doing for the rising generation, that I thought I must come here and see for myself.” At that moment the gong announcing the beginning of the show in the Lecture Room rang. The lady jumped from the sofa. “Are the services about to commence?” she asked anxiously. There was the noise of shuffling feet as the crowd hurried to the seats. “Yes,” said Barnum, “the congregation is now going up.” Barnum wrote concerning his moral performances: “I resolved, as far as possible, to elevate and refine such amusements as I dispensed. Even Shakespeare’s dramas were shorn of their objectionable features when placed upon my stage.” E. A. Sothern, Tony Pastor, and Barney Williams received their first stage training on the stage of Barnum’s Lecture Room. On holidays performances were given every hour throughout the afternoon and evening, and Barnum is given credit in histories of the theater for originating the continuous performance, which has since proved so popular in vaudeville. These continuous programs on holidays were very popular, and on the first Fourth of July of Barnum’s management of the Museum so many people visited the building that the sale of tickets was stopped. This Barnum described as “exceedingly harrowing to my feelings.” He noted sadly that thousands were waiting outside to purchase tickets, and that those inside did not seem in a hurry to leave. Barnum ordered his carpenter to build a temporary flight of stairs at the rear of the building, which opened out into Ann Street. At three o’clock that afternoon this exit was opened, but much money had been lost. When, on the next St. Patrick’s Day, Barnum was informed in advance that the Irish population intended to visit the Museum in large numbers, he opened the rear exit again. Before noon the Museum was crowded, and the sale of tickets had to be stopped. Barnum rushed to the rear exit and asked how many hundreds had passed out that way. He was told that three persons had used it during the whole morning, for the visitors had brought their dinners and intended to remain in the Museum all day and night. Barnum hurriedly called his sign painter and ordered a sign in large letters ☞ TO THE EGRESS. This was nailed over the rear door. Some of the Irish visitors spelled out the sign, “To the Aigress,” and many remarked, “Sure, that’s an animal we haven’t seen,” and found themselves on Ann Street, with no chance of re-entering the Museum.