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release her from her engagement with him, in event of the marriage, she consented.

After the Commodore heard the news Mr. Barnum said to him:

“Never mind, Commodore; Minnie Warren is a better match for you anyhow. She is two years younger than you, and Lavinia is older.”

But the Commodore replied grandly; “Thank you sir, but I would not marry the best woman living. I don’t believe in women.”

Barnum then suggested that he stand with Minnie, as groom and bridesmaid, but he declined. A few weeks later, however, he told Barnum that Tom Thumb had asked him to stand with Minnie, and that he was going to do so.

“And when I asked you, you refused,” said Barnum.

“It was not your business to ask me,” said the Commodore pompously, “when the proper person asked me, I accepted.”

The approaching wedding was announced and created an immense excitement. Lavinia’s levees were crowded and she not infrequently sold three hundred dollars’ worth of photographs in a day. The General was engaged to exhibit and his own photograph was largely in demand. The Museum was so well attended, the daily receipts being nearly three thousand dollars, that Barnum offered them fifteen thousand dollars if they would postpone their wedding for a month and continue the levees.

“No sir,” said the General excitedly, “not for fifty thousand dollars.”

“Good for you Charlie,” said Lavinia, “only you should have said one hundred thousand.”

It was suggested to Barnum to have the wedding take place in the Academy of Music and charge a good admission.

But Barnum refused.

Grace Church, at Broadway and Tenth St., was the scene of this historic wedding, which occurred at noon of Tuesday, Feb. 10, 1863. Long before the hour designated the entire neighborhood was thronged by expectant and smiling crowds awaiting the arrival of the happy pair with their attendants, and looking with ill-concealed envy upon the scores of carriages that bore to the scene of action the fortunate possessors of cards of invitation. At the entrance the ubiquitous Brown was to be seen, bland and smiling, looking more like an honest Alderman of yore than a sexton, and recognizing in each new deposit of youth or beauty or wealth another star to shed lustre upon the extraordinary occasion.

Excellent police arrangements, no less than the self-respect and decorum that always characterizes an American crowd, secured the utmost quiet and order. The truth was that an outsider could only have discovered the marriage to have been one of peculiar interest from the snatches of feminine gossip that met the ear, in which small-sized adjectives were profusely employed.

The church was crowded with a gay assemblage of ladies and gentlemen, the former appearing in full opera costume, and the latter in dress coats and white neck-cloths. In front of the altar a platform three feet high covered with Brussels carpet had been erected. Pending the arrival of the wedding cortege, Mr. Morgan performed a number of operatic selections on the organ.

At high noon the murmuring of the swarming throng outside and the turning of all heads townward presaged the arrival of the bridal party; its undoubted arrival was announced by the arrival of Barnum himself.

The bridal party quickly entered the church, and proceeding up the middle aisle, took proper positions upon the platform. Commodore Nutt acting as groomsman, and Miss Minnie Warren as bridesmaid.

After several operatic performances on the organ, the marriage services were commenced, the Rev. Dr. Taylor and the Rev. Junius M. Willey officiating. The petite bride was given away by the Rev. Mr. Palmer, at the request of her parents. Dr. Taylor pronounced the marital benediction, when the party left the church and were rapidly driven to the Metropolitan Hotel, the street, stoops, buildings and windows in the neighborhood of which were crowded with men, women and children.

At 1 o’clock the reception commenced, the bride and groom, attended by the Commodore and Miss Minnie Warren, occupying a dais in one of the front parlors. The crowd soon resolved into a perfect jam, and for some time great confusion prevailed. After a time, certain arrangements were made by which the company were enabled to pay their respects to the little couple.

The graceful form of Mrs. Charles S. Stratton was shown to advantage in her bridal robe, which was composed of plain white satin, the skirt en traine, being decorated with a flounce of costly point lace, headed by tulle puffings; the berthe to match. Her hair, slightly waved, was rolled a la Eugenie, and elaborately puffed in noeuds behind, in which the bridal veil was looped: natural orange blossoms breathed their perfume above her brow, and mingled their fragrance with the soft sighs of her gentle bosom. Roses and japonicas composed a star-shaped bouquet, which she held in her just-bestowed hand.

Her jewels consisted of diamond necklace, bracelets, earrings, and a star-shaped ornament en diadem, with brooch to match.

Mr. Stratton was attired in a black dress coat and a vest of white corded silk, with an undervest of blue silk.

The Commodore was similarly attired, and Miss Minnie Warren appeared in a white silk skirt, with a white illusion overdress, trimmed half way up the skirt with bouillonnes of the same material, dotted with pink rosebuds. The corsage was decollete, with berthe to match.

At 3 o’clock the bridal party left the reception room, and retired to their private parlor, when the company soon after dispersed. Upon leaving the hotel the guests were supplied with wedding cake, over two thousand boxes being thus distributed. In a parlor adjoining that used for the reception were exhibited the bridal presents.

The jewelry and silverware were displayed in glass cases.

That night, at 10 o’clock, the New York Excelsior Band serenaded the bridal party at the Metropolitan, when Mr. Stratton appeared upon the balcony and made the following speech to the large assemblage in front of the hotel:

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN–I thank you most sincerely for this and many other tokens of kindness showered upon me to-day. After being for more than twenty years before the public, I little expected at this late day, to attract so much attention. Indeed if I had not become a family man I should never have known how high I stood in public favor, and I assure you I appreciate highly and am truly grateful for this evidence of your esteem and consideration. I am soon off for foreign lands, but I shall take with me the pleasant recollection of your kindness to-day. But, ladies and gentlemen, a little woman in the adjoining apartment is very anxious to see us, and I must, therefore, make this speech, like myself, short. I kindly thank the excellent band of music for its melody, the sweetness of which is only exceeded by my anticipations of happiness in the new life before me. And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, wishing you all health and happiness, I bid you all a cordial good-night.” [Applause.]

