On the 13th day of July, 1865, when Barnum was speaking in the Legislature at Hartford, against the railroad schemes, a telegram was handed him from his son-in-law and assistant manager in New York, S. H. Hurd, saying that the American Museum was in flames and its total destruction certain.

Barnum glanced at the dispatch, folded and laid it in his desk, and went calmly on with his speech. At the conclusion of his remarks, the bill which he was advocating was voted upon and carried, and the House adjourned.

Not until then did Barnum hand the telegram to his friend, William G. Coe, of Winsted, who immediately communicated the intelligence to several members.

Warm sympathizers at once crowded around him, and one of his strongest opponents pushing forward, seized his hand, and said: "Mr. Barnum, I am truly sorry to hear of your great misfortune."

"Sorry," replied Barnum; "why, my dear sir, I shall not have time to be sorry in a week! It will take me at least that length of time before I can get over laughing at having whipped you all so nicely on that bill."

But he did find time to be sorry when, next day, he went to New York and saw nothing of what had been the American Museum but a smouldering mass of debris.

Here was destroyed, in a few hours, the result of many years' toil in accumulating from every part of the world myriads of curious productions of nature and art--a collection which a half a million of dollars and a quarter of a century could not restore.

In addition to these, there were many Revolutionary relics and other articles of historical interest that could never be duplicated. Not a thousand dollars worth of property was saved; the loss was irreparable, and the insurance was only forty thousand dollars.

The fire probably originated in the engine-room, where steam was constantly kept up to pump fresh air into the waters of the aquaria and to propel the immense fans for cooling the atmosphere of the rooms.

All the New York newspapers made a great "sensation" of the fire, and the full particulars were copied in journals throughout the country. A facetious reporter; Mr. Nathan D. Urner, of the Tribune, wrote the following amusing account, which appeared in that journal, July 14, 1865, and was very generally quoted from and copied by provincial papers, many of whose readers accepted every line of the glowing narrative as "gospel truth":

"Soon after the breaking out of the conflagration, a number of strange and terrible howls and moans proceeding from the large apartment in the third floor of the Museum, corner of Ann street and Broadway, startled the throngs who had collected in front of the burning building, and who were at first under the impression that the sounds must proceed from human beings unable to effect their escape. Their anxiety was somewhat relieved on this score, but their consternation was by no means decreased upon learning that the room in question was the principal chamber of the menagerie connected with the Museum, and that there was imminent danger of the release of the animals there confined, by the action of the flames. Our reporter fortunately occupied a room on the north corner of Ann street and Broadway, the windows of which looked immediately into this apartment; and no sooner was he apprised of the fire than he repaired there, confident of finding items in abundance. Luckily the windows of the Museum were unclosed, and he had a perfect view of almost the entire interior of the apartment. The following is his statement of what followed, in his own language.

"Protecting myself from the intense heat as well as I could by taking the mattress from the bed and erecting it as a bulwark before the window, with only enough space reserved on the top so as to look out, I anxiously observed the animals in the opposite room. Immediately opposite the window through which I gazed was a large cage containing a lion and lioness. To the right hand was the three-storied cage, containing monkeys at the top, two kangaroos in the second story, and a happy family of cats, rats, adders, rabbits, etc., in the lower apartment. To the left of the lions' cage was the tank containing the two vast alligators, and still further to the left, partially hidden from my sight, was the grand tank containing the great white whale, which has created such a furore in our sightseeing midst for the past few weeks. Upon the floor were caged the boa-constrictor, anacondas and rattlesnakes, whose heads would now and then rise menacingly through the top of the cage. In the extreme right was the cage, entirely shut from my view at first, containing the Bengal tiger and the Polar bear, whose terrific growls could be distinctly heard from behind the partition. With a simultaneous bound the lion and his mate sprang against the bars, which gave way and came down with a great crash, releasing the beasts, which for a moment, apparently amazed at their sudden liberty, stood in the middle of the floor lashing their sides with their tails and roaring dolefully.

"Almost at the same moment the upper part of the three-storied cage, consumed by the flames, fell forward, letting the rods drop to the floor, and many other animals were set free. Just at this time the door fell through and the flames and smoke rolled in like a whirlwind from the Hadean river Cocytus. A horrible scene in the right-hand corner of the room, a yell of indescribable agony, and a crashing, grating sound, indicated that the tiger and Polar bear were stirred up to the highest pitch of excitement. Then there came a great crash, as of the giving way of the bars of their cage. The flames and smoke momentarily rolled back, and for a few seconds the interior of the room was visible in the lurid light of the flames, which revealed the tiger and the lion, locked together in close combat.

"The monkeys were perched around the windows, shivering with dread, and afraid to jump out. The snakes were writhing about, crippled and blistered by the heat, darting out their forked tongues, and expressing their rage and fear in the most sibilant of hisses. The 'Happy Family' were experiencing an amount of beatitude which was evidently too cordial for philosophical enjoyment. A long tongue of flame had crept under the cage, completely singing every hair from the cat's body. The felicitous adder was slowly burning in two and busily engaged in impregnating his organic system with his own venom. The joyful rat had lost his tail by a falling bar of iron; and the beatific rabbit, perforated by a red-hot nail, looked as if nothing would be more grateful than a cool corner in some Esquimaux farm-yard. The members of the delectated convocation were all huddled together in the bottom of their cage, which suddenly gave way, precipitating them out of view in the depths below, which by this time were also blazing like the fabled Tophet.

"At this moment the flames rolled again into the room, and then again retired. The whale and alligators were by this time suffering dreadful torments. The water in which they swam was literally boiling. The alligators dashed fiercely about, endeavoring to escape, and opening and shutting their great jaws in ferocious torture; but the poor whale, almost boiled, with great ulcers bursting from his blubbery sides, could only feebly swim about, though blowing excessively, and every now and then sending up great fountains of spray. At length, crack went the glass sides of the great cases, and whale and alligators rolled out on the floor with the rushing and steaming water. The whale died easily, having been pretty well used up before. A few great gasps and a convulsive flap or two of his mighty flukes were his expiring spasm. One of the alligators was killed almost immediately by falling across a great fragment of shattered glass, which cut open his stomach and let out the greater part of his entrails to the light of day. The remaining alligator became involved in a controversy with an anaconda, and joined the melee in the centre of the flaming apartment.

"A number of birds which were caged in the upper part of the building were set free by some charitably inclined person at the first alarm of fire, and at intervals they flew out. There were many valuable tropical birds, parrots, cockatoos, mockingbirds, humming-birds, etc., as well as some vultures and eagles, and one condor. Great excitement existed among the swaying crowds in the streets below as they took wing. There were confined in the same room a few serpents, which also obtained their liberty; and soon after the rising and devouring flames began to enwrap the entire building, a splendid and emblematic sight was presented to the wondering and upgazing throngs. Bursting through the central casement, with flap of wings and lashing coils, appeared an eagle and a serpent wreathed in fight. For a moment they hung poised in mid-air, presenting a novel and terrible conflict. It was the earth and air (or their respective representatives) at war for mastery; the base and the lofty, the groveller and the soarer, were engaged in deadly battle. At length the flat head of the serpent sank; his writhing, sinuous form grew still; and wafted upward by the cheers of the gazing multitude, the eagle, with a scream of triumph, and bearing his prey in his iron talons, soared towards the sun. Several monkeys escaped from the burning building to the neighboring roofs and streets; and considerable excitement was caused by the attempts to secure them. One of the most amusing incidents in this respect, was in connection with Mr. James Gordon Bennett. The veteran editor of the Herald was sitting in his private office, with his back to the open window, calmly discussing with a friend the chances that the Herald establishment would escape the conflagration, which at that time was threateningly advancing up Ann street towards Nassau street. In the course of his conversation, Mr. Bennett observed: 'Although I have usually had good luck in cases of fire, they say that the devil is ever at one's shoulder, and'--here an exclamation from his friend interrupted him, and turning quickly he was considerably taken aback at seeing the devil himself, or something like him, at his very shoulder as he spoke. Recovering his equanimity, with the ease and suavity which is usual with him in all company, Mr. Bennett was about to address the intruder, when he perceived that what he had taken for the gentleman in black was nothing more than a frightened orang-outang. The poor creature, but recently released from captivity, and doubtless thinking that he might fill some vacancy in the editorial corps of the paper in question, had descended by the water-pipe and instinctively taken refuge in the inner sanctum of the establishment. Although the editor--perhaps from the fact that he saw nothing peculiarly strange in the visitation--soon regained his composure, it was far otherwise with his friend, who immediately gave the alarm. Mr. Hudson rushed in and boldly attacked the monkey, grasping him by the throat. The book-editor next came in, obtaining a clutch upon the brute by the ears; the musical critic followed and seized the tail with both hands, and a number of reporters, armed with inkstands and sharpened pencils, came next, followed by a dozen policemen with brandished clubs; at the same time, the engineer in the basement received the preconcerted signal and got ready his hose, wherewith to pour boiling hot water upon the heads of, those in the streets, in case it should prove a regular systematized attack by gorillas, Brazil apes, and chimpanzees. Opposed to this formidable combination the rash intruder fared badly, and was soon in durance vile. Numerous other incidents of a similar kind occurred; but some of the most amusing were in connection with the wax figures.

"Upon the same impulse which prompts men in time of fire to fling valuable looking-glasses out of three-story windows, and at the same time tenderly to lower down feather beds--soon after the Museum took fire, a number of sturdy firemen rushed into the building to carry out the wax figures. There were thousands of valuable articles which might have been saved if there had been less of solicitude displayed for the miserable effigies which are usually exhibited under the appellation of 'wax figures.' As it was, a dozen firemen rushed into the apartment where the figures were kept, amid a multitude of crawling snakes, chattering monkeys and escaped paroquets. The 'Dying Brigand' was unceremoniously throttled and dragged towards the door; liberties were taken with the tearful 'Senorita' who has so long knelt and so constantly wagged her doll's head at his side; the mules of the other bandits were upset, and they themselves roughly seized. The full-length statue of P. T. Barnum fell down of its own accord, as if disgusted with the whole affair. A red-shined fireman seized with either hand Franklin Pierce and James Buchanan by their coat-collars, tucked the Prince Imperial of France under one arm and the Veiled Murderess under the other, and coolly departed for the street. Two ragged boys quarreled over the Tom Thumb, but at length settled the controversy by one of them taking the head, the other satisfying himself with the legs below the knees. They evidently had Tom under their thumbs, and intended to keep him down. While the curiosity-seeking policeman was garroting Benjamin Franklin, with the idea of abducting him, a small monkey, flung from the windowsill by the strong hand of an impatient fireman, made a straight dive, hitting Poor Richard just below the waistcoat, and passing through his stomach, as fairly as the Harlequin in the 'Green Monster' pantomime ever pierced the picture with the slit in it, which always hangs so conveniently low and near. Patrick Henry had his teeth knocked out by a flying missile, and in carrying Daniel Lambert down stairs, he was found to be so large that they had to break off his head in order to get him through the door. At length the heat became intense, the 'figgers' began to perspire freely, and the swiftly approaching flames compelled all hands to desist from any further attempt at rescue. Throwing a parting glance behind as we passed down the stairs, we saw the remaining dignitaries in a strange plight. Some one had stuck a cigar in General Washington's mouth, and thus, with his chapeau crushed down over his eyes and his head leaning upon the ample lap of Moll Pitcher, the Father of his Country led the van of as sorry a band of patriots as not often comes within one's experience to see. General Marion was playing a dummy game of poker with General Lafayette; Governor Morris was having a set-to with Nathan Lane, and James Madison was executing a Dutch polka with Madam Roland on one arm and Luicretia Borgia on the other. The next moment the advancing flames compelled us to retire.

