Struggles and Triumphs quotes

of affluence that had been patiently won, suddenly wrenched away, and triumphantly regained—would be a help and incentive to the young man, struggling, it may be, with adverse fortune, or, at the start, looking into the future with doubt or despair.

All autobiographies are necessarily egotistical.

If my pages are as plentifully sprinkled with “I’s” as was the chief ornament of Hood’s peacock, “who thought he had the eyes of Europe on his tail,” I can only say, that the “I’s” are essential to the story I have told.

… wag in his way, and who, as I was his first grandchild, gravely handed over to my mother at my christening a gift-deed, in my behalf, of five acres of land situated in that part of the parish of Bethel known as the “Plum Trees.”

I was thus a real estate owner almost at my very birth; and of my property, “Ivy Island,” something shall be said anon.

My father, Philo Barnum, was the son of Ephraim Barnum, of Bethel, who was a captain in the revolutionary war.

I was obliged to get trusted for the pair of shoes I wore to my father’s funeral.

I literally began the world with nothing, and was barefooted at that.

Leaving Mr. Weed, I went to Grassy Plain, a mile northwest of Bethel, and secured a situation as clerk in the store of James S. Keeler & Lewis Whitlock at six dollars a month and my board. I lived with Mrs.

I therefore declined to trust him as I did not see the necessity for his possessing such an article till he had something to put into it.

Later in life I have been credited with the utterance of some sagacious remarks, but this with regard to the pocketbook, trivial as the matter is in itself, seems to me quite as deserving of note as any of my ideas which have created more sensation.

My store had much to do in giving shape to my future character as well as career, in that it became a favorite resort; the theater of village talk, and the scene of many practical jokes.

When the case came to trial the truth of my statement was substantially proved by several witnesses and even by the prosecuting party.

But “the greater the truth, the greater the libel,”

and then I had used the term “usury,” instead of extortion, or note-shaving, or some other expression which might have softened the verdict.

“A good reason why,” said Darrow, in great glee; “it’s ragged. Come, I’ll bet you a treat for the whole company you hain’t got a whole shirt on your b-b-b-back!”

“I’ll bet my shirt is cleaner than yours,” I replied.

“That’s nothing to do w-w-with the case; it’s ragged, and y-y-you know it.”

“You needn’t t-t-take off any more c-c-c-clothes, for if it ain’t all on your b-b-back, you’ve lost it.”

“If it is, I suppose you have!” I replied, pulling the whole shirt from off my back!

Such a shriek of laughter as burst forth from the crowd I scarcely ever heard, and certainly such a blank countenance as old Darrow exhibited it would be hard to conceive.

The old word “trade” as it applies to buying cheap and selling at a profit, is as manifest here as it is in the dealings at a street-comer stand or in Stewart’s store covering a whole square.

This is a trading world, and men, women and children, who cannot live on gravity alone, need something to satisfy their gayer, lighter moods and hours, and he who ministers to this want is in a business established by the Author of our nature.

If he worthily fulfils his mission, and amuses without corrupting, he need never feel that he has lived in vain.

In January, 1840, I dissolved partnership with Proler, he buying the entire interest for $2,600 on credit, and then running away to Rotterdam without paying his note, and leaving me nothing but a few recipes.

Proler was a good-looking, plausible, promising⁠—scamp.

During my connection with Proler, I became acquainted with a remarkable young dancer named John Diamond.

“You buy the American Museum!” said a friend, who knew the state of my funds, “what do you intend buying it with?”

“Brass,” I replied, “for silver and gold have I none.”

The Museum building belonged to Mr. Francis W.

I was confused, and said “I regretted to hear it.”

“They all speak too well of you,” he added, laughing; “in fact they all talk as if they were partners of yours, and intended to share the profits.”

Nothing could have pleased me better.

“Is this the way you eat your dinner?” he asked.

“I have not eaten a warm dinner, except on Sundays,” I replied, “since I bought the Museum, and I never intend to, on a weekday, till I am out of debt.”

“Ah!” said he, clapping me on the shoulder, “you are safe, and will pay for the Museum before the year is out.”

I thoroughly understood the art of advertising, not merely by means of printer’s ink, which I have always used freely, and to which I confess myself so much indebted for my success, but by turning every possible circumstance to my account.

It was my monomania to make the Museum the town wonder and town talk.

I often seized upon an opportunity by instinct, even before I had a very definite conception as to how it should be used, and it seemed, somehow, to mature itself and serve my purpose.

