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Rare Items About Freaks

Patrick O’Brien, Giant

Of the individual instances of Great Stature, Patrick O'Brien, born in the county of Kinsale, Ireland, in 1761, affords a memorable instance. He was put to the trade of a bricklayer, but such was his height at eighteen, that he was taken to England, and shown as the Irish giant. At twenty-five he attained the height of eight feet and seven inches; and, though not well made, his bulk was proportioned to his height. He continued to exhibit himself for several years, when, having realized an independence, he retired to the vicinity of Epping forest, where he died, in 1806. He was peculiarly mild and gentle in his character and manners. His body was enclosed in a leaden coffin, 9 feet 2 inches long, and to prevent any attempt to disturb his remains, his grave, by his own direction, was sunk twelve feet in the solid rock.

Maxamillian Christopher Miller, Giant

This man was born at Leipsic, in 1694, and finally attained the height of eight feet. He travelled through Europe, being exhibited as a giant. He went to England in 1733, where he attracted attention by his great size, his enormous head and face, and his fantastic attire. His hand measured a foot, and his finger nine inches. He died in London, in 1734, aged 40.

Joseph Clark, Dislocationist

In a work devoted to the curiosities of human nature, we must not omit Joseph Clark, of London, a man whose suppleness of body rendered him the wonder of his time. Though he was well made, and rather gross than thin, he could easily exhibit every species of deformity. The powers of his face were even more extraordinary than the flexibility of his body. He would suddenly transform himself so completely as not to be recognized by his familiar acquaintances. He could dislocate almost any of the joints of his body, and he often amused himself by imposing upon people in this way.

He once dislocated the vertebrae of his back and other parts of his body, in such a manner, that Molins, the famous surgeon, before whom he appeared as a patient, was shocked at the sight, and would not even attempt his cure. On one occasion, he ordered a coat of a tailor. When the latter measured him, he had an enormous hump on his left shoulder; when the coat came to be tried on, the hump was shifted to the right side! The tailor expressed great astonishment, begged a thousand pardons, and altered the coat as quickly as possible. "When he again tried it on, the deformity appeared in the middle of his back!

Of the life of this remarkable person, we .have few details, and we can only add that he died about the year 1700.

Signor Ethardo on the Spiral Plank

One of the most attractive features of the entertainment at the Crystal Palace in London, is the performance of Signer Ethardo. This wonderful gymnast, who is a native of Italy, ascends a long spiral platform by propelling up the narrow path a large ball on which he stands, and on which he immediately descends by the same difficult narrow road - a feat which seems to be by far the more difficult. The spiral platform, in the shape of a corkscrew, is built on the stage in front of the great orchestra, and in full view of the thousands of spectators.

Signor Ethardo has been favored with royal patronage; for, at the Dante Festival at Florence, he appeared in the presence of King Victor Emanual, who expressed his high approval, while His Majesty's subjects burst into a frantic fit of enthusiasm, which, it appears, baffled all powers of description. Italian sensitiveness was also carried to such a height that the music was stopped, for fear the vibration would cause the gymnast to make a false step. Certainly the large Christian assemblages at Crystal Palace displayed no particular anxiety for the performer's safety, though they were not backward in applauding him as he arrived at the various stages of his tortuous and narrow pathway, as he reached a small circular platform at the summit, and as he finally descended in safety.

The globe on which this extraordinary performer works his way up and down is 30 inches in diameter, and 90 inches in circumference. The width of the winding platform is 12 inches, and flat, with no groove or protection of any sort to assist the ascent or descent, and the height of the spiral column is 50 feet. The incline winding from the base to the capital of the column is upward of 180 feet in length. The globe is constructed of wood and iron, without any India rubber, gutta-percha or other adhesive material to assist the-Signer in his difficult task.

An Interview With Charles Hunt of Hunt’s Circus

Back in the hot summer of 1893 a strange cavalcade wound its way along the rough, dusty highway leading west from Kingston, N. Y. It was Hunt's One-Ring Circus, probably the smallest and the most oddly assorted collection of performers ever to take to the road, on its way to fight for fame and financial gain, carrying to the innumerable crossroad settlements of the eastern part of the country the sort of entertainment that Barnum & Bailey, Forepaugh & Sells and the Ringling Brothers were giving to the larger centers of population.

Today Hunt's Circus is on the road. For thirty-six years It has been traveling up and down the Atlantic seaboard, going inland as far west as the Ohio river, and during all that time the same manager, Charles Hunt, has seen that everything was in readiness for the two daily performances. While larger circuses have been merging, or going out of business, the name of Hunt has been carried to practically every hamlet of any consequence in the east.

The caravan that started out in 1893 had no more than half a dozen small, rickety wagons, three performers and a few trained ponies. Today the circus has 18 performers, a working force of 70 men, a score or more of trained ponies, an elephant and a monkey. A few years back there was a hyena, but he came to grief in Baltimore, Md.

Charles Hunt was lured into circus life when, as a boy, he watched the rehearsals of the famous Barnum and Forepaugh performers, Dick Rivers, the first performer ever to turn a complete somersault on a horse, and his daughter, Viola, champion bareback rider of a generation ago. Father and daughter trained in a barn near Hunt's home on the outskirts of Kingston, and it was there that Charles, then in his teens, came to the realization that there was a place for him in circus life.

Hunt's Circus came into being in 1893, when Hunt and three performers entered into partnership. Hunt furnished two teams of horses and his associates provided a tent. Those were the days when the farmer loaded his family into the buckboard wagon and took them to the nearest large village or city on circus day. Hunt and his companions came to the conclusion that if the circus was taken to the farmer, back in the "sticks" to the small settlements, they could make a good living. To have competed with the larger outfits in more populated districts would have been folly. While they were unable to appear in the cities, so also were the large circuses prevented from going to the backwoods hamlets.

When he informed his friends of his determination to start out with a circus, Hunt became the butt of their jokes, and for years afterward "Hunt's Circus" was a by-word in every household in Hunt's home town. Last June he returned to Kingston, his first appearance there since 1913, and he made his friends admit that his venture had turned out well.

At least one of Mr. Hunt's associates became famous as a performer. George Bernard, who later became Hunt's brother-in-law, in after years made every circus in the country and toured every civilized country in the world with a contortionist and acrobatic team known as Bunth, Rudd & Bernard. Then there was Eugene Ferralto who, in Mr. Hunt's opinion, was a "happy combination" - a skeleton-giant and strong man. The third member of the trio was Ned West, who performed on the ground. Returning to Kingston for the winter of 1893, Hunt found the circus "bug" had bitten his father, John Hunt, a cooper by trade, born in the Golden Hill section of Kingston in 1850, but who had in later life abandoned his trade and conducted several hotels in Kingston and a 50-horse livery at the Overlook Mountain House at Woodstock; N. Y., now a famed artists' colony. John Hunt believed there was more money to be made in the circus business, so he sold his hotel and livery and, in 1894, joined his son. John Hunt took his wife, now 75 years of age, and traveled with the circus. He died in Poughkeepsie, N. Y., on June 23, 1928. He had been active up to three weeks before his death.

Mrs. Hunt, despite her advanced age, still goes about with the circus, holding the job she held for 35 years. Countless thousands have seen her as they entered the main tent, for she stands at the entrance taking the tickets. She hides those 75 years well.