"We believe that all the living curiosities were saved; but the giant girl, Anna Swan, was only rescued with the utmost difficulty. There was not a door through which her bulky frame could obtain a passage. It was likewise feared that the stairs would break down, even if she should reach them. Her best friend, the living skeleton, stood by her as long as he dared, but then deserted her, while, as the heat grew in intensity, the perspiration rolled from her face in little brooks and rivulets, which pattered musically upon the floor. At length, as a last resort, the employees of the place procured a lofty derrick which fortunately happened to be standing near, and erected it alongside of the Museum. A portion of the wall was then broken off on each side of the window, the strong tackle was got in readiness, the tall woman was made fast to one end and swung over the heads of the people in the street, with eighteen men grasping the other extremity of the line, and lowered down from the third story, amid enthusiastic applause. A carriage of extraordinary capacity was in readiness, and, entering this, the young lady was driven away to a hotel.

"When the surviving serpents, that were released by the partial burning of the box in which they were contained, crept along on the floor to the balcony of the Museum and dropped on the sidewalk, the crowd, seized with St. Patrick's aversion to the reptiles, fled with such precipitate haste that they knocked each other down and trampled on one another in the most reckless and damaging manner.

"Hats were lost, coats torn, boots burst and pantaloons dropped with magnificent miscellaneousness, and dozens of those who rose from the miry streets into which they had been thrown looked like the disembodied spirits of a mud bank. The snakes crawled on the sidewalk and into Broadway, where some of them died from injuries received, and others were dispatched by the excited populace. Several of the serpents of the copper-head species escaped the fury of the tumultuous masses, and, true to their instincts, sought shelter in the World and News offices. A large black bear escaped from the burning Museum into Ann street, and then made his way into Nassau, and down that thoroughfare into Wall, where his appearance caused a sensation. Some superstitious persons believed him the spirit of a departed Ursa Major, and others of his fraternity welcomed the animal as a favorable omen. The bear walked quietly along to the Custom House, ascended the steps of the building, and became bewildered, as many a biped bear has done before him. He seemed to lose his sense of vision, and, no doubt, endeavoring to operate for a fall, walked over the side of the steps and broke his neck. He succeeded in his object, but it cost him dearly. The appearance of Bruin in the street sensibly affected the stock market, and shares fell rapidly; but when he lost his life in the careless manner we have described, shares advanced again, and the Bulls triumphed once more.

"Broadway and its crossings have not witnessed a denser throng for months than assembled at the fire yesterday. Barnum's was always popular, but it never drew so vast a crowd before. There must have been forty thousand people on Broadway, between Maiden Lane and Chambers street, and a great portion stayed there until dusk. So great was the concourse of people that it was with difficulty pedestrians or vehicles could pass.

"After the fire several high-art epicures, groping among the ruins, found choice morsels of boiled whale, roasted kangaroo and fricasseed crocodile, which, it is said, they relished; though the many would have failed to appreciate such rare edibles. Probably the recherche epicures will declare the only true way to prepare those meats is to cook them in a Museum wrapped in flames, in the same manner that the Chinese, according to Charles Lamb, first discovered roast pig in a burning house, and ever afterward set a house on fire with a pig inside, when they wanted that particular food."

All the New York journals, and many more in other cities, editorially expressed their sympathy with the misfortune, and their sense of the loss the community had sustained in the destruction of the American Museum. The following editorial is from the New York Tribune of July 14, 1865:

"The destruction of no building in this city could have caused so much excitement and so much regret as that of Barnum's Museum. The collection of curiosities was very large, and though many of them may not have had much intrinsic or memorial value, a considerable portion was certainly of great worth for any Museum. But aside from this, pleasant memories clustered about the place, which for so many years has been the chief resort for amusement to the common people who cannot often afford to treat themselves to a night at the more expensive theatres, while to the children of the city, Barnum's has been a fountain of delight, ever offering new attractions as captivating and as implicitly believed in as the Arabian Nights Entertainments: Theatre, Menagerie and Museum, it amused, instructed, and astonished. If its thousands and tens of thousands of annual visitors were bewildered sometimes with a Wooly Horse, a What is It? or a Mermaid, they found repose and certainty in a Giraffe, a Whale or a Rhinoceros. If wax effigies of pirates and murderers made them shudder lest those dreadful figures should start out of their glass cases and repeat their horrid deeds, they were reassured by the presence of the mildest and most amiable of giants, and the fattest of mortal women, whose dead weight alone could crush all the wax figures into their original cakes. It was a source of unfailing interest to all country visitors, and New York to many of them was only the place that held Barnum's Museum. It was the first thing--often the only thing--they visited when they came among us, and nothing that could have been contrived, out of our present resources, could have offered so many attractions, unless some more ingenious showman had undertaken to add to Barnum's collection of waxen criminals by putting in a cage the live Boards of the Common Council. We mourn its loss, but not as without consolation. Barnum's Museum is gone, but Barnum himself, happily, did not share the fate of his rattlesnakes and his, at least, most "un-Happy Family." There are fishes in the seas and beasts in the forest; birds still fly in the air, and strange creatures still roam in the deserts; giants and pigmies still wander up and down the earth; the oldest man, the fattest woman, and the smallest baby are still living, and Barnum will find them.

"Or even if none of these things or creatures existed, we could trust to Barnum to make them out of hand. The Museum, then, is only a temporary loss, and much as we sympathize with the proprietor, the public may trust to his well-known ability and energy to soon renew a place of amusement which was a source of so much innocent pleasure, and had in it so many elements of solid excellence."

As already stated, Mr. Barnum's insurance was but forty thousand dollars while the loss was fully four hundred thousand, and as his premium was five per cent., he had already paid the insurance companies more than they returned to him.

His first impulse, on reckoning up his losses, was to retire from active life and all business occupations, beyond what his real estate interests in Bridgeport and New York would compel. He went to his old friend, Horace Greeley, and asked for advice on the subject.

"Accept this fire as a notice to quit, and go a-fishing," said Mr. Greeley.

"What?" exclaimed Barnum.

"Yes, go a-fishing," replied Greeley. "Why, I have been wanting to go for thirty years, and have never yet found time to do so."

And but for two considerations Barnum might have taken this advice. One hundred and fifty employees were thrown out of work at a season when it would have been difficult to get anything else to do. That was the most important consideration. Then, too, Barnum felt that a large city like New York needed a good Museum, and that his experience of a quarter of a century in that direction afforded the greatest facilities for founding another establishment of the kind. So he took a few days for reflection.

The Museum employees were tendered a benefit at the Academy of Music, at which most of the dramatic artists in the city gave their services. At the conclusion Barnum was called for, and made a brilliant speech, in which he announced that he had decided to establish another Museum, and that, in order to give present occupation to his employees, he had engaged the Winter Garden Theatre for a few weeks, his new establishment promising to be ready by fall.

The New York Sun commented on the speech as follows:

"One of the happiest impromptu oratorical efforts that we have heard for some time was that made by Barnum at the benefit performance given for his employees on Friday afternoon. If a stranger wanted to satisfy himself how the great showman had managed so to monopolize the ear and eye of the public during his long career, he could not have had a better opportunity of doing so than by listening to this address. Every word, though delivered with apparent carelessness, struck a key-note in the hearts of his listeners. Simple, forcible and touching, it showed how thoroughly this extraordinary man comprehends the character of his countrymen, and how easily he can play upon their feelings.

"Those who look upon Barnum as a mere charlatan, have really no knowledge of him. It would be easy to demonstrate that the qualities that have placed him in his present position of notoriety and affluence would, in another pursuit, have raised him to far greater eminence. In his breadth of views, his profound knowledge of mankind, his courage under reverses, his indomitable perseverance, his ready eloquence and his admirable business tact, we recognize the elements that are conducive to success in most other pursuits. More than almost any other living man, Barnum may be said to be a representative type of the American mind."

During his legislative career Mr. Barnum made many new friends and pleasant acquaintances, and there were many events great and small which tended to make the session memorable. Barnum was by no means an idle member. On several occasions, indeed, he took a most conspicuous part in debates and in framing legislation. On one occasion, a Representative, who was a lawyer, introduced resolutions to reduce the number of Representatives, urging that the "House" was too large and ponderous a body to work smoothly; that a smaller number of persons could accomplish business more rapidly and completely; and, in fact, that the Connecticut Legislature was so large that the members did not have time to get acquainted with each other before the body adjourned sine die. Barnum replied, that the larger the number of Representatives, the more difficult it would be to tamper with them; and if they all could not become personally acquainted, so much the better, for there would be fewer "rings," and less facilities for forcing improper legislation.

"As the House seems to be thin now, I will move to lay my resolutions on the table," remarked the member; "but I shall call them up when there is a full House."

"According to the gentleman's own theory," Barnum replied, "the smaller the number, the surer are we to arrive at correct conclusions. Now, therefore, is just the time to decide; and I move that the gentleman's resolutions be considered." This proposition was seconded amid a roar of laughter; and the resolutions were almost unanimously voted down, before the member fairly comprehended what was going on. He afterwards acknowledged it as a pretty fair joke, and at any rate as an effective one.

At this time Connecticut had two capitals, Hartford and New Haven. The State House at Hartford was a wretched old building, too small and entirely unfit for the purposes to which it was devoted; and that at New Haven was scarcely better. Barnum made a strong effort to secure the erection of new buildings in both cities, and was made chairman of the committee having the matter in charge. During his investigations he ascertained that Bridgeport, Middletown and Meriden would each be willing to erect a fine new State House at its own cost, for the sake of being made the capital of the State. Thus the jealousy of Hartford and New Haven was greatly aroused, and committees of citizens waited upon Mr. Barnum, beseeching him not to press the matter of removing the capital. In the end nothing definite was done, but years afterward Hartford was made the sole capital and one of the finest public buildings in the world was erected there.

The most notable event of the whole session however occurred near its close, when Barnum introduced a bill to amend the railroad law of the State by inserting in it the following:

"Section 508. No railroad company, which has had a system of commutation fares in force for more than four years, shall abolish, alter, or modify the same, except for the regulation of the price charged for such commutation; and such price shall, in no case, be raised to an extent that shall alter the ratio between such commutation and the rates then charged for way fare, on the railroad of such company."