The following entirely authentic correspondence, the only suppression being the name of the person who wrote to Dr. Taylor, and to whom Dr. Taylor’s reply is addressed, shows how a certain would-be “witness” was not a witness of the famous wedding. In other particulars the correspondence speaks for itself.

TO THE REV. DR. TAYLOR.

Sir: The object of my unwillingly addressing you this note is to inquire what right you had to exclude myself and other owners of pews in Grace Church from entering it yesterday, enforced, too, by a cordon of police for that purpose. If my pew is not my property, I wish to know it; and if it is, I deny your right to prevent me from occupying it whenever the church is open, even at a marriage of mountebanks, which I would not take the trouble to cross the street to witness.
Respectfully, your obedient servant, W*** S***

804 BROADWAY, NEW YORK, Feb. 16, 1863. MR. W*** S***

Dear Sir: I am sorry, my valued friend, that you should have written me the peppery letter that is now before me. If the matter of which you complain be so utterly insignificant and contemptible as “a marriage of mountebanks, which you would not take the trouble to cross the street to witness,” it surprises me that you should have made such strenuous, but ill-directed efforts to secure a ticket of admission. And why, permit me to ask, in the name of reason and philosophy, do you still suffer it to disturb you so sadly? It would, perhaps, be a sufficient answer to your letter, to say that your cause of complaint exists only in your imagination. You have never been excluded from your pew. As rector, I am the only custodian of the church, and you will hardly venture to say that you have ever applied to me for permission to enter, and been refused.

Here I might safely rest, and leave you to the comfort of your own reflections in the case. But as you, in common with many other worthy persons, would seem to have very crude notions as to your rights of “property” in pews, you will pardon me for saying that a pew in a church is property only in a peculiar and restricted sense. It is not property, as your house or horse is property. It vests you with no fee in the soil; you cannot use it in any way, and in every way, and at all times, as your pleasure or caprice may dictate; you cannot put it to any common or unhallowed uses; you cannot remove it, nor injure it, nor destroy it. In short, you hold by purchase, and may sell the right to, the undisturbed possession of that little space within the church edifice which you call your pew during the hours of divine service. But even that right must be exercised decorously, and with a decent regard for time and place, or else you may at any moment be ignominiously ejected from it.

I regret to be obliged to add that, by the law of custom, you may, during those said hours of divine service (but at no other time) sleep in your pew; you must, however, do so noiselessly and never to the disturbance of your sleeping neighbors; your property in your pew has this extent and nothing more. Now, if Mr. W*** S*** were at any time to come to me and say, “Sir, I would that you should grant me the use of Grace Church for a solemn service (a marriage, a baptism, or a funeral, as the case may be), and as it is desirable that the feelings of the parties should be protected as far as possible from the impertinent intrusion and disturbance of a crowd from the streets and lanes of the city, I beg that no one may be admitted within the doors of the church during the very few moments that we expect to be there, but our invited friends only,”–it would certainly, in such a case, be my pleasure to comply with your request, and to meet your wishes in every particular; and I think that even Mr. W*** S*** will agree that all this would be entirely reasonable and proper. Then, tell me, how would such a case differ from the instance of which you complain? Two young persons, whose only crimes would seem to be that they are neither so big, nor so stupid, nor so ill-mannered, nor so inordinately selfish as some other people, come to me and say, sir, we are about to be married, and we wish to throw around our marriage all the solemnities of religion. We are strangers in your city, and as there is no clergyman here standing in a pastoral relation to us, we have ventured to ask the favor of the bishop of New York to marry us, and he has kindly consented to do so; may we then venture a little further and request the use of your church in which the bishop may perform the marriage service? We assure you, sir, that we are no shams, no cheats, no mountebanks; we are neither monsters nor abortions; it is true we are little, but we are as God made us, perfect in our littleness. Sir, we are simply man and woman of like passions and infirmities with you and other mortals. The arrangements for our marriage are controlled by no “showman,” and we are sincerely desirous that everything should be ordered with a most scrupulous regard to decorum. We hope to invite our relations and intimate friends, together with such persons as may in other years have extended civilities to either of us; but we pledge ourselves to you most sacredly that no invitation can be bought with money. Permit us to say further, that as we would most gladly escape from the insulting jeers, and ribald sneers and coarse ridicule of the unthinking multitude without, we pray you to allow us, at our own proper charges, so to guard the avenues of access from the street, as to prevent all unseemly tumult and disorder.

I tell you, sir, that whenever, and from whomsoever, such an appeal is made to my Christian courtesy, although it should come from the very humblest of the earth, I would go calmly and cheerfully forward to meet their wishes, although as many W*** S***’s as would reach from here to Kamtschatka, clothed in furs and frowns, should rise up to oppose me.