Some of those first few years were lean ones for the circus. Charles Hunt tells of one particularly bad season back in 1898. The troupe was traveling to Cornwall Bridge, Conn., and the treasury consisted of one lone fifty cent piece. As the dejected caravan proceeded along the road, a blind man approached and asked for help. He was given the treasury. The show left Cornwall Bridge with net receipts of $180. Mr. Hunt believed he had made a good investment.

Today Hunt's Circus is no joke. Traveling about the country in 31 large motor trucks and smaller cars, the company has played in countless towns. It is one of the very few motorized circuses. Mr. Hunt believes that traveling by motor is costlier than by railroad or wagon, but he must go to places miles from the railroad, and at a pace much faster than horses could take his troupe.

There are now four generations of the Hunt family in the circus business. Mrs. John Hunt, her son, Charles Hunt, manager, and his wife, head of the purchasing department, and their three sons, Charles, Jr., Harry and Edward, all musicians and performers, are associated with the Hunt Circus, and a daughter, Mrs. Charlotte Levine, is co-starring with her husband in the Silvan-Drew Circus. Mrs. Levine's two children, the eldest a boy of 9 years, perform also.

For years Charles Hunt was an aerial performer, on the wire and trapeze. He quit work in the ring two years ago, but this year was forced back to take charge of the stock, working three horses and the elephant act.

Mr. Hunt never has believed in menageries and 15 years ago abandoned the street parade practice. He declares menageries, large and small, are scattered all over the country, and since wild animals were used chiefly to ballyhoo a show there is now no need for them, for the people see all the animals they wish at the zoo. As for street parades, he contends that unless a circus has something worthwhile to show the people there is no use of parading closed wagons.

"We never have had a large show, but we always had a good show," is Mr. Hunt's slogan.

Interest in the circus is not waning, according to Mr. Hunt. On the contrary, he believes the public in general is more interested today than it was thirty years ago.

Charley Hunt is a strict disciplinarian. In fact, he is a sort of czar on the lot. He rules with an iron hand, and the least infraction of the management's mandates means immediate dismissal - with the loss of a week's pay for the hostlers and roustabouts. Prohibition was rigidly enforced in Hunt's Circus long before Volstead ever was known outside his home town. Intoxicants are not tolerated on the lot and woe betide the employee who goes to town on a spree, protracted or otherwise. If he does, "down the river" he goes.

Gambling devices, immorality and short-change artists are taboo.

"Every dollar we have made in the circus business has been clean money," Mr. Hunt proudly declares.

It is true that Hunt's Circus is clean, and what it lacks in size, it has in quality.

Hunt's One Ring Circus is now Hunt's Three Ring Circus. Starting out 36 years ago with a tent that would accommodate not more than 150 persons, two performances daily are now witnessed by 1,300. The outfit has grown with age.

Hunt's winter quarters are located in the Pikesville section of Baltimore, Maryland.

Dressmaking for the Circus Animals

Crack! goes the ring-master's whip! There is a blare of trumpets, and the band, all gorgeous in red and gold, crashes into the "Star Spangled Banner" - and the circus has begun!

Scattered over the huge amphitheatre are little men and women whose hearts beat high with excitement as the grand parade of the animals passes close to them. Elephants gorgeously clothed in scarlet plush with wonderful designs in gold and imitation jewels; camels with strange oriental coverings made of satin and plush stripes of variegated colors and edged with heavy gold fringe; horses - those beautiful, sleek, almost human horses, that dance and prance, and bow and pirouette to the thrilling circus music - decked out in satin coats of the most dainty shades of pink and pale blue, and even, as one pure white Arabian horse was clothed, in cloth of silver, all sparkling and shimmering.

Some of the circus animals wear hats, too, as they pass proudly around, scornful of the applause that greets them. And camels have their bobbing heads stylishly covered with bonnets of the latest desert fashions, although there is a suggestion of the Paris millinery shops in the tilt at which they wear their striped hats this year. The prevailing mode this year, among the camels, seems to be any combination of brilliant colors, invariably tied under the chin with a coquettish "bow of orange ribbon."

There! the parade has almost passed! But look! 'way down at the end of the procession like the tail to a mammoth kite, scamper and frolic the little monkeys, each one dressed up in the oddest and gayest of costumes, and wearing queer head coverings that simply defy the word "hat."

Oh, yes! they are all dressed up, those wonderful animals, and as we watch them we take it for granted that they should wear these splendid outfits, and give little thought to all the work that it means, the many stitches, the strange places they are made in, and the enormous cost of these things, which, after all, are but a small part of the circus.

Mrs. White, who, with a corps of seamstresses, designs and makes the clothes for all animals in Barnum and Bailey's show, stands undoubtedly as the "Worth," the "Paquin" of animal costumers, and a little visit to her workshop cannot be without interest.

Come, then, and climb up the strange rickety stairs at the back of the Madison Square Garden, in New York City, where the circus happens to be at the time of this writing, up until you finally reach a white-washed room, where you are greeted most cheerfully with that good comradeship that exists always behind the scenes, and you will find yourself face to face with one of the gentlest looking little ladies, whose hair is turning white, and when she casually tells you that she has been making the clothes for all the beasts in Barnum and Bailey's Circus for thirty-five years, you don't wonder at the white hair, but silently marvel that it isn't blue or green or some other color.

Just imagine what it means to make one of those elaborate coats! The one that "Gypsy," the oldest and largest of the Barnum elephants wears, for instance. Mrs. White actually has to sit down while she is telling you about it, and you will sit down, too, before she finishes.

"Well," says Mrs. White, "it took ten women seven days, of hard sewing to make that mantle. There were twenty-eight yards of the widest of scarlet plush, bought at wholesale for ten dollars a yard."

When you think of it, there must be something quite gratifying to one's pride to have one's clothes bought wholesale - there is no sense of meanness attached to that.

"And then," continues Mrs. White, "there was gilt fringe a foot deep that went all around the mantle, linings and inner-linings, embroideries in floral designs which took a thousand imitation jewels, and endless gold braids and threads and - " here Mrs. White stops, and you feel that the climax is about, to be reached - "and it cost quite a little over twelve hundred dollars, material, labor and all."

It is at this point that you sit down, feeling vague that, your simple garments have no place in such a fairyland, and wonder if the small boy up in the gallery, whose toes are coming through his shoes, appreciates the extent of Gipsy's glory, for I doubt if Solomon's elephants themselves, if Solomon had elephants, were arrayed as one of these.

"Would you like to see Gipsy's coat?" asks Mrs. White, and then you jump up full of enthusiasm again, and follow the dear little old lady down, down the rickety stairs, and then further down until you come to Elephant Hall, and there you see them all, Lena, Chief, Nellie, Babe, the cumbersome clown elephant, and Gipsy, huge and morose, the dowager of the band.

Oh, well, we all have known for a long time that the elephant has had a trunk, but here we find him with a wardrobe! For beside each elephant is a large box, painted a bright green and labelled with the owner's name, and there they keep their wonderful clothes.

Somewhere in that great building, and high above the shouts of a hundred attendants, trainers and keepers, sounds a bell!

Quick, jerk yourself away into some safe corner, out of sight of that hurrying crowd of men who eye you suspiciously as an outsider, out of reach of those huge hoofs, for it is time to dress the elephants, and you want to see the operation.