“No?” I faintly inquired, with something like reviving hope.

“No,” said Clark, “and I hope, with all my heart, I never shall again.”

But the Knickerbocker spoke kindly of me, and refrained from all allusions to “the Cataract of Niagara, with real water.” Some months after, Clark came in breathless one day, and asked me if I had the club with which Captain Cook was killed?

“Tadpole,” I replied with becoming gravity, “but it is vulgarly called ‘pollywog.’ ”

“Sold, by thunder!” exclaimed Clark, and he left.

A curiosity, which in an extraordinary degree served my ever-present object of extending the notoriety of the Museum was the so-called “Fiji Mermaid.” It has been supposed that this mermaid was manufactured by my order, but such is not the fact.

I kept a band of music on the front balcony and announced “Free Music for the Million.” People said, “Well, that Barnum is a liberal fellow to give us music for nothing,” and they flocked down to hear my outdoor free concerts. But

I took pains to select and maintain the poorest band I could find⁠—one whose discordant notes would drive the crowd into the Museum, out of earshot of my outside orchestra.

Of course, the music was poor. When people expect to get “something for nothing” they are sure to be cheated, and generally deserve to be, and so, no doubt, some of my outdoor patrons were sorely disappointed;

But I took pains to select and maintain the poorest band I could find—one whose discordant notes would drive the crowd into the Museum, out of earshot of my outside orchestra. Of course, the music was poor.

When people expect to get “something for nothing” they are sure to be cheated, and generally deserve to be,

and so, no doubt, some of my outdoor patrons were sorely disappointed; but when they came inside and paid to be amused and instructed, I took care to see that they not only received the full worth of their money, but were more than satisfied.

We have opened a large egress here and you can pass by these rear stairs into Ann Street and thus avoid all danger.”

“Sure,” replied the woman, indignantly, “an’ I’m not going out at all, at all, nor the children aither, for we’ve brought our dinners and we are going to stay all day.”

Further, investigation showed that pretty much all of my visitors had brought their dinners with the evident intention of literally “making a day of it.” No one expected to go home till night;

In fact, the Museum had become an established institution in the land.

Now and then someone would cry out “humbug” and “charlatan,” but so much the better for me.

It helped to advertise me, and I was willing to bear the reputation—and I engaged queer curiosities, and even monstrosities, simply to add to the notoriety of the Museum.

“No! the darling was cheated out of it.”

“Well, why didn’t you bring home the same baby you carried to the Museum?”

I am glad to say that I could not trace this cruel rumor to an authentic source.

The object was accomplished and although some people cried out “humbug,” I had added to the notoriety which I so much wanted and I was satisfied. As for the cry of “humbug,” it never harmed me, and

I was in the position of the actor who had much rather be roundly abused than not to be noticed at all.

I ought to add, that the forty-eight thousand sixpences—the usual fare—received for ferry fares, less what I paid for the charter of the boats on that one day, more than remunerated me for the cost of the buffaloes and the expenses of the “hunt,” and …

“The same,” was my answer.

“Why, really, Mr. Barnum,” she continued, “you look much like other common folks, after all.”

I remarked that I presumed I did; but I could not help it, and I hoped she was not disappointed at my appearance.

… mind full of the glories of the stuffed gander-skins, and other wealth which had been displayed to his wondering eyes in the establishment, he summed up his views of the vastness and value of the whole collection, and its fortunate proprietor in a single sentence:

“Well, he’s an awful rich old cuss, ain’t he!”

Those boys evidently took a strictly financial view of the establishment.

“Well, he’s an awful rich old cuss, ain’t he!”

Those boys evidently took a strictly financial view of the establishment.

While these people were thus running from one manager to the other, supposing we were rivals, Bennett said to me one day:

“You and I are like a pair of shears; we seem to cut each other, but we only cut what comes between.”

I ran my opposition long enough to beat myself. It answered every purpose, however, in awakening public attention to my Museum, and was an advantage in preventing others from starting a genuine opposition.

… apprehend that such a course would rob me of the patronage of a considerable class of playgoers, but I rigidly adhered to the new rule, and what I may have lost in money, I more than gained in the greater decorum which characterized my audiences.

The Museum became a mania with me and I made everything possible subservient to it.

On the eve of elections, rival politicians would ask me for whom I was going to vote, and my answer invariably was, “I vote for the American Museum.”

“What an intelligent-looking child you have! He appears to take quite an interest in the stage.”

