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                                 CONTENTS
                                                          PAGE


  JAMES GORDON BENNETT’S EDITORIAL CAREER.                   2

  INCOMPARABLE MEANNESS.                                     5

  SPECTRES AND HOBGOBLINS.                                   6

  TO JAMES GORDON BENNETT AND FREDERIC HUDSON, HIS
     CUNNING SECRETARY.                                      6

  THE WAY NEW YORK IS BAMBOOZLED.                            7

  STARTLING REVELATIONS.                                     8

  LIFE OF STEPHEN H. BRANCH.                                10




[Illustration: STEPHEN H. BRANCH’S ALLIGATOR.]

  Volume I.—No. 9.]      SATURDAY, JUNE 19, 1858.      [Price 2 Cents.




James Gordon Bennett’s Editorial Career.


Bennett left his native hills of Scotland in 1819, and arrived in
Boston in 1820. After enduring the tortures of poor Goldsmith (as
teacher, traveler, editor, and author) for fifteen years, he takes the
basement of the crumbling ruin at No. 20 Wall street, and advertises
for a boy, when John Kelly (now a Member of Congress from the Fourth,
Sixth, Tenth, and Fourteenth Wards) thus responds:

_Enter John Kelly in rags and barefooted._

_John_—Mr. Bennett: Mother says you advertised for a boy, and sent me
to ask you for the situation.

_Bennett_—What’s your name?

_John_—Johnny Kelly.

_Bennett_—Where do you live?

_John_—In the Fourteenth Ward.

_Bennett_—How long have you been in this country?

_John_—I have always been in this beautiful country.

_Bennett_—Aint you an Irish boy?

_John_—No, sir,—I am an American boy, and I’m very glad I am an
American.

_Bennett_—Why are you glad of that?

_John_—Because George Washington was an American, and I dearly love
his memory, because he always spoke the truth, and was good and brave,
and loved and saved his country.

_Bennett_—Who told you all this?

_John_—My grandfather first told me of Washington’s greatness, and
goodness, and bravery, and since he died, I have read the Life of
Washington several times.

_Bennett_—Where was your grandfather born?

_John_—In Scotland.

_Bennett_—Ah! then, you are of Scotch descent?

_John_—Yes, sir.

_Bennett_—Did you ever hear of Wallace?

_John_—Yes, sir, and of William Tell, and his son Albert, of
Switzerland. Grandfather told me all about their courageous deeds and
great love of country.

_Bennett_—Where were your parents born?

_John_—In poor old Ireland.

_Bennett_—Why did they leave their country?

_John_—Because liberty was dead, and the people starving, and sorely
oppressed by tyrants.

_Bennett_—Who crushed the liberty of Ireland?

_John_—England, Scotland, and Wales.

_Bennett_—That will do, my boy, and I am pleased with your
intelligence and love of liberty, though you should not denounce the
glorious Scotland, because your grandfather came from its pretty vales
and majestic mountains.

_John_—If Scotland and Wales had sympathised with Ireland, and fought
her battles for freedom, the sweetest and greenest Isle of all the
earth would now be free like my dear America, and Scotland and Wales
could also have enjoyed the blessings of liberty.


_Enter Washer Woman._

_Washer Woman_—And so I have caught the old Scotch Serpent at last,
eh? I have been here a dozen times, and also at your last boarding
house, which you left without paying a poor widow (with five young
children) for your board, and she is very sick in consequence of your
cowardly villainy, and is about to have another child, and her landlord
told her yesterday that she must move immediately, or he would turn her
into the street, for not paying her rent. But I’ll stand none of your
wickedness. And now, Bennett, if you don’t instantly pay me for washing
and mending your filthy and ragged clothes, I will rope you on the
spot. (She takes a rope from behind her apron.)

_Bennett_—Call in the morning, and I will certainly pay you.