In a moment you realize that these beasts are royal indeed, for each has a score of valets who dance attendance in a very strenuous fashion for the next few moments.

There goes the cloak that Mrs. White told you about. The head valet adds the trifling information that the garment contains two hundred button holes, all made by hand. These button holes slip over little brass knobs or hooks that are all around the lower edge of the wooden chair or car that the elephant carries on his back, and so stays squarely in place.

Suddenly you grasp Mrs. White's hand - she's cornered somewhere in the dark with you, and you ask:

"Don't - don't they wear anything except clothes?"

"Oh, yes," answers Mrs. White, "hats."

You are silent for a moment, but your curiosity will not be kept down long.

"But nothing else - never anything but the coats and hats?"

And Mrs. White laughs, because she has a sense of humor, and who could make elephant coats for thirty-five years without having a broad, generous appreciation of the ridiculous!

"Oh, yes," she says, "sometimes. There's Babe - that little elephant over there - he wears pantaloons, because he is the clown."

And you put your thinking cap on and wonder why she put in the "because." \

"I had a terrible time with those pantaloons. They were made of bright yellow goods covered with immense pink polka-dots, and the width of the ruffles that finished them off would amaze you."

Here an elephant presses so close to you that you put out your hand and touch the spangles that adorn her green satin and yellow velvet mantle, and you notice the hat she wears. Mrs. White calls Bessie in a soft voice, and the elephant turns and half stops while Mrs. White with a jerk straightens Bessie's hat which seems to have a disposition to be worn over one eye, and with a grunt Bessie passes on, while you feel that you are becoming on very good terms with these great beasts, and realize that the woman beside you must be, in fact, an old and tried friend of theirs.

The last of the elephants has gone by, and as you emerge once more, Mrs. White asks, with pride:

"Did you notice that no two of those coats were alike in color or design?"

"Yes," you say. "Now, please, take me up to your workshop again and tell me all - everything about this fascinating trade of yours! And how in the world did you ever come to learn it?"

You are half way up the ricketty little stairs again when you put this question, and Mrs. White turns upon you such a gentle, happy look that through the dust that arises thick about you from the stamping of the horses and camels, you see the gleam of a little love story and you pull Mrs. White down beside you on the stairs and make her tell it to you.

"My dear, once upon a time," - and there never was a good story that did not begin that way - "I was quite a successful dressmaker, though very young." You nod your head here while a clown all dressed for the performance slides past on the bannister, not wishing to disturb the dearly loved little costumer. "And I boarded in a "boarding-house," continues Mrs. White, already deep in her recital. "One day along came a fine young man, and after awhile we fell in love with one another."

Far below you one of the elephants gives you a terrible grunt and tries with his trunk to knock the striped hat from the head of the camel that is patiently standing beside him, waiting for his cue - but you never smile.

"I found out he performed in the circus, but that did not matter. We got married, and then for the first time I saw him do his act in the ring."

Of course you appreciate that it is a simple story, but after all, it is just as fine a one as Romeo and Juliet.

"I followed the show," says Mrs. White, "just to be with my husband, until quite suddenly one day an elephant needed a new coat and I volunteered to try my hand - and there you are! That was thirty-five years ago, and I am still at it, but I am going to resign, my dear, for I'm getting too old for this business, and the monkeys frighten me."

"The monkeys?"

"Oh, yes, I'm scared to death of the little imps. One monkey is worse than ten elephants. You can depend upon it that I never give them a fitting as I do the other animals! I just make a little dress, and if it does not fit one monkey it has to fit another."

"Do the other animals really have fittings?"

"Two. The first one for the lining. You should see me on top of a high bench giving the first fitting to Lena's gown. Three or four of the women come with me, and we all work together, for when you come to consider it, there is quite some fitting to be done for Madam Lena."

"When we make these clothes, the elephants and camels, etc., are usually in winter quarters at Bridgeport, Connecticut, and we do our sewing here in New York. As we cannot ask our huge customers to come to us to be tried on, we pack up the great linings, the shears, the almost endless tape-measures and more than the customary mouthful of pins, and go to Bridgeport."

"You don't use just ordinary sized pins?" you ask, and when Mrs. White assures you that they indeed just ordinary-sized pins, you experience a slight disappointment. And so the fitting is nearly all done in Bridgeport! Bridgeport, the one place in the world where the Barnum and Bailey animals are at home. There are ten acres up there, all covered with buildings, where everything that pertains to the circus is kept during the off season. Thousands of elephants' cloaks, thousands of camels' coverings, thousands of horses' mantles, tons and tons of animals' hats, extra collarettes and all sorts of trappings; great chests full of the wild little monkey clothes that poor Mrs. White so dreads to make, and garments of all sorts belonging to everything and everyone who wears garments in the great circus. Why, there are a thousand fortunes stored away in the great buildings at Bridgeport, and these trappings are seldom used a second season.

It seems very extravagant, but there is a new outfit for every circus animal every year. Not long ago, there were two. One a little different than the other, and made especially to be worn in street parades.

After the first fitting is made, the gorgeous outside put on and the embroidered designs just outlined. Mrs. White and helpers go up and give the coat another and a final fitting. These embroidered designs are all originated by the little costumer herself, who has an extraordinary sort of talent for this sort of thing, and who seldom uses a model.

Do you wonder if the animals know they are being decked out? Well, Mrs. White seems to think they do. The first fitting makes the elephant very nervous. Sometimes they shade the whole length of their great bodies, and quiver with excitement as Mrs. White and her assistants, with basting-thread, pins and tape-measures, are busy on the tops of step-ladders, or even sometimes on little scaffoldings that have to be erected, but by the time the dress is made they seem to feel better about it, and really appear to become quite proud of their looks when they wear their latest fashions out in the arena before an admiring audience.

The camels seem to take it all in a drowsy, matter-of-fact way, even to the trying on of their hats, and do not seem to realize that their humps make their coats the most difficult of all to fit.

The splendid, sleek, thoroughbred horses often try to shake their attractive velvet coats off, and object quite violently at times to the wearing of head-gear, but the "home-rule" in the "ring" is very decided, and what Mrs. White says they have to wear, they do wear, whether they like it or not. The little wretches of monkeys act in bands against her, and try to tear each others hats and clothes off, but Mrs. White and her women are splendid sewers, and their work is made to last, even in spite of the monkeys.

"Just to show you how much animals dislike being gowned the first time," laughs Mrs. White, "I can tell you the story of a little country circus that boasted of one elephant, but not so much as a neck-tie to dress him up with, and the son of the elephant keeper, who had seen in one of the large cities the gorgeous coverings of the Barnum circus animals, was consumed with an unholy jealousy, and determined that 'Jack' should be likewise decked out. So when he went to visit his old grandmother, who lived over the hills far away, so far away, indeed, that the elephants were a very wonderful sight, the poor child stole her precious patch-work quilt, which was very large and very quaint, and ran away with it. When he reached the circus, 'Jack' was just ready to enter the tent and lie down and die, and wave the American flag when he should be brought to life again, and the boy, with much pride, threw the quilt over 'Jack.' If was much too small, of course, and in the midst of his efforts to fasten it on with cords and straps, the elephant become quite wild with fright and ran away. He ran and ran until he ran right into the grandmother's garden, and though there was by that time very little of the quilt left, the few patches that still clung to 'Jack’ were enough to prove the guilt of the grandson."

