and he has at command a fund of dry humor that convulses everybody with laughter, while he himself remains perfectly serious. A sonorous voice and an admirably clear delivery complete his qualifications as a lecturer, in which capacity he is no 'humbug,' either in a higher or lower sense of the word."

During the year 1859 he delivered this lecture nearly one hundred times in London and in different parts of England, always with great success.

Remembering his experiences with Tom Thumb at Oxford and Cambridge, and knowing the fondness of the college men for joking, Barnum made up his mind to endure any amount of friendly chaff when he visited their cities.

He commenced at Cambridge, where he was greeted with a crowded house, composed largely of under-graduates. Soon after he began to speak, one of the young men called out: "Where is Joice Heth?" to which Barnum replied: "Young gentleman, please to restrain yourself till the close of the lecture, when I shall take great pleasure in affording you all the information I possess concerning your deceased relative."

This turned the laugh against the youthful inquirer, and kept the students quiet for a few moments. Questions of a similar character were occasionally propounded and as promptly answered, and on the whole the lecture was interrupted less than Barnum had anticipated, while the receipts were over one hundred pounds sterling.

At Oxford the hall was filled to suffocation half an hour before the time announced for the lecture to begin, and the sale of tickets was stopped.

Barnum therefore stepped upon the platform, and said: "Ladies and gentlemen: as every seat is now occupied and the ticket-office is closed, I propose to begin my lecture now and not keep you waiting till the advertised hour."

"Good for you, old Barnum,"--"Time is money,"--"Nothing like economy," yelled the audience. Holding up his hand for silence, Barnum proceeded:

"Young gentlemen, I have a word or two to say, in order that we may have a thorough understanding between ourselves at the outset. I see symptoms of a pretty jolly time here this evening, and you have paid me liberally for the single hour of my time, which is at your service. I am an old traveller and an old showman, and I like to please my patrons. Now, it is quite immaterial to me; you may furnish the entertainment for the hour, or I will endeavor to do so, or we will take portions of the time by turns --you supplying a part of the amusement and I a part--as we say sometimes in America, 'you pays your money, and you takes your choice.' "

This frankness pleased the students, who agreed to this unique proposition unhesitatingly.

The lecture proceeded for fifteen minutes, when a voice called out: "Come, old chap! you must be tired by this time. Hold up now till we sing Yankee Doodle." Whereupon they all joined in that honorable song with lusty good-will, Barnum meanwhile sitting down comfortably, to show them that he was quite satisfied with their manner of passing the time. When the song was concluded, the leader of the party said: "Now, Mr. Barnum, you may go ahead again."

The lecture went on, or rather A lecture, for Barnum began to adapt his remarks to the occasion. Every few minutes would come some interruption, which was always as much enjoyed by Barnum as by the audience. When the entertainment concluded, the young men crowded to the platform to shake hands with the speaker, declaring that they had had a "jolly good time," while the leader said: "Stay with us a week, Barnum, and we'll dine you, wine you, and give you full houses every night."

Barnum would have accepted the invitation had he not been announced to lecture in London the next evening, and he told the students so. They asked him all sorts of questions about America, the Museum and other shows, and expressed the hope that he would come out of his troubles all right.

At least a score of them invited him to breakfast with them the next morning, but he declined, until one young gentleman insisted on personal grounds. "My dear sir," said he, "you must breakfast with me. I have almost split my throat here to-night, and it is only fair for you to repay me by coming to see me in the morning." This appeal was irresistible, and Barnum agreed to come.

The boys were pleased with his nerve and good nature, but they confided to him that they liked better to get people angry. A few weeks before Howard Paul had left them in disgust, because they insisted on smoking when his wife was on the stage. They added that the entertainment was excellent, and Howard Paul might have made a thousand pounds if he had kept his temper.

Some time later Barnum was offered L1,200, or $6,000, for the copyright of his lecture; the offer was, however, refused.

The morning after the lecture in Manchester a gentleman named John Fish called at the hotel where Barnum was staying. He said that he had attended the lecture the evening before, and added that he was pretty well acquainted with the lecturer, having read his autobiography. He went on to say that he was joint proprietor with another gentleman in a cotton-mill near Manchester, "although," he said, "a few years ago I was working as a journeyman, and probably should have been at this time had I not read your book."

Observing Mr. Barnum's surprise, he continued:

"The fact is, Mr. Barnum, upon reading your autobiography, I thought I perceived you tried to make yourself out worse than you really were; for I discovered a pleasant spirit and a good heart under the rougher exterior in which you chose to present yourself to the public; but," he added, "after reading your life, I found myself in possession of renewed strength, and awakened energies and aspirations, and I said to myself, 'Why can't I go ahead and make money, as Barnum did? He commenced without money and succeeded; why may not I?' In this train of thought," he continued, "I went to a newspaper office and advertised for a partner with money to join me in establishing a cotton-mill. I had no applications, and, remembering your experiences when you had money and wanted a partner, I spent half a crown in a similar experiment. I advertised for a partner to join a man who had plenty of capital. Then I had lots of applicants ready to introduce me into all sorts of occupations, from that of a banker to that of a horsejockey or gambler, if I would only furnish the money to start with. After a while, I advertised again for a partner, and obtained one with money. We have a good mill. I devote myself closely to business, and have been very successful. I know every line in your book; so, indeed, do several members of my family; and I have conducted my business on the principles laid down in your published 'Rules for Money-making.' I find them correct principles; and, sir, I have sought this interview in order to thank you for publishing your autobiography, and to tell you that to that act of yours I attribute my present position in life."