The New York and New Haven Railroad Company seemed determined to move heaven and earth to prevent the passage of this law. The halls of legislation were thronged with railroad lobbyists, who button-holed nearly every member. Barnum's motives were attacked, and the most foolish slanders were circulated. Not only every legal man in the House was arrayed against him, but occasionally a "country member," who had promised to stick by and aid in checking the cupidity of railroad managers, would drop off, and be found voting on the other side. "I devoted," says Barnum, "many hours, and even days, to explaining the true state of things to the members from the rural regions, and, although the prospect of carrying this great reform looked rather dark, I felt that I had a majority of the honest and disinterested members of the House with me. Finally, Senator Ballard informed me that he had canvassed the Senate, and was convinced that the bill could be carried through that body if I could be equally successful with the House."

The date of the final debate and vote was fixed for the morning of July 13. At that time the excitement was intense. The State House was crowded with railroad lobbyists; for nearly every railroad in the State had made common cause with the New York and New Haven Company, and every Representative was in his seat, excepting the sick man, who had doctored the railroads till he needed doctoring himself. The debate was led off by skirmishers on each side, and was finally closed on the part of the railroads by Mr. Harrison, of New Haven, who was chairman of the railroad committee. Mr. Harrison was a close and forcible debater and a clear-headed lawyer. His speech exhibited considerable thought, and his earnestness and high character as a gentleman of honor carried much weight. Besides, his position as chairman of the committee naturally influenced some votes. He claimed to understand thoroughly the merits of the question, from having, in his capacity as chairman, heard all the testimony and arguments which had come before that committee; and a majority of the committee, after due deliberation, had reported against the proposed bill.

Mr. Barnum arose to close the debate. He endeavored to state briefly the gist of the whole case. "Only a few years before," he said, "the New York and New Haven Company had fixed their own price for commuters' tickets along the whole line of the road, and had thus induced hundreds of New York citizens to remove to Connecticut with their families, and build their houses on heretofore unimproved property, thus vastly increasing the value of the lands, and correspondingly helping our receipts for taxes. He urged that there was a tacit understanding between the railroad and these commuters and the public generally, that such persons as chose thus to remove from a neighboring State, and bring their families and capital within Connecticut's borders, should have the right to pass over the railroad on the terms fixed at the time by the president and directors; 'that any claim that the railroad could not afford to commute at the prices they had themselves established was absurd, from the fact that, even now, if one thousand families who reside in New York, and had never been in our own State, should propose to the railroad to remove these families (embracing in the aggregate five thousand persons) to Connecticut, and build one thousand new houses on the line of the New York and New Haven Railroad, provided the railroad would carry the male head of the family at all times for nothing, the company could well afford to accept the proposition, because they would receive full prices for transporting all other members of these families, at all times, as well as full prices for all their visitors and servants.'

"And now," he said, "what are the facts? Do we desire the railroad to carry even one-fifth of these new-comers for nothing? Do we, indeed, desire to compel them to transport them for any definitely fixed price at all? On the contrary, we find that during the late rebellion, when gold was selling for two dollars and eighty cents per dollar, this company doubled its prices of commutation, and retains the same prices now, although gold is but one-half that amount ($1.40). We don't ask them to go back to their former prices; we don't compel them to rest even here; we simply say, increase your rates, pile up your demands just as high as you desire, only you shall not make fish of one and fowl of another. You have fixed and increased your prices to passengers of all classes just as you liked, and established your own ratio between those who pay by the year and those who pay by the single trip; and now, all we ask is, that you shall not change the ratio. Charge ten dollars per passenger from New York to New Haven, if you have the courage to risk the competition of the steamboats; and whatever percentage you choose to increase the fare of transient passengers, we permit you to increase the rates of commuters in the same ratio.

"The interests of the State, as well as communities, demand this law; for if it is once fixed by statute that the prices of commutation are not to be increased, many persons will leave the localities where extortion is permitted on the railroads, and will settle in our State. But these railroad gentlemen say they have no intention to increase their rates of commutation, and they deprecate what they term 'premature legislation,' and an uncalled-for meddling with their affairs. Mr. Speaker, 'an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.' Men engaged in plots against public interests always ask to be 'let alone.' Jeff Davis only asked to be 'let alone,' when the North was raising great armies to prevent the dissolution of the Union. The people cannot afford to let these railroads alone. This hall, crowded with railroad lobbyists, as the frogs thronged Egypt, is an admonition to all honest legislators that it is unsafe to allow the monopolies the chance to rivet the chains which already fetter the limbs of those whom circumstances place in the power of these companies."

At this point in his speech he was interrupted a messenger, who placed in his hands a dispatch from his son-in-law in New York, marked "Urgent." He opened and read it. It announced that his Museum had been totally destroyed by fire. He laid it upon his desk, and without the slightest change of manner continued his argument, as follows:

"These railroad gentlemen absolutely deny any intention of raising the fares of commuters, and profess to think it very hard that disinterested and conscientious gentlemen like them should be judged by the doings of the Hudson River and Harlem Railroads. But now, Mr. Speaker, I am going to expose the duplicity of these men. I have had detectives on their track, for men who plot against public interest deserve to be watched. I have in my pocket positive proofs that they did, and do, intend to spring their trap upon the unprotected commuters on the New York and New Haven Railroad."

He then drew from his pocket and read two telegrams received that morning, one from New York and the other from Bridgeport, announcing that the New York and New Haven Railroad Directory had held a secret meeting in New York the day before, for the purpose of immediately raising the fares of commuters twenty per cent., so that in case his bill became a law they could get ahead of him. He continued:

"Now, Mr. Speaker, I know that these dispatches are true; my information is from the inside of the camp. I see a director of the New York and New Haven Railroad sitting in this hall; I know that he knows these dispatches are true; and if he will go before the railroad committee and make oath that he don't know that such a meeting took place yesterday, for exactly this purpose, I will forfeit and pay one thousand dollars to the families of poor soldiers in this city. In consideration of this attempt to forestall the action of this Legislature, I offer an amendment to the bill now under consideration, by adding after the word 'ratio' the words 'as it existed on the 1st day of July, 1865.' In this way we shall cut off any action which these sleek gentlemen may have taken yesterday. It is now evident that these railroad gentlemen have set a trap for this Legislature; and I propose that we now spring the trap, and see if we cannot catch these wily railroad directors in it. Mr. Speaker, I move the previous question."

This revelation astounded the opposition, and the "previous question" was ordered. On the final vote the bill was carried through triumphantly, and has ever since remained an important item in the statute-book of the State.

In the spring of 1866 Barnum was re-elected to represent the town of Fairfield in the Legislature. He had not intended to serve again. But one of the directors of the railroad, who had led the opposition to Barnum's new railroad law, had openly boasted about the town that Barnum should not be allowed to hold the office again. It was in response to these boasts that Barnum decided to accept the nomination, and he was handsomely elected.

The leading issue before that Legislature was the election of a United States Senator. Andrew Johnson was then President of the United States, and had begun to break away from the Republican party. One of the Connecticut Senators was following him in this action. The other Senator was now a candidate for re-election. Barnum had been an earnest admirer of him, but now ascertained that he too was siding with Johnson. This caused Barnum to take an active part in opposing him, and the showman-legislator spent many days and nights endeavoring to impress upon his colleagues the importance of defeating this candidate and electing the Hon. O. S. Ferry to the Senatorship.

Excitement ran high. At first Mr. Ferry had only a few votes. But under Barnum's skilful leadership he at last obtained a majority in the party caucus and was accordingly elected.

During that summer Barnum entertained many eminent politicians and other public men at his beautiful residence, Lindencroft. Governor Hawley wanted him to serve as a Commissioner to the Paris Exposition of 1867, but he was unable to do so.

In the spring of 1867 he was nominated for Congress by the Republicans of the Fourth District. In referring to this episode, he afterward remarked: "Politics were always distasteful to me. I possessed, naturally, too much independence of mind, and too strong a determination to do what I believe to be right, regardless of party expediency, to make a lithe and oily politician. To be called on to favor applications from office-seekers, without regard to their merits, and to do the dirty work too often demanded by political parties; to be "all things to all men," though not in the apostolic sense; to shake hands with those whom I despised, and to kiss the dirty babies of those whose votes were courted, were political requirements which I felt I could never acceptably fulfil. Nevertheless, I had become, so far as business was concerned, almost a man of leisure; and some of my warmest personal friends insisted that a nomination to so high and honorable a position as a member of Congress was not to be lightly rejected, and so I consented to run. Fairfield and Litchfield counties composed the district, which, in the preceding Congressional election, in 1865, and just after the close of the war, was Republican. In the year following, however, the district in the State election went Democratic. I had this Democratic majority to contend against in 1867, and as the whole State turned over and elected the Democratic ticket, I lost my election. In the next succeeding Congressional election, in 1869, the Fourth District also elected the only Democratic Congressman chosen from Connecticut that year.

"I was neither disappointed nor cast down by my defeat. The political canvass served the purpose of giving me a new sensation, and introducing me to new phases of human nature--a subject which I had always great delight in studying. The filth and scandal, the slanders and vindictiveness, the plottings and fawnings, the fidelity, meanness and manliness,: which by turns exhibited themselves in the exciting scenes preceding the election, were novel to me, and were so far interesting.

"Shortly after my opponent was nominated I sent him the following letter, which was also published in the Bridgeport Standard:

" 'BRIDGEPORT, Conn., February 21, 1867. " 'W. H. BARNUM, Esq., Salisbury, Conn.:

" 'Dear Sir: Observing that the Democratic party has nominated you for Congress from this district, I desire to make you a proposition.

" 'The citizens of this portion of our State will be compelled, on the first Monday in April next, to decide whether you or myself shall represent their interests and their principles in the Fortieth Congress of the United States.

" 'The theory of our government is, that the will of the people shall be the law of the land. It is important, therefore, that the people shall vote understandingly, and especially at this important crisis in our national existence. In order that the voters of this district shall fully comprehend the principles by which each of their Congressional candidates is guided, I respectfully invite you to meet me in a serious and candid discussion of the important political issues of the day at various towns in the Fourth Congressional District of Connecticut, on each week-day evening, from the fourth day of March until the thirtieth day of the same month, both inclusive.

" 'If you will consent to thus meet me in a friendly discussion of those subjects, now so near and dear to every American heart, and, I may add, possessing at this time such momentous interest to all civilized nations in the world who are suffering from misrule, I pledge myself to conduct my portion of the debate with perfect fairness, and with all due respect for my opponent, and doubt not you will do the same.

" 'Never, in my judgment, in our past history as a nation, have interests and questions more important appealed to the people for their wise and careful consideration. It is due to the voters of the Fourth Congressional District that they have an early and full opportunity to examine their candidates in regard to these important problems, and I shall esteem it a great privilege if you will accept this proposition.

" 'Please favor me with an early answer, and oblige
" 'Truly yours,
" 'P. T. BARNUM.' "

To this letter Mr. William H. Barnum replied, positively declining to accept his rival's proposition.