"Never mind," you say, with a shrug of your shoulders, "there's always something disagreeable about this dressing business, but these poor things at any rate never have to wear their older brother's or sister's clothes!"

And, as you are once more back in the white-washed room, where half a dozen machines are buzzing at once, and a score of women are busy sewing, the wardrobe mistress drops comfortably into her own chair and laughs at your innocence.

"Don't be so sure of that," she says, "you have no idea how an elephant grows - grows fast and much - grows long after he is twenty-five years of age, and grows clean out of his clothes."

"Really?"

"Yes; really, and then when his coat no longer fits him, I pass it on to a smaller elephant - his little brother you might call him - and so you see those touching little family economics flourish in the 'ring' as well as in the home."

You are silent for a while, thinking that the fact just presented to you makes a sort of bond between you and the "little brother elephant," and while you are wondering if there is any way in which you can let the elephant know how much you sympathize with him, you hear someone flying up the stairs.

With a snatch of song, a gay little laugh and a low bow to Mrs. White, a girl comes into the work-shop, stopping for a moment on her way to the dressing rooms of the circus performers.

She is so bright, so graceful, that you would like to know all about her - what part she takes in the marvelous show, who she is, how she came to join the circus - but you resolutely keep silent, trying to remember that your business has to do with the animals and not with pretty girls, when suddenly you give a cry of delight and spring forward.

There, under her arm, she carries the tiniest of Chihuahua dogs, a little light brown creature with a dainty white nose. The dog, at least, is a link between you! You demand its history, with the sincerest hope that she will throw in a few scraps of her own.

Oh, these circus folk! How friendly they are! No airs, no diffidence, no affection! Just a simple, trusting, friendly manner that is charming. "Now, then, Fifi, stand up on one leg," says the girl, putting the mite of a dog on Mrs. White's cutting table, and Mlle. Fifi tries to do as she is bid, but topples over in the attempt. The only Mlle. Fifi flushes a bit and apologizes.

"She isn't trained well, yet, but in just a little while she will be able to perform before the public," she says.

"With you?" you ask tentatively.

"Oh, no," laughs the girl. "I fly about on a trapeze and Fifi couldn't do that. But my brother-in-law, he's a clown, you know, takes Fifi out into the ring at the matinees, just to get her used to an audience. Mrs. White is making her a coat - she feels the change of climate so much when we travel - of rose-pink velvet and silver braid."

Here one of the sewing girls spreads the little unfinished garment before your eyes, and explains that it is made of remnants of the magnificent mantle that Chief wore in Durbar the year before. The tiny standing collar has a charming 18th century air.

"Fifii is a dear and she is the mascot of this show," and with that Fifii's owner tucks her under her arm and disappears.

From Gipsy to Fifi is quite a jump in the dress-making art, and you come to the conclusion that if Mrs. White can fit both the "dowager" and the "Mascot" with equal satisfaction, you are standing in the presence of the leading animal dressmaker and milliner of the world, and you take your hat off to "White and company."

The Side Show Manager

The most unique job in the world is that of procuring human oddities or freaks, or "strange people" as they are called by modern circus owners. A circus scout, who can traverse the world from one end to the other, and by investigation and research in every land and among every race, and round up real attractions in the way of side show wonders, is worth his weight in gold to any circus management. No circus is complete without these kid or side-show attractions and each year before the show moves out of its winter quarters for a season's tour, the management spends thousands of dollars in this one department alone.

And each year a side-show must be freshened with one or two new attractions; besides there are resignations and deaths and these places must also be filled by freaks drawing as well, and better if possible, than their predecessors. So scouts are sent abroad to outlandish places searching for that human being on whom nature has played a trick. It is a hard job and freaks are frequently found in places where you least expect to find them.

Scouting for strange people is not like scouting for actors or baseball players. When a baseball scout starts out in quest of new material for the ball club, he has a definite route in view. He knows that a ball player can only be found in towns or cities where the game is played. And he generally knows where it is played. A theatrical scout watches small shows and at times - not frequently - discovers a star in the cast.

But starting out on an expedition to lure strange people - money-getters as freaks - to the circus is a far different undertaking, and a much harder one. When a side-show scout leaves these shores for Europe, Asia, Africa and China, and sometimes for the South Sea Islands, he gambles with Fate. He often returns without a vestige of strange man or beast.

There is no telling where a human oddity may be found, As, for instance, while in search of a three-armed man that was supposed to be living in a small German town, a circus scout came across a giantess. She measured 7 feet 6 inches in height and weighed more than 400 pounds. He immediately tried to get her for the circus. She was willing to sign a contract, but she insisted her father and sister would have to accompany her.

"Where is your sister?" asked the showman.

"She is home now, right down in that house, pointing to a little shack not far away.

He went to the homestead. A few seconds later he was approached by another woman, taller than the first.

"What do you wish?" she inquired.

"How would you and your sister like to join the circus? I have just spoken to her about it and she consents to do so providing you and your father will be permitted to go with her," he said.

"You will have to speak to my father," averred the second giantress.

The scout realizing that he had made a great discovery went to the wheat-field nearby, where she told him her father was working, and came upon a man not more than 5 feet in stature. He did not suppose the man was the father of the girls. So he inquired if the man who lived in the house was around.

"I'm the man," announced the farmer. "Who sent you here? Gretchen?"

"I would like very much to engage your daughters for an American circus." The little old man became very indignant, replying that he would never permit his children to go to America without him.

"But you may go, too," said the circus scout.

"No sir! I'm going to remain right here in Germany and so are my two daughters," he announced. Three days were spent in the little town trying to induce the German to leave his farm and bring his daughters to America. But he would not consent. The scout then moved on, disappointedly. His luck turned. While visiting the Hagenbach menagerie, a friend informed him that a boy, whose face was entirely covered with hair lived not far from the grounds and he would like to enlist with an American circus.

Sure enough, the boy was as represented. The scout referred to him as Lionel, the Lion-Faced Boy, successor to Jojo. He was a young Pole, born with a strong beard, and his right name was Stephen Biligraski.

Cliko, the African bushman, who is considered the "greatest showman of all," was found near the Kimberly diamond mines in South Africa. He is intelligent and a drawing-card as a curiosity.

Krao, the Missing Link, is another great find. To see the bearded colored woman sitting on a high stand in the sideshow, one would be led to believe that she was an idiot. Krao comes from Siam. A circus scout of the Barnum and Bailey show brought her back to America many years ago for the side-show. She couldn't speak a word of any language save her own, but now reads and writes several. Krao has a pouch in her mouth similar to a monkey, where food can be stored. She can bend back her fingers till they touch her wrists. She died recently.

The Pinheads are popular freaks, too, and were found in Zanzibar by a traveller who, believing they would be great attractions for a circus, brought them to the United States. The Pinheads, as they are called by circus folk, are nearly fifty years old and have the minds of children about three. The female of the species has never been known to speak, and Clarence can only say a few disconnected words. They are just like babies and cause as much trouble to their nurse or attendant.

While walking down Broadway one night a side-show scout saw a crowd gathered around the window of a store near Times Square, and when he managed to get near enough to see what they were looking at he noticed two midgets. They being exceptionally small; he engaged in conversation with them, and found out that they had recently arrived from Germany and were in search of work. The Speck brothers were the midgets. They were immediately signed for the circus.