In conclusion, I will say, that if the marriage of Charles S. Stratton and Lavinia Warren is to be regarded as a pageant, then it was the most beautiful pageant it has ever been my privilege to witness. If, on the contrary, it is rather to be thought of as a solemn ceremony, then it was as touchingly solemn as a wedding can possibly be rendered. It is true the bishop was not present, but Mr. Stratton’s own pastor, the Rev. Mr. Willey, of Bridgeport, Connecticut, read the service with admirable taste and impressiveness, and the bride was given away by her mother’s pastor and her own “next friend,” a venerable Congregational clergyman from Massachusetts. Surely, there never was a gathering of so many hundreds of our best people, when everybody appeared so delighted with everything; surely it is no light thing to call forth so much innocent joy in so few moments of passing time; surely it is no light thing, thus to smooth the roughness and sweeten the acerbities which mar our happiness as we advance upon the wearing journey of life. Sir, it was most emphatically a high triumph of “Christian civilization!”
Respectfully submitted, by your obedient servant, THOMAS HOUSE TAYLOR.

Not long after the wedding, a lady called at Barnum’s office and called his attention to a little six-paged pamphlet which she said she had written. It was called “Priests and Pigmies,” and she asked Barnum to read it. He glanced at the title, and at once estimating the character of the publication, promptly declined to devote any portion of his valuable time to its perusal.

“But you had better look at it, Mr. Barnum; it deeply interests you, and you may think it worth your while to buy it.”

“Certainly, I will buy it, if you desire,” said he, tendering her a sixpence, which he supposed to be the price of the little pamphlet.

“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.

He lay back in his 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?”

“My dear madam,” he replied, “you may say what you please about me or about my Museum; you may print a hundred thousand copies of a pamphlet stating that I stole the communion service, after the wedding, from Grace Church altar, or anything else you choose to write; only have the kindness to say something about me, and then come to me and I will properly estimate the money value of your services to me as an advertising agent. Good morning, madam,”–and she departed.

CHAPTER XXXVI. POLITICAL NOTES.

BARNUM BECOMES A REPUBLICAN–ILLUMINATING THE HOUSE OF A DEMOCRAT–THE PEACE MEETING–ELECTED TO THE LEGISLATURE–WAR ON THE RAILROADS—SPEECH ON THE AMENDMENT.

While he had always taken an active interest in politics, it was many years before Barnum consented to run for any office. In 1852 he was strongly urged to submit his name to the State Convention, as a candidate for the office of Governor, and although the Democratic party (to which he then belonged) was in the ascendancy, and the nomination was equivalent to election, he still refused.

In 1860 his political convictions were changed, and he identified himself with the Republican party. During the exciting campaign of that year, which resulted in Lincoln’s first election to the presidency, it will be remembered that the “Wide-Awake” associations, with their uniforms and torchlight processions, were organized in every city, town and village throughout the North.

One day Mr. Barnum arrived home from New York and learned that the Bridgeport “Wide Awakes?” were to parade that evening and intended to march out to Lindencroft. Ordering two boxes of candles he prepared for an illumination of every window in the house. Many of his neighbors, among them several Democrats, came to Lindencroft that evening to witness the parade, and to see the illumination. His next door neighbor, Mr. T., was a strong Democrat, and before he left home, he ordered his servants to stay in the basement, and not show a light, thus proving by the darkness of his premises, the firmness of his Democratic principles.

Barnum urged his friend James D. Johnson, who was not less a joker than a Democrat, to engage the attention of Mr. and Mrs. T., and to keep their faces turned toward Bridgeport and the approaching procession, while he and Mr. George A. Wells, also a Democrat, ran over and illuminated Mr. T.’s. house. As the Wide-Awakes approached and saw that the house of Mr. T. was in a blaze with light, they concluded that he had changed his politics, and gave three rousing cheers for him. Hearing his name, he turned and saw his house lighted from basement to attic, and uttering one single emphatic ejaculation, he rushed for home. But he was not able to extinguish the lights before the Wide-Awakes had gone on their way rejoicing over his apparent conversion.

When the war broke out in 1861, Barnum was too old for active service in the field, but he sent four substitutes and contributed largely from his means to the support of the Union.

After Bull Run, July 21st, 1861, “Peace Meetings” began to be held in different parts of the North, and especially in Connecticut. At these meetings it was usual to display a white flag bearing the word “Peace,” above the national flag, and to listen to speeches denunciatory of the war.

One of these meetings was held August 24, 1861, at Stepney, ten miles north of Bridgeport, and Mr. Barnum and Elias Howe, Jr., inventor of the sewing machine needle, agreed to attend and hear for themselves whether the speeches were loyal or not. They communicated their intention to a number of their friends, asking them to go also, and at least twenty accepted the invitation. It was their plan to listen quietly to the harangues, and if they found any opposition to the government or anything calculated to create disaffection in the community, or liable to deter enlistments,–to report the matter to the authorities at Washington and ask that measures be taken to suppress the gatherings.

