WORK AND PLAY.
ALFRED BUNN, OF DRURY LANE THEATRE--AMUSING INTERVIEW--MR. LEVY, OF
THE LONDON DAILY TELEGRAPH--VACATIONS AT HOME--MY PRESIDENCY OF THE
FAIRFIELD COUNTY AGRICULTURAL SOCIETY--EXHIBITING A
PICKPOCKET--PHILOSOPHY OF HUMBUG--A CHOP-FALLEN TICKET-SELLER--A
PROMPT PAYMASTER--BARNUM IN BOSTON--A DELUDED HACK
DRIVER--PHILLIPS’S FIRE ANNIHILATOR--HONORABLE ELISHA
WHITTLESEY--TRIAL OF THE ANNIHILATOR IN NEW YORK--PEQUONNOCK BANK
OF BRIDGEPORT--THE ILLUSTRATED NEWS--THE WORLD’S FAIR IN NEW
YORK--MY PRESIDENCY OF THE ASSOCIATION--ATTEMPT TO EXCITE PUBLIC
INTEREST--MONSTER JULLIEN CONCERTS--RESIGNATION OF THE CRYSTAL
PALACE PRESIDENCY--FAILURE OF THE CONCERN.
In the summer, I think, of 1853, I saw it announced in the newspapers
that Mr. Alfred Bunn, the great ex-manager of Drury Lane Theatre, in
London, had arrived in Boston. Of course, I knew Mr. Bunn by reputation,
not only from his managerial career, but from the fact that he made the
first engagement with Jenny Lind to appear in London. This engagement,
however, Mr. Lumley, of Her Majesty’s Theatre, induced her to break, he
standing a lawsuit with Mr. Bunn, and paying heavy damages. I had never
met Mr. Bunn, but he took it for granted that I had seen him, for one
day after his arrival in this country, a burly Englishman abruptly
stepped into my private office in the Museum, and assuming a theatrical
attitude, addressed me:
“Barnum, do you remember me?”
I was confident I had never seen the man before, but it struck me at
once that no Englishman I ever heard of would be likely to exhibit more
presumption or assumption than the ex-manager of Drury Lane, and I
jumped at the conclusion:
“Is not this Mr. Bunn?”
“Ah! Ah! my boy!” he exclaimed, slapping me familiarly on the back, “I
thought you would remember me. Well, Barnum, how have you been since I
last saw you?”
I replied in a manner that would humor his impression that we were old
acquaintances, and during his two hours’ visit we had much gossip about
men and things in London. He called upon me several times, and it
probably never entered into his mind that I could possibly have been in
London two or three years without having made the personal acquaintance
of so great a lion as Alfred Bunn.
I met Mr. Bunn again in 1858, in London, at a dinner party of a mutual
friend, Mr. Levy, proprietor of the London Daily Telegraph. Of course,
Bunn and I were great chums and very old and intimate acquaintances. At
the same dinner, I met several literary and dramatic gentlemen.
In 1851, 1852, and 1853, I spent much of my time at my beautiful home in
Bridgeport, going very frequently to New York, to attend to matters in
the Museum, but remaining in the city only a day or two at a time. I
resigned the office of President of the Fairfield County Agricultural
Society in 1853, but the members accepted my resignation, only on
condition that it should not go into effect until after the fair of
1854. During my administration, the society held six fairs and
cattle-shows,--four in Bridgeport and two in Stamford,--and the interest
in these gatherings increased from year to year.
Pickpockets are always present at these country fairs, and every year
there were loud complaints of the depredations of these operators. In
1853 a man was caught in the act of taking a pocket-book from a country
farmer, nor was this farmer the only one who had suffered in the same
way. The scamp was arrested, and proved to be a celebrated English
pickpocket. As the Fair would close the next day, and as most persons
had already visited it, we expected our receipts would be light.