“Pardon me, madam,” said I, “this is not a child. This is General Tom Thumb.”

“Indeed!” they exclaimed. They had seen the announcements of our visit and were greatly gratified at an interview with the pygmy prodigy.

Surprise and pleasure were depicted on the countenances of the royal circle at beholding this remarkable specimen of humanity so much smaller than they had evidently expected to find him.

The General advanced with a firm step, and as he came within hailing distance made a very graceful bow, and exclaimed, “Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen!”

A burst of laughter followed this salutation. The Queen then took him by the hand, led him about the gallery, and asked him many questions, the answers to which kept the party in an uninterrupted strain of merriment.

He was dressed in the well-known uniform of the Emperor. I introduced him to the “Iron Duke,” who inquired the subject of his meditations.

“I was thinking of the loss of the battle of Waterloo,” was the little General’s immediate reply.

This display of wit was chronicled throughout the country, and was of itself worth thousands of pounds to the exhibition.

By the way, this was a favorite expression of the Professor’s. Whenever we were imposed upon, or felt that we were not used right, Pinte would always endeavor to smooth it over by informing us it was “the custom of the country.”

“Well, it’s a thundering mean custom, anyhow,” said Stratton, “and I wont stand such an imposition.”

“But what shall we do?” earnestly inquired Mr. Pinte. “It may be a high price, but it is better to pay that than to lose our afternoon performance and five or six hundred francs.”

“Are you really the father of General Tom Thumb?”

“Wa’al,” replied Stratton, “I have to support him!”

This evasive method of answering is common enough in New England, but the literal dowager had her doubts, and promptly rejoined:

I made the most of my opportunities and saw, hurriedly, it is true, nearly everything worth seeing in the various places which I visited.

All Europe was a great curiosity shop to me and I willingly paid my money for the show.

While in London, my friend Albert Smith, a jolly companion, as well as a witty and sensible author, promised that when I reached Birmingham he would come and spend a day with me in “sightseeing,” including a visit to the house in which Shakespeare was …

The sword weighed nearly 200 pounds, and the armor 400 pounds.

I told the old porter he was entitled to great credit for having concentrated more lies than I had ever before heard in so small a compass.

He smiled, and evidently felt gratified by the compliment.

“It is cold as hell this morning, ain’t it, Doctor?”

“I am unable to state the exact height of the thermometer in that locality,” said he, gravely; “but I am afraid you will know all about it some time, if you are not careful.”

The laugh was decidedly against the young man; but one of his companions, who thought considerably of himself, seemed anxious to take up the cudgel, and he remarked:

and the fool began to laugh, and said, ‘Oui, madame, oui, oui,’ and off he ran, and soon brought me the nicest piece of duck you ever saw. So now every day at dinner, I say ‘quack, quack,’ and I always get some first-rate duck.”

I congratulated her on having discovered a universal language.

The same day, I met a young Englishman in the hotel, who had been travelling in Spain. During our conversation we were summoned to dinner. At the table d’hôte, Simpson happened to be seated exactly opposite us.

… I transplanted many hundreds of fruit and forest trees, some of the latter of very large growth when they were moved, and thus in a few years my premises were adorned with what, in the ordinary process of growth, would have required a whole generation.

I have never waited for my trees to grow, if money would transplant them of nearly full growth at the start.

The years 1848 and 1849 were mainly spent with my family, though I went every week to New York to look after the interests of the American Museum. While I was in Europe, in 1845, my agent, Mr.

These were built for me by a carpenter who wrote an application for a situation, sending me a frightfully misspelled letter, in which he said that he was “youste” to hard work.

I thought if his work was as strong as his spelling, he was the man I wanted, and I employed him.

When the time came to prepare for our agricultural fair in the fall, he made a series of gorgeous cages in which to exhibit my shanghais, bantams, and other fancy fowls.

Yet, I never believed in mere luck and I always pitied the simpleton who relies on luck for his success.

Luck is in no sense the foundation of my fortune; from the beginning of my career I planned and worked for my success.

To be sure, my schemes often amazed me with the affluence of their results, and, arriving at the very best, I sometimes “builded better” than “I knew.”

Anxious to learn how this communication would strike the public mind, I informed the conductor, whom I well knew, that I had made an engagement with Jenny Lind, and that she would surely visit this country in the following August.

“Jenny Lind! Is she a dancer?” asked the conductor.

I informed him who and what she was, but his question had chilled me as if his words were ice.

“How is it possible that you dared risk so much money on a person whom you never heard sing?” she asked in surprise.