_Washer Woman_—I shall do no such thing, you lying diddler. I will
have it now, or I will rope you, and pull your hair, and scratch and
bite, and maul you to a jelly. (She approaches him with menacing
gestures.)

_Bennett_—There, good woman,—there’s your money. (She seizes it and
departs, wagging her head and body with victorious vociferations.)

_Bennett_—There, Master Kelly, you perceive that I am very poor.

_John_—Yes, sir, and so am I, and I like to be with the poor, because
they are far more kind and generous than the rich.

_Bennett_ (wiping a tear from his eye)—My boy, I can see a noble heart
in your breast, and you remind me of the happy friends I left in my
native land, whom I may never see again, and who are ignorant of the
terrible vicissitudes through which I have passed, since I left my dear
father’s roof.

_John_—What country is yours?

_Bennett_—Scotland.

_John_—Ah! Scotland! My adored grandfather’s native home! O, I love
you much better, now that I learn you came from Scotland.

_Bennett_—No more of this, dear boy. I cannot talk of my present
poverty, and of my native skies, without sad emotions. And now to
business. Can you write a handsome hand?

_John_—I can write a plain hand.

_Bennett_—Can you spell well?

_John_—Tolerably well, for a poor boy.

_Bennett_—Do you understand figures?

_John_—Better than spelling or writing.

_Bennett_—How much do you want a week?

_John_—Enough to buy shoes and jacket and trowsers, and pay my father
and mother something for my food and lodging.

_Bennett_—Well, if you prove active, and answer my purpose, I will
reward you according to my success in my new enterprise.

_John_—When do you want me to come?

_Bennett_—You may stay now, and, after sweeping out the office, and
folding that pile of papers in the corner, which I could not sell
yesterday, you can accompany me to my Printers, Anderson & Ward, in Ann
street, for the _Herald_ papers of to-day. (John sprinkles and sweeps
out, and folds the papers in half an hour, and he and Bennett start for
Ann street.)

_Bennett_ (at his printer’s in Ann street)—Mr. Anderson, are my papers
ready?

_Anderson_—Yes, but you can’t have them until you pay me for them.

_Bennett_—I have not got enough.

_Anderson_—Then you can’t have them.

_Bennett_—But the newsboys are outside, waiting for them.

_Anderson_—I can’t help that.

_Bennett_—But, my dear sir, do let me have them.

_Anderson_—I shan’t do it.

_Bennett_—Will you take my watch?

_Anderson_—I have taken that twenty times, and, as I am not a
pawnbroker, I am sick of taking your watch as security for the results
of my honest labor.

_Bennett_—Do take it once more.

_Anderson_—I told you, when you last redeemed it, that I should not
take it again.

_Bennett_ (crying)—Do take it once more, Mr. Anderson.

_Anderson_—No, sir. Here, Rufus, put these Heralds in a box, and nail
it, and take the box to my house.

_John_—Do take his watch once more, kind sir. Mr. Bennett has just
employed me, and I’m not afraid to trust him. Besides, just look at
his tears. See how big they are, and how fast they flow and roll down
his manly cheeks. Do, sir, O do let him have the papers, and spare his
tears, and heal his broken heart.

_Anderson_ (looking over his spectacles)—Who the devil are you?

_John_—I am Johnny Kelly.

_Anderson_—What! Does your father live in the Fourteenth Ward?

_John_—Yes, sir, and that’s just where I was born, and have always
lived, and always mean to, and die there also, and, if possible, I
intend to be buried there, in some beautiful cemetery, because I most
fondly love the good and generous people of the Fourteenth Ward. And
now, Mr. Anderson, have I not often seen you at my father’s, on winter
evenings, telling each other funny and pleasing stories of the past?

_Anderson_—Seen me at your father’s, you young rogue? Why, to be sure
you have. I came to America with your father and mother, and my wife
was present when you were born in Mott street, and after your mother
got well, we had a great frolic at your Christening, and went to the
Park Theatre, and you were the fattest and prettiest baby I ever saw.