Early in the morning the detected party was legally examined, plead
guilty, and was bound over for trial. I obtained consent from the
sheriff that the culprit should be put in the Fair room for the purpose
of giving those who had been robbed an opportunity to identify him. For
this purpose he was handcuffed, and placed in a conspicuous position,
where of course he was “the observed of all observers.” I then issued
handbills, stating that as it was the last day of the Fair, the managers
were happy to announce that they had secured extra attractions for the
occasion, and would accordingly exhibit, safely handcuffed, and without
extra charge, a live pickpocket, who had been caught in the act of
robbing an honest farmer the day previous. Crowds of people rushed in
“to see the show.” Some good mothers brought their children ten miles
for that purpose, and our treasury was materially benefited by the
operation.
At the close of my presidency in 1854, I was requested to deliver the
opening speech at our County Fair, which was held at Stamford. As I was
not able to give agricultural advice, I delivered a portion of my
lecture on the “Philosophy of Humbug.” The next morning, as I was being
shaved in the village barber’s shop, which was at the time crowded with
customers, the ticket-seller to the Fair came in.
“What kind of a house did you have last night?” asked one of the
gentlemen in waiting.
“Oh, first-rate, of course. Barnum always draws a crowd,” was the reply
of the ticket-seller, to whom I was not known.
Most of the gentlemen present, however, knew me, and they found much
difficulty in restraining their laughter.
“Did Barnum make a good speech?” I asked.
“I did not hear it. I was out in the ticket-office. I guess it was
pretty good, for I never heard so much laughing as there was all through
his speech. But it makes no difference whether it was good or not,”
continued the ticket-seller, “the people will go to see Barnum.”
“Barnum must be a curious chap,” I remarked.
“Well, I guess he is up to all the dodges.”
“Do you know him?” I asked.
“Not personally,” he replied; “but I always get into the Museum for
nothing. I know the doorkeeper, and he slips me in free.”
“Barnum would not like that, probably, if he knew it,” I remarked.
“But it happens he don’t know it,” replied the ticket-seller, in great
glee.
“Barnum was on the cars the other day, on his way to Bridgeport,” said
I, “and I heard one of the passengers blowing him up terribly as a
humbug. He was addressing Barnum at the time, but did not know him.
Barnum joined in lustily, and indorsed everything the man said. When the
passenger learned whom he had been addressing, I should think he must
have felt rather flat.”
“I should think so, too,” said the ticket-seller.
This was too much, and we all indulged in a burst of laughter; still the
ticket-seller suspected nothing. After I had left the shop, the barber
told him who I was. I called into the ticket-office on business several
times during the day, but the poor ticket-seller kept his face turned
from me, and appeared so chap-fallen that I did not pretend to recognize
him as the hero of the joke in the barber’s shop.
This incident reminds me of numerous similar ones which have occurred at
various times. On one occasion--it was in 1847--I was on board the
steamboat from New York to Bridgeport. As we approached the harbor of
the latter city, a stranger desired me to point out “Barnum’s house”
from the upper deck. I did so, whereupon a bystander remarked, “I know
all about that house, for I was engaged in painting there for several
months while Barnum was in Europe.” He then proceeded to say that it was
the meanest and most ill-contrived house he ever saw. “It will cost old
Barnum a mint of money, and not be worth two cents after it is
finished,” he added.
“I suppose old Barnum don’t pay very punctually,” I remarked.
“Oh, yes, he pays punctually every Saturday night--there’s no trouble
about that; he has made half a million by exhibiting a little boy whom
he took from Bridgeport, and whom we never considered any great shakes
till Barnum took him and trained him.”
Soon afterwards one of the passengers told him who I was, whereupon he
secreted himself, and was not seen again while I remained on the boat.
On another occasion, I went to Boston by the Fall River route. Arriving
before sunrise, I found but one carriage at the depot. I immediately
engaged it, and giving the driver the check for my baggage, told him to
take me directly to the Revere House, as I was in great haste, and
enjoined him to take in no other passengers, and I would pay his
demands. He promised compliance with my wishes, but soon afterwards
appeared with a gentleman, two ladies, and several children, whom he
crowded into the carriage with me, and placing their trunks on the
baggage rack, started off. I thought there was no use in grumbling, and
consoled myself with the reflection that the Revere House was not far
away. He drove up one street and down another, for what seemed to me a
very long time, but I was wedged in so closely that I could not see what
route he was taking.