"Your statement is certainly flattering," said Mr. Barnum, "and I am glad if I have been able in any manner, through my experiences, to aid you in starting in life. But I presume your genius would have found vent in time if I had not written the book."

"No, indeed, it would not," he replied, in an earnest tone; "I am sure I should have worked as a mill-hand all my life if it had not been for you. Oh, I have made no secret of it," he continued; "the commercial men with whom I deal know all about it; indeed, they call me 'Barnum' on 'change here in Manchester."

On one occasion, when General Tom Thumb exhibited in Bury, Mr. Fish closed his mill, and gave each of his employees a ticket to the exhibition; out of respect, as he said, to Barnum. On a subsequent occasion, when the little General visited England the last time, Mr. Fish invited him, his wife, Commodore Nutt, Minnie Warren, and the managers of "the show," to a splendid and sumptuous dinner at his house, which the distinguished little party enjoyed exceedingly.

Soon after his return to America, Barnum read an account of a French giant then exhibiting in Paris, and said to be over eight feet in height. As this was considerably taller than anything that the showman had ever beheld, he wrote to his friend Fish, who had expressed a wish to do him any service in his power, and requested him to go to Paris, and, by actual measurement, find out the exact height of the giant. He inclosed an offer, arranging the prices on a sliding scale, commencing at eight feet, and descending to seven feet two inches, for if he were not taller than that he was not to be desired.

Mr. Fish put a two-foot rule in his pocket, and started for Paris, where, after several days' delay and much trouble beside, he finally succeeded in gaining an interview. The giant was shown Barnum's letter, and read the tempting offers made for his services, provided he measured eight feet, or within six inches of that height.

"Oh, I measure over eight feet," said he.

"Very likely," responded Mr. Fish, "but you see my orders are to measure you."

"There's no need of that; you can see for yourself," stretching himself up a few inches by aid of a peculiar knack which giants and dwarfs possess to increase or diminish their apparent stature.

"No doubt you are right," persisted Mr. Fish, "but you see I must obey orders, and if I am not permitted to measure you I shall not engage you."

"Well," said the giant, "if you can't take my word for it, look at that door. You see my head is more than two feet above the top (giving his neck a severe stretch); just measure the door."

But Mr. Fish refused. The giant was now desperate, and, stretching himself up to his full height, exclaimed: "Well, be quick! Put your rule to my feet and measure me; but hurry up, please!"

Mr. Fish regarded him coolly. "Look here!" said he, "this sort of thing won't do, you know. I don't understand this contrivance around the soles of your boots, but it seems to me you've got a set of springs there which aids your height when you desire it. Now I will not stand any more nonsense. If I engage you at all, you must first take off your boots, and lie flat upon your back in the middle of the floor."

The giant protested, but Mr. Fish was firm, and at last he slowly took off his coat and lay down on the floor. Mr. Fish applied his rule, and to his own astonishment and the giant's indignation the latter proved to be barely seven feet one and one-half inches. So he was not engaged at all.

Some time afterwards Barnum wrote to his friend and asked his permission to put him into a new book then in course of preparation. He wrote in return the following characteristic letter:

Had I made a fortune of L100,000 I should have been proud of a place in your Autobiography; but as I have only been able to make (here he named a sum which in this country would be considered almost a fortune), I feel I should be out of place in your pages; at all events, if you mention me at all, draw it mildly, if you please.

The American war has made sad havoc in our trade, and it is only by close attention to business that I have lately been at all successful. I have built a place for one thousand looms, and have, as you know, put in a pair of engines, which I have named "Barnum" and "Charity." Each engine has its name engraved on two large brass plates at either end of the cylinder, which has often caused much mirth when I have explained the circumstances to visitors. I started and christened "Charity" on the 14th of January last, and she has saved me L12 per month in coals ever since. The steam from the boiler goes first to "Charity" (she is high pressure), and "Barnum" only gets the steam after she has done with it. He has to work at low pressure (a condensing engine), and the result is a saving. Barnum was extravagant when he took steam direct, but since I fixed Charity betwixt him and the boiler, he can only get what she gives him. This reminds me that you state in your "Life" you could always make money, but formerly did not save it. Perhaps you never took care of it till Charity became Chancellor of Exchequer. When I visited you at the Bull Hotel, in Blackburn, you pointed to General Tom Thumb, and said: "That is my piece of goods; I have sold it hundreds of thousands of times, and have never yet delivered it!" That was ten years ago, in 1858. If I had been doing the same with my pieces of calico, I must have been wealthy by this time; but I have been hammering at one (cotton) nail several months, and, as it did not offer to clinch, I was almost tempted to doubt one of your "rules," and thought I would drive at some other nail; but, on reflection, I knew I understood cotton better than anything else, and so I back up your rule and stick to cotton, not doubting it will be all right and successful.

Mr. Fish was one of the large class of English manufacturers who suffered seriously from the effects of the rebellion in the United States. As an Englishman, he could not have a patriot's interest in the progress of that terrible struggle; but he made a practical exhibition of sympathy for the suffering soldiers, in a pleasant and characteristic manner.

At the great Sanitary Fair in New York, during the war, Mr. Fish sent two monster "Simuel cakes," covered with miniature forts, cannon, armies, and all the panoply of war, which attracted great attention from every one present.

