I think the year was 1850.
As to that I am not sure, but I know the month--it was May; that detail has survived the wear of fifty-five years.

A pair of connected little incidents of that month have served to keep the memory of it green for me all this time; incidents of no consequence, and not worth embalming, yet my memory has preserved them carefully and flung away things of real value to give them space and make them comfortable.

The truth is, a person's memory has no more sense than his conscience, and no appreciation whatever of values and proportions.

However, never mind those trifling incidents; my subject is the mesmerizer, now.
He advertised his show, and promised marvels.

Admission as usual: 25 cents, children and negroes half price.