George Auger, the Cardiff giant, was found in a similar way, only he wasn't out of work, or searching for it. When the Barnum and Bailey circus was playing in London, the parade was going down the Strand, when a big London bobby was seen in Cockspur Square directing their course. It was Augur. They signed him that night. He resigned from the force and came back to America with the show.

Giants and midgets are not difficult to get. Save a few cases they apply for the job, instead of waiting for a circus scout to look them up.

The Oldest Living Clown

This story is written from an afternoon's talk with William Jerome Fisher, Dan Rice's clown in the old round-top days, in Fisher's pretty little cottage on Beach street, Shelbina.

Fisher was born in Elizabethtown, New York, May 5, 1830. Of course a man in his 99th year has trouble with his memory, but Mrs. Fisher, who is younger than the veteran clown, and who heard him talk about Dan Rice and the marvelous days of the Overland Circus, prompted as the occasion demanded, and helped the story along.

"Jerry" is the oldest man in Shelbina and the people of that town entertain the keenest affection for the man who was Dan Rice's clown.

To most people of this generation Dan Rice is not even a shadowy memory, but here and there you will run across a white haired person whose eyes will light up when you ask him the question.

"Know Dan Rice? Well I should say I did - greatest showman that ever lived - Dan Rice was."

The circus in those days was known as the round-top - not a big three-ring affair where you need three pair of eyes and then some, to see what is going on. The old time circus tent was a 100-foot round top, with one central pole and one 42-foot ring. Then everybody had a show to get the worth of his money.

The clown was the main character, the leading man. All the boys watched for him and shrieked with delight as he strutted in the ring. And Jerry Fisher, on his way to 100, was one of these glittering heroes, and proud of it.

A clown had a chance in those days, Jerry told some visitors who called on him the other day, because he had only the people gathered about one ring, and everybody could hear him. It wasn't like it is now, where if you try to get off a joke two-thirds of the crowd won't hear you.

Dan Rice was a marvelous clown himself, though he could fill almost any position with a circus. His original name was Daniel McLaren, in honor of an old Irish clown. It was a name wished on him by his boyhood companions. When he actually got into the circus he dropped the McLaren and was called Dan Rice. Rice began his circus career with the Seth B. Howe show in 1845, when he was 23. He achieved immediate success, as he was a born showman. In his early days in the show business Rice was known as "the Shakespeare clown." He had read all of Shakespeare's books and was constantly quoting him.

"The people knew Dan Rice from New York to the Pacific coast," said Fisher, "and they went to his circus because they wanted to see Dan more than anything else in the tent. For a small boy to shake hands with Dan Rice was a glory to be handed down to posterity.

"Young folks would cheer vociferously the minute the great showman stepped into the ring, and he always had to make a little talk before the performance started. No matter what Dan said the crowd took it as the voice of wisdom and enthusiastically applauded."

Fisher said the last time he saw his chief was along the 90's, when Rice was at Rochester, New York. At first Rice didn't recognize his old friend and comrade of the sawdust days, but when Jerry told him who he was, the old showman threw his arms around his neck and cried. They sat together all that night, talking of old times on the road and the wonderful adventures they had enjoyed together.

Rice died February 22, 1900, not long after his old clown's visit.

Fisher's first meeting with Dan Rice was when the show was at Elizabethtown, Champlain county, New York, in 1847. Fisher and a chum of his, like all boys of that day, had practiced tumbling, trapeze work and had learned some comic songs. So they screwed up their courage, waited until they caught a sight of the well-known circus man and asked him to give them a try-out. "Uncle Dan, that is what they called him," said Fisher, "was a short stocky built man with a kindly face, and he greeted us with a hearty handshake and a clap on the shoulder. That fixed us. From that time on we were Dan Rice's loyal subjects.

"Rice told his men to lay a carpet on the sawdust and then signed for us to go to it, and you bet we did. We performed every stunt we knew, and Uncle Dan made us happy for life by shouting and clapping his hands.

"Rice was at that time a human dynamo, a showman from the ground up, and the most encouraging boss a young chap ever worked for.

"I was willing to go with the circus and Uncle Dan to the end of the world, and told him so. But Rice was doubtful about our going, he didn't know whether it would be right to let me join up without my father's consent. I was 17 then, having been born May 5, 1830. When I told father of the wonderful opportunity, he shook his head. There was too much danger and temptation in the life of a circus man, he said.

"So that ended it for the time, but two years later when I was visiting some kinfolks in Chicago, I ran across Rice. He remembered me and taking me up to his hotel, let me sing a few songs. The clown of those days was supposed to sing some popular songs at certain places in the performance. I sang 'Blue-Eyed Mary,' 'The Girl I Left Behind Me,' destined before long to be a great favorite with the soldier boys; 'Sweet Marie' and the Sleigh Bells song.

"All of these were intensely sentimental but they fitted in with the mood of the period.

"The circus traveled to St. Louis by way of Springfield and Quincy. At St. Louis Rice agreed to take me on with one condition. That condition was, that I should remit $200 to my father to square up for my services until I was 21, the money to be paid out of my wages. This was satisfactory all around, and in 1849 I was on the pay roll of the great Dan Rice Overland Circus.

"We sure did have some big crowds! The country was not as thickly settled as it is now, but the people would travel for almost any distance to see a circus, and the tent was always filled."

"Before I was with the show very long Rice picked me for a clown, about the biggest job in the show. I had begun as a tumbler at $100 a month, but when I went on the clown job I was paid $125. That was one whale of a salary at that time.

"Money went a great deal further. For a dollar one could get into the main tent, have a reserved seat, buy a cigar, a glass of red lemonade and a sack of peanuts. The admission was twenty-five cents for the main tent, and ten cents extra for reserved seats. The side-show was ten cents.

"The Dan Rice show traveled to the interior towns over the country roads, and by steamboat when showing at the river towns."

Some of the jokes fired off by the clowns were rather crude, Fisher said, but they had to be that way in order to get into the crowd right. Subtle jests that might go very well in a magazine or a book would miss fire entirely with a crowd of country people eating peanuts and using big palm-leaf fans. The jokes that took best were those that had bit of local color in them, and the clowns had learned that the best places in town to get their local tips was at the barber shops. A clown got into trouble one night, however, by using one of those tips. The barber had told him about some local citizen who had become bankrupt and defrauded his creditors. The clown used the story this way:

"Why, Mr. Williams - the ringmaster - did you know that there was a man in this town who could jump further than any man in the world?"

Ringmaster - "No, I never heard of that man. How far can he jump?"

Clown - "Why he jumped $100,000 in debt but I never heard of his jumping out again."

The crowd understood at whom the shaft was aimed and cheered loudly, but the clown had to be guarded to his hotel that night to avoid the man who went broke and defrauded his friends.

"The mother-in-law joke was old even in the 40's. Here is the way one of them was used in the Dan Rice Circus and probably in many other shows of the period:

"Clown - (Bellowing like a man bereft): 'Oh, Mr. Williams, I've just received the awfullest news!'

"Ringmaster - 'Your cow died?'

"Clown - "Worser'n that, a heap worser. There was a big railroad wreck out in Kansas- 400 people killed! Boo-hoo!'

