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 l,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.