As the carriages of these gentlemen turned into Main street they discovered two large omnibuses filled with soldiers who were home on a furlough, and who were going to Stepney. The lighter carriages soon outran the omnibuses, and the party arrived at Stepney in time to see the white flag run up above the stars and stripes. They stood quietly in the crowd, while the meeting was organized, and a preacher–Mr. Charles Smith–was invited to open the proceedings with prayer. “The Military and Civil History of Connecticut, during the war of 1861-65,” by W. A. Croffut and John M. Morris, thus continues the account of the meeting:

“He (Smith) had not, however, progressed far in his supplication, when he slightly opened his eyes, and beheld, to his horror, the Bridgeport omnibuses coming over the hill, garnished with Union banners, and vocal with loyal cheers. This was the signal for a panic; Bull Run, on a small scale was re-enacted. The devout Smith, and the undelivered orators, it is alleged, took refuge in a field of corn. The procession drove straight to the pole unresisted, the hostile crowd parting to let them pass; and a tall man–John Platt–amid some mutterings, climbed the pole, reached the halliards, and the mongrel banners were on the ground. Some of the peace-men, rallying, drew weapons on ‘the invaders,’ and a musket and a revolver were taken from them by soldiers at the very instant of firing. Another of the defenders fired a revolver, and was chased into the fields. Still others, waxing belligerent, were disarmed, and a number of loaded muskets found stored in an adjacent shed were seized. The stars and stripes were hoisted upon the pole, and wildly cheered. P. T. Barnum was then taken on the shoulders of the boys in blue, and put on the platform, where he made a speech full of patriotism, spiced with the humor of the occasion. Captain James E. Dunham also said a few words to the point. * * * * ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ was then sung in chorus, and a series of resolutions passed, declaring that ‘loyal men are the rightful custodians of the peace of Connecticut.’ Elias Howe, Jr., chairman, made his speech, when the crowd threatened to shoot the speakers. ‘If they fire a gun, boys, burn the whole town, and I’ll pay for it!’ After giving the citizens wholesome advice concerning the substituted flag, and their duty to the government, the procession returned to Bridgeport with the white flag trailing in the mud behind an omnibus. * * * * They were received at Bridgeport by approving crowds, and were greeted with continuous cheers as they passed along.”

In the Spring of 1865, Barnum accepted from the Republican party a nomination to the Connecticut Legislature, from the town of Fairfield, and he did so mainly because he wished to vote for the then proposed amendment to the Constitution, to abolish slavery forever from the land.

He was elected, and on arriving at Hartford the night before the session began, found the wire pullers at work, laying their plans for the election of a Speaker of the House.

Barnum, with his usual penetration and shrewdness, saw that the railroad interests had combined in support of one of the candidates, and seeing in this, no promise of good to the community at large, he at once consulted with a few friends in the Legislature, and they resolved to defeat the railroad “ring,” if possible, in caucus. Their efforts were successful and the railroad’s candidate was not elected.

Immediately after the caucus, Barnum sought the successful nominee, Hon. E. K. Foster, of New Haven, and begged him not to appoint as chairman of the Railroad Committee the man who had held the office for several successive years, and who was, in fact, the great railroad factotum of the State. The speaker complied with Barnum’s request, and he soon saw how important it was to check the strong and growing monopoly; for, as he said, the “outside pressure” to secure the appointment of the objectionable party was terrible.

Although Barnum had not foreseen such a thing until he reached Hartford, he soon discovered that a battle with the railroad commissioners would be necessary, and his course was shaped accordingly. A majority of the commissioners were mere tools in the hands of the railroad companies, and one of them was actually a hired clerk in the office of the New York and New Haven Railroad Company. It was also shown that the chairman of the commissioners permitted most of the accidents which occurred on that road to be taken charge of and reported upon by their paid lobby agent.

This was so manifestly destructive to the interests of all parties who might suffer from accidents on the road, or have any controversy with the company, that the farmers, and the anti-monopolist element united to defeat the chairman of the railroad commissioners, who was a candidate for re-election, and to put their own candidate in his place.

Through Barnum’s efforts a law was passed that no person in the employ of any railroad in the State, should serve as railroad commissioner.

But the great struggle, which lasted through the entire session, was upon the subject of railroad passenger commutations. Commodore Vanderbilt had secured control of the Hudson River and Harlem railroads, and had increased the price of commuters’ tickets, from two hundred to four hundred per cent. Many men living on the line of these roads, ten to fifty miles from New York, had built fine residences in the country on the strength of cheap transit to and from the city, and were now compelled to submit to the extortion. Commodore Vanderbilt was also a large shareholder in the New York and New Haven road, and it seemed evident that the same practice would be introduced there Barnum therefore enlisted as many as he could in a strong effort to strangle the outrage before it became too strong to grapple with. Several lawyers in the Assembly promised their aid, but before the final struggle came, all but one, in the whole body, had enlisted in favor of the railroads.

What influence had been at work with these gentlemen was, of course, a matter of conjecture.

Certain it is that all the railroad interests in the State were combined; and while they had plenty of money with which to carry out their designs, the chances were small indeed for those members of the legislature who were struggling for simple justice, and who had no pecuniary interests at stake.

Nevertheless, every inch of ground was fought over, day after day, before the legislative railroad committee; examinations and cross-examinations of railroad commissioners and lobbyists were kept up. Scarcely more than one man, Senator Ballard, of Darien, lent his personal aid to Barnum in the investigation, but together they left not a stone unturned.

The man who was prevented from being appointed chairman succeeded in becoming one of the railroad commissioners, but so much light was thrown on his connection with railroad reports, railroad laws and lobbying, by the indefatigable Barnum, the, the man took to his bed, some ten days before the close of the session, and actually staid there “sick ” until the legislature adjourned.

The amendment to the United States Constitution abolishing slavery met with little opposition; but the proposed amendment to the State Constitution, giving the right of suffrage to the negro, was violently opposed by the Democratic members. The report from the minority of the committee to whom the question was referred gave certain reasons for rejecting the contemplated amendment, and in reply to this minority report, Barnum spoke, May 26th, 1865, as follows:–ON THE CONSTITUTIONAL AMENDMENT.