“I risked it on your reputation, which in musical matters I would much rather trust than my own judgment,” I replied.

I may as well state, that although I relied prominently upon Jenny Lind’s reputation as a great musical artiste, I also took largely into my estimate of her success with all classes of the American public, her character for extraordinary benevolence and generosity.

The crowd remained an hour on the wharf before they would be convinced that the person whom they took for my daughter was in fact the veritable Swede. When this was discovered, a general laugh followed the exclamation from one of the victims, “

Well, Barnum has humbugged us after all!

”

“Forty yoke of oxen!” contemptuously replied the old farmer; “I don’t want to tell you I doubt your word, but I would just like to know what he can draw.”

“He can draw the attention of twenty millions of American citizens to Barnum’s Museum,” I replied.

“Oh, you can make him pay in that way, of course,” responded the old farmer.

The old man gave a hearty laugh, and said, “Well, I give it up.

I have been a farmer thirty-five years, and I have only just discovered that an elephant is a very useful and profitable animal on a farm⁠—provided the farmer also owns a museum.

”

I had notice enough to satisfy the most inordinate craving for notoriety. All over the country, and even across the ocean, “Barnum and the Jerome Clock Bubble” was the great newspaper theme.

I was taken to pieces, analyzed, put together again, kicked, “pitched into,” tumbled about, preached to, preached about, and made to serve every purpose to which a sensation-loving world could put me.

Well! I was now in training, in a new school, and was learning new and strange lessons.

“Where do you attend bar, and for whom?” was the next question.

“I attend the bar of this court, nearly every day, for the benefit of twopenny, would-be lawyers and their greedy clients,” I answered.

A loud tittering in the vicinity only added to the vexation which was already visible on the countenance of my interrogator, and he soon brought his examination to a close.

In fact, two years afterwards I had made very little progress. But I concluded to let the new venture work out itself and it would go on as well without my personal presence and attention, perhaps even better.

Growing trees, money at interest, and rapidly rising real estate, work for their owners all night as well as all day, Sundays included

, and when the proprietors are asleep or away, and with the design of cooperating in the new accumulation and of saving something to add to the amount, I made up my mind to go to Europe again.

He knew me, and knew something of Yankee enterprise, and he was evidently alarmed, but a thought came to his relief:

“You cannot do it,” he triumphantly exclaimed; “the government will not permit you to run more than nine miles an hour.”

We remained at Cologne only long enough to visit the famous cathedral and to see other curiosities and works of art, and then pushed on to Rotterdam and Amsterdam.

I know all about economy.” He thinks he does, but he does not. There are many who think that economy consists in saving cheese-parings and candle ends, in cutting off two pence from the laundress’ bill and doing all sorts of little, mean, dirty things.

Economy is not meanness.

The misfortune is also that this class of persons let their economy apply in only one direction.

I never knew a man to succeed by practising this kind of economy.

True economy consists in always making the income exceed the outgo.

Wear the old clothes a little longer if necessary; dispense with the new pair of gloves; mend the old dress; live on plainer food if need be;

Some families expend twenty thousand dollars per annum, and some much more, and would scarcely know how to live on less, while others secure more solid enjoyment frequently on a twentieth part of that amount.

Prosperity is a more severe ordeal than adversity, especially sudden prosperity.

“Easy come, easy go,” is an old and true proverb.

When I consulted my physician, he said “break off tobacco using.” I was not only injuring my health and spending a great deal of money, but I was setting a bad example. I obeyed his counsel.

No young man in the world ever looked so beautiful, as he thought he did, behind a fifteen cent cigar or a meerschaum!

These remarks apply with tenfold force to the use of intoxicating drinks. To make money, requires a clear brain. A man has got to see that two and two make four;

He would have given the hour of the day if I had insisted; I said “everybody knows that ‘Henry VIII,’ was a great stout old king, and that figure is lean and lank; what do you say to that?”

“Why,” he replied, “you would be lean and lank yourself, if you sat there as long as he has.”

There was no resisting such arguments. I said to my English friend, “Let us go out; do not tell him who I am; I show the white feather; he beats me.”

It is all very well to say, “I have got trusted for sixty days, and if I don’t have the money, the creditor will think nothing about it.”

There is no class of people in the world who have such good memories as creditors.

When the sixty days run out, you will have to pay. If you do not pay, you will break your promise and probably resort to a falsehood.