_John_—You don’t say so? Give me your hand—

_Anderson_ (jumping over the counter)—and a kiss, too, you rosy little
rascal. (Kisses him, and then turns to Bennett.) There, Bennett, take
your papers, and give me your old dumb silver turnip once more, but
I’ll be hanged before I will ever take it again. And you may attribute
your good luck this time to this bright and pretty and honest little
boy, whom I have loved since his infancy. (Bennett and John take the
papers, and let the boys outside have some, and then depart for No. 20
Wall street.)

_Bennett_ (on his way to Wall street)—Well, my lad, you have saved me
to-day, and I’ll remember it with gratitude as long as I live. Tell
your father and mother that I will come and see them on Sunday evening,
and take tea with them. You can tell them that I will let you have
money enough on Saturday night to get you a pair of shoes, as it won’t
do for you to be my clerk with naked feet. Besides, I’m afraid you will
get nails or splinters in your bare feet, and have the lock jaw. So,
John, you had better ask your father to let you wear his shoes until
Saturday.

_John_—Daddy hasn’t got any shoes. He has been sick a long time with
inflammatory rheumatism, and he can’t work any more, and he is obliged
to go barefooted like myself.

_Bennett_—Good Lord! Then ask your mother to let you wear her shoes
until Saturday.

_John_—Mother aint got but one pair, and they are slippers, and nearly
worn out.

_Bennett_—Well, then, I must try to get you some second-hand shoes in
the morning. I have only one pair myself, but I think I can borrow some
that are considerably worn from one of my room-mates. So, good day,
Johnny, and come down early in the morning, and I guess I’ll have some
protection for your tender feet.

_John_—Good day, sir, and I hope you will not cry any more until I see
you.

_Bennett_—I thank you, my dear boy, for your genial sympathy, and I
will strive not to cry again until I see you. So, good by.

_John_—Good by, sir. (They separate.)

(To be continued.)




Incomparable Meanness.


I taught Richard T. Compton grammar and composition, while he was
President of the Board of Aldermen, at his residence, for which he
never fully paid me. I also went nearly two years to Ambrose C.
Kingsland’s princely residence in Fifth Avenue, for the purpose of his
education in spelling, grammar, and composition, and he has never paid
me. Dick Compton’s Bill is small compared with Kingsland’s, who owes me
a large sum. President Compton and Ex-Mayor Kingsland were the most
corrupt men ever in the City Hall. I have asserted, and still assert,
and intend to assert, to the very last hour of my existence, that one
of my Aldermanic pupils of the scabby Common Councils of 1851 and 1852,
assured me that Ex-Mayor Kingsland made more money while Mayor in
1851 and 1852, than all the Mayors who preceded him, and that he (my
Aldermanic pupil) was an eye witness to many of Kingsland’s plundering
operations. So, Compton and Kingsland, just put all this in your
pipes and smoke it, and now, if you attempt to violate my person (for
publishing what I and you know to be true, and what I yearn to prove
in the Courts,) you can come on as soon as you please, and if I don’t
tumble your thievish carcases into the liquid fires of hell, I shall
prove an unworthy advocate of the millions you have robbed and tried
to starve, and of the land of Greene and Perry from which I proudly
hail. I dunned Kingsland a long time for my just dues, and wearied and
shocked with his meanness, I sent him a letter long since, presenting
him with my entire claim for learning him to spell the simplest words.
And if he will publish my letter, I will give him a clock, gilded with
gold and silver, as an ornament to the Chief parlor of his gorgeous
mansion, which he stole from the poor creatures who crawl in nakedness
to the corner groceries for food to keep them from the grave. I
recently asked Compton for an advertisement for the _Alligator_, in
order to indirectly get the money he owes me for instruction, but he
even declined the advertisement. And now I publicly give him the entire
balance of my claim against him for instruction, while he was President
of the Board of Aldermen. Compton was as corrupt when he was in the
Common Council in 1845 and 1846, as he was in 1852 and 1853. His Ice
Partner, Joseph Britton, was Assistant Alderman of the Fifteenth Ward
in 1848, and Alderman in 1849, 1850, and 1851, and (as Chairman of the
Finance Committee, in connection with James M. Bard,) he did not steal
over $200,000. It is most time for Compton and Britton to return to the
Common Council, and make fresh grabs at the pockets and throats of the
people, who should seize such villains and hang them in the Park, and
thrust their worthless bones into a felon’s grave.