When Congress met P. T. Barnum was surprised to see in the newspapers an announcement that the seat of his successful rival was to be contested on the ground of bribery and fraud. "This," he said, "was the first intimation that I had ever received of such an intention, and I was never, at any time before or afterwards, consulted upon the subject. The movement proved to have originated with neighbors and townsmen of the successful candidate, who claimed to be able to prove that he had paid large sums of money to purchase votes. They also claimed that they had proof that men were brought from an adjoining State to vote, and that in the office of the successful candidate naturalization papers were forged to enable foreigners to vote upon them. But, I repeat, I took no part nor lot in the matter, but concluded that if I had been defeated by fraud, mine was the real success.' "

After the destruction of his museum by fire, Barnum determined to open another and still finer establishment. It would not be on the old site, however, but further up town. The unexpired lease of the two lots at Ann Street and Broadway he proposed to sell; and he quickly had numerous offers for it. This lease still had about eleven years to run, and the annual rental was only $10,000; and there was a provision that, in case of the burning of the building, the owner was to spend $24,000 in aiding Barnum to rebuild, and then, at the expiration of the lease, was to pay Barnum the appraised value of the building, not exceeding $100,000. This lease had seemed extravagant when Barnum had made it, but the great growth of the city had so increased the value of property in that vicinity, that now the rental of $10,000 seemed ridiculously small. An experienced real estate broker, whom Barnum engaged for the purpose, estimated the value of the lease at $275,000. Barnum was so anxious, however, to get the matter settled at once that he decided to offer the lease for sale at $225,000.

The next day he met James Gordon Bennett, the elder, the owner of the New York Herald. Mr. Bennett told him that he thought of buying both the lease and the fee simple of the property itself, and erecting there a fine building for his great newspaper. Barnum therefore, offered him the lease for $200,000, and after a few day's consideration Mr. Bennett accepted the offer. His attorney thereupon handed to Mr. Barnum a check on the Chemical Bank for $200,000, which Barnum immediately used in the purchase of Government Bonds. Mr. Bennett had agreed to purchase the fee of the property for $500,000. He had been informed that the property was worth some $300,000 to $400,000, and he did not mind paying $100,000 extra for the purpose of carrying out his plans. But the parties who estimated for him the value of the land knew nothing of the fact that there was a lease upon the property, else of course they would in their estimate have deducted the $200,000, which the lease would cost. When, therefore, Mr. Bennett saw it stated in the newspapers that the sum which he had paid for a piece of land measuring only fifty-six by one hundred feet was more than was ever paid before in any city in the world for a tract of that size, he discovered the serious oversight which he had made; and the owner of the property was immediately informed that Bennett would not take it. But Bennett had already signed a bond to the owner, agreeing to pay $100,000 cash, and to mortgage the premises for the remaining $400,000.

Supposing that by this step he had shaken off the owner of the fee, Bennett was not long in seeing that, as he was not to own the land, he would have no possible use for the lease, for which he had paid the $200,000; and accordingly his next step was to shake Barnum off also, and get back the money he had paid him.

In speaking of what followed, Mr. Barnum afterwards said: "My business for many years, as manager of the Museum and other public entertainments, compelled me to court notoriety; and I always found Bennett's abuse far more remunerative than his praise, even if I could have had the praise at the same price, that is for nothing. Especially was it profitable to me when I could be the subject of scores of lines of his scolding editorials free of charge, instead of paying him forty cents a line for advertisements, which would not attract a tenth part so much attention. Bennett had tried abusing me, off and on, for twenty years, on one occasion refusing my advertisement altogether for the space of about a year; but I always managed to be the gainer by his course. Now, however, when new difficulties threatened, all the leading managers in New York were members of the 'Managers' Association,' and as we all submitted to the arbitrary and extortionate demands of the Herald, Bennett thought he had but to crack his whip, in order to keep all and any of us within the traces. Accordingly one day Bennett's attorney wrote me a letter, saying that he would like to have me call on him at his office the following morning. Not dreaming of the object, I called as desired, and after a few pleasant commonplace remarks about the weather, and other trifles, the attorney said:

" 'Mr. Barnum, I have sent for you to say that Mr. Bennett has concluded not to purchase the museum lots, and therefore that you had better take back the lease, and return the $200,000 paid for it.'

" 'Are you in earnest?' I asked with surprise.

" 'Certainly, quite so,' he answered.

" 'Really,' I said, smiling, 'I am sorry I can't accommodate Mr. Bennett; I have not got the little sum about me; in fact, I have spent the money.'

" 'It will be better for you to take back the lease,' said the attorney, seriously.

" 'Nonsense,' I replied, 'I shall do nothing of the sort; I don't make child's bargains. The lease was cheap enough, but I have other business to attend to, and shall have nothing to do with it.'

"The attorney said very little in reply; but I could see, by the almost benignant sorrow expressed upon his countenance, that he evidently pitied me for the temerity that would doubtless lead me into the jaws of the insatiable monster of the Herald. The next morning I observed that the advertisement of my entertainments with my museum company at Winter Garden was left out of the Herald columns. I went directly to the editorial rooms of the Herald; and learning that Bennett was not in, I said to Mr. Hudson, then managing editor:

" 'My advertisement is left out of the Herald; is there a screw loose?'

" 'I believe there is,' was the reply.

" 'What is the matter?' I asked.

" 'You must ask the Emperor,' said Mr. Hudson, meaning of course Bennett.

" 'When will the "Emperor" be in?' I inquired. 'Next Monday,' was the answer.

" 'Well, I shall not see him,' I replied; 'but I wish to have this thing settled at once. Mr. Hudson, I now tender you the money for the insertion of my museum advertisement on the same terms as are paid by other places of amusement; will you publish it?'

" 'I will not,' Mr. Hudson peremptorily replied.

" 'That is all,' I said. Mr. Hudson then smilingly and blandly remarked, 'I have formally answered your formal demand, because I suppose you require it; but you know, Mr. Barnum, I can only obey orders.' I assured him that I understood the matter perfectly, and attached no blame to him in the premises. I then proceeded to notify the secretary of the 'Managers' Association' to call the managers together at twelve o'clock the following day; and there was a full meeting at the appointed time. I stated the facts in the case in the Herald affair, and simply remarked, that if we did not make common cause against any newspaper publisher who excluded an advertisement from his columns simply to gratify a private pique, it was evident that either and all of us were liable to imposition at any time.

"One of the managers immediately made a motion that the entire Association should stop their advertising and bill printing at the Herald office, and have no further connection with that establishment. Mr. Lester Wallack advised that this motion should not be adopted until a committee had waited upon Bennett, and had reported the result of the interview to the Association. Accordingly, Messrs. Wallack, Wheatley and Stuart were delegated to go, down to the Herald office to call on Mr. Bennett.

"The moment Bennett saw them, he evidently suspected the object of their mission, for he at once commenced to speak to Mr. Wallack in a patronizing manner; told him how long he had known, and how much he respected his late father, who was a true English gentleman of the old school,' with much more in the same strain. Mr. Wallack replied to Bennett that the three managers were appointed a committee to wait upon him to ascertain if he insisted upon excluding from his columns the museum advertisements--not on account of any objection to the contents of the advertisements, or to the museum itself, but simply because he had a private business disagreement with the proprietor; intimating that such a proceeding, for such a reason, and no other, might lead to a rupture of business relations with other managers. In reply, Mr. Bennett had something to say about the fox that had suffered tailwise from a trap, and thereupon advised all other foxes to cut their tails off; and he pointed the fable by setting forth the impolicy of drawing down upon the Association the vengeance of the Herald. The committee, however, coolly insisted upon a direct answer to their question.

"Bennett then answered: 'I will not publish Barnum's advertisement; I do my business as I please, and in my own way.'

" 'So do we,' replied one of the managers, and the committee withdrew.

"The next day the Managers' Association met, heard the report, and unanimously resolved to withdraw their advertisements from the Herald, and their patronage from the Herald job establishment, and it was done. Nevertheless, the Herald for several days continued to print gratutitously the advertisements of Wallack's Theatre and Niblo's Garden, and inordinately puffed these establishments, evidently in order to ease the fall, and to convey the idea that some of the theatres patronized the Herald, and perhaps hoping by praising these managers to draw them back again, and so to nullify the agreement of the Association in regard to the Herald. Thereupon, the mangers headed their advertisements in all the other New York papers with the line, 'This establishment does not advertise in the New York Herald,' and for many months this announcement was kept at the top of every theatrical advertisement and on the posters and playbills.

"The Herald then began to abuse and villify the theatrical and opera managers, their artists and their performances, which, of course, was well understood by the public, and relished accordingly. Meanwhile the theatres prospered amazingly. Their receipts were never larger, and their houses never more thronged. The public took sides in the matter with the managers and against the Herald, and thousands of people went to the theatres merely to show their willingness to support the managers and to spite 'Old Bennett.' The editor was fairly caught in his own trap. Other journals began to estimate the loss the Herald sustained by the action of the managers, and it was generally believed that this loss in advertising and job printing was not less than from $75,000 to $100,000 a year. The Herald's circulation also suffered terribly, since hundreds of people, at the hotels and elsewhere, who were accustomed to buy the paper solely for the sake of seeing what amusements were announced for the evening, now bought other papers. This was the hardest blow of all, and it fully accounted for the abuse which the Herald daily poured out upon the theatres.

"Bennett evidently felt ashamed of the whole transaction. He would never publish the facts in his columns, though he once stated in an editorial that it had been reported that he had been cheated in purchasing the Broadway property; that the case had gone to court, and the public would soon know all the particulars. Some persons supposed by this that Bennett had sued me; but this was far from being the case. The owner of the lots sued Bennett, to compel him to take the title and pay for the property as per agreement; and that was all the 'law' there was about it. He held James Gordon Bennett's bond, that he would pay him half a million of dollars for the land, as follows: $100,000 cash, and a bond and mortgage upon the premises for the remaining $400,000. The day before the suit was to come to trial, Bennett came forward, took the deed, and paid $100,000 cash, and gave a bond and mortgage of the entire premises for $400,000.

"Had I really taken back the lease, as Bennett desired, he would have been in a worse scrape than ever; for having been compelled to take the property, he would have been obliged, as my landlord, to go on and assist in building a Museum for me, according to the terms of my lease, and a Museum I should certainly have built on Bennett's property, even if I had owned a dozen Museums up town.

"In the autumn of 1868, the associated managers came to the conclusion that the punishment of Bennett for two years was sufficient, and they consented to restore their advertisements to the Herald. I was then carrying on my new Museum, and although I did not immediately resume advertising in the Herald, I have since done so."