The creditor goes to bed at night and wakes up in the morning better off than when he retired to bed because his interest has increased during the night, but you grow poorer while you are sleeping, for the interest is accumulating against you.

Money is in some respects like fire⁠—it is a very excellent servant but a terrible master.

When you have it mastering you, when interest is constantly piling up against you, it will keep you down in the worst kind of slavery. But let money work for you, and you have the most devoted servant in the world. It is no “eye-servant.”

Many a man acquires a fortune by doing his business thoroughly, while his neighbor remains poor for life because he only half does it. Ambition, energy, industry, perseverance, are indispensable requisites for success in business.

Fortune always favors the brave, and never helps a man who does not help himself.

It won’t do to spend your time like Mr. Micawber, in waiting for something to “turn up.” To such men one of two things usually “turns up”: the poorhouse or the jail; for idleness breeds bad habits, and clothes a man in rags.

Suddenly the animal said “I am the devil and I am going to eat you.” It was but natural that Cuvier should desire to classify this creature, and examining it intently, he said,

“Divided hoof; graminivorous! it cannot be done.”

He knew that an animal with a split hoof must live upon grass and grain, or other kind of vegetation, and would not be inclined to eat flesh, dead or alive, so he considered himself perfectly safe.

Among the maxims of the elder Rothschild was one, an apparent paradox:

“Be cautious and bold.”

This seems to be a contradiction in terms, but it is not, and there is great wisdom in the maxim. It is, in fact, a condensed statement of what I have already said.

… succeeds, because, although a man may appear to be honest and intelligent, yet if he tries this or that thing and always fails, it is on account of some fault or infirmity that you may not be able to discover, but nevertheless which must exist.

There is no such thing in the world as luck.

There never was a man who could go out in the morning and find a purse full of gold in the street today, and another tomorrow, and so on, day after day. He may do so once in his life;

Be polite and kind to your customers.

Politeness and civility are the best capital ever invested in business.

Large stores, gilt signs, flaming advertisements, will all prove unavailing if you or your employees treat your patrons abruptly. The truth is, the more kind and liberal a man is, the more generous will be the patronage bestowed upon him. “Like begets like.”

Men who drive sharp bargains with their customers, acting as if they never expected to see them again, will not be mistaken. They never will see them again as customers.

People don’t like to pay and get kicked also.

One of the ushers in my Museum once told me he intended to whip a man who was in the lecture room as soon as he came out.

But don’t fall into the idea that some persons practise, of giving a prayer instead of a potato, and a benediction instead of bread, to the hungry.

It is easier to make Christians with full stomachs than empty.

Don’t blab.—Some men have a foolish habit of telling their business secrets. If they make money they like to tell their neighbors how it was done. Nothing is gained by this, and ofttimes much is lost.

Goethe makes Mephistopheles say: “never write a letter nor destroy one.” Business men must write letters, but they should be careful what they put in them. If you are losing money, be specially cautious and not tell of it, or you will lose your reputation.

Preserve your integrity.⁠—It is more precious than diamonds or rubies.

The old miser said to his sons: “Get money; get it honestly, if you can, but get money.” This advice was not only atrociously wicked, but it was the very essence of stupidity.

“

Experience is said to be a hard schoolmaster, but I should be sorry to feel that this great lesson in adversity has not brought forth fruits of some value.

I needed the discipline this tribulation has given me, and I really feel, after all, that this, like many other apparent evils, was only a blessing in disguise.

Catching his meaning, I quickly replied:

“I think it is a humbug.”

“Of course, I know you will say so; because you ‘forstha’ such things; so I shall not try to humbug you; I have color them myself.”

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

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

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

In another hour his spirit had taken its flight. It was said by those present, that his face lighted into a smile as the last breath escaped him, and that smile he carried into his grave.

Almost his last words were: “Won’t Barnum open his eyes when he finds I have humbugged him by being buried in his new hunting dress?”

That dress was indeed the shroud in which he was entombed.

… determined “not to be humbugged, anyhow,” still declared that Commodore Nutt was General Tom Thumb, and that the little fellow whom I was trying to pass off as Tom Thumb, was no more like the General than he was like the man in the Moon.

It is very amusing to see how people will sometimes deceive themselves by being too incredulous.

As an illustration—the “Australian Golden Pigeons” which deceived Old Adams were the occasion of another ludicrous incident.

His apt remark created much amusement. Mr. Lincoln then bent down his long, lank body, and taking Nutt by the hand, he said:

“Commodore, permit me to give you a parting word of advice. When you are in command of your fleet, if you find yourself in danger of being taken prisoner, I advise you to wade ashore.”

