The Continental Monthly, Vol. I. February, 1862, No. II. | Page 6

that No. 1 was quite alone
in its glory. It was the Alpha and Omega of the preliminary requisites. I
should never be able to get a solitary invitation.
Here I was for a moment disheartened; but, persevering in my
newly-assumed part of literary philosopher, I proceeded to the
consideration of the consequent requisites:--
1. Literary ability. To say the truth, my literary abilities had hitherto
been kept in the background. I was glad they were now going to come
forward. For present purposes, it was sufficient that the Astor Library
was handy, and that I could string words together respectably.
2. Oratorical ability. As already indicated, I was conscious of no mean
alloy of the Demosthenic gold tempering the baser metal of my general
composition. My voice was deep and strong.
3. Facial brass. I felt brazen enough to set up a bell-foundery on my
personal curve. My cheeks were of that metalline description that never
knew a blush, before an audience of one or many.
4. Personal appearance. I consulted my mirror on that point. It showed
me a young man of only twenty-eight, and tall and shapely proportions;

a well-dressed young man, with light-colored hair, prominent nose, and
heavy red beard and moustache. I twisted the latter institution
undecidedly, and ventured the belief that by shaving myself clean and
bridging my nose with a pair of black-bowed spectacles I could pass
muster.
The result total was satisfactory. I resolved to disregard the preliminary
respecting invitations, and to make a modest effort of my own to secure
an audience, by going into the country, and advertising myself in
proper form. I commenced the work of writing a lecture forthwith; and
in a few days I had ready what I deemed a rather superior production.
II.--HOW HE PROCEEDED TO DO IT.
I gave up my lodgings in town, sold all my salable possessions, settled
up with my landlord, paid my printers in the usual way (i.e., with
promises), and, supplied with a satchel-full of hand-bills (from a rival
establishment), started for the country. My ticket was for Sidon--a
place I knew nothing whatever about; the only circumstance of a
positive character connected with it was, that it was the farthest point
from New York which I could reach by the Rattle and Smash Railroad
for the net amount of funds in my pocket. I stepped into the streets of
Sidon with a light heart, and looked out on the scene of my
contemplated triumph. I made up my mind at once that if ancient Sidon
was no more of a place than modern Sidon, it couldn't lay claim to
being much of a town. The houses, including shops and stores, would
not exceed one hundred. I walked to the tavern, and delivered my
satchel to the custody of a rough-looking animal, whom I subsequently
found to be landlord, hostler, bar-tender, table-waiter, and general
manager-at-all-work. He was a very uninviting subject; but, being
myself courteously inclined, and having also a brisk eye to business, I
inquired if there was a public hall or lecture-room in the place.
'I've got a dance-hall up-stairs. Be you a showman?'
I said I was a lecturer by profession, and asked if churches were ever
used for such purposes in Sidon.

'Never heard of any. 'Ain't got no church. Be you goin' to lecter?'
I replied that I thought some of it, and inquired if it was common to use
his hall for lectures.
'Wal, Sidon ain't much of a place for shows anyhow. When they is any,
I git 'em in, if they ain't got no tent o' their own.'
I would look at the hall.
We went up a rickety stairway, into a dingy room. The plaster had
fallen from the ceiling in several places, and the room had a mouldy
smell. There was a platform at one end, where the musicians sat when
saltatory _fêtes_ were held, and on this I mounted to 'take a view.' I
didn't feel called upon to admire the hall in audible terms; but as I stood
there an inspiring scene arose before my mental vision--a scene of
up-turned faces, each representing the sum of fifteen cents, that being
the regular swindle for getting into shows round here, the landlord said.
I struck a bargain for the hall, at once--a bargain by which I was to
have it for two dollars if I didn't do very well, or five dollars if I had a
regular big crowd; bill-stickers and doorkeeper included, free.
In the evening, I went to the village post-office, which was merely a
corner of the village store, and inquired if there was a letter there for
Professor Green D. Brown. I knew very well there was not, of course,
but I had the not unexpected pleasure