it; the fingers of
her left hand were drawn down so as nearly to close it, and were fixed;
the nails on that hand were almost four inches long and extended above
her wrist; her head was covered with a thick bush of gray hair; but she
was toothless and totally blind, and her eyes had sunk so deeply in the
sockets as to have disappeared altogether. Nevertheless she was pert and
sociable and would talk as long as people would converse with her. She
was quite garrulous about 'dear little George,' at whose birth she
declared she was present, having been at the time a slave of Elizabeth
Atwood, a half-sister of Augustine Washington, the father of George
Washington. As nurse, she put the first clothes on the infant, and she
claimed to have raised him."

Barnum was so impressed by this extraordinary object, that he bought her
for a thousand dollars, putting his last cent into the venture and
borrowing what he lacked. He proceeded to advertise her with
characteristic energy, and great crowds thronged to see her, so that his
receipts sometimes ran as high as $1,500 a week. However, the old woman
died within a year, and a post-mortem examination showed that she was
really only about eighty years old.

But Barnum had found his vocation, that of showman, and after a few
unsuccessful ventures, bought Scudder's American Museum, in New York
City, and started out on a brilliant career. It is interesting to note
that the museum which Barnum purchased consisted in part of the curios
collected years before by Charles and Rembrandt Peale. Barnum added to
it, was indefatigable in securing curiosities, really created the art of
modern advertising, and it was his proudest boast that no one ever left
the museum without having got his money's worth. He was one of the first
to realize that the best possible advertisement is a pleased customer,
and he tried honestly to keep his museum supplied with every novelty.
The public soon came to appreciate this, and perhaps his greatest asset
was public confidence in his promises. People came to believe that when
Barnum advertised a thing, he really had it. But the most fortunate day
in all his life was that November day of 1842, when he discovered at
Bridgeport, Connecticut, the midget whose real name was Charles S.
Stratton, but who was to become world-famous as General Tom Thumb.

The story of Tom Thumb's success reads like a romance. He was quite
young when Barnum got him, and the showman took great