In 1859, Barnum returned to the United States. During his trip abroad he had secured many novelties for the Museum, the Albino Family, Thiodon's Mechanical Theatre, and others.

These afforded him a liberal commission, and he had beside made considerable money from the Tom Thumb exhibitions and his lectures.

All this, his wife's income, as well as a large sum derived from the sale of some of her property, was faithfully devoted to the one object of their lives--paying off the clock debts.

Mrs. Barnum and her daughter, Pauline, had either boarded in Bridgeport or lived in a small house in the suburbs during the entire four years of struggle. The land purchased by Mrs. Barnum at the assignee's sale in East Bridgeport had increased in value meanwhile, and they felt justified in borrowing on it, some of the single lots were sold, and all this money went toward the discharge of the debts.

At last, in March, 1860, all the clock indebtedness was extinguished, except $20,000, which Barnum bound himself to take up within a certain time, his friend James D. Johnson guaranteeing his bond to that effect.

On the seventeenth day of March, Messrs. Butler and Greenwood signed an agreement to sell and deliver to Barnum on the following Saturday their entire good-will and interest in the Museum collection. This fact was thoroughly circulated, and blazing posters, placards, and advertisements announced that "Barnum is on his feet again." It was furthermore stated that the Museum would be closed for one week, opening March 31st, under the management and proprietorship of its original owner. It was also promised that Barnum would address the audience on the night of closing.

The Museum, decked in its holiday dress of flags and banners, was crowded to its utmost capacity when Barnum made his appearance. His reception was an enthusiastic one, cheers and shouts rent the air, and tears filled the showman's eyes as he thought of this triumphant conclusion of his four years' struggle.

Recovering himself, he bowed his acknowledgments for the reception, and addressed the audience as follows:

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: I should be more or less than human, if I could meet this unexpected and overwhelming testimonial at your hands, without the deepest emotion. My own personal connection with the Museum is now resumed, and I avail myself of the circumstance to say why it is so. Never did I feel stronger in my worldly prosperity than in September, 1855. Three months later I was so deeply embarrassed that I felt certain of nothing, except the uncertainty of everything. A combination of singular efforts and circumstances tempted me to put faith in a certain clock manufacturing company, and I placed my signature to papers which ultimately broke me down. After nearly five years of hard struggle to keep my head above water, I have touched bottom at last, and here to-night I am happy to announce that I have waded ashore. Every clock debt of which I have any knowledge has been provided for. Perhaps, after the troubles and turmoils I have experienced, I should feel no desire to re-engage in the excitements of business; but a man like myself, less than fifty years of age, and enjoying robust health, is scarcely old enough to be embalmed and put in a glass case in the Museum as one of its million of curiosities. 'It is better to wear out than rust out.' Besides, if a man of active temperament is not busy, he is apt to get into mischief. To avoid evil, therefore, and since business activity is a necessity of my nature, here I am, once more, in the Museum, and among those with whom I have been so long and so pleasantly identified. I am confident of a cordial welcome, and hence feel some claim to your indulgence while I briefly allude to the means of my present deliverance from utter financial ruin. Need I say, in the first place, that I am somewhat indebted to the forbearance of generous creditors. In the next place, permit me to speak of sympathizing friends, whose volunteered loans and exertions vastly aided my rescue. When my day of sorrow came, I first paid or secured every debt I owed of a personal nature. This done, I felt bound in honor to give up all of my property that remained toward liquidating my 'clock debts.' I placed it in the hands of trustees and receivers for the benefit of all the 'clock' creditors. But at the forced sale of my Connecticut real estate, there was a purchaser behind the screen, of whom the world had little knowledge. In the day of my prosperity I made over to my wife much valuable property, including the lease of this Museum building--a lease then having about twenty-two years to run, and enhanced in value to more than double its original worth. I sold the Museum collection to Messrs. Greenwood & Butler, subject to my wife's separate interest in the lease, and she has received more than $80,000 over and above the sums paid to the owners of the building. Instead of selfishly applying this amount to private purposes, my family lived with a due regard to economy, and the savings (strictly belonging to my wife) were devoted to buying in portions of my estate at the assignees' sales and to purchasing 'clock notes' bearing my indorsements. The Christian name of my wife is Charity. I may well acknowledge, therefore, that I am not only a proper 'subject of charity,' but that 'without Charity, I am nothing.'

"But, ladies and gentlemen, while Charity thus labored in my behalf, Faith and Hope were not idle. I have been anything but indolent during the last four years. Driven from pillar to post, and annoyed beyond description by all sorts of legal claims and writs, I was perusing protests and summonses by day, and dreaming of clocks run down by night. My head was ever whizzing with dislocated cog-wheels and broken main-springs; my whole mind (and my credit) was running upon tick, and everything pressing on me like a dead weight.

"In this state of affairs I felt that I was of no use on this side of the Atlantic, so, giving the pendulum a swing, and seizing time by the forelock, I went to Europe. There I furtively pulled the wires of several exhibitions, among which that of Tom Thumb may be mentioned for example. I managed a variety of musical and commercial speculations in Great Britain, Germany, and Holland. These enterprises, together with the net profits of my public lectures, enabled me to remit large sums to confidential agents for the purchase of my obligations. In this manner, I quietly extinguished, little by little, every dollar of my clock liabilities. I could not have achieved this difficult feat, however, without the able assistance of enthusiastic friends--and among the chief of them let me gratefully acknowledge the invaluable services of Mr. James D. Johnson, a gentleman of wealth, in Bridgeport, Connecticut. Other gentlemen have been generous with me. Some have loaned me large sums without security, and have placed me under obligations which must ever command my honest gratitude "but Mr. Johnson has been a 'friend in deed,' for he has been truly a 'friend in need.'