After half an hour’s drive he halted, and I found we were at the Lowell
Railway depot. Here my fellow-passengers alighted, and after a long
delay the driver delivered their baggage, received his fare, and was
about closing the carriage door preparatory to starting again. I was so
thoroughly vexed at the shameful manner in which he had treated me, that
I remarked;
“Perhaps you had better wait till the Lowell train arrives; you may
possibly get another load of passengers. Of course my convenience is of
no consequence. I suppose if you land me at the Revere House any time
this week, it will be as much as I have a right to expect.”
“I beg your pardon,” he replied, “but that was Barnum and his family. He
was very anxious to get here in time for the first train, so I stuck him
for $2, and now I’ll carry you to the Revere House free.”
“What Barnum is it?” I asked.
“The Museum and Jenny Lind man,” he replied.
The compliment and the shave both having been intended for me, I was of
course mollified, and replied, “You are mistaken, my friend, _I_ am
Barnum.”
“Coachee” was thunderstruck, and offered all sorts of apologies.
“A friend at the other depot told me that I had Mr. Barnum on board,”
said he, “and I really supposed he meant the other man. When I come to
notice you, I perceive my mistake, but I hope you will forgive me. I
have carried you frequently before, and hope you will give me your
custom while you are in Boston. I never will make such a mistake again.”
I had to be satisfied.
Late in August, 1851, I was visited at Bridgeport by a gentleman who was
interested in an English invention patented in this country, and known
as Phillips’ Fire Annihilator. He showed me a number of certificates
from men of eminence and trustworthiness in England, setting forth the
merits of the invention in the highest terms. The principal value of the
machine seemed to consist in its power to extinguish flame, and thus
prevent the spread of fire when it once broke out. Besides, the steam or
vapor generated in the Annihilator was not prejudicial to human life.
Now, as water has no effect whatever upon flame, it was obvious that the
Annihilator would at the least prove a great _assistant_ in
extinguishing conflagrations, and that, especially in the incipient
stage of a fire, it would extinguish it altogether, without damage to
goods or other property, as is usually the case with water.
Hon. Elisha Whittlesey, First Comptroller of the United States Treasury
at Washington, was interested in the American patent, and the gentleman
that called upon me desired that I should also take an interest in it. I
had no disposition to engage in any speculation; but, believing this
might prove a beneficent invention, and be the means of saving a vast
amount of human life as well as property, I visited Washington City for
the purpose of conferring with Mr. Whittlesey, Hon. J. W. Allen and
other parties interested.
I was there shown numerous certificates of fires having been
extinguished by the machine in Great Britain, and property to the amount
of many thousands of pounds saved. I also saw that Lord Brougham had
proposed in Parliament that every Government vessel should be compelled
to have the Fire Annihilator on board. Mr. Whittlesey expressed his
belief in writing, that “if there is any reliance to be placed on human
testimony, it is one of the greatest discoveries of this most
extraordinary age.” I fully agreed with him, and have never yet seen
occasion to change that opinion.
I agreed to join in the enterprise. Mr. Whittlesey was elected
President, and I was appointed Secretary and General Agent of the
Company. I opened the office of the Company in New York, and sold and
engaged machines and territory in a few months to the amount of
$180,000. I refused to receive more than a small portion of the purchase
money until a public experiment had tested the powers of the machine,
and I voluntarily delivered to every purchaser an agreement, signed by
myself, in the following words:
“If the public test and demonstration are not perfectly successful, I
will at any time when demanded, within ten days after the public trial,
refund and pay back every shilling that has been paid into this office
for machines or territory for the sale of the patent.”
The public trial came off in Hamilton Square on the 18th December, 1851.
It was an exceedingly cold and inclement day. Mr. Phillips, who
conducted the experiment, was interfered with and knocked down by some
rowdies who were opposed to the invention, and the building was ignited
and consumed after he had extinguished the previous fire. Subsequently
to this unexpected and unjust opposition, I refunded every cent which I
had received, sometimes against the wishes of those who had purchased,
for they were willing to wait the result of further experiments; but I
was utterly disgusted with the course of a large portion of the public
upon a subject in which they were much more deeply interested than I
was.