Mr. Speaker: I will not attempt to notice at any length the declamation of the honorable gentleman from Milford, for certainly I have heard nothing from his lips approaching to the dignity of argument. I agree with the gentleman that the right of suffrage is “dearly and sacredly cherished by the white man”; and it is because this right is so dear and sacred, that I wish to see it extended to every educated moral man within our State, without regard to color. He tells us that one race is a vessel to honor, and another to dishonor; and that he has seen on ancient Egyptian monuments the negro represented as “a hewer of wood and a drawer of water.” This is doubtless true, and the gentleman seems determined always to KEEP the negro a “vessel of dishonor,” and a “hewer of wood.” We, on the other hand, propose to give him the opportunity of expanding his faculties and elevating himself to true manhood. He says he “hates and abhors, and despises demagogism.” I am rejoiced to hear it, and I trust we shall see tangible evidence of the truth of what he professes in his abandonment of that slavery to party which is the mere trick and trap of the demagogue.

When, a few days since, this honorable body voted unanimously for the Amendment of the United States Constitution, abolishing human slavery, I not only thanked God from my heart of hearts, but I felt like going down on my knees to the gentlemen of the opposition, for the wisdom they had exhibited in bowing to the logic of events by dropping that dead weight of slavery which had disrupted the Democratic party, with which I had been so long connected. And on this occasion I wish again to appeal to the wisdom and loyalty of my Democratic friends. I say Democratic “friends,” for I am and ever was, a thorough, out and out Democrat. I supported General Jackson, and voted for every Democratic president after him, up to and including Pierce; for I really thought Pierce was a Democrat until he proved the contrary, as I conceived, in the Kansas question. My democracy goes for the greatest good to the greatest number, for equal and exact justice to all men, and for a submission to the will of the majority. It was the repudiation by the Southern Democracy of this great democratic doctrine of majority rule which opened the rebellion.

And now, Mr. Speaker, let me remind our Democratic friends that the present question simply asks that a majority of the legal voters, the white citizens of this State, may decide whether or not colored men of good moral character, WHO ARE ABLE TO READ, and who possess all the qualifications of white voters, shall be entitled to the elective franchise. The opposition may have their own ideas, or may be in doubt upon this subject; but surely no true Democrat will dare to refuse permission to our fellow-citizens to decide the question.

Negro slavery, and its legitimate outgrowths of ignorance, tyranny and oppression, have caused this gigantic rebellion, which has cost our country thousands of millions of treasure, and hundreds of thousands of human lives in defending a principle. And where was this poor, down-trodden colored race in this rebellion? Did they seize the “opportunity” when their masters were engaged with a powerful foe, to break out in insurrection, and massacre those tyrants who had so long held them in the most cruel bondage? No, Mr. Speaker, they did not do this. My “Democratic” friends would have done it. I would have done it. Irishmen, Chinamen, Portuguese, would have done it; any white man would have done it; but the poor black man is like a lamb in his nature compared with the white man. The black man possesses a confiding disposition, thoroughly tinctured with religious enthusiasm, and not characterized by a spirit of revenge. No, the only barbarous massacres we heard of, during the war, were those committed by their white masters on their poor, defenceless white prisoners, and to the eternal disgrace of southern white “Democratic” rebels, be it said, these instances of barbarism were numerous all through the war. When this rebellion first broke out, the northern Democracy raised a hue-and-cry against permitting the negroes to fight; but when such a measure seemed necessary, in order to put down traitors, these colored men took their muskets in hand and made their bodies a wall of defence for the loyal citizens of the North. And now, when our grateful white citizens ask from this assembly the privilege of deciding by their votes whether these colored men, who at least, were partially our saviours in the war, may or may not, under proper restrictions, become participants in that great salvation, I am amazed that men calling themselves Democrats dare refuse to grant this democratic measure. We wish to educate ignorant men, white or black. Ignorance is incompatible with the genius of our free institutions. In the very nature of things it jeopardizes their stability, and it is always unsafe to transgress the laws of nature. We cannot safely shut ourselves up with ignorance and brutality; we must educate and Christianize those who are now by circumstances our social inferiors.

Years ago, I was afraid of foreign voters. I feared that when Europe poured her teeming millions of working people upon our shores, our extended laws of franchise would enable them to swamp our free institutions, and reduce us to anarchy. But much reflection has satisfied me that we have only to elevate these millions and their descendants to the standard of American citizenship, and we shall find sufficient of the leaven of liberty in our system of government to absorb all foreign elements and assimilate them to a truly democratic form of government.

Mr. Speaker: We cannot afford to carry passengers and have them live under our government with no real vital interest in its perpetuity. Every man must be a joint owner.

The only safe inhabitants of a free country are educated citizens who vote.

Nor in a free government can we afford to employ journeymen; they may be apprenticed until they learn to read, and study our institutions; and then let them become joint proprietors and feel a proportionate responsibility. The two learned and distinguished authors of the minority report have been studying the science of ethnology and have treated us with a dissertation on the races. And what have they attempted to show? Why, that a race which, simply on account of the color of the skin, has long been buried in slavery at the South, and even at the North has been tabooed and scarcely permitted to rise above the dignity of whitewashers and boot-blacks, does not exhibit the same polish and refinement that the white citizens do who have enjoyed the advantages of civilization, education, Christian culture and self-respect which can only be attained by those who share in making the laws under which they live.