"You must not infer, from what I have said, that I have completely recovered from the stunning blow to which I was subjected four years ago. I have lost more in the way of tens of thousands, yes, hundreds of thousands, than I care to remember. A valuable portion of my real estate in Connecticut, however, has been preserved, and as I feel all the ardor of twenty years ago, and the prospect here is so flattering, my heart is animated with the hope of ultimately, by enterprise and activity, obliterating unpleasant reminiscences, and retrieving the losses of the past. Experience, too, has taught me not only that, even in the matter of money, 'enough is as good as a feast,' but that there are, in this world, some things vastly better than the Almighty Dollar! Possibly I may contemplate, at times, the painful day when I said 'Othello's occupation's gone'; but I shall the more frequently cherish the memory of this moment, when I am permitted to announce that Richard's himself again.'

"Many people have wondered that a man considered so acute as myself should have been deluded into embarrassments like mine, and not a few have declared, in short meter, that 'Barnum was a fool.' I can only reply that I never made pretensions to the sharpness of a pawnbroker, and I hope I shall never so entirely lose confidence in human nature as to consider every man a scamp by instinct, or a rogue by necessity. 'It is better to be deceived sometimes, than to distrust always,' says Lord Bacon, and I agree with him.

"Experience is said to be a hard schoolmaster, but I should be sorry to feel that this great lesson in adversity has not brought forth fruits of some value. I needed the discipline this tribulation has given me, and I really feel, after all, that this, like many other apparent evils, was only a blessing in disguise. Indeed, I may mention that the very clock factory which I built in Bridgeport for the purpose of bringing hundreds of workmen to that city, has been purchased and quadrupled in size by the Wheeler & Wilson Sewing-Machine Company, and is now filled with intelligent New England mechanics, whose families add two thousand to the population, and who are doing a great work in building up and beautifying that flourishing city. So that the same concern which prostrated me seems destined as a most important agent toward my recuperation. I am certain that the popular sympathy has been with me from the beginning; and this, together with a consciousness of rectitude, is more than an offset to all the vicissitudes to which I have been subjected.

"In conclusion, I beg to assure you and the public that my chief pleasure, while health and strength are spared me, will be to cater for your and their healthy amusement and instruction. In future, such capabilities as I possess will be devoted to the maintenance of this Museum as a popular place of family resort, in which all that is novel and interesting shall be gathered from the four quarters of the globe, and which ladies and children may visit at all times unattended, without danger of encountering anything of an objectionable nature. The dramas introduced in the Lecture Room will never contain a profane expression or a vulgar allusion; on the contrary, their tendency will always be to encourage virtue and frown upon vice.

"I have established connections in Europe, which will enable me to produce here a succession of interesting novelties otherwise inaccessible. Although I shall be personally present much of the time, and hope to meet many of my old acquaintances, as well as to form many new ones, I am sure you will be glad to learn that I have re-secured the services of one of the late proprietors, and the active manager of this Museum, Mr. John Greenwood, Jr. As he is a modest gentleman, who would be the last to praise himself, allow me to add that he is one to whose successful qualities as a caterer for the popular entertainments, the crowds that have often filled this building may well bear testimony. But, more than this, he is the unobtrusive one to whose integrity, diligence, and devotion I owe much of my present position of self-congratulation. Mr. Greenwood will hereafter act as assistant manager, while his late co-partner, Mr. Butler, has engaged in another branch of business. Once more, thanking you all for your kind welcome, I bid you, till the re-opening, 'an affectionate adieu.' "

The speech was received with wild enthusiasm, and after the re-opening of the Museum the number of visitors was at once almost doubled.

Among the many newspaper congratulations he received, none gave Barnum more pleasure than a poem from his old admirer on the Boston Saturday Evening Gazette.

ANOTHER WORD FOR BARNUM.

Barnum, your hand! The struggle o'er,
You face the world and ask no favor;
You stand where you have stood before,
The old salt hasn't lost its savor.
You now can laugh with friends, at foes'
Ne'er heeding Mrs. Grundy's tattle;
You've dealt and taken sturdy blows,
Regardless of the rabble's prattle.

Not yours the heart to harbor ill
'Gainst those who've dealt in trivial jesting;
You pass them with the same good will
Erst shown when they their wit were testing.
You're the same Barnum that we knew,
You're good for years, still fit for labor,
Be as of old, be bold and true,
Honest as man, as friend, as neighbor.

At about this period, the following poem was published in a Pottsville, Pa., paper, and copied by many journals of the-day:

A HEALTH TO BARNUM.

Companions! fill your glasses round
And drink a health to one
Who has few coming after him,
To do as he has done;
Who made a fortune for himself,
Made fortunes, too, for many,
Yet wronged no bosom of a sigh,
No pocket of a penny.
Come! shout a gallant chorus,
And make the glasses ring,
Here's health and luck to Barnum!
The Exhibition King.

Who lured the Swedish Nightingale
To Western woods to come?
Who prosperous and happy made
The life of little Thumb?
Who oped Amusement's golden door
So cheaply to the crowd,
And taught Morality to smile
On all HIS stage allowed?
Come! shout a gallant chorus,
Until the glasses ring--
Here's health and luck to Barnum!
The Exhibition King.