The arrangements of the Annihilator Company with Mr. Phillips, the
inventor, predicated all payments which he was to receive on _bona fide_
sales which we should actually make; therefore he really received
nothing, and the entire losses of the American Company, which were
merely for advertising and the expense of trying the experiments, hire
of an office, etc., amounted to nearly $30,000, of which my portion was
less than $10,000.
In the spring of 1851 the Connecticut Legislature chartered the
Pequonnock Bank of Bridgeport, with a capital of two hundred thousand
dollars. I had no interest whatever in the charter, and did not even
know that an application was to be made for it. More banking capital was
needed in Bridgeport in consequence of the great increase of trade and
manufactures in that growing and prosperous city, and this fact
appearing in evidence, the charter was granted as a public benefit. The
stock-books were opened under the direction of State Commissioners,
according to the laws of the Commonwealth, and nearly double the amount
of capital was subscribed on the first day. The stock was distributed by
the Commissioners among several hundred applicants. Circumstances
unexpectedly occurred which induced me to accept the presidency of the
bank, in compliance with the unanimous vote of its directors. Feeling
that I could not, from my many avocations, devote the requisite personal
attention to the duties of the office, C. B. Hubbell, Esq., then Mayor
of Bridgeport, was at my request appointed Vice-President of the
institution.
In the fall of 1852 a proposition was made by certain parties to
commence the publication of an illustrated weekly newspaper in the City
of New York. The field seemed to be open for such an enterprise, and I
invested twenty thousand dollars in the concern, as special partner, in
connection with two other gentlemen, who each contributed twenty
thousand dollars, as general partners. Within a month after the
publication of the first number of the _Illustrated News_, which was
issued on the first day of January, 1853, our weekly circulation had
reached seventy thousand. Numerous and almost insurmountable
difficulties, for novices in the business, continued however to arise,
and my partners becoming weary and disheartened with constant
over-exertion, were anxious to wind up the enterprise at the end of the
first year. The good-will and the engravings were sold to _Gleasons
Pictorial_, in Boston, and the concern was closed without loss.
In 1851, when the idea of opening a World’s Fair in New York was first
broached, I was waited upon by Mr. Riddell and the other originators of
the scheme, and invited to join in getting it up. I declined, giving as
a reason that such a project was, in my opinion, premature. I felt that
it was following quite too closely upon its London prototype, and
assured the projectors that I could see in it nothing but certain loss.
The plan, however, was carried out, and a charter obtained from the New
York Legislature. The building was erected on a plot of ground upon
Reservoir Square, leased to the association, by the City of New York,
for one dollar per annum. The location, being four miles distant from
the City Hall, was enough of itself to kill the enterprise. The stock
was readily taken up, however, and the Crystal Palace opened to the
public in July, 1853. Many thousands of strangers were brought to New
York, and however disastrous the enterprise may have proved to the
stockholders, it is evident that the general prosperity of the city has
been promoted far beyond the entire cost of the whole speculation.
In February, 1854, numerous stockholders applied to me to accept the
Presidency of the Crystal Palace, or, as it was termed, “The Association
for the Exhibition of the Industry of all Nations.” I utterly declined
listening to such a project, as I felt confident that the novelty had
passed away, and that it would be difficult to revive public interest in
the affair.
Shortly afterwards, however, I was waited upon by numerous influential
gentlemen, and strongly urged to allow my name to be used. I repeatedly
objected to this, and at last consented, much against my own judgment.
Having been elected one of the directors, I was by that body chosen
President. I accepted the office conditionally, reserving the right to
decline if I thought, upon investigation, that there was no vitality
left in the institution. Upon examining the accounts said to exist
against the Association, many were pronounced indefensible by those who
I supposed knew the facts in the case, while various debts existing
against the concern were not exhibited when called for, and I knew
nothing of their existence until after I accepted the office of
President. I finally accepted it, only because no suitable person could
be found who was willing to devote his entire time and services to the
enterprise, and because I was frequently urged by directors and
stockholders to take hold of it for the benefit of the city at large,
inasmuch as it was well settled that the Palace would be permanently
closed early in April, 1854, if I did not take the helm.