Do our Democratic friends assume that the negroes are not human? I have heard professed Democrats claim even that; but do the authors of this minority report insist that the negro is a beast? Is his body not tenanted by an immortal spirit? If this is the position of the gentlemen, then I confess a beast cannot reason, and this minority committee are right in declaring that “the negro can develop no inventive faculties or genius for the arts.” For although the elephant may be taught to plow, or the dog to carry your market-basket by his teeth, you cannot teach them to shave notes, to speculate in gold, or even to vote; whereas, the experience of all political parties shows that men may be taught to vote, even when they do not know what the ticket means.

But if the colored man is indeed a man, then his manhood with proper training can be developed. His soul may appear dormant, his brain inactive, but there is a vitality there; and Nature will assert herself if you will give her the opportunity.

Suppose an inhabitant of another planet should drop down upon this portion of our globe at mid-winter. He would find the earth covered with snow and ice, and congealed almost to the consistency of granite. The trees are leafless, everything is cold and barren; no green thing is to be seen; the inhabitants are chilled, and stalk about shivering, from place to place; he would exclaim, “Surely this is not life; this means annihilation. No flesh and blood can long endure this; this frozen earth is bound in the everlasting embraces of adamantine frost, and can never develop vegetation for the sustenance of any living thing.” He little dreams of the priceless myriads of germs which bountiful Nature has safely garnered in the warm bosom of our mother earth; he sees no evidence of that vitality which the beneficent sun will develop to grace and beautify the world. But let him remain till March or April, and as the snow begins to melt away, he discovers the beautiful crocus struggling through the half-frozen ground; the snow-drops appear in all their chaste beauty; the buds of the swamp-maple shoot forth; the beautiful magnolia opens her splendid blossoms; the sassafras adds its evidence of life; the pearl-white blossoms of the dog-wood light up every forest: and while our stranger is rubbing his eyes in astonishment, the earth is covered with her emerald velvet carpet; rich foliage and brilliant colored blossoms adorn the trees; fragrant flowers are enwreathing every wayside; the swift-winged birds float through the air and send forth joyous notes of gratitude from every tree-top; the merry lambs skip joyfully around their verdant pasture-grounds; and everywhere is our stranger surrounded with life, beauty, joy and gladness.

So it is with the poor African. You may take a dozen specimens of both sexes from the lowest type of man found in Africa; their race has been buried for ages in ignorance and barbarism, and you can scarcely perceive that they have any more of manhood or womanhood than so many orang-outangs or gorillas. You look at their low foreheads, their thick skulls and lips, their woolly heads, their flat noses, their dull, lazy eyes, and you may he tempted to adopt the language of this minority committee, and exclaim: Surely these people have “no inventive faculties, no genius for the arts, or for any of those occupations requiring intellect and wisdom.” But bring them out into the light of civilization; let them and their children come into the genial sunshine of Christianity; teach them industry, self-reliance, and self-respect; let them learn what too few white Christians have yet understood, that cleanliness is akin to godliness, and a part of godliness; and the human soul will begin to develop itself. Each generation, blessed with churches and common schools will gradually exhibit the result of such culture; the low foreheads will be raised and widened by an active and expanded brain; the vacant eye of barbarism, ignorance and idleness will light up with the fire of intelligence, education, ambition, activity and Christian civilization; and you will find the immortal soul asserting her dignity, by the development of a man who would startle by his intelligence the honorable gentleman from Wallingford, who has presumed to compare beings made in God’s image with “oxen and asses.” That honorable gentleman, if he is rightly reported in the papers (I did not have the happiness to hear his speech), has mistaken the nature of the colored man. The honorable gentleman reminds me of the young man who went abroad, and when he returned, there was nothing in America that could compare with what he had seen in foreign lands. Niagara Falls was nowhere; the White Mountains were “knocked higher than a kite” by Mont Blanc; our rivers were so large that they were vulgar, when contrasted with the beautiful little streams and rivulets of Europe; our New York Central Park was eclipsed by the Bois de Bologne and the Champs Elysees of Paris, or Hyde or Regent Park of London, to say nothing of the great Phoenix Park at Dublin.

“They have introduced a couple of Venetian gondolas on the large pond in Central Park,” remarked a friend.

“All very well,” replied the verdant traveler, “but between you and me, these birds can’t stand our cold climate more than one season.” The gentleman from Wallingford evidently had as little idea of the true nature of the African as the young swell had of the pleasure-boats of Venice.

Mr. Johnson, of Wallingford: “The gentleman misapprehends my remarks. The gentleman from Norwich had urged that the negro should vote because they have fought in our battles. I replied that oxen and asses can fight, and therefore should, on the same grounds, be entitled to vote.”

Mr. Barnum: I accept the gentleman’s explanation. Doubtless General Grant will feel himself highly complimented when he learns that it requires no greater capacity to handle the musket, and meet armed battalions in the field, than “oxen and asses” possess.

Let the educated free negro feel that he is a man; let him be trained in New England churches, schools and workshops; let him support himself, pay his taxes, and cast his vote, like other men, and he will put to everlasting shame the champions of modern Democracy, by the overwhelming evidence he will give in his own person of the great Scripture truth, that “God has made of one blood all the nations of men.” A human soul, “that God has created and Christ died for,” is not to be trifled with. It may tenant the body of a Chinaman, a Turk, an Arab or a Hottentot–it is still an immortal spirit; and, amid all assumptions of caste, it will in due time vindicate the great fact that, without regard to color or condition, all men are equally children of the common Father.

