I am persuaded that circuses fill an aching
void in the universe. What children did before their invention I shudder
to think, for circuses are to childhood what butter is to bread; and
what the world did before the birth of Barnum is an almost equally
frightful problem. Some are born to shows, others attain shows, and yet
again others have shows thrust upon them. Barnum is a born showman. If
ever a man fulfills his destiny, it is the discoverer of Tom Thumb. With
the majority of men and women life is a failure. Not until one leg
dangles in the grave is their _raison d'etre_ disclosed. The round
people always find themselves sticking in the square holes, and _vice
versa_; but with Barnum we need not deplore a _vie manquee_. We can
smile at his reverses, for even the phoenix has cause to blush in his
presence. Though pursued by tongues of fire, Barnum remains invincible
when iron, stone, and mortar crumble around him; and while yet the smoke
is telling volumes of destruction, the cheery voice of the showman
exclaims, "Here you are, gentlemen; admission fifty cents, children half
price."
Apropos of Barnum, once in my life I gave myself up to unmitigated joy.
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