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THE "TWIN BROTHERS" elicited considerable attention in England and on the continent around 1716. One of the twins was a perfect man in every respect, from head to foot, and well proportioned. However, a little above his hip on the right side, there issued forth the body of a man but only from the waist upward. He was perfectly shaped with hands, arms, and a head very much like his brother's. He ate and drank with a good appetite, enjoyed good eyesight, and spoke as distinctly as his brother. He felt no motion in his own body from the waist down, so evidently had no feeling in that area of his brother's body.

The "Twin Brothers" appeared in London in 1716, and at that time were around 23 years old. The whole man, if we may call him that, supported the brother joined to him by his right hand. The twin brothers resembled in many respects James Poro and Lazarus Coloredo, who appeared in Copenhagen and Switzerland, presumably in 1714. James Poro was in London, too, but the excrescence from his side resembled a human only in a few particulars.

THAT TAWDRY institution-the circus side show-has come upon hard times. Not long ago it displayed, to quote the flowing rhetoric of the showman, "an amazing array of anatomical abnormalities." You could stare at the tallest, the smallest, the fattest, and the thinnest human beings on earth. Or you could gawk at "nature's mistakes," including the Siamese Twins, the Moon-face Baby, the Alligator Girl, the Seal Boy, and the Armless and Legless Wonder. But these "strange people" (circus folk never called them freaks) are seen less frequently nowadays.

Let's see what one authority has to say about the blight that has overtaken the side show. He is Nate Eagle, a 40-year veteran of this peculiar business, who now presides over the remains of what was once the mightiest of all side shows -- that of the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Combined Shows.

Eagle has a ready answer for the dwindling supply of human abnormalities. Many misshapen or deformed persons, he explains, now have their defects repaired or obliterated by surgery. Others have their physical peculiarities corrected by hormones. One midget, thanks to treatment with the growth-promoting factor of the pituitary gland, attained a respectable stature.

"At least he grew enough," Eagle said, "that he was too big to exhibit as the smallest man in the world." Advances in the science of nutrition have likewise had an adverse effect on side show attractions such as "the living skeleton" and blubbery-fat men and women. The skin-and-bones individual, Eagle explained, can now be helped to gain weight. And many grossly obese people have become mere shadows of their former corpulent selves with the help of appetite-curbing drugs and drastic reducing programs carried out under hospital supervision.

Even self-made side show features may be on the way out. Eagle cited the tattooed people. "You know, health authorities have traced several outbreaks of hepatitis to contaminated needles. Some cities have closed the tattoo parlors. And that's a bad omen for the future of epidermal art."

Surgery, however, has cut most deeply into the side show's cast of characters, including such traditional ones as the Siamese Twins. Eagle recalled the most famous of these conjoined individuals, Chang and Eng. During the 1800's, they were a stellar and lucrative attraction of P. T. Barnum's Museum and other shows. Chang and Eng, until their deaths at age 63 -- one closely following the other -- were permanently united at the waist by a band of thick tissue. Their personalities were no less interesting than their physical bond. They quarrelled frequently and for long periods would not speak to each other. Chang liked liquor; Eng loathed it. When not touring, they operated a farm in North Carolina, maintaining separate homes for their wives, who were sisters, and whom they visited on alternate days. They are said to have fathered 20 children. The twins adopted the American name of Bunker and were respected citizens of their community.

Eagle doubts that any true Siamese twins (the act can be faked easily) are on exhibition in this country today. Several births have been reported over the years, but the twins have either died in early infancy or they have been separated by surgery.

"Sure, I'd like to find another act that would catch the public's fancy like Chang and Eng. But isn't it a fine thing that surgical skill can undo nature's errors?" Eagle asked.

Side shows, of course, have long been accused of displaying creatures so tragically afflicted that they should never had been exposed to public view. This is particularly true of "Moonfaced Babies," as they were luridly advertised. These babies were victims of a condition known as hydrocephalus, commonly called "water on the brain." When Eagle was asked about these unfortunate children, he was quick to say that he had never exploited one.