"Ringmaster - 'That was terrible!'

"Clown - 'And my mother-in-law was coming to see me on that very train!'

"Ringmaster - 'Poor woman! And she was in the terrible wreck?"

"Clown - 'No - she missed the train!'

"When the circus would hit a town where there was notoriously bad hotel service, something like this would occur between the clown and the ringmaster:

"Ringmaster - 'Say, Jerome, where are you stopping?'

"Clown - 'The Blank hotel.'

"Ringmaster - 'How's the eatin'?'

"Clown - "Midlin", but I might have made out if I had taken my axe along.'

"Ringmaster - 'For the steak?"

"Clown - 'No, for the cook!'

"Dan Rice had a little joke which he worked out himself and which never failed to develop riotous laughter, and cheers. It was no trouble to find spooners somewhere in the audience quietly eating peanuts while they sat in an affectionate attitude. Dan's keen eyes would soon detect a couple of that sort and he would bawl out the ringmaster:

" 'Mr. Williams, do you know there is in this audience tonight, a young man who occupies a better position that that of being president of the United States?'

"The Ringmaster - 'Well, that must be a very fortunate young man. You say he is in the audience?'

" 'Sure he is, he is right here tonight.'

"Ringmaster - 'I would like to see that man.'

" 'I will take you to him,' and Rice would seize the ringmaster's hand and lead him up to the edge of the circle and point directly at the young man who was sitting with his arms around his girl. Of course a thing like that would double up a crowd with laughter, and at the same time make the young couple want to sink through a hole in the ground. Rice would pretend to be very sympathetic when he observed the humiliation he had caused, and would try to patch it up this way:

" 'There, there, son! You put your arm right back there where it was. If I had thought these people would laugh in such an unmannerly fashion I never would have said a word about it!'

Here is one of the jokes that used to go over pretty good in the round-top days, according to Mr. Fisher:

"After a long-winded discussion between the clown and the ringmaster it was agreed that each would tell a story, and that if either one asked a question that he couldn't answer himself he'd have to wear a dunce cap.

" 'One of these little Kansas ground squirrels was way down in the earth digging and a-digging and a-digging to get out -.’

"The Ringmaster - 'Digging to get out. How the blazes did he get in there?'

"The Clown - 'That's your question. Answer it!'

"This used to create a lot of excitement:

"Ringmaster: 'Mr. Rice has just informed me that a man slipped under the canvas without paying. If he's here we want to give him a dollar for being so smart.'

"The ringmaster stepped about the edge of the sawdust, scanning the spectators. Finally a man dressed in a rough suit climbs down from the benches.

" ‘I got under the canvas,' he said. 'G-imme that dollar!' (Sensation).

"Instead of handing over the dollar the ringmaster blows a whistle, and a lot of supers rush in and make for the man who slipped in. Seeing he is in for a fight the man started to run about the ring yelling, 'Murder! Police" and so on. Just as the supers were about to catch him the man swung up on the horizontal pole, stood upright, flung off his old clothes and stood revealed in tights! Then he went through a performance on the bar that made the crowd dizzy."

Fisher said that in stunts like that he had to be careful not to use them in towns too close together, because after the circus had visited a place the whole countryside would discuss all the tricks and if it happened there were some people in the next town who were on to them it would fall flat.

"The crowd was always ready and anxious to laugh if you gave them the slightest excuse," said Fisher, "and some of the simplest things we worked up would cause the most laughter, but it was never safe to use printed jokes. Like as not, if you did some fellow would bawl out, 'I read that six months ago!'

"Rice said the best hits were those flashed out to meet a sudden situation. Once when he did the whirligig over the elephants and a line of horses, ending near the lower seats, a woman cried out:

" 'Well, did you ever in all your life!'

"As though she had accused him of something awful, Rice walked close to the lady, bowed to her, and sincerely observed:

" 'Upon my word of honor, Madam, I never did!'

"It doesn't sound like much when you read it, but the laughter ran on for several minutes.

"A boy rushed up from the annex carrying a paper in his hand, and asked who the ringmaster was. Mr. Ringmaster stepped toward the boy, but I snatched the paper out of his hand, read it, and then walked toward the audience.

" 'People,' I said, 'after the show two of our folks are going to put on a most remarkable performance. Listen:

" 'My dearest darling: I have my clothes packed and ready - meet me after the show and we will fly together. Lovingly, Birdie.'

"The ringmaster, who was following behind, snatched the paper out of my hands.

" 'What do you mean, sir?' he demanded fiercely, 'by reading before all these people my private mail?'

" 'Sounds like your private female,' I retorted.

"Dan Rice taught his men to be clean. He loved fun and a good time, but he didn't countenance drinking or misconduct of any sort. If he found such characters he would promptly have them run off the grounds.

"Circus day was the big event of the year for the people of the country. The housewife would begin making preparations for days ahead, cook doughnuts, pies and good things to eat. The old wagon bed was laid with straw and the family piled in. From early morning until time for the big parade the farm wagons would be streaming into town from every direction.

"In the towns young folks and some older ones as well would put up stands for lemonade, ginger cakes, popcorn and the like.

"A very little money would go a long ways and the indulgence in circus lemonade, peanuts and everything the visitors wanted wouldn't hurt their pocketbooks very bad.

"There were no other distractions then, and the circus seemed to have the field all to itself, this is as far as the rural districts were concerned.

"There are a great many things to amuse the people nowadays," said Fisher, "but I don't believe anything you see know matter what it costs, nor how great the subject, will ever begin to give the people the real thrill they once found under the old Round Top."

Death of Barnum’s Cannibal

The Barnum Museum, Menagerie and World's Fair, in its second anuual tour of the United States arrived May 14, 1872, in York, Pa., where it was to give performances in the morning, in the afternoon and at night. Posters on dead walls and handbills distributed around the town and neighboring country had proclaimed the fact that the show was "positively the largest and most attractive combination of exhibitions ever known and without a parallel in the history of the world." By means of the press and posters interest was worked up to a high pitch. It was not a little cause of wonder that the "combination" was to arrive by rail, for only once before - about 17 years previously - had a circus, the Spaulding and Rogers, been transported to York in cars. All others had travelled in wagons.

The shrewd Barnum, whose agents had been liberal in bestowing free passes among the ministers, boldly announced that his "was the only exhibition in America recognized and endorsed by both the religious and secular press and daily visited by eminent clergymen." This pronouncement was not without its influence upon a church-going community, to a part of which circuses had generally heretofore been taboo, although menageries were an allowable diversion because they were instructive.

Barnum seems at this time to have recognized the fact that a certain class in every community disapproved of the circus and made a distinct effort to overcome this prejudice. The word, "circus," an investigation shows, had a small part in the advertising. Attention was directed principally to the merits of the museum, menagerie and world's fair, "exhibited in six separate colossal tents."

"Chaste and refined" were the terms used in referring to the circus performance. Some times it was announced in these words: "In the department of the hippodrome and circus, which is strictly moral and high-toned, are 100 of the best performers in the world - 11 first class bareback riders, Including the great Melville and Stokes families. The first and only show in the world that uses a double circus ring and requires a double troupe of performers, acrobats, gymnasts, &c." The glories of the circus, however, in the advertisements at York occupied a second place in the appeal to the public. Taking precedence were:

The Four Wild Fiji Cannibals, Captives of War, lately ransomed from King Thakembau, by Mr. Barnum at a cost of $15,000.