And when the sad reverses came,
As come they may to all,
Who stood a Hero, bold and true,
Amid his fortune's fall?
Who to the utmost yielded up
What Honor could not keep,
Then took the field of life again
With courage calm and deep?
Come! shout a gallant chorus,
Until the glasses dance--
Here's health and luck to Barnum,
The Napoleon of Finance

Yet, no--OUR hero would not look
With smiles on such a cup;
Throw out the wine--with water clear,
Fill the pure crystal up
Then rise, and greet with deep respect,
The courage he has shown,
And drink to him who well deserves
A seat on Fortune's throne.
Here's health and luck to Barnum!
An ELBA he has seen,
And never may his map of life
Display a ST HELENE!

It is of interest to observe that the phrase "Napoleon of Finance," which has in recent years been applied to several Wall Street speculators, was first coined in honorable description of Phineas T. Barnum, because of his honesty as well as his signal success.

The famous old American Museum was now the centre of Barnum's interests, and he devoted himself to its development with such energy as never before. His enterprise in securing new curiosities, and his skill in presenting them to the public in the most attractive light, surpassed all previous efforts. To his office, as to their Mecca, flocked all the "freaks" of the land, and all who possessed any objects of rare or marvelous nature. Foremost among these visitors was one veteran frontiersman, who had attained--and well deserved--much fame as a fighter of the most savage wild beasts. His name was James C. Adams, but he was universally known as "Grizzly Adams," from the fact that he had captured a great many grizzly bears at the risk and cost of fearful encounters and perils. He was brave, and with his bravery there was enough of the romantic in his nature to make him a real hero. For many years a hunter and trapper in the Rocky and Sierra Nevada Mountains, he acquired a recklessness, which, added to his natural invincible courage, rendered him one of the most striking men of the age, and he was emphatically a man of pluck. A month after Barnum had re-purchased the Museum, Adams arrived in New York with his famous collection of California animals, captured by himself, consisting of twenty or thirty immense grizzly bears, at the head of which stood "Old Samson," together with several wolves, half a dozen different species of California bears, California lions, tigers, buffalo, elk, and "Old Neptune," the great sea-lion from the Pacific.

Old Adams had trained all these monsters so that with him they were as docile as kittens, though many of the most ferocious among them would attack a stranger without hesitation, if he came within their grasp. In fact, the training of these animals was no fool's play, as Old Adams learned to his cost, for the terrific blows which he received from time to time, while teaching them "docility," finally cost him his life.

Adams called on Barnum immediately on his arrival in New York. He was dressed in his hunter's suit of buckskin, trimmed with the skins and bordered with the hanging tails of small Rocky Mountain animals; his cap consisting of the skin of a wolf's head and shoulders, from which depended several tails, and under which appeared his stiff bushy, gray hair and his long, white, grizzly beard; in fact, Old Adams was quite as much of a show as his beasts. They had come around Cape Horn on the clipper ship "Golden Fleece," and a sea voyage of three and a half months had probably not added much to the beauty or neat appearance of the old bear-hunter. During their conversation Grizzly Adams took off his cap, and showed Barnum the top of his head. His skull was literally broken in. It had, on various occasions, been struck by the fearful paws of his grizzly students; and the last blow, from the bear called "General Fremont," had laid open his brain so that its workings were plainly visible. Barnum remarked that he thought it was a dangerous wound and might possibly prove fatal.

"Yes," replied Adams, "that will fix me out. It had nearly healed; but old Fremont opened it for me, for the third or fourth time, before I left California, and he did his business so thoroughly, I'm a used-up man. However, I reckon I may live six months or a year yet." This was spoken as coolly as if he had been talking about the life of a dog.

This extraordinary man had come to see Barnum about the "California Menagerie," of which he, Adams, was the owner. Barnum had shortly before, however, purchased one-half interest in it from a man who had claimed to be Adams's equal partner. This Adams disputed, declaring that he had merely borrowed from the man some money on the security of the show, that the man was not his partner, and that he had no right to sell one-half or any portion of the menagerie. As a matter of fact, however, the man did have a bill of sale for one-half of the show, and Adams was soon convinced that Barnum's purchase was entirely legitimate. The result was that Barnum and Adams formed a regular partnership, the former to attend to all business affairs, the latter to exhibit the animals. The show was opened in a huge canvas tent on Broadway, at the corner of Thirteenth Street.

On the morning of opening, a band of music preceded a procession of animal cages down Broadway and up the Bowery, old Adams, dressed in his hunting costume, heading the line, with a platform wagon on which were placed three immense grizzly bears, two of which he held by chains, while he was mounted on the back of the largest grizzly, which stood in the centre and was not secured in any manner whatever. This was the bear known as "General Fremont," and so docile had he become that Adams said he had used him as a pack-bear, to carry his cooking and hunting apparatus through the mountains for six months, and had ridden him hundreds of miles. But apparently docile as were many of these animals, there was not one among them that would not occasionally give Adams a sly blow or a sly bite when a good chance offered; hence old Adams was but a wreck of his former self, and expressed pretty nearly the truth when he said:

"Mr. Barnum, I am not the man I was five years ago. Then I felt able to stand the hug of any grizzly living, and was always glad to encounter, single handed, any sort of an animal that dared present himself. But I have been beaten to a jelly, torn almost limb from limb, and nearly chawed up and spit out by these treacherous grizzly bears. However, I am good for a few months yet, and by that time I hope we shall gain enough to make my old woman comfortable, for I have been absent from her some years."