These considerations moved me, and I entered upon my duties with all the
vigor which I could command. To save it from bankruptcy, I advanced
large sums of money for the payment of debts, and tried by every
legitimate means to create an excitement and bring it into life. By
extraneous efforts, such as the Re-inauguration, the Monster Concerts of
Jullien, the Celebration of Independence, etc., it was temporarily
galvanized, and gave several life-like kicks, generally without material
results, except prostrating those who handled it too familiarly; but it
was a corpse long before I touched it, and I found, after a thorough
trial, that my first impression was correct, and that so far as my
ability was concerned, “the dead could not be raised.” I therefore
resigned the presidency and the concern soon went into liquidation.
In 1854, my esteemed friend, Reverend Moses Ballou, wrote, and Redfield,
of New York, published a volume entitled “The Divine Character
Vindicated” in which he reviewed some of the principal features of a
work by the Rev. E. Beecher, brother of Henry Ward Beecher, “The
Conflict of Ages; or, the Great Debate on the Moral Relations of God and
Man.” The dedication in Rev. Mr. Ballou s volume was as follows:
To P. T. BARNUM, ESQ., IRANISTAN.
_My Dear B._:--I am more deeply indebted to you for personal favors
than to any other living man, and I feel that it is but a poor
acknowledgment to beg your acceptance of this volume. Still, I know
that you will value it somewhat, not only for the sake of our
personal friendship, but because it is an advocate of that
interpretation of Christianity of which you have ever been a most
generous and devoted patron. With renewed assurances of my best
regards,
I am, yours, always,
M. B.
BRIDGEPORT, January 22, 1854.
The following trifling incident which occurred at Iranistan in the
winter of 1852, has been called to my mind by a lady friend from
Philadelphia, who was visiting us at the time. The poem was sent to me
soon after the occurrence, but was lost and the subject forgotten until
my Philadelphia friend recently sent it to me with the wish that I
should insert it in the present volume:
WINTER BOUQUETS.
AN INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF AN AMERICAN CITIZEN.
THE poor man’s garden lifeless lay
Beneath a fall of snow;
But Art in costly greenhouses,
Keeps Summer in full glow.
And Taste paid gold for bright bouquets,
The parlor vase that drest,
That scented Fashion’s gay boudoir,
Or bloomed on Beauty’s breast.
A rich man sat beside the fire,
Within his sculptured halls;
Brave heart, clear head, and busy hand,
Had reared those stately walls.
He to his gardener spake, and said
In tone of quiet glee--
“I want a hundred fine bouquets--
Canst make them, John, for me?”
John’s eyes became exceeding round,
This question when he heard;
He gazed upon his master,
And he answered not a word.
“Well, John,” the rich man laughing said,
“If these too many be,
What sayest to half the number, man?
Canst fifty make for me?”
Now John prized every flower, as ’twere
A daughter or a son;
And thought, like Regan--“what the need
Of fifty, or of one?”
But keeping back the thought, he said,
“I think, sir, that I might;
But it would leave my lady’s flowers
In very ragged plight.”
“Well, John, thy vegetable pets
Must needs respected be;
We’ll halve the number once again--
Make twenty-five for me.
And hark ye, John, when they are made
Come up and let me know;
And I’ll give thee a list of those
To whom the flowers must go.”
The twenty-five bouquets were made,
And round the village sent;
And to whom thinkest thou, my friend,
These floral jewels went?
Not to the beautiful and proud--
Not to the rich and gay--
Who, Dives-like, at Luxury’s feast
Are seated every day.
An aged Pastor, on his desk
Saw those fair preachers stand;
A Widow wept upon the gift,
And blessed the giver’s hand.
Where Poverty bent o’er her task,
They cheered the lonely room;
And round the bed where Sickness lay,
They breathed Health’s fresh perfume.
Oh! kindly heart and open hand--
Those flowers in dust are trod,
But they bloom to weave a wreath for thee,
In the Paradise of God.
Sweet is the Minstrel’s task, whose song
Of deeds like these may tell;
And long may he have power to give,
Who wields that power so well!
MRS. ANNA BACHE.
PHILADELPHIA.