The Commodore found the laugh was against him, but placing himself at the side of the President, and gradually raising his eyes up the whole length of Mr. Lincoln’s very long legs, he replied:

The Commodore found the laugh was against him, but placing himself at the side of the President, and gradually raising his eyes up the whole length of Mr. Lincoln’s very long legs, he replied:

“I guess Mr. President, you could do that better than I could.”

Commodore Nutt and the Nova Scotia giantess, Anna Swan, illustrate the old proverb sufficiently to show how extremes occasionally met in my Museum. He was the shortest of men and she was the tallest of women.

“

Mr. Barnum, does Tom Thumb board here?

” asked the Commodore, sarcastically.

Ten minutes afterwards Tom Thumb came rushing into my room, and closing the door, he caught hold of my hand in a high state of excitement and whispered:

“We are engaged, Mr. Barnum! we are engaged! we are engaged!”

and he jumped up and down in the greatest glee.

“I thank you, sir,” replied the Commodore, pompously,

“I would not marry the best woman living; I don’t believe in women, anyway.”

I then suggested that he should stand with little Minnie, as groom and bridesmaid, at the approaching wedding.

“When I asked you, a few weeks ago, you refused,” I said.

“It was not your business to ask me,” replied the Commodore, pompously. “When the proper person invited me I accepted.”

Of course the approaching wedding was announced. It created an immense excitement. Lavinia’s levees at the Museum were crowded to suffocation, and her photographic pictures were in great demand.

“Are you not married yet, Commodore?”

“No, sir; my fruit is plucked,” he replied.

“You don’t mean to say you will never marry,” I remarked.

… Thumb and Lavinia Warren, I will here say that, after writing out the story, I read it to the parties personally interested, and they give me leave to say that, in all particulars, it is a correct statement of the affair, except that Lavinia remarked:

“Well, Mr. Barnum, your story don’t lose any by the telling”

; and the Commodore denies the “rolling tear,” when informed of the engagement of the little pair.

“Oh! you quite misunderstand me; I mean buy the copyright and the entire edition, with the view of suppressing the work. It says some frightful things, I assure you,” urged the author.

I lay back in my chair and fairly roared at this exceedingly feeble attempt at blackmail.

“But,” persisted the lady, “suppose it says that your Museum and Grace Church are all one, what then?”

nor do I believe that the panic-stricken would-be plunderers stopped running till they reached New York.

It always seemed to me that a man who “takes no interest in politics” is unfit to live in a land where the government rests in the hands of the people.

Consequently, whether I expressed them or not, I always had pronounced opinions upon all the leading political questions of the day, and no frivolous reason ever kept me from the polls.

The time was when a whole community was tied to the track of one or two railway companies, and it was too truthful to be looked upon as satire to call New Jersey the “State of Camden and Amboy.”

A great railroad company, like fire, is a good servant, but a bad master;

and when it is considered that such a company, with its vast number of men dependent upon it for their daily bread, can sometimes elect State officers and legislatures, the danger to our free institutions from such a force may well be feared.

“Mr. Barnum, I am really very sorry to hear of your great misfortune.”

“Sorry,” I replied, “why, my dear sir, I shall not have time to be ‘sorry’ in a week! It will take me that length of time before I can get over laughing at having whipped you all so nicely in this attempted railroad imposition.”

The Speaker of the House and my fellow-members all testified that neither my face nor my manner betrayed the slightest intimation when I read the telegram that I had received unpleasant intelligence.

I called on my old friend, the editor of the Tribune, for advice on the subject.

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

“Yes, a-fishing; I have been wanting to go a-fishing for thirty years, and have not yet found time to do so,” replied Mr. Greeley.

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

“Yes, a-fishing; I have been wanting to go a-fishing for thirty years, and have not yet found time to do so,” replied Mr. Greeley.

I really felt that his advice was good and wise, and had I consulted only my own ease and interest I should have acted upon it. But, two considerations moved me to pause:

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 was the hardest blow of all, and it fully accounted for the abuse which the Herald daily poured out upon the theatres.

But the more Bennett raved the more the people laughed, and the more determined did they seem to patronize the managers.

Many people came to the Museum, who said they came expressly to show us that the public were with us and against the Herald. The other managers stated their experience to be the same in this respect.

“Is this P. T. Barnum?” said the superintendent, starting to his feet.

“I am sorry to say it is,” I replied.

