ollow a
repetition of his previous sales, and in this way he would continue for
hours. To those disposed to have a _souvenir_ of the great humbug he
would sell six pencils, a medal and a photograph of himself for a franc
(twenty cents.) After taking a rest he would commence a new speech.

"When I was modestly dressed, like any of my hearers, I was half
starved. Punch and his bells would attract crowds, but my good pencils
attracted nobody. I imitated Punch and his bells, and now I have two
hundred depots in Paris. I dine at the best cafes, drink the best wine,
live on the best of everything, while my defamers get poor and lank, as
they deserve to be. Who are my defamers? Envious swindlers! Men who try
to ape me, but are too stupid and too dishonest to succeed. They
endeavor to attract notice as mountebanks, and then foist upon the
public worthless trash, and hope thus to succeed. Ah! defamers of mine,
you are fools as well as knaves. Fools, to think that any man can
succeed by systematically and persistently cheating the public. Knaves,
for desiring the public's money without giving them an equivalent. I am
an honest man. I have no bad habits; and I now declare, if any trader,
inventor, manufacturer, or philanthropist will show me better pencils
than mine, I will give him 1,000f.--no, not to him, for I abhor
betting--but to the poor of the Thirty-first Arrondissement, where I
live."

Mangin's harangues were always accompanied by a peculiar play of feature
and of voice, and with unique and original gestures, which seemed to
excite and captivate his audience.

About seven years ago, I met him in one of the principal restaurants in
the Palais Royale. A mutual friend introduced me.

"Ah!" said he, "Monsieur Barnum, I am delighted to see you. I have read
your book with infinite satisfaction. It has been published here in
numerous editions. I see you have the right idea of things. Your motto
is a good one--'we study to please.' I have much wanted to visit
America; but I cannot speak English, so I must remain in my dear belle
France."

I remarked that I had often seen him in public, and bought his pencils.

"Aha! you never saw better pencils. You know I could never maintain my
reputation if I sold poor pencils. But _sacre bleu_, my miserable
would-be imitators do not know our grand secret. First, attract the
public by din and tinsel, by brilliant sky-rockets and Bengola lights,
then give them as much as possible for the