Such is the account Barnum gave, in his own words, of this extraordinary quarrel. He was, it will be seen, unsparing of criticism and denunciation. Kindly as was his nature, he was "a good hater," and never was there a more relentless fighter. In denouncing Mr. Bennett he was perfectly sincere, and believed himself to be entirely in the right. At the same time he never hesitated to give a full meed of appreciative praise to the great journalist, for his extraordinary enterprise and commanding talents. Both the men are now dead, after careers of marvellous success, and the animosity that raged between them is also long dead; it perished years before they did. It is here rehearsed merely as an integral and essential part of this biography, to be regarded in a spirit of philosophic contemplation, entirely devoid of bitterness or acrimony,

A remarkable feature of Mr. Barnum's life was his loyalty to the place he had chosen as his home, and his devotion to its interests. He had great faith in Bridgeport, and worked unceasingly to justify it. He looked far ahead, saw the prospective growth of the place, and laid broad plans of preparation for the future.

Apart from his great services in laying out East Bridgeport, he was the author of the improvements on the water-front known as Seaside Park. The idea of such a thing occurred to him first in 1863, when he rode over the ground and observed its fitness for the purpose. He then began agitating the matter, and urging the immediate acquirement by the city of land for a park and public drive-way along the margin of the Sound. It was necessary, he represented, to do it at once, before the natural increase in the value of the land made such an undertaking too expensive. That it would be a profitable venture he felt certain; for such an improvement would make every bit of real estate in the city more valuable, and would attract many new residents to the place.

There were, however, many conservatives, "old fogies" he called them, who opposed him. He then approached the farmers who owned the land lying immediately upon the shore, and tried to convince them that, if they would give the city, free, a deep slip next to the water, to be used as a public park, it would increase in value the rest of their land so much as to make it a profitable operation for them. But it was like beating against the wind. They were "not so stupid as to think that they could become gainers by giving away their property."

He succeeded, however, in getting the active aid and co-operation of Messrs. Nathaniel Wheeler, James Loomis, Francis Ives, Frederick Wood, and some others, who went with him to the landowners and added their persuasions to his. After much urging, they finally got the terms upon which the proprietors would give a portion and sell another portion of their land, which fronted on the water, provided the land thus disposed of should forever be appropriated to the purposes of a public park. But, unfortunately, a part of the land it was desirable to include was a farm, of some thirty acres, then belonging to an unsettled estate, and neither the administrator nor the heirs could or would give away a rod of it. But the whole farm was for sale--and, to overcome the difficulty in the way of its transfer for the public benefit, Barnum bought it for about $12,000, and then presented the required front to the park. He did not want this land or any portion of it, for his own purposes or profit, and he offered a thousand dollars to any one who would take his place in the transaction; but no one accepted, and he was quite willing to contribute so much of the land as was needed for so noble an object. Besides this, he gave $1,400 toward purchasing other land and improving the park, and, after months of persistent personal effort, he succeeded in raising, by private subscription, the sum necessary to secure the land needed. This was duly paid for, deeded to, and accepted by the city, and Barnum had the pleasure of naming this new and great public improvement, "Seaside Park."

When Mr. Barnum first selected Bridgeport as his home, as already stated in a preceding chapter, the place was commended to him by its nearness to New York, its convenience of access, and the beauty of its situation. "Nowhere," said he, "in all my travels in America and abroad had I seen a city whose very position presented so many and varied attractions. Situated on Long Island Sound, with that vast water-view in front, and on every other side a beautiful and fertile country with every variety of inland scenery, and charming drives which led through valleys rich with well-cultivated farms, and over hills thick-wooded with far-stretching forests of primeval growth--all these natural attractions appeared to me only so many aids to the advancement the beautiful and busy city might attain, if public spirit, enterprise, and money grasped and improved the opportunities the locality itself extended. I saw that what Nature had so freely lavished must be supplemented by yet more liberal Art."

It was in pursuance of this object that he built the famous Iranistan; and when he did so he felt confident that this superb place would so increase the value of surrounding property that none but first-class residences would be erected in the vicinity. He, however, went on to improve the surrounding property as much as possible. He opened numerous fine avenues through land purchased by himself, and freely gave them to the city. In this way he opened miles of new streets and planted them with thousands of shade trees. The planting of trees was almost a mania with him, in pursuit of the doctrine laid down in Scott's "Heart of Mid-Lothian": "When ye hae naething else to do, ye may be aye sticking in a tree; it will be growing when ye're sleeping."

Barnum was always for enterprise and progress. "Conservatism," he said, "may be a good thing in the State, or in the Church, but it is fatal to the growth of cities, and the conservative notions of old fogies make them indifferent to the requirements which a very few years in the future will compel, and blind to their own best interests. Such men never look beyond the length of their noses, and consider every investment a dead loss unless they can get the sixpence profit into their pockets before they go to bed. My own long training and experience as a manager impelled me to carry into such private enterprises as the purchase of real estate that best and most essential managerial quality of instantly deciding, not only whether a venture was worth undertaking, but what, all things considered, that venture would result in. Almost any man can see how a thing will begin, but not every man is gifted with the foresight to see how it will end, or how, with the proper effort, it may be made to end. In East Bridgeport where we had no 'conservatives' to contend with, we were only a few years in turning almost tenantless farms into a populous and prosperous city. On the other side of the river, while the opening of new avenues, the planting of shade trees, and the building of many houses, have afforded me the highest pleasures of my life, I confess that not a few of my greatest annoyance's have been occasioned by the opposition of those who seem to be content to simply vegetate through their existence, and who looked upon me as a restless, reckless innovator, because I was trying to remove the moss from everything around them, and even from their own eyes."

Mrs. Barnum's health continued to decline, and in the summer of 1867 her doctor commended her to live on the seashore. Accordingly her husband sold Lindencroft, and they removed for the summer to a small farm-house adjoining Seaside Park. So delighted were they with life by the water during the hot days of the summer that they determined thereafter to spend every summer on the very shore of Long Island Sound. Finding it impossible to prepare a house of their own in time for the next season, they spent the summer of 1868 in a new and handsome house which Mr. Barnum owned but which he had built for sale. In the fall of 1868, however, he purchased a large and beautiful grove of hickory trees adjoining Seaside Park, and decided to build a permanent residence there.

But there was a vast deal to do in grading and preparing the ground, in opening new streets and avenues as approaches to the property, and in setting out trees near the proposed site of the house; so that ground was not broken for the foundation till October. He planned a house which should combine the greatest convenience with the highest comfort, keeping in mind always that houses were made to live in as well as to look at, and to be "homes" rather than mere residences. So the house was made to include abundant room for guests, with dressing-rooms and baths to every chamber; water from the city throughout the premises; gas manufactured on the ground; and that greatest of all comforts, a semi-detached kitchen, so that the smell as well as the secrets of the cuisine might be confined to its own locality. The stables and gardens were located far from the mansion, on the opposite side of one of the newly-opened avenues, so that in the immediate vicinity of the house, on either side and before both fronts, stretched large lawns, broken only by the grove, single shade-trees, rock-work, walks, flower-beds, and drives. The whole scheme as planned was faithfully carried out in less than eight months The first foundation stone was laid in October, 1868; and they moved into the completed house in June following, in 1869.

On taking possession of this new residence, Barnum formally named it "Waldemere." Literally this name was "Wald-am-Meer," or "Woods-by-the Sea," but Barnum preferred the more euphonious form. On the same estate he built at the same time two beautiful cottages, called "Petrel's Nest," and "Wavewood," the homes of his two daughters, Mrs. Thompson and Mrs. Seeley--the latter his youngest. Here Barnum decided to speed five months of every year, and for his home during the other seven months he purchased a splendid mansion on Murray Hill, in New York City, at the corner of Fifth Avenue and 38th Street.

In the autumn of 1874 Mr. Barnum married the daughter of his old English friend, John Fish. The wedding took place in the Church of the Divine Paternity, Fifth Avenue, New York, and after a brief bridal tour, they returned to Waldemere.

In December, 1874, David Kalakau, King of the Sandwich Islands, visited New York, and with his suite was invited to attend the Hippodrome.

During the performance Barnum sat beside the King, who kept up a pleasant conversation with him for two hours. The King expressed himself as highly delighted with the entertainment, and said he was always fond of horses and racing.

Some twelve thousand spectators were present, and before the exhibition was finished they began to call loudly "The King! The King!"

Turning to his host, Kalakau inquired the meaning of their excitement. "Your Majesty," replied Barnum, "this vast audience wishes to give you an ovation. The building is so large that they cannot distinguish your Majesty from every part of the house, and are anxious that you should ride around the circle in order that they may greet you."

At the moment, Barnum's open barouche was driven into the circle and approached the royal box.

"No doubt your Majesty would greatly gratify my countrymen, if you would kindly step into this carriage and ride around the circle."

The King immediately arose, and amidst tremendous cheering, stepped into the carriage. Barnum took a seat by his side, and the King smilingly remarked, "We are all actors."

The audience rose to their feet, cheered and waved their handkerchiefs, as the King rode around the circle, raising his hat and bowing. The excitement was simply tremendous.

In March, 1875, the nomination for Mayor of Bridgeport was offered Barnum, but he refused it, until assured that the nomination was intended as a compliment, and that both parties would sustain it. Politically the city is largely Democratic, but Barnum led the Republican ticket, and was easily elected.

His Inaugural address before the new Common Council, April 12, is given below.

GENTLEMEN OF THE COMMON COUNCIL:--Intrusted as we are, by the votes of our fellow-citizens, with the care and management of their interests, it behooves us to endeavor to merit the confidence reposed in us. We are sometimes called the "fathers of the city." Certainly our duty is, and our pleasure should be, to administer the municipal government as a good and wise father conducts his household, caring for all, partial to none. No personal feelings should dictate our official acts. We are not placed here to gratify personal or party resentment, nor to extend personal or party favor in any manner that may in the remotest degree conflict with the best interests of our city. As citizens we enjoy a great common interest. Each individual is a member of the body corporate, and no member can be unduly favored or unjustly oppressed without injury to the entire community. No person or party can afford to be dishonest. Honesty is always the best policy, for "with what measure ye mete it shall be measured to you again."

A large portion of this honorable body are now serving officially for the first time, and therefore may not be fully acquainted with the details of its workings; but we are all acquainted with the great principles of Justice and Right. If we fail to work according to these eternal principles, we betray the confidence placed in us, and this our year of administration will be remembered with disapprobation and contempt.

Let us bring to our duties careful judgment and comprehensive views with regard to expenditure, so that we may be neither parsimonious nor extravagant, but, like a prudent householder, ever careful that expenses shall be less than the income.

Our city is peculiarly adapted for commercial purposes, it should be our care, therefore, to adopt such measures as tend to promote trade, manufactures and commerce. Its delightful and healthy locality makes it also a desirable place of residence. We should strive to enhance its natural beauty, to improve our streets and, with moderate expenditure, to embellish our parks, by which means we shall attract refined and wealthy residents.

As conservators of the public peace and morals it is our duty to prevent, so far as possible, acts which disturb one or the other, and to enforce the laws in an impartial and parental spirit.

The last report of our Chief of Police says: " 'Tis a sad and painful duty, yet candor compels us to state that at least ninety per cent. of the causes of all the arrests during the year are directly traceable to the immoderate use of intoxicating liquors, not to speak of the poverty and misery it has caused families which almost daily come under our observation."