“Well, Mr. Barnum,” said he, earnestly, “if you can stand it to ride to Fort Wayne in the caboose of a freight train, your well-established reputation for punctuality in keeping your engagements shall not suffer on account of the Toledo, Wabash and Western Railroad.”

Lecture Committee, Fort Wayne:—

Rest perfectly tranquil. I am to be delivered at Fort Wayne by contract by half-past seven o’clock⁠—special train.

At the same station I received a telegram from Mr. Andrews, the superintendent, asking me how I liked the caboose. I replied:

The springs of the caboose are softer than down;

I am as happy as a clam at high water; I am being carried towards Fort Wayne in a style never surpassed by Caesar’s triumphal march into Rome.

Hurrah for the Toledo and Wabash Railroad!

“How many gentlemen are with this lady.”

I have always noticed that young newly-married people are very fond of saying “my husband” and “my wife;” they are new terms which sound pleasantly to the ears of those who utter them;

so in answer to the peremptory inquiry of the doorkeeper, the bridegroom promptly responded:

“I am this lady’s husband.”

“And I guess you can see by the resemblance between the lady and myself,” said I to Cerberus, “that I am her father.”

The astounded husband and the blushing bride were too much taken aback to deny their newly-discovered parent, but the brakeman said, as he permitted the young couple to pass into the car:

The astounded husband and the blushing bride were too much taken aback to deny their newly-discovered parent, but the brakeman said, as he permitted the young couple to pass into the car:

“We can’t pass all creation with one lady.”

“I hope you will not deprive me of the company of my child during the little time we can remain together,” I said with a demure countenance.

But I had been too long in the business to be caught by such chaff, and approaching the keeper, I asked him why he did not lengthen the chain, so that the animal could stand up?

“Because, if I do, he will show his tail,” the keeper confidentially whispered in my ear.

The imposition was so silly and transparent that I did not care how soon it was exposed. As usual, however, I looked at the funny side of the matter, and immediately enclosed a ticket to my friend Mr.

This was read so coolly, and I showed so little excitement, that both of the ladies supposed I was joking. My wife simply remarked:

“Yes, it was totally destroyed two years ago, but Barnum built another one.”

“Yes, and that is burned,” I replied; “now listen,” and I proceeded very calmly to read the account of the fire. Mrs.

“now listen,” and I proceeded very calmly to read the account of the fire. Mrs. Thomas, still believing from my manner that it was a joke, stole slyly behind my chair, and looking over my shoulder at the newspaper, she exclaimed:

“Why, Mrs. Barnum, the Museum is really burned. Here is the whole account of it in this morning’s paper.”

“Of course it is,” I remarked, with a smile, “how could you think I could joke on such a serious subject!”

Of course, by wedding themselves to this one ambition they forego many of the higher pleasures of life, and though they have a vague idea of that “good time coming,” when they are going to take things easy and enjoy themselves, that time never comes.

Men who are entirely idle are the most miserable creatures in the world;

but when by arduous toil they have secured a competence, and especially when they have reached a point in life where they are conscious of a waning of their vital energies, we must admit that they are unwise if they do not slip out of …

After the dinner was over, we discovered that my son-in-law, Thompson, had been detained down town, and the number at dinner table, notwithstanding my extra precautions, was exactly thirteen.

Thirteen was certainly an ominous number to me in 1865, for on the thirteenth day of July, the American Museum was burned to the ground

, while the thirteenth day of November saw the opening of “Barnum’s New American Museum,” which was also subsequently destroyed by fire.

The girl, who had been accustomed to buy on that day as on other days, was much surprised and turned to go away, when the sixpence in her hand was too much of a temptation for the deacon, who called out:

“Here, little girl! you can leave the money now, and call and get the milk tomorrow!”

During my journeyings abroad I was not wholly free from the usual infirmity of travellers, viz, a desire to look at the old castles of feudal times, whether in preservation or in ruins; but there was one of our party, Mr. H. G.

“What on earth was it, then?” I asked.

“A thundering old limekiln!” exclaimed Sherman; “and I only wish I could pitch that infernal Irish coachman into it while it was under full blast!”

It was many a long day before Sherman heard the last of the limekiln; in fact, this trick of the Irish coachman rendered him cautious in making inquiries of strangers.

It never occurred to Mr. Whittemore that every man whom he met did not know him and his official position; but Pat, not dreaming that his virtual employer, the president of the railroad company, was giving him an order, sharply answered:

“Jist go to the divil, will ye?”

