“Laugh, sir, laugh! why, sir, they have no laugh in them, sir; and if they had, your devilish nigger minstrels would get it all out of them before I commenced.” “Don’t get excited, Doctor,” I said; “you will please the people.” “Impossible, sir! I was a fool to ever permit my entertainment to be mixed up with that of nigger singers.” “But you could not give an entire entertainment satisfactorily to the public; they want more variety.” “Then you should have got something more refined, sir. Why, one of those cursed nigger break-downs excites your audience so they don’t want to hear a word from me. At all events, I ought to commence the entertainment and let the niggers finish up. I tell you, Mr. Barnum, I won’t stand it! I would rather go to the poor-house. I won’t stay here over a fortnight longer! It is killing me!” In this excited state the Doctor would go upon the stage, dressed very neatly in a suit of black. Addressing a few pleasant words to the audience, he would then take a seat behind his little table, and with a broad smile covering his countenance would ask the audience to excuse him a few seconds, and he would appear as “Tabitha Twist,” a literary spinster of fifty-five. On these occasions I was usually behind the scenes, standing at one of the wings opposite the Doctor’s table, where I could see and hear all that occurred “behind the curtain.” The moment the Doctor was down behind the table, a wonderful change came over that smiling countenance. “Blast this infernal, stupid audience! they would not laugh to save the city of New York!” said the Doctor, while he rapidly slipped on a lady’s cap and a pair of long curls. Then, while arranging a lace handkerchief around his shoulders, he would grate his teeth and curse the Museum, its manager, the audience and everybody else. The instant the handkerchief was pinned, the broad smile would come upon his face, and up would go his head and shoulders showing to the audience a rollicking specimen of a good-natured old maid. “How do you do, ladies and gentlemen? You all know me, Tabitha Twist, the happiest maiden in the village; always laughing. Now, I’ll sing you one of my prettiest songs.” The mock maiden would then sing a lively, funny ditty, followed by faint applause, and down would bob the head behind the table to prepare for a presentation of “Sam Slick, junior.” “Curse such a set of fools” (off goes the cap, followed by the curls). “They think it’s a country Sunday school” (taking off the lace handkerchief). “I expect they will hiss me next, the donkeys” (on goes a light wig of long, flowing hair). “I wish the old Museum was sunk in the Atlantic” (puts on a Yankee round-jacket, and broadbrimmed hat). “I never will be caught in this infernal place, curse it;” up jump head and shoulders of the Yankee, and Sam Slick, junior, sings out a merry--