In the town of Vineland, N. J., where no intoxicating drinks are sold, the overseer of the poor stated in his annual report that in a population of 10,000 there was but one indictment in six months, and that the entire police expenses were but seventy-five dollars per year--the sum paid to him--and the poor expenses a mere trifle. He further says: "We practically have no debt, and our taxes are only one per cent. on the valuation. "Similar results are reported in the town of Greeley, Colorado, where no liquors are sold.

Our laws license the sale of intoxicating drinks under certain restrictions on week days, but no man can claim the right under such license to cause mobs, riots, bloodshed or murder. Hence no man has, or can have, any right by license or otherwise to dispense liquors to intoxicated persons, nor to furnish sufficient liquor to cause intoxication. Our duty is therefore to see that the police aid in regulating to the extent of their legal power a traffic which our laws do not wholly prohibit. Spirituous liquors of the present day are so much adulterated and doubly poisoned that their use fires the brain and drives their victims to madness, violence and murder. The money annually expended for intoxicating drinks, and the cost of their evil results in Bridgeport, or any other American city where liquor selling is licensed, would pay the entire expenses of the city (if liquors were not drank), including the public schools, give a good suit of clothes to every poor person of both sexes, a barrel of flour to every poor family living within its municipal boundaries, and leave a handsome surplus on hand. Our enormous expenses for the trial and punishment of criminals, as well as for the support of the poor, are mainly caused by this traffic. Surely, then, it is our duty to do all we can, legally, to limit and mitigate its evil. As no person ever became a drunkard who did not sincerely regret that he or she ever tasted intoxicating drinks, it is a work of mercy, as well as justice, to do all in our power to lessen this leprous hindrance to happiness. We should strive to exterminate gambling, prostitution and other crimes which have not yet attained to the dignity of a "license."

The public health demands that we should pay attention to necessary drainage, and prevent the sale of adulterated food. The invigorating breezes from Long Island Sound, and the absence of miasmatic marshes serve to make ours one of the most healthy cities in America. Scientific experiments made daily during the whole of last year have established the fact that our atmosphere is impregnated with OZONE, or concentrated oxygen, to an extent not hitherto discovered on this continent. No city of the same size in America is so extensively known throughout our own land and in Europe as Bridgeport. It should be our pleasure to strengthen all natural advantages which we possess as a city by maintaining a government of corresponding excellence.

It is painful to the industrious and moral portions of our people to see so many loungers about the streets, and such a multitude whose highest aspirations seem to be to waste their time in idleness, or at base ball, billiards, etc.

No person needs to be unemployed who is not over fastidious about the kind of occupation. There are too many soft hands (and heads) waiting for light work and heavy pay. Better work for half a loaf than beg or steal a whole one. Mother earth is always near by, and ready to respond to reasonable drafts on her never-failing treasury. A patch of potatoes raised "on shares" is preferable to a poulticed pate earned in a whisky scrimmage. Some modern Micawbers stand with folded hands waiting for the panic to pass, as the foolish man waited for the river to run dry and allow him to walk over.

The soil is the foundation of American prosperity. When multitudes of our consumers become producers; when fashion teaches economy, instead of expending for a gaudy dress what would comfortably clothe the family; when people learn to walk until they can afford to ride; when the poor man ceases to spend more for tobacco than for bread; when those who complain of panics learn that "we cannot eat our cake and keep it," that a sieve will not hold water, that we must rely on our own exertions and earn before we expend, then will panics cease and prosperity return. While we should by no means unreasonably restrict healthy recreation, we should remember that "time is money," that idleness leads to immoral habits, and that the peace, prosperity and character of a city depend on the intelligence, integrity, industry and frugality of its inhabitants.

Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper of July 24th, contained a picture entitled "His Honor, P. T. Barnum, Mayor of Bridgeport, Presiding at a Meeting of the Common Council of that City." The editor's remarks are as follows:--"Mayor Barnum's message was a model of brevity and practical thought. Having at the beginning of his official career declared war against the whisky dealers, he next proceeded to open the struggle. For twenty years the saloons had been kept open on Sundays, and it was declared impossible to close them. Mr. Barnum has all his life acted upon the quaint French aphorism that 'nothing is so possible as the impossible.' He gave notice that the saloons must be closed. A select committee of citizens volunteered to aid in collecting testimony in case the sellers should disregard the proclamation, and leave the latch-string to their back doors displayed on the outside. Although the doors were open, the keepers refused to sell except to personal friends. The committee-men stood opposite the saloons, and took the names of a dozen or so who were admitted. The next morning the saloon-keepers were arrested, and when they found their 'friends' had been subpoenaed to appear as witnesses, they pleaded guilty and immediately brought out their pocket-books to pay the judicial 'shot.' This plan effectually broke up Sunday traffic in liquor, thus insuring a quiet day for the citizens, and greatly accommodating the saloon-keepers, the best portion of whom really favor a general closing on Sunday.

"By nature an organizer of men and systems, he is his own best executive officer. No one knows so well as he how men may be best governed, and no one can so pleasantly polish off the rough sides of mankind. Successful beyond the usual measure as an intelligent, courteous and considerate showman, he has already proved himself the most acceptable of Mayors."

In 1875, the Hippodrome was transported by rail throughout the United States, going as far east as Portland, Maine, and west to Kansas City, Missouri. Notwithstanding the depressed state of finances generally that year, the season was a fairly profitable one.

A very painful event in connection with the show, occurred in July. The aeronaut, Donaldson, made his customary daily ascension from the Hippodrome grounds at Chicago, and was never heard from afterward. He took with him Mr. N. S. Grimwood, a reporter of the Chicago Journal, whose body was found a few weeks later in Lake Michigan. There was a terrible storm the night of the ascension and it was doubtless then that the men perished.

About the middle of June Barnum visited Niagara Falls with Mrs. Barnum and a party of English friends. Leaving the party at Niagara, Mr. and Mrs. Barnum went to Akron, Ohio, where the "Travelling World's Fair" was to exhibit. The Mayor of Akron called upon them and invited them to a concert, where, in response to loud calls, Barnum gave a short speech; they were afterward tendered a reception and a serenade at the hotel. The next day they were escorted to Buchtel College by the founder of the institution, Mr. J. R. Buchtel, and the Reverend D. C. Tomlinson. The students received Barnum enthusiastically, and he gave them one of his delightful speeches.

Returning to Buffalo, they rejoined their friends, and also met the Hippodrome. Early in the morning of the second day of the exhibition Barnum despatched a special train to Niagara Falls, with some hundreds of the Hippodrome Company, to whom he wished to give the pleasure of viewing the cataract. The band which accompanied them crossed Suspension Bridge playing "God Save the Queen," and "Yankee Doodle," and returned to Buffalo in time for the afternoon performance. In July, Barnum visited the Hippodrome at St Louis and Chicago, and then returned to Waldemere for the rest of the summer.

During the autumn of 1875, under the auspices of the Redpath Lyceum Bureau, in Boston, Mr. Barnum found time to deliver some thirty times, a lecture on "The World and How to Live in It," going as far east as Thomaston, Maine, and west to Leavenworth, Kansas. When the tour was finished the Bureau wrote him that "In parting for the season please allow us to say that none of our best lecturers have succeeded in delighting our audiences and lecture committees so well as yourself."

The National Jubilee year was celebrated by the Hippodrome Company in a very patriotic manner. It was said, that they gave the people, a Fourth of July celebration every day. The establishment traveled in three trains of railroad cars; they took along a battery of cannon, and every morning fired a salute of thirteen guns. Groups of persons costumed in the style of Continental troops, and supplemented with the Goddess of Liberty, a live eagle and some good singers, sang patriotic songs, accompanied with bands of music, and also with cannon placed outside the tents and fired by means of electricity. The performance was closed by singing "America," the entire audience rising and joining in the chorus. At night there were fireworks in which Revolutionary scenes were brilliantly depicted. The street parade was a gorgeous feature. It began to move when the salute was fired, and the town bells were always rung to aid the effect of the National Jubilee.

Barnum's official term as Mayor of Bridgeport, expired April 3, 1876. Preferring to travel part of the time with his Centennial show, he refused a renomination. The last meeting of the Common Council under his administration, met March 29.

The New York Daily Graphic, of March 30, read:--"Mr. P. T. Barnum, Mayor of Bridgeport, has uttered his valedictory message. The document is very much like the man. He disapproves of the reports of the Chief of Police and Clerk of the Police Commissioners, because they declare that liquor saloons and brothels cannot be closed, and he even reproves the latter for his 'flippant manner' of dealing with the subject. Barnum must have his joke or two, withal, and he can no more subsist without his fun than could a former Mayor of this city. He ventures to allude in this solemn document to the management of the New York and New Haven Railroad Company, as 'the good bishop and his directors;' makes a first rate pun on the names of two citizens; and says to the Aldermen, 'And now we have, like the Arabs, only to 'fold our tents and silently steal away,' congratulating ourselves that this is the only stealing which has been performed by this honorable body.' Mr. Barnum's administration in Bridgeport has been mild, but characterized by firmness and independence. His trouble with the Jews was of short duration, for he is most respectful toward all theologies. He has not been able to carry out his extreme temperance views; but he has made a very good Mayor of a city, for whose prosperity he has labored for half a lifetime."

It can safely be said that Barnum amused and instructed more persons than any men who ever lived. In the course of his career as manager of public entertainments, the number of his patrons was enormous. Here is his own estimate, in 1889:--"During the forty years that I have been a manager of public amusements, the number of my patrons has been almost incredible. From a careful examination of my account books for the different exhibitions which I have owned and controlled, I find that more than eighty-two millions of tickets, in the aggregate, were disposed of, and numerous exhibitions which I have had at various times are not included in this statement."

The traveling exhibitions which I managed during
the six years preceding my purchase of the New York 
American  Museum, in 1841, were attended by . . . . .  1,500,000
persons.
The American Museum which I managed from 1841
to 1865, when it was destroyed by fire, sold . . . .  37,560,000
tickets.
My Broadway Museum, in 1865-6-7 and 8, sold . . . . .  3,640,000
My Philadelphia Museum, 1849, 1850 and 1851, sold . .  1,800,000
My Baltimore Museum, sold . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  900,000
My traveling Asiatic Caravan, Museum and Menagerie,
in 1851-2-3 and 4, sold   . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .5,824,000
My great traveling World's Fair and Hippodrome, in
1871-2-3-4-5 and 6, sold . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   7,920,000  
                                                      ----------  
                                    Carried forward,  59,144,000

My other traveling exhibitions in America and Europe,
sold  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .    2,200,000
tickets.
General Tom Thumb has exhibited for me 34 years,
and sold . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .    20,400,000  
"
Jenny Lind's Concerts, under my management, were
attended by . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .    600,000
persons
Catharine Hayes's 60 Concerts in California, under my
contract, sold . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .     120,000
tickets.                                                          
                                                      ----------
Thus, my patrons amount to the enormous number of     82,464,000 

In addition to that, he delivered over seven hundred public lectures which were attended in the aggregate by 1,300,000 persons, and wrote three books of reminiscences. Is it to be wondered at, that such a well-known character should receive a letter from New Zealand addressed simply, "Mr. Barnum, America"?