“My dear friend,” said the smiling Whittemore, who instantly comprehended “the situation”—that is, that Pat did not know him, and no particular wonder, either—“ ‘go to the devil?’ why, that is the last place I should desire to go to!”

“My dear friend,” said the smiling Whittemore, who instantly comprehended “the situation”—that is, that Pat did not know him, and no particular wonder, either—“ ‘go to the devil?’ why, that is the last place I should desire to go to!”

“An’ faith, an’ I think it’s the last place you will be goin’ to,” responded Pat.

Of railroads and railroad travel and employees I have heard and told no end of stories;

“That would be very inconsistent,” replied my grandfather, exultingly; “for if I spat in your face it would be because it was foreordained I should do so: why then would you be so unreasonable as to knock me down?”

“Because it would be foreordained that I should knock you down,” replied Mr. Dey, with a smile.

The company burst into a laugh, in which my grandfather heartily joined.

It was some time before he could comprehend the joke, and when he became fully aware that no harm was done, he was the happiest fellow I have ever seen.

I might fill a volume with these reminiscences of my younger days

, but turning once more to my foreign notebooks, I find material there which seems to claim a place in this story-chapter.

American, or English, or Dutch French is generally quite a different thing from “French French.” Thus I could always understand the Dutchmen who spoke to me in French in Amsterdam, and I may add, they could perfectly understand me. We spoke the same patois.

I wrote to my wife, I remember, from Amsterdam, that I found they spoke much purer French in that city than in Paris!

Once on arriving in Paris at the station of the Northern Railway, I, with other passengers, was in the room devoted to the examination of baggage.

“Do you speak English, Miss?”

“Well, speak English then, if you please, for I can understand your English better than I can your French.”

I was one evening at the house of my friend, Mr.

“Please, sir,” was the reply, “I do not speak French.”

“Nor I, either,” said I, promptly; “just bring me some hot water, if you please.”

But some of the English have a queer way of speaking their own language, and the cockney’s management of what he would call the “haspirate” is sufficiently familiar.

“Where do I go to, usher?”

“You go to Hell,” was the prompt response; which was not intended to be either profane or impolite.

But I must bring this story-telling chapter—an episode in the narrative of graver events in my autobiography—to a close, and discourse of Seaside Park and Waldemere.

In this way, I have opened miles of new streets, and have planted thousands of shade-trees in Bridgeport; for I think there is much wisdom in the advice of the Laird of Dumbiedikes, in Scott’s “Heart of Mid-Lothian,” who sensibly says:

“When ye hae naething else to do, ye may be aye sticking in a tree; it will be growing when ye’re sleeping.”

But, in establishing new streets, too often, when I had gone through my own land, the project came literally to an end;

… these men, who could see the benefit to “Barnum’s property” by opening new streets which would immediately convert cheap farm and pasture land into choice and high-priced building-lots, should not see that precisely the same thing would proportionately increase the value of their own property.

Conservatism 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.

He received us with a smile and invited us to enter. He was very sociable, asked us many questions, and promptly answered ours. Finally he said with a chuckle:

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

“Well, Mr. President,” I replied, “I’ll give you half the receipts, which I will guarantee shall be $200,000 per year, for I consider you the best show in America.”

“Why did you not secure me some years ago when I was of no consequence?” he continued.

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

Brigham smiled and said, “I would like right well to spend a few hours with you, if you could come when I am disengaged.” I thanked him, and told him I guessed I should enjoy it;

another Bridgeporter, Theodore W. Downs—each credited with one or two carcases on the field; and I who had brought down two and had half killed another buffalo—all voted that we had done enough and were in favor of returning home. Whereupon Wells indignantly exclaimed:

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

But every man had killed his buffalo, some had killed two, and we were satisfied. We had plenty of buffalo and antelope meat, and on the whole our ten days’ sport afforded another “sensation,”—a feeling so necessary to one in my state.

It embraced a museum, menagerie, caravan and hippodrome—all first-class and unsurpassed in previous shows—and Dan. Costello’s celebrated circus was added. It was an exhibition absolutely colossal, exhaustive, and bewilderingly various as the most liberal expenditure and years of experience could possibly make it.

My motto through life has been: “Get the best, regardless of expense.”

My aim was to combine in the several shows more startling and entirely novel wonders of creation than were ever before seen in one collection anywhere in the world, and to furnish my patrons with wholesome instruction and innocent amusement, without the taint of anything …