His wife came from Massachusetts to New York and nursed him. Dr. Johns dressed his wounds every day, and not only told Adams he could never recover, but assured his friends that probably a very few weeks would lay him in his grave. But Adams was as firm as adamant and as resolute as a lion. Among the thousands who saw him dressed in his grotesque hunter's suit, and witnessed the seeming vigor with which he "performed" the savage monsters, beating and whipping them into apparently the most perfect docility, probably not one suspected that this rough, fierce-looking, powerful semi-savage, as he appeared to be, was suffering intense pain from his broken skull and fevered system, and that nothing kept him from stretching himself on his death-bed but his most indomitable and extraordinary will.

Adams was an inveterate story-teller, and often "drew the long bow" with daring hand. He loved to astonish people with extraordinary tales, which were sheer inventions, but which no one could disprove. He pretended, too, to have been everywhere and to have seen everything. This weakness made him good game for Barnum, who determined to expose his foibles to him at the first opportunity. The opportunity soon came. One day, amid the innumerable caravan of cranks that moved to the weird realm of Barnum's wonder-house, there appeared a fat, stolid German, carrying in his hand a small basket, which he guarded with jealous care.

"I have come," he said, "to see if you would not like some golden pigeons to buy?"

"Yes," Barnum replied, "I would like a flock of golden pigeons, if I could buy them for their weight in silver; for there are no 'golden pigeons' in existence, unless they are made from the pure metal."

"You shall some golden pigeons alive see," he replied, at the same time entering the office, and closing the door after him. He then removed the lid from the basket, and sure enough, there were snugly ensconced a pair of beautiful, living ruff-necked pigeons, as yellow as saffron, and as bright as a double-eagle fresh from the Mint.

Barnum was somewhat staggered at this sight, and quickly asked the man where those birds came from. A dull, lazy smile crawled over the sober face of the German visitor, as he replied in a slow, guttural tone of voice:

"What you think yourself?"

Catching his meaning, Barnum quickly replied:

"I think it is a humbug."

"Of course, I know you will so say; because you 'forstha' such things; so I shall not try to humbug you; I have them myself colored."

It then came out that the man was a chemist, and that he had invented a process by which he could dye the feathers of living birds any color he pleased, retaining at the same time all the natural gloss of the plumage. Barnum at once closed a bargain with him for the birds, for ten dollars, and then put them in his "Happy Family" at the Museum. He marked them "Golden Pigeons, from California," and then gleefully awaited Adams' next visit, feeling sure that the old fellow would be completely taken in.

Sure enough, next morning Adams came along, saw the pigeons, looked at them earnestly for a few minutes, and then went straight to the office.

"Mr. Barnum," said he, "you must let me have those California pigeons."

"I can't spare them," said Barnum.

"But you must spare them. All the birds and animals from California ought to be together. You own half of my California menagerie, and you must lend me those pigeons."

"Mr. Adams, they are too rare and valuable a bird to be hawked about in that manner."

"Oh, don't be a fool," replied Adams. "Rare bird, indeed! Why, they are just as common in California as any other pigeon! I could have brought a hundred of them from San Francisco, if I had thought of it."

"But why did you not think of it?" with a suppressed smile.

"Because they are so common there," said Adams. "I did not think they would be any curiosity here."

Barnum was ready to burst with laughter to see how readily Adams swallowed the bait, but, maintaining the most rigid gravity, he replied:

"Oh! well, Mr. Adams, if they are really so common in California, you had probably better take them, and you may write over and have half a dozen pairs sent to me for the Museum."

A few weeks later Barnum, being in the California Menagerie, noticed that something ailed the pigeons. They had a sadly-mottled appearance. Their feathers had grown out, and they were half white. Adams had not yet noticed it, being too busy with his bears. But Barnum called him at once to the pigeon cage.

"Look here, Adams," he said, "I'm afraid you are going to lose your Golden Pigeons. They must be very sick. Just see how pale they look! Good thing they're so common in California, so you can easily get some more, eh?"

Adams looked at them a moment in astonishment, then turning to Barnum, and seeing that he could not suppress a smile, he indignantly exclaimed:

"Blast the Golden Pigeons! You had better take them back to the Museum. You can't humbug me with your painted pigeons!"

This was too much, and Barnum laughed till he cried, to witness the mixed look of astonishment and vexation which marked the grizzly features of old Adams.

After the exhibition on Thirteenth Street and Broadway had been open six weeks, the doctor insisted that Adams should sell out his share in the animals and settle up his worldly affairs, for he assured him that he was growing weaker every day, and his earthly existence must soon terminate. "I shall live a good deal longer than you doctors think for," replied Adams, doggedly; and then, seeming after all to realize the truth of the doctor's assertion, he turned and said: "Well, Mr. Barnum, you must buy me out."

A bargain was soon concluded. Arrangements had been made to exhibit the bears in Connecticut and Massachusetts during the summer, in connection with the Museum, and Adams insisted that Barnum should engage him to travel for the season and manage the bears. He offered to do it for $60 a week and expenses. Barnum replied that he would gladly make such an arrangement, but he feared Adams was not strong enough to stand it.

"You are growing weaker every day," he said; "and would better go to your home and rest."

"What will you give me extra if I will travel and exhibit the bears every day for ten weeks?" added old Adams, eagerly.

"Five hundred dollars."