Live Digger Indian from the Yosemite Valley.

The Only Giraffe in America.

The Only Group of Living Monster Sea Lions kept in Massive Water Tanks.

The Famous Riding Goat, Alexis.

The Wonderful African Snake Charmer.

Of the Fijis, Barnum had written in his book, which was sold at the circus: "I have tried in vain for years to secure specimens of these man eaters. At last the opportunity came. Three of these cannibals having fallen into the hands of their Royal enemy, who was about to execute and perhaps to eat them, the missionaries and my agents prevailed upon the copper-colored king to accept a large sum in gold on condition of his majesty granting them a reprieve and leave of absence to America for three years, my agent also leaving a large sum with the American consul to be forfeited, if they were not returned within the time stipulated.

"Accompanying them is a half-civilized Cannibal woman, converted and educated by the Methodist missionaries. She reads fluently and very pleasantly from the Bible printed in the Fijian language and she already exerts a powerful influence over these savages. They take a lively interest in hearing her read the history of our Saviour. They earnestly declare their convictions that eating human flesh is wrong and faithfully promise never again to attempt it. They are intelligent and docile. Their characteristic war dances and rude marches, as well as their representations of cannibal manners and customs are peculiarly interesting and instructive. It is perhaps needless to add that the bonds for their return will be forfeited. They are already learning to speak and read our language and I hope soon to put them in the way of being converted to Christianity, even if by so doing the title of "Missionary" be added to the many already given me by the public."

The impression the Barnum show made in York is expressed in this afternoon notice in one of the local newspapers:

"The day was pleasantly cool and agreeable and thousands of people from the rural districts poured into town at an early hour. The huge canvas, under which the attractive sights were to be seen, covered a large portion of the (Civil War) hospital grounds and immediately after the hour of opening, dense masses of human beings thronged in its direction and soon filled every available space and avenue leading to and from the different places of exhibition.

"The presence of such an immense concourse of people, representing every district in our large and populous county, was itself worth the price of admission, but when the wonders which Barnum had collected and brought together from the remotest and most distant parts of the world, burst upon the eye, the spectators were more than satisfied that taking it all in all, they ne'er should look upon the like again. It was decidedly the greatest and most complete combination which has ever been seen in York and will certainly hold preeminence over all exhibitions until Barnum comes again.

"An attempt to give a detailed description of the great show is impossible and will, therefore, not be attempted, nor is it necessary, as those who care to have anything said about it in these columns were no doubt present and saw it.

"The museum was an object of interest to many, who lingered long in their examination of its wonders and curiosities, while there were others who passed it by without deigning once to pause for a moment, in their desire to reach other departments, which to them were more attractive.

"The collection of living animals, found under canvas No. 2, was very fine and there were some specimens in it, which had never been seen in this latitude before. The sea lions were objects of special interest and attracted far more than usual attention. They kept up considerable noise during the exhibition and manifested a great deal of uneasiness, and from their frequent divings into their tank, it is judged they miss the ice of their native Alaska, in which alone, it seems, they can thrive and be comfortable. They are a hardy animal, and it is doubtful if they will live long in this climate. Whether Barnum will succeed in piloting them through the hot summer that is before us is exceedingly questionable.

"The canvas under which the circus or hippodrome was held was spread over an immense area and was capable of seating at the lowest calculation 5,000 persons. It was filled to overflowing. There was scarcely a seat unoccupied. This branch of the exhibition has an advantage over all others of the, kind, yet seen here, in its high moral tone and bearing and in the entire absence of anything and everything, which could be calculated to displease the most fastidious. Quite a number of the clergymen of the town and from the country were present and seemed to enjoy themselves amazingly. The performances were exceedingly chaste and interesting.

"The riding goat, Alexis, did his part remarkably well, although the poor little fellow did get a tumble from his horse, which alarmed him for the time being very considerably. The performance throughout, - riding, tumbling and the doings of the elephant and trick horse - gave universal satisfaction; and the appearance in the arena of the armless woman, the bearded child, the man in miniature, the strange and brainless being, Zip, said to have been captured somewhere in Central Africa, and whose face and head are scarcely human, were never witnessed here before. The sixteen huge camels and dromdaries, richly caparisoned, as they swung around the circle, excited much interest and attracted a large amount of attention. They were the finest looking, most perfectly formed and seemingly healthy animals of the kind ever seen.

"Much more might be written about Barnum and his great combination, but as his name and fame are world-wide and he is known to be a man who never does things by halves, it can only be added that this exhibitions is the greatest in the country, as any one will be convinced by a visit."

The people who visited the exhibition were disappointed, however, In one particular. They did not see the Fiji cannibals. The reason for the non-appearance of "the man eaters" Is explained in the account - highly colored it must be admitted - which appeared in the York Daily the following day:

"Barnum's Museum, Menagerie and Hippodrome met with quite a loss yesterday," said the Daily, "in the death of the notorious cannibal dwarf, which occurred at the Pennsylvania hotel. The little Fiji exhibited symptoms of indisposition several days ago, and the manager, W. C. Coup, sent 'the General,' as he is called to New York to be cared for by Mr. Barnum's family physician. But the little savage, becoming restless in the absence of his associates, he was returned to the company. Like all of his race, he had a native horror of shoes and clothing and even in the wet, cold days that came upon the company in New Jersey, the manager was unable to force shoes upon 'the General' and make him dress with sufficient warmth.

"Yesterday, the man in charge noticed that his fingers were constantly in motion, while he muttered continuously the only word he pronounced intelligently, 'Fiji.' He refused anything like food or nourishment and apparently thought of nothing but his native island. Dancing or violent gesturing of any kind was always a source of great merriment to 'the General,' but now the keeper could not provoke even a smile. The miniature being was dying and while the keeper was doing his best to cheer him up and make him take his medicine, he rose up in bed, muttered 'Fiji' in a whisper and fell back dead. His three native companions, who up to this time were wholly indifferent, now exhibited all the symptoms of genuine grief. They howled incessantly and such fearful physical contortions were probably never before witnessed in a civilized community.

"The death of this dwarf savage was not an unexpected event. The scene subsequent, however, sent a thrill through the very few conversant with the facts. Shortly after the corpse was placed in the coffin last evening, S. S. Smith, the keeper, locked the door upon the three companions in an adjoining room and left the building for the purpose of consulting the manager at the National Hotel. He states that he was not absent 30 minutes, but that upon returning a scene presented itself too horrible to detail. The two male associates had gained access to the corpse and were biting and gnawing at the fleshy parts of the body with all the eagerness of their native cannibalism. The female stood aloof in one corner and by sign, word and gesture was entreating them to desist. It is understood the woman is a convert to the teachings of English missionaries and looks with abhorrence upon all the unchristian habits of her tribe. Mr. Smith promptly interfered and the two miserable beings went sullenly to their apartment. All regret the unnatural affair and none more than the parties directly interested. The remains were buried in the evening."

Whatever may have been the purpose of the publication of such a story, it is doubtful if it was realized, unless it was aimed to start a controversy. Surely Barnum took no pride in the work, for in none of his autobiographies has he referred to the incident. The people of York were indignant. They had not only missed seeing the "cannibals," but later learned Barnum had perpetrated one of his humbugs.