My first recollection of Mr. Barnum goes back to the period of my small-boyhood, when he came to the country village near my home to lecture upon temperance. I still remember the animation of his discourse on that occasion; its humor and its anecdote; and, with what absorbing interest the large audience sat out the hour and a half or more which the speaker so well filled. In describing the drunkard and the illusions which master him, he showed a keen perception of human nature; and, in every part of his address there was no end of spirited appeal and analysis, mingled with unbounded mirth and pathos, as the fluctuating argument went on.

A few years later, when I had grown old enough to visit the metropolis, I made it one of the chief items of my concern to visit the old museum on the corner of Ann Street and Broadway, where the Herald Building now stands. There was, even then, no curiosity there more impressive than its proprietor, who was the very embodiment of life, kindly feeling, and wholesome joy. I noticed that he was in all parts of the museum in very rapid succession, and that nothing escaped his attention. Something in his manner caught every eye. It was said of Daniel Webster that when he walked through the streets of London, strangers who met him turned around for another look after he passed by. And, I confess I yielded in Mr. Barnum's presence, as others did, to this same sight-seeing inclination. It was not merely that he was so well known, and that his name had gone about the world with the circuit of the sun; it was because the force that made this thing possible worked also in other ways, and compelled you to give its owner attention.

He had a kind word or an entertaining one for everybody who came near him, as occasion offered, whether he was an old acquaintance or a stranger. The occasion did not come to me, though I remember wishing it had, when I left the museum. Probably I should have deliberately sought it if I had had more assurance and experience at that time; and if I had known, too, that we were afterward to meet intimately, and that for more than twenty years the latch-string of his different homes, in Bridgeport and New York, was to respond so many dozens of times to my touch, for days and weeks of remarkable hospitality.

My opportunity for knowing Mr. Barnum personally came about when I was, as a young man, conducting, almost single-handed, a lecture course in a very small country town in the later sixties, soon after the close of the war. The night for Mr. Barnum to come to us was a very cold and forbidding one in February. A snow-storm, the most formidable one of the winter, sprang up to apparently thwart the success of the performance; and so certain was Mr. Barnum that nobody would appear to hear him, he offered not only to release me from the contract between us, but, in addition to that, would pay me the price I was to pay him, or more, to be permitted to return to New York. "There is nothing on earth I hate to do so much," said he, "as to lecture to empty benches."

I said to him: "Please trust me for the avoidance of that. If it had been a pleasant night, instead of this howling storm, I would have filled the hall and the yard in front to the front gate. But, as it now is, I will still guarantee to fill the hall." And filled it was, to our equal delight.

Before entering and discovering this fact, I ventured to say to Mr. Barnum that, owing to the general untowardness and inclemency of the night, I would introduce him in my own way, and not in the conventional one, if he did not object. "By all means," said he; "if you can awaken any warmth or hilarity on as sorrowful an outlook as this, do not spare ME, or hesitate for a moment."

On arriving at our seats on the platform, I arose and said, in some such words as these:

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN:--You will bear me out in saying it has been my usual custom to introduce the speaker of the evening in the briefest way possible, and not to trouble you with any talk of my own. To-night, in view of the storm, and while Mr. Barnum is resting for a moment, I will break my rule and tell you a story. Some years ago a queer fellow from the country went to New York, and, among the sights and experiences he had planned for, he went to Barnum's Museum. Mr. Greenwood was then its manager, and noticed with some interest his patron's rusticity when he called for a ticket. He asked Mr. Greenwood, after having paid for the card of admittance, 'Where is Barnum?' As Mr. Barnum happened to be in sight on the entrance floor, Mr. Greenwood, pointing to him said, There he is.'

"At once the querist started in the direction named. He got very near Mr. Barnum and stood looking intently at him. Then he moved a little segment in the circle he was describing, and looked again. Several times he repeated these inspections, until he had from all points viewed the object of his curiosity and had completed the circle, when he started for the door, Mr. Greenwood watching him all the time. When he came near enough Mr. Greenwood said to him: 'My friend, you have not seen the Museum yet. There is a whale downstairs and any number of things up-stairs, a moral play soon to come off, etc.' 'I know it,' said the rustic, 'and I don't care. I've seen Barnum, and I've got my money's worth.'

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, I have not been able to bring to you the American Museum to-night, but I have done what is better--I have brought to you Mr. Barnum."

Mr. Barnum then arose, not in the least nonplussed, but greatly pleased with the packed house and the hearty cheers which greeted him:

"MR. PRESIDENT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN:--I cannot, for the life of me, see why you should have sent so far as New York for me to come and address you. I am not really a lyceum lecturer at all. I am only a showman, and it seems you have a man here who can show up the showman."

The whole story may read very weakly in print; for Mr. Barnum's tones of voice, and gestures and mobility of feature are not communicable to cold type. But the playfulness of this unusual preface not only stirred the audience on a dismal night, but put the lecturer at his very best. Mr. Barnum's lecture was elastic. It might be shaped for an hour, as it was not fully written, or it might consume more time. On this occasion it was two hours and over. While the snow was still falling in open sleighs, that could find no shelter, their owners, not minding this, were enjoying one of the most delightful evenings of a whole winter--of many winters, perhaps.

And all this leads me to say that Mr. Barnum, while claiming no part of a professional lecturer's endowment, and only made oratory a casual--if it was sometimes a frequent--matter, was, nevertheless, admirably equipped to entertain an audience. He could tell a story inimitably. His mimetic faculty, like Gough's, gave him something of the quality of an actor, so that he illustrated well what he had to say. No lectures have proved much more instructive and entertaining than Mr. Barnum's on The Art of Money Getting; and, wherever he went to address an audience, he was sure to be called again.

When I met him in Bridgeport for the first time, I found he was easily the chief man of the place. He was living then at Lindencroft, on Fairfield Avenue. His Oriental palace, Iranistan, had burned down some years before. But, wherever he lived, his house gave open welcome to many guests, illustrious and other; and no one who had the good fortune to enter it, ever went away without connecting with his visit the happiest of memories. At the table he especially shone. Wit, repartee, and even puns, when occasion offered, coruscated over the meal, and diffused universal good humor. He had always at hand innumerable anecdotes, which he made peculiarly his own, and which he told with inimitable grace and unction. I am sure nobody will ever tell them again as he told them; for, contrary to the proverb, the prosperity of the jest in his case lay, nine-tenths, in his way of relating it--though it was never a dull one.

It mattered not what the business of the day might be, or what obstacles or discouragements had been encountered, his cheerfulness was perennial and unfailing. Mirth and good cheer were apparently inborn and organic with him. He could no more suppress them than a fountain could cease bubbling up, or a river turn backward in its course. And what men and women he has had, first and last, at his table; it is impossible to exhaust the list or exaggerate its quality. Horace Greeley, Henry Ward Beecher, E. H. Chapin, Bayard Taylor, Mark Twain, and the Cary sisters, were a few among Americans; and Thackeray, Matthew Arnold, George Augustus Sala, and I know not how many others, from abroad. No catalogue of them, but only types can be given here. He was almost never without people who made no claim to distinction; and to them, too, he was the genial, urbane, and entertaining host.

There was a depth of warm humanity in Mr. Barnum's inmost texture that his public fame does not fully disclose. That children liked him has been already often said; but those in maturer youth--young gentlemen and ladies--felt, somehow, that he never ceased, at any age, to be their contemporary. No younger and more hopeful thoughts were offered than his. If, as sometimes happened, when he organized, as he persistently did, the summer picnic, inland or on the coast, there was a party made for each direction, the struggle was to see which could capture Mr. Barnum. Which way the rest of us might go was not of so much consequence; but the party which lost him in behalf of the other, felt like one trying to enjoy Hamlet with the chief character missing.

At one time he actually kept a seaside caterer at a distant beach to receive his guests of twenty or more on a place of his own, whenever, on summer days, he could collect guests enough and give them attention. It was only necessary to send word in the morning, and the tables were ready, and the party was conveyed to the shady grounds from Mr. Barnum's door. Swings were not forgotten for the children, nor was anything forgotten that conduced to rational joy. If some poor sick person was heard of in the city, one carriage, Mr. Barnum's own, would go somewhat out of the way to stop and leave delicacies and presents, not without a few words of sympathy and comfort. When, on one occasion that I remember, he took two or three hundred people from several towns in the State, and from New York, to Charles Island, a summer place midway between Bridgeport and New Haven, the hospitality was royal, and even the steamboat tickets were mysteriously provided for all.

I have never noticed, in the multitude of printed sketches of Mr. Barnum's doings, any general mention of his lavish hospitality poured out for years, but there will be hundreds who can testify to and will remember it. It was as if he had said: "As we go along through life let us make others happy." And he did this with no niggardliness or stint, in his private life as well as in his public career.

There is a series of stories of Mr. Barnum's humane endeavors longer than Aesop's or Pilpays' fables combined, and it is impossible to relate them all. But I have heard one recently that will very well illustrate the beneficial manner of his charity, and which shows that, by native sagacity, he had early learned the scientific way of giving--to give so that the gift may be more than its surface expression, and so as not to produce chronic pauperism.

It seems that a poor widow, some years ago, went to Mr. Barnum's house and told him she was very poor, and had a large family to support; she could not, in fact, decently support them. But if Mr. Barnum would only loan her $75 with which to buy a sewing-machine, she assured him she could do enough better to be able to save a little, and to pay the money back. Mr. Barnum, thinking her honest and truthful, said she might have the money on the terms suggested, but told her when she had saved the requisite amount to bring it to him. After some struggle and privation, in due time she did this, and laid it before him. "Well," said he, "my good woman, you have now fairly earned your sewing-machine, and you have done one thing more, YOU HAVE LEARNED HOW TO SAVE." And thereupon he handed back the money, and told her to put it in safe keeping.

Mr. Barnum's deep attachment for Bridgeport grew year by year, and was most strikingly manifessed. The thousands of trees he had set out there, the new streets he opened, and the Seaside Park, which was his creation mainly, are but a few of the evidences of his public enterprise. The Barnum Historical and Scientific Institute, and the Barnum Gymnasium were among his latest endowments, East Bridgeport he practically gave existence to, and both that and the city proper are so essentially his monument that you cannot now divorce the name of Bridgeport from that of Barnum.

Some years ago, when certain experiments were made to test the presence of ozone in the air, and much was said of its value to health, Mr. Barnum had the air at Bridgeport put on trial, and proved exultingly that no climate in this country was so salubrious as that of Bridgeport, especially in the region of the Seaside Park. He was very enthusiastic on the subject, and wrote to the local papers, to myself, and to others about it to give the fact publicity and proper emphasis.