"Done!" exclaimed Adams, "I will do it, so draw up an agreement to that effect at once. But mind you, draw it payable to my wife, for I may be too weak to attend to business after the ten weeks are up, and if I perform my part of the contract, I want her to get the $500 without any trouble."

Barnum drew up a contract to pay him $60 per week for his services, and if he continued to exhibit the bears for ten consecutive weeks, to hand him, or his wife, $500 extra.

"You have lost your $500!" exclaimed Adams on taking the contract; "for I am bound to live and earn it."

"I hope you may, with all my heart, and a hundred years more if you desire it," replied Barnum.

"Call me a fool if I don't earn the $500!" exclaimed Adams, with a triumphant laugh.

The "show" started off in a few days, and at the end of a fortnight Barnum met it at Hartford, Connecticut.

"Well" said he, "Adams, you seem to stand it pretty well. I hope you and your wife are comfortable?"

"Yes," he replied with a laugh; "and you may as well try to be comfortable, too, for your $500 is a goner."

"All right," Barnum replied, "I hope you will grow better every day."

But the case was hopeless. Adams was dying. When Barnum met him three weeks later at New Bedford his eyes were glassy and his hands trembling, but his courage and will were strong as ever.

"This hot weather tells on me," he said, "but I'll last the ten weeks and more, and get your $500."

Barnum urged him to quit work, to take half of the $500 and go home. But, no. He would not listen to it. And he did actually serve through the whole ten weeks, and got the $500; remarking, as he pocketed the cash,

"Barnum, it's too bad you're a teetotaler, for I'd like to stand treat with you on this."

When Adams set out on this last tour, Barnum had a fine new hunting-suit made of beaver-skins. He had procured it for Herr Driesbach, the animal tamer, whom he had engaged to take Adams' place whenever the latter should give out. Adams had asked him to loan him the suit, to wear occasionally when he had great audiences, as his own suit was badly worn. Barnum did so; and at the end of the engagement, as he received the $500, Adams said:

"Mr. Barnum, I suppose you are going to give me this new hunting-dress."

"Oh, no," Barnum replied, "I got that for your successor, who will exhibit the bears to-morrow, besides, you have no possible use for it."

"Now, don't be mean, but lend me the dress, if you won't give it to me, for I want to wear it home to my native village."

Barnum could not refuse the poor old man anything, and he therefore replied:

"Well, Adams, I will lend you the dress, but you will send it back to me?"

"Yes, when I have done with it," he replied, with an evident chuckle of triumph.

Barnum thought, "he will soon be done with it," and replied: "That's all right."

A new idea evidently struck Adams, for, with a brightening look of satisfaction, he said:

"Now, Barnum, you have made a good thing out of the California menagerie, and so have I; but you will make a heap more. So if you won't give me this new hunter's dress, just draw a little writing, and sign it, saying that I may wear it until I have done with it."

Barnum knew that in a few days, at longest, he would be "done" with this world altogether, and, to gratify him, he cheerfully drew and signed the paper.

"Come, old Yankee, I've got you this time--see. if I hadn't!" exclaimed Adams, with a broad grin, as he took the paper.

Barnum smiled, and said:

"All right, my dear fellow; the longer you live the better I shall like it,"

They parted, and Adams went to Charlton, Worcester County, Massachusetts, where his wife and daughter lived. He took at once to his bed, and never rose from it again. The excitement had passed away, and his vital energies could accomplish no more, The fifth day after arriving home, the physician told him he could not live until the next morning. He received the announcement in perfect calmness, and with the most apparent indifference; then, turning to his wife, with a smile he requested her to have him buried in the new hunting-suit. "For," said he, "Barnum agreed to let me have it until I have done with it, and I was determined to fix his flint this time. He shall never see that dress again." That dress was indeed the shroud in which he was entombed.

After Adams' death, Barnum incorporated the California Menagerie with the American Museum, for a time, but afterward sold most of the animals. The Museum was now most prosperous, and Barnum was making steady progress toward paying off the debts that burdened him.

In the fall of 1860 the Museum was visited by the Prince of Wales and his suite, in response to an invitation from Barnum. Unfortunately, Barnum himself had gone to Bridgeport that very morning, the invitation not having been accepted until about an hour before the visit. Mr. Greenwood, the manager, when he heard that the Prince was coming, caused the performance in the lecture-room to be commenced half an hour before the usual time, so as to clear the floors of a portion of the crowd, in order that he might have a better opportunity to examine the curiosities. When the Prince arrived, there was a great crowd outside the Museum, and hundreds more were soon added to the numbers assembled within the building. He was received by Mr. Greenwood, and immediately conducted to the second story, where the first object of interest pointed out was the "What Is It?" in which his Royal Highness manifested much curiosity. In compliance with his wish, the keeper went through the regular account of the animal. Here, also, the party were shown the Albino family, concerning whom they made inquiries. The Siamese twins, the sea-lions, and the seal were also pointed out, and some of the animals were fed in the presence of the Prince at his own request. He was conducted through the building, and his attention was called to many objects of special interest. At the close of a short visit, the Prince asked for Mr. Barnum, and regretted that he had not an opportunity of seeing him also. "We have," he said, "missed the most interesting feature of the establishment."

A few days later Barnum called on the Prince in Boston and was cordially received. The Prince was much interested and amused at Barnum's reminiscences of the visits to Buckingham Palace with Tom Thumb. He told Barnum that he had been much pleased with the Museum, and had left his autograph there as a memento of his visit.