A few years since, an English lord and his family were riding in his carriage in Liverpool. It was an elegant equipage; the servants were dressed in rich livery; the horses caparisoned in the most costly style; and everything betokened that the establishment belonged to a scion of England’s proudest aristocracy. The carriage stopped in front of a palatial residence. At this moment a poor beggar woman rushed to the side of the carriage, and gently seizing the lady by the hand, exclaimed, “For the love of God give me something to save my poor sick children from starvation. You are rich; I am your poor sister, for God is our common Father.”

“Wretch!” exclaimed the proud lady, casting the woman’s hand away; “don’t call me sister; I have nothing in common with such low brutes as you.” And the great lady doubtless thought she was formed of finer clay than this suffering mendicant; but when a few days afterward she was brought to a sick bed by the smallpox, contracted by touching the hand of that poor wretch, she felt the evidence that they belonged to the same great family, and were subject to the same pains and diseases.

The State of Connecticut, like New Jersey, is a border State of New York. New York has a great commercial city, where aldermen rob by the tens of thousands, and where principal is studied much more than principle. I can readily understand how the negro has come to be debased at the North as well as at the South. The interests of the two sections in the product of negro labor were nearly identical. The North wanted Southern cotton and the South was ready in turn to buy from the North whatever was needed in the way of Northern supplies and manufactures. This community of commercial interests led to an identity in political principles, especially in matters pertaining to the negro race–the working race of the South–which produced the cotton and consumed so much of what Northern merchants and manufacturers sold for plantation use. The Southern planters were good customers and were worth conciliating. So when Connecticut proposed in 1818 to continue to admit colored men to the franchise, the South protested against thus elevating the negroes, and Connecticut succumbed. No other New England State has ever so disgraced herself; and now Connecticut Democrats are asked to permit the white citizens of this State to express their opinion in regard to reinstating the colored man where our Revolutionary sires placed him under the Constitution. Now, gentlemen, “Democrats,” as you call yourselves, you who speak so flippantly of your “loyalty,” your “love for the Union” and your “love for the people”; you who are generally talking right and voting wrong, we ask you to come forward and act “democratically,” by letting your masters, the people, speak.

The word “white” in the Constitution cannot be strictly and literally construed. The opposition express great love for white blood. Will they let a mulatto vote half the time, a quadroon three-fourths, and an octoroon seven-eighths of the time? If not, why not? Will they enslave seven-eighths of a white man because one-eighth is not Caucasian? Is this democratic? Shall not the majority seven control the minority one? Out on such “democracy.”

But a Democratic minority committee (of two) seem to have done something besides study ethnology. They have also paid great attention to fine arts, and are particularly anxious that all voters shall have a “genius for the arts.” I would like to ask them if it has always been political practice to insist that every voter in the great “unwashed” and “unterrified” of any party should become a member of the Academy of Arts before he votes the “regular” ticket? I thought he was received into the full fellowship of a political party if he could exhibit sufficient “inventive faculties and genius for the arts,” to enable him to paint a black eye. Can a man whose “genius for the arts” enables him to strike from the shoulder scientifically, be admitted to full fellowship in a political party? Is it evident that the political artist has studied the old masters, if he exhibits his genius by tapping an opponent’s head with a shillelah? The oldest master in this school of art was Cain; and so canes have been made to play their part in politics, at the polls and even in the United States Senate Chamber.

Is “genius for the arts and those occupations requiring intellect and wisdom” sufficiently exemplified in adroitly stuffing ballot-boxes, forging soldiers’ votes, and copying a directory, as has been done, as the return list of votes? Is the “inventive faculty” of “voting early and often” a passport to political brotherhood? Is it satisfactory evidence of “artistic” genius, to head a mob? and a mob which is led and guided by political passion, as numerous instances in our history prove, is the worst of mobs. Is it evidence of “high art” to lynch a man by hanging him to the nearest tree or lamp-post? Is a “whisky scrimmage” one of the lost arts restored? We all know how certain “artists” are prone to embellish elections and to enhance the excitements of political campaigns by inciting riots, and the frequency with which these disgraceful outbreaks have occurred of late, especially in some of the populous cities, is cause for just alarm. It is dangerous “art.”

Mr. Speaker: I repeat that I am a friend to the Irishman. I have traveled through his native country and have seen how he is oppressed. I have listened to the eloquent and patriotic appeals of Daniel O’Connell, in Conciliation Hall, in Dublin, and I have gladly contributed to his fund for ameliorating the condition of his countrymen. I rejoice to see them rushing to this land of liberty and independence; and it is because I am their friend that I denounce the demagogues who attempt to blind and mislead them to vote in the interests of any party against the interests of humanity, and the principles of true democracy. My neighbors will testify that at mid-winter I employ Irishmen by the hundred to do work that is not absolutely necessary, in order to help them support their families.

After hearing the minority report last week, I began to feel that I might be disfranchised, for I have no great degree of “genius for the arts;” I felt, therefore, that I must get “posted” on that subject as soon as possible. I at once sauntered into the Senate Chamber to look at the paintings: there I saw portraits of great men, and I saw two empty frames from which the pictures had been removed. These missing paintings, I was told, were portraits of two ex-Governors of the State, whose position on political affairs was obnoxious to the dominant party in the Legislature; and especially obnoxious were the supposed sentiments of these governors on the war. Therefore, the Senate voted to remove the pictures, and thus proved, as it would seem, that there is an intimate connection between politics and art.