It may be said by some that Mr. Barnum, in many of his real estate enterprises, made money; and so he did, by his foresight, faith, and sagacity concerning his adopted town. He partly foresaw the future of Bridgeport, and then largely made it. But if he had not made money--and his example was open for others to follow--he could have had no money to give. He used to say himself, half jokingly: "I believe in a profitable philanthropy," which illustrates one of his characteristic traits--his absolute frankness. In fact, he was so open-hearted about himself that no account he ever gave of his private doings was ever flattering or exalted. He wore no phylacteries, and was as far away as possible from Pecksniffian pretensions.

In early life he suffered hardship and deprivations, and no Mark Tapley ever met them with more composure and, on occasions, with more hilarity. But he knew well what comfort and convenience are, and when they were at his command he enjoyed their best gifts. He once told me that it pained him to see Mr. Greeley omit those little cares for himself in later life to which he was surely entitled, and so, when he was his guest for many days together, he took care to provide him with a loose morning coat and comfortable slippers, and would not have him drop in an ordinary chair by accident, but secured for him the easiest one.

Busy as Mr. Barnum was, he found many hours for social and other pleasures. He did this by his systematic allotment of his time. All the machinery of his household and his business ran with a smoothness and punctuality that would have delighted George Washington. Everything was on time; his meals were regular--not movable feasts. It was a wonder how he wrote so many letters, foreign and domestic; dispatched so promptly his household and his city affairs, and his out-of-town business; met all sorts of callers on all sorts of errands; and yet spared time for rides, a social game or talk, and an evening out with so much frequency. Absolute idleness was positively painful to him; occupation of some sort he must have, and to the very end he had and enjoyed it.

I can scarcely realize, even now, that he is really gone--so clear of mind and active was he to the very last. Nor can it be easily imagined how Bridgeport in this generation can accustom itself to so great a loss. To hear that the average man--of distinction even--has died, seems common and credible. But the message which announced Mr. Barnum's death came like a troubled dream from which we somehow expect to awaken. That one so full of life as to be its very embodiment, should leave us, it will take time to fully comprehend. If, in the world, his demise leaves a striking and peculiar void, to a multitude of friends it comes with a tender sorrow that shall tincture indelibly many flowing years. J. B.

Among letters that have come to hand we select the following as the tribute of a representative American divine:

BROOKLYN, April 16th, 1891.
Dear Mr. Benton:

There was a Mr. Barnum whom all the world knew, and whose name is familiar in every civilized land; but there was another Mr. Barnum whom we, his intimate friends knew, and regarded with a hearty affection. That he was a most courteous gentleman and the entertaining companion at his table and hospitable fireside, is but a part of the truth. He had a big warm heart that bound all his friends to him with hooks of steel.

I first met him on the platform of a grand temperance banquet, in Tripler Hall, New York, thirty-nine years ago--where he and Mr. Beecher, and Dr. Chapin, Hon. Horace Mann, Gen. Houston, of Texas, and myself were the speakers.

A gold medal was presented that evening to the Hon. Neal Dow, of Maine, the father of the "Prohibitory Law." Mr. Barnum made a very vivacious and vigorous address. In after years he delivered several addresses in behalf of Total Abstinence in my church, and they were admirable specimens of close argument, most pungently presented. He indulged in but few witticisms or amusing stories; for, as he well said, "The Temperance Reform was too SERIOUS a matter for trifling jokes and buffooneries."

During the first year of my married life, 1853, Mr. Barnum visited me at Trenton, N. J., and he often spoke of the happy hour he spent at our table, and the cozy dinner my young wife prepared for him. In after years he often sat at my table, and on two occasions he entertained me with princely hospitality at his Bridgeport mansion. On one occasion he invited the leading clergymen of the town to meet me.

We differed very decidedly in our religious creeds, and never fell into arguments about them. I honored his conscientious convictions, and his staunch adherence to what he believed to be the right interpretation of God's Word. With the scoffing scepticism of the day he had no sympathy, and utterly abhorred it. His kind heart made him a philanthropist, and in his own peculiar way he loved to do good to his fellow-men. Surrounded by innumerable temptations, he maintained a clean, chaste, and honest life, and found his happiest hours in the society of wife and children, under his own roof-tree. Had Mr. Barnum devoted himself to political life he would have made an excellent figure; for he had keen sagacity, vast and varied observations of human nature, and sturdy common sense. In conversation with intellectual men he always held his own with admirable acumen and vigor of expression. He was altogether one of the most unique characters that his native State has produced, and when his name ceases to be connected with shows and zoological exhibitions, he will be lovingly remembered as the genial friend, the sturdy patriot, the public-spirited and philanthropic neighbor, and the honest, true-hearted man.
Yours respectfully,
THEODORE L. CUYLER.

THE FUNERAL

April 10th, 1891, was the day set for Mr. Barnum's funeral. The morning was cold, gray, and dismal. Nature's heart, with the spring joy put back and deadened, symboled the melancholy that had fallen upon Bridgeport. No town was ever more transformed than was this city by one earthly event. On the public and private buildings were hung the habiliments of woe; flags were at half mast, and, in the store windows were to be seen innumerable portraits and likenesses of the dead citizen, surrounded by dark drapery, or embedded in flowers.

Nor was this all. The people on the street and in the windows of their houses seemed to be thinking of but one thing--their common loss. The pedestrian walked slower; the voices of talkers, even among the rougher classes, were more subdued, and in their looks was imprinted the unmistakable signal of no common or ordinary bereavement.

The large church was not only filled, with its lecture-room, a considerable time before the hour set for the services; but thousands of people crowded the sidewalks near-by for hours, knowing they could only see the arrival and departure of the funeral cortege. The private services at the house, "Marina," near the Seaside Park, which preceded the public services in the church, were simple and were only witnessed and participated in by the relatives and immediate friends.

DR. COLLYER'S TRIBUTE.

The immense congregation that filled to repletion the South Congregational Church, while the last services were being held over the remains of Hon. P. T. Barnum, were deeply impressed with the touching tribute which was paid the great showman and public benefactor by his old friend, Rev. Robert Collyer, D. D.

It was a pathetic picture which met the eyes of the vast throng. The aged preacher, with long white hair hanging loosely on his shoulders, and an expression of keen sorrow on his kindly face, standing in a small pulpit looking down on the remains of his old and cherished friend. The speaker's voice was strong and steady throughout his sermon. Each word of that sad panegyric could be distinctly heard in all parts of the edifice, but in offering up the last prayer, he broke down. The aged preacher made a strong effort to control himself, but his voice finally became husky, and tears streamed down his wrinkled cheeks. The audience was deeply touched by this display of feeling, and many ladies among the congregation joined with the preacher and wept freely.

The immense gathering were unusually quiet when the aged minister took his place in the pulpit, and his words were strangely clear, and distinct in all portions of the church, In his feeling tribute, Dr. Collyer said:

"P. T. Barnum was a born fighter for the weak against the strong, for the oppressed against the oppressor. The good heart, tender as it was brave, would always spring up at the cry for help and rush on with the sword of assistance. This was not all that made him loved, for the good cheer of his nature was like a halo about him. He had always time to right a wrong and always time to be a good citizen and patriot of the town, State, or republic in which he lived. His good, strong face, was known almost as well on the other side. You may be proud of him as he was proud of his town. He helped to strengthen and beautify it, and he did beautify it in many places. 'It is said that the hand that grasps takes away the strength from the hand that ought to give,' and that such a man must die without friends or blessings. He was not that man. He was always the open and generous man, who could not do too much for Bridgeport. He often told me of his desire to help this place, and he was not content to wait until after death. What he has done for Bridgeport is the same as he has done for other noble works. As my brother, Rev. Mr. Fisher, said today, there was never anything proposed in this city that had any promise of goodness but that he was ready to pour out money and assistance for it.

"Faith in one's self fails in the spring if one has not faith in God also. He had that faith I know. He had worship, reverence, and love in his heart, and as he rests from his labors we meet and linger here for a few minutes and pay respect and honor to the memory of a great and good man. We can forget that we belong to divers churches, and stand here as children of one faith and one baptism, honoring for the last time one who has finished his labors here and with a crown of glory for his reward, has joined in his eternal home the Father he served so well."

When the church services were over, the procession moved to Mountain Cemetery, a mile or more distant, where, in a beautiful plat, long ago arranged, with a modest monument above it, rest the remains of Mr. Barnum's first wife. Here, in a place made beautiful by nature and improved by art, was consigned the mortal part of him whose story we have tried, weakly, perhaps, to tell. Great masses of flowers, similar to those displayed in the house and church, were upon the grave and about it, and the people, who came there in large numbers, did not leave for hours after the religious service had been read.

A book of good size might be made of the notable expressions called forth by Mr. Barnum's death from leading journals and men known to fame. It is impossible to give any fair sample of them here, but the London Times' leader of April 8th may serve, perhaps, as a good specimen:

"Barnum is gone. That fine flower of Western civilization, that arbiter elegantiarum to Demos, has lived. At the age of eighty, after a life of restless energy and incessant publicity, the great showman has lain down to rest. He gave, in the eyes of the seekers after amusement, a lustre to America. * * * He created the metier of showman on a grandiose scale worthy to be professed by a man of genius. He early realized that essential feature of a modern democracy, its readiness to be led to what will amuse and instruct it. He knew that 'the people' means crowds, paying crowds; that crowds love the fashion and will follow it; and that the business of the great man is to make and control the fashion. To live on, by, and before the public was his ideal. For their sake and his own, he loved to bring the public to see, to applaud, and to pay. His immense activity, covering all those years, marked him out as one of the most typical and conspicuous of Yankees. From Jenny Lind to Jumbo, no occasion of a public 'sensation' came amiss to him.

"Phineas Taylor Barnum, born in 1810, at Bethel, Connecticut--how serious and puritanical it sounds! --would have died with a merely local reputation unless chance had favored him by putting in his way something to make a hit with. He stumbled across Charles H. Stratton, the famous, the immortal 'General Tom Thumb' of our childhood. Together they came to Europe and held 'receptions' everywhere. It was the moment when the Queen's eldest children were in the nursery, and Barnum saw that a fortune depended on his bringing them into friendly relations with Tom Thumb. He succeeded; and the British public flocked to see the amusing little person who had shown off his mature yet miniature dimensions by the side of the baby Heir Apparent. Then came the Jenny Lind furore. Then came a publicity of a different sort. Mr. Barnum became a legislator for his State, and even, in 1875, Mayor of Bridgeport. Why not? The man who can organize the amusements of the people may very well be trusted to organize a few of their laws for them.

"When, in 1889, the veteran brought over his shipload of giants and dwarfs, chariots and waxworks, spangles and circus-riders, to entertain the people of London, one wanted a Carlyle to come forward with a discourse upon 'the Hero as Showman.' It was the ne plus ultra of publicity. * * * There was a three-fold show--the things in the stalls and cages, the showman, and the world itself. And of the three perhaps Barnum himself was the most interesting. The chariot races and the monstrosities we can get elsewhere, but the octogenarian showman was unique. His name is a proverb already, and a proverb it will continue."