It was now about five years since Barnum had had a settled home. The necessities of his business combined with the adversities of fortune had kept him knocking about from pillar to post. Sometimes they lived in boarding-houses, and sometimes they kept house in temporary quarters. Mr. and Mrs. Barnum were now alone, two of their daughters being married and the third being away at a boarding-school. Mrs. Barnum's health was much impaired, and it was desirable that she should have a comfortable and permanent home. Accordingly, in 1860, Barnum built a pleasant house at Bridgeport, next to that of his daughter Caroline and not far from the ruins of Iranistan.

His unfortunate enterprise in the clock business had not discouraged him from further business ventures. His pet city, East Bridgeport, was growing rapidly. An enormous sewing-machine factory had been built, employing a thousand workmen. Other large factories were springing up, many private residences were being erected, and there was a great demand for houses of all kinds, but especially for small cottages suitable for mechanics and other laboring men. The farm-land which Barnum had purchased only a few years before was rapidly becoming a city.

It was characteristic of Barnum to place himself in the forefront in this city-building movement, and in the double role of speculator and public benefactor. The enterprise which he undertook was calculated both to help those who were willing to help themselves to obtain independent homes, and at the same time to pay a handsome profit to Mr. Barnum. His scheme was described by himself as follows in the Bridgeport Standard:

"NEW HOUSES IN EAST BRIDGEPORT.
"EVERY MAN TO OWN THE HOUSE HE LIVES IN.

"There is a demand at the present moment for two hundred more dwelling-houses in East Bridgeport. It is evident that if the money expended in rent can be paid towards the purchase of a house and lot, the person so paying will in a few years own the house he lives in, instead of always remaining a tenant. In view of this fact, I propose to loan money at six per cent. to any number, not exceeding fifty, industrious, temperate and respectable individuals, who desire to build their own houses.

"They may engage their own builders, and build according to any reasonable plan (which I may approve), or I will have it done for them at the lowest possible rate, without a farthing profit to myself or agent, I putting the lot at a fair price and advancing eighty per cent. of the entire cost; the other party to furnish twenty per cent. in labor, material, or money, and they may pay me in small sums weekly, monthly, or quarterly, any amount not less than three per cent. per quarter, all of which is to apply on the money advanced until it is paid.

"It has been ascertained that by purchasing building materials for cash, and in large quantities, nice dwellings, painted, and furnished with green blinds, can be erected at a cost of $1,500 or $1,800, for house, lot, fences, etc., all complete, and if six or eight friends prefer to join in erecting a neat block of houses with verandas in front, the average cost need not exceed about $1,300 per house and lot. If, however, some parties would prefer a single or double house that would cost $2,500 to $3,000, I shall be glad to meet their views. "P. T. BARNUM.
"February 16, 1864."

On this the editor of the paper commented as follows:

"AN ADVANTAGEOUS OFFER.--We have read with great pleasure Mr. Barnum's advertisement, offering assistance to any number of persons, not exceeding fifty, in the erection of dwelling-houses. This plan combines all the advantages and none of the objections of building associations. Any individual who can furnish in cash, labor, or material, one-fifth only of the amount requisite for the erection of a dwelling-house, can receive the other four-fifths from Mr. Barnum, rent his house, and by merely paying what may be considered as only a fair rent, for a few years, find himself at last the owner, and all further payments cease. In the meantime, he can be making such inexpensive improvements in his property as would greatly increase its market value, and besides have the advantage of any rise in the value of real estate. It is not often that such a generous offer is made to working men. It is a loan on what would be generally considered inadequate security, at six per cent., at a time when a much better use of money can be made by any capitalist. It is therefore generous. Mr. Barnum may make money by the operation. Very well, perhaps he will, but if he does, it will be by making others richer, not poorer; by helping those who need assistance, not by hindering them, and we can only wish that every rich man would follow such a noble example, and thus, without injury to themselves, give a helping hand to those who need it. Success to the enterprise. We hope that fifty men will be found before the week ends, each of whom desires in such a manner to obtain a roof which he can call his own."

A considerable number of men immediately availed themselves of Barnum's offer, and succeeded after a time in paying for their homes without much effort. There were many others, however, who did not fully accept his proposals. They would not sign the temperance pledge, and they would not give up the use of tobacco. The result was, that they continued month after month and year after year to pay rent on hired tenements. "The money they have expended for whiskey and tobacco," remarked Mr. Barnum, moralizing upon this topic, "would have given them homes of their own if it had been devoted to that object, and their positions, socially and morally, would have been far better. How many infatuated men there are in all parts of the country who could now be independent, and even owners of their own carriages, but for their slavery to these miserable habits!"

This East Bridgeport land was originally purchased by Barnum at an average cost of about $200 per acre. A few years after the above-described enterprise, a considerable part of it was assessed in the tax list at from $3,000 to $4,000 per acre. It was presently annexed to the city, and connected with it by three bridges across the river. A horse-railroad was also built, of which Mr. Barnum was one of the original stockholders.

This part of the city was laid out by General Noble and Mr. Barnum, and various streets were named after members of the two families. Hence there are Noble street, Barnum street, William street (General Noble's first name), Harriet street (Mrs. Noble's name), Hallett street (Mrs. Barnum's maiden name), and Caroline street, Helen street, and Pauline street, the names of Barnum's three daughters. A public school was also named for Mr. Barnum. The streets were lined with beautiful shade trees, set out by thousands by Barnum; and Noble, and the same gentlemen gave to the city its beautiful Washington Park of seven acres.