I have repeatedly traveled through every State in the South, and I assert, what every intelligent officer and soldier who has resided there will corroborate, that the slaves, as a body are more intelligent than the poor whites. No man who has not been there can conceive to what a low depth of ignorance the poor snuff-taking, clay-eating whites of some portions of the South have descended. I trust the day is not far distant when the “common school” shall throw its illuminating rays through this Egyptian pall.

I have known slave mechanics to be sold for $3,000, and even $5,000 each, and others could not be bought at all; and I have seen intelligent slaves acting as stewards for their masters, traveling every year to New Orleans, Nashville, and even to Cincinnati, to dispose of their masters’ crops. The tree colored citizens of Opelousas, St. Martinsville, and all the Attakapas country in Louisiana, are as respectable and intelligent as an ordinary community of whites. They speak the French and English languages, educate their children in music and “the arts,” and they pay their taxes on more than fifteen millions of dollars.

Gentlemen of the opposition, I beseech you to remember that our State and our country ask from us something more than party tactics. It is absolutely necessary that the loyal blacks at the South should vote, in order to save the loyal whites. Let Connecticut, without regard to party, set them an example that shall influence the action at the South, and prevent a new form of slavery from arising there, which shall make all our expenditure of blood and treasure fruitless.

But some persons have this color prejudice simply by the force of education, and they say, “Well, a nigger is a nigger, and he can’t be anything else. I hate niggers, anyhow.” Twenty years ago I crossed the Atlantic, and among our passengers was an Irish judge, who was coming out to Newfoundland as chief justice. He was an exceedingly intelligent and polished gentleman, and extremely witty. The passengers from the New England States and those from the South got into a discussion on the subject of slavery, which lasted three days. The Southerners were finally worsted, and when their arguments were exhausted, they fell back on the old story, by saying: “Oh! curse a nigger, he ain’t half human anyhow; he had no business to be a nigger, etc.” One of the gentlemen then turned to the Irish judge, and asked his opinion of the merits of the controversy. The judge replied:

“Gentlemen, I have listened with much edification to your arguments pro and con during three days. I was quite inclined to think the anti-slavery gentlemen had justice and right on their side, but the last argument from the South has changed my mind. I say a ‘nigger has no business to be a nigger,’ and we should kick him out of society and trample him under foot–always provided, gentlemen, you prove he was born black at his own particular request. If he had no word to say in the matter, of course he is blameless for his color, and is entitled to the same respect that other men are who properly behave themselves!”

Mr. Speaker: I am no politician; I came to this legislature simply because I wish to have the honor of voting for the two constitutional amendments–one for driving slavery entirely out of our country; the other to allow men of education and good moral character to vote, regardless of the color of their skins. To give my voice for these two philanthropic, just and Christian measures is all the glory I ask legislativewise. I care nothing whatever for any sect or party under heaven, as such. I have no axes to grind, no logs to roll, no favors to ask. All I desire is to do what is right, and prevent what is wrong. I believe in no “expediency” that is not predicated of justice, for in all things–politics, as well as everything else–I know that “honesty is the best policy.” A retributive Providence will unerringly and speedily search out all wrong-doing; hence, right is always the best in the long run. Certainly,, in the light of the great American spirit of liberty and equal rights which is sweeping over this country, and making the thrones of tyrants totter in the Old World, no party can afford to carry slavery, either of body or of mind. Knock off your manacles and let the man go free. Take down the blinds from his intellect, and let in the light of education and Christian culture. When this is done you have developed a man. Give him the responsibility of a man and the self-respect of a man, by granting him the right of suffrage, Let universal education, and the universal franchise be the motto of free America, and the toiling millions of Europe, who are watching you with such intense interest, will hail us as their saviours. Let us loyally sink “party” on this question, and go for “God and our Country.” Let no man attach an eternal stigma to his name by shutting his eyes to the great lesson of the hour, and voting against permitting the people to express their opinion on this important subject. Let us unanimously grant this truly democratic boon. Then, when our laws of franchise are settled on a just basis, let future parties divide where they honestly differ on State or national questions which do nor trench upon the claims of manhood or American citizenship.

CHAPTER XXXVII. BURNING OF THE AMERICAN MUSEUM.

HOW BARNUM RECEIVED THE TIDINGS–HUMOROUS DESCRIPTION OF THE FIRE–A PUBLIC CALAMITY–GREELEY’S ADVICE–INTENTION TO RE-ESTABLISH THE MUSEUM–SPEECH AT EMPLOYEES’ BENEFIT.

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.”

CHAPTER XXXVIII. POLITICAL LIFE.

IN THE CONNECTICUT LEGISLATURE–THE GREAT RAILROAD FIGHT–BARNUM’S EFFECTIVE STROKE–CANVASSING FOR A UNITED STATES SENATOR–BARNUM’S CONGRESSIONAL CAMPAIGN–A CHALLENGE THAT WAS NOT ACCEPTED.

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.’ “

CHAPTER XXXIX. FIGHTING A NEWSPAPER

DISPOSING OF THE LEASE OF THE MUSEUM SITE–THE BARGAIN WITH MR. BENNETT–BARNUM’S REFUSAL TO BACK OUT–A LONG AND BITTER WAR WITH “THE HERALD”–ACTION OF THE OTHER MANAGERS–THE RETURN OF PEACE.

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