"A few days ago the York Daily had an article in its columns," said the True Democrat, "stating that the cannibal belonging to the Barnum show that died here last Tuesday, was partly eaten up by his companions, during the temporary absence of their keeper. We have since learned that there is not a word of truth in the story, that the Daily was liberally paid for the insertion and the whole thing was furnished to that paper, cut and dry, by the proprietor, as an advertising dodge.

"Barnum, although confessedly a great showman, is determined not to be outdone in the work of humbugging, a reputation for which he has sustained through a long life of singular changes and fluctuations. It is now positively averred that the female member of the cannibal troupe was born in the state of Virginia and was at one time a domestic in the house of a gentleman at present residing in Baltimore. This, had it been known in York last Tuesday, we venture to say, would have raised a loud laugh, if not something worse, at Barnum's expense and his man-eating party."

The True Democrat's story, exposing the Fiji humbug, was widely copied by the press and read by as many persons as had been the press agent's yarn in the Daily. Among those under whose observation it came was George Boyne, Sacremento, Cal. Boyne with a family of six children had resided in the same locality in the Fiji islands, from which "the cannibals" came. He asserted in a letter to the Trut Democrat after giving a personal history of the Fijis accompanying the Barnum show that they had been under Christian training for a number of years. From a personal acquaintance with the Fijis, he was able to speak with authority and declared that town and I am very sure that very few typos would like to reside within a quarter of a mile so near to such people as described in the York Daily. If the deceased dwarf had a native horror of shoes and clothing and in the wet and cold days that came upon the company in New Jersey, the manager was unable to force shoes upon 'the General' and make him dress with sufficient warmth, why is it that in California, which is warmer than your state, the little fellow went in this city with my children to purchase articles of clothing and was always forced to wear them?

"The truth is the exigencies of the show will not admit of it. When the Fijians know how they have been placed in this show for years, they will soon despond and there will be another for the Daily to serve up. If they even received pay, it would make no difference, their love for their island home is so strong.

"I cannot conceive how they can be kept there by their own free will by a gentleman, who professes Republican principles. I promised the poor woman to send for her when I got home, but I knew she is in too safe keeping to escape, especially as she is of a quiet disposition and lacks confidence among strangers. She could not get away without assistance. I am prepared to send her the means. I thank you for your expose of the late humbug."

Potter's field became the burial ground of the little Fiji. It was adjacent to the circus grounds and convenient for the show people who desired to witness the burial. At the time on the islands from which they were brought cannibalism never came under his observation.

"There are now 3,000 European residents in Fiji," wrote Boyne, "and the number is constantly increasing. They are principally engaged in cotton planting and trading with the natives. The Christian king, Thakombu, has formed a parliament. Two-thirds of the members are Europeans. The Methodists have published the following statement of their mission: 'There are 617 churches, 10 English missionaries, 40 native missionaries, who are trained at a native college, 23,233 members; 905 catechists, 10,666 Sabbath schools, 1,549 day schools and 105,000 attendants on public worship.'

"The European town of Sevukee, Island of Bralam, Fiji, has a municipal council, mayor, I. Morey. A lodge of Free Masons was opened in due form last December. The lodge was opened by permission of the king. The town possesses two newspapers, the Fiji Times and the Fiji Gazette.

"The eldest of Barnum's cannibals lived very near to this there was much said about an appropriate grave stone which Barnum was to purchase to mark the place of burial. This it was expected the great showman would certainly do. The years have, however, passed and there is nothing to distinguish the grave of the Fiji from the hundreds of friendless paupers buried on the plot. Barnum failed to keep his promise. Some years ago Potter's field was moved to a new location north of the city, and it was then that the exact spot where "the General" was buried was identified with great difficulty.

Astley, the English Showman

Belgravia thus speaks of the famous Astley and his horse Billy:

Although his speculations were generally successful by one famous melodrama, The Red Blood Knight, he cleared £18,000 - Philip Astley does not seem to have died with much money. Yet he was a man of indefatigable industry and energy and he expected the same qualifications in those under his employ.

"Come boy, get to work; we must have a new piece out by Monday night" he said one day late in the week. "That's impossible, sir," replied the carpenter "Who's Mister Impossible," retorted Astley, "I do not know him; he don't live in this house."

At one time the greater portion of his company, and that the best, deserted him, with the expressed intention of runing his establishment; but he was equal to the occasion. "When Mr. Carrick died," he said, "the public thought the stage would die with him, but they was mistook; it did as well after him as with him and so it will be with me; for though I have lost talent, I can rear more and the mill must go."

When the war with France broke out in 1793, Astley went over with the Duke of York as a volunteer to superintend the horses and he proved himself the soldiers' friend. He took with him a large chest with bits of broadcloth, thread, needles, leather bracelets, wax and other odds and ends likely to be useful in a campaign together with 500 flannel jackets in the corner of each of which he sewed a bright new shilling which he said would be a friend in need for the poor fellows when they were hard up and wanted something to drink.

During a retreat he succeeded in saving a piece of ordnance and was rewarded by the Duke with the present of four horses; these he put up at auction, and spent the proceeds of the sale in treating the men of his division.

Upon his return to England he had the honor of escorting Prince Ernest, afterward Duke of Cumberland and the Duke of York gave him a letter to the Queen recommending him as a bold soldier and a deserving veteran. All his comrades were admitted gratis to his entertainment and special seats on each side the entrance at the ring were placed for their accommodation. This it may be remembered was a profitable piece of generosity since the people flocked in crowds to see these brave warriors.

When he was in want of horses, Asttey would buy four or five at Smithfield, seldom giving more than £5 a piece for them. He cared little for shape, color or breed; good temper was their chief recommendation. He certainly achieved some wonderful results by his training. But his greatest success was the horse he first started with, a present of John Elliott. Billy - such was the name of the quadruped delighted in - would it is said, take off his own saddle, wash his feet in a pail of water, took a kettle of boiling water off the fire, carry a complete tea equipage and performed the part of waiter to the company. Once his master was prevailed upon to lend Billy for a few days to a brother showman, a friend of his named Sanders. Immediately afterward this man's effects were seized and sold for debt and Astley, knowing nothing of this, Billy went with the rest and later trace was lost of him.

About three years afterwards as two of the equestrian actors were walking through an East End thoroughfare, one suddenly exclaimed to the other, pointing to a horse and cart "I say, Jack, I am a Dutchman if that aint our Billy." "Impossible," answered the other. "I tell you it is; I'll try him. "Astley taught his horse by certain signs one of which was clicking the nails of his forefinger and thumb. The experiment was now tried and at the sound the horse pricked up his ears and began to caper. His identity was at once established; and two actors embraced their old friend with delight and he testified his pleasure at the meeting by capering and rubbing his head against them. The owner was found in a nearby public house, a bargain was struck and Billy was transferred to the actors. "He's a monstrous good-tempered critter," said the man, "but he's got such odd antics we always call him a mountebank."

Billy was received by his old master with tears of joy and the next night was taking off his kettle of boiling water and handing around his tea tray with all his old dexterity. The horse lived to the extraordinary age of 42 surviving his master; when he was too old for work he was kept in his stable and allowed two quarter loaves a day; and upon his death a portion of his skin was used to cover a big drum.

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