The hydrocephalic baby usually had an extraordinarily large head caused by an accumulation of spinal fluid within the cranial cavity. The excess fluid squeezes the brain, distorts the skull, and leads to blindness and mental retardation.

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Until recently, few of these unfortunate children lived more than a year or two. But that was long enough for unscrupulous side show operators to cash in on "creatures born under the wrong sign of the moon."

Fortunately, a remarkable surgical procedure was devised some 13 years a ago at the Children's Hospital in Philadelphia to correct hydrocephalus. In many cases, this operation -- if undertaken in time -- can restore a child to normalcy.

Eagle believes that the side show has also done something in behalf of babies. He recounted the story of Dr. Martin Couney, who made medical history with a side show on the midway of Coney Island.

It was no idle boast on the part of raucous side show barkers that Doctor Couney did, indeed, display "the smallest people on earth." They were premature babies shown in incubators of his own making.

The doctor's decision to go into show of business with his little patients grew out of his determination to cut the high death rate among "premies." As a young and struggling obstetrician in Paris, back in 1890, he had demonstrated that with proper care most of these infants could survive. But the constant attention they required exhausted him. Moreover, parents were often unable to pay for the long "incubation period" that most of the babies needed. Since his little people were objects of great public interest, Doctor Couney decided to exhibit them. Admission fees, he hoped, would provide enough money to keep his life-saving work going.

It was a daring thing to do, and it was denounced and deplored by Doctor Couney's fellow physicians. Yet they sent him their premature patients. A few weeks in a side show was, after all, better than the certain death which so many of the infants faced.

The babies were shown in crude incubators with tops and walls of glass. The public gladly paid to see the babies being fed, washed, and changed. The infants were earning their own keep and, more important, demonstrating that the hazards of prematurity could be overcome.

Doctor Couney and his mites of life toured Europe. The show was so successful there that he came to the United States to display his "stars" at Coney Island, Chicago's Century of Progress, and the New York World's Fair of 1939-40. It has been estimated that more than 7000 premature infants got a firm grasp on life in Doctor Couney's unusual venture in medicine and showmanship. Later progress in the care of "premies" owes much to the daring pioneering work of Doctor Couney.

What about the babies deformed in recent years by the drug, thalidomide? Will some of them ever appear in side shows?

That was no isolated incident like, say, the birth of a midget out of every one million babies," says Eagle. "It was a tragedy that could have happened of in any family. So, I'm sure the public will never tolerate commercialization of any of those children -- now or in the future. And right here let me say that what the doctors have done to help those babies with artificial aids is a near-miracle in my book."

Eagle speaks knowingly on many things medical. How has he come by this knowledge?

"Well," says Eagle, "I've talked with a lot of doctors over the years. In fact, some of my best customers have been doctors. They come to the side show because they're interested rather than just curious. We've been a clinic of sorts, you might say. For example, see the lady sword swallower up there on the platform? Just the other day, some doctors came to watch her act and question her about how she does it. They wanted to find out how she controls the cough reflex -- an occupational hazard of the trade. And they arranged for x-ray pictures of the whole works. Said they would write an article called 'The Sword Swallower's Syndrome' -- whatever that means."

Eagle also pointed out that doctors have been drawn to side shows to observe conditions that they might never see otherwise. "We've had some people, for instance, with rare skin disorders -- like the Elephant Skin Boy and the Blue Man. Doctors used to ask for consultations with these people and I usually went along. That's how I've picked up odds and ends of medical information."

Eagle also admitted to an early fling with an old-time medicine show. He recalled the days when it was possible to sell -- or "pitch" as he put it -- an amazing assortment of balms, herbs, tonics, salves, and elixirs that were equally good for man or beast. But those days, he sighed, are gone forever.

On this point, Eagle revealed a gap in his medical information. For the fact is that the medicine man is still active. He has merely updated his guise. Today he is a self-styled "nutritionist" -- a door-to-door salesman of "health foods" and "nutritive supplements" which, despite their more sophisticated ingredients, are worth no more than the concoctions of yesterday's medical showman.