Stephen H. Branch’s Alligator.

NEW YORK, SATURDAY, JUNE 19, 1858.

 STEPHEN H. BRANCH’S “ALLIGATOR” CAN BE obtained at all hours, (day
 or night,) at wholesale and retail, at No. 128 Nassau Street, Near
 Beekman Street, and opposite Ross & Tousey’s News Depot, New York.




Spectres and Hobgoblins.


Poor _Helen Jewett’s_ ghost appeared to James Gordon Bennett last
night, and he leaped from his bed, (_a la_ Richard from his tent,) and
sweat terribly, and his jaws clattered, and his frame trembled, and he
screamed for Grinnell and others to come to his relief. But they could
not respond, because they were long since bled to death in the rear
of the City Hospital, and are at the High Court of God, awaiting the
speedy arrival of Bennett’s soul, which they will convict of crimes
that will consign his wicked spirit to wasteless fires!




To James Gordon Bennett and Frederic Hudson, his Cunning Secretary.


How many members of your families and _Herald_ spies are quartered
in the Departments of our Municipal Government? in the Post Office?
in the Custom House? in the Departments at Washington? I am
anxious to know, and, if you don’t soon publish the interminable
list, I will. Is Robert, your former book-keeper, and other family
relatives, still in the Custom House, and other public stations,
and to keep them there, do you jump Jim Crow from Fremont to
Buchanan, and defend the everlasting Wetmore robbers, and the
brothers Schell, and other public plunderers? You know you do, you
double-dyed villains. And you know that I know that Bennett and
Fred and Ned Hudson, and black-mail-bottle-holder-Galbraith, and
“Obscene-publication”-”British-alien”-”thirty-days-in-the-Tombs”-”Drury”
-”go-between”-Fire Marshal Baker, are an irredeemable band of
consummate scamps. I mean to strip, and lash, and brand yourselves and
whole tribe of vultures, so that you cannot longer deceive the people.
So, prepare, ye two-faced, nauseous, scabby, leprous, and hellish gang
of thieves, for a dissection that will enlarge the eyes of honest men,
and make them stare like affrighted owls. You have quoted Scripture
long enough, and I intend that you shall hereafter quote from your
friend the Devil, and cease your hypocrisy.




The Way New York is Bamboozled.

 “_First Annual Report of the American and Foreign Emigrant Protective
 and Employment Society_,” of which _Peter Cooper_ is President, and
 _Horace Greeley_ and _Solon Robinson_ are Directors.


ANNUAL STATEMENT.

_Receipts to date, from all sources—April 30, 1855._

  By cash received in donations,
    subscriptions, fees, &c.,                 $7,822 67
                                              —————————
                                              $7,822 67

_Payments to Date—April 30, 1855._

  Cash paid for repairs and offices             $350 38
         ”      furniture and office
                  fittings,                      444 50
         ”      rents, firing, &c.,            1,113 92
         ”      salaries,                      3,663 20
         ”      petty disbursements,             310 07
         ”      advertisements,                  356 73
         ”      books, stationery and
                  printing,                      525 75
         ”      licenses,                         50 00
         ”      _transportation of emigrants_,   482 33
  Balance of cash on band,                       525 79
                                              —————————
                                              $7,822 67

We do hereby certify that we have examined the books of account of the
American and Foreign Emigrant Protective and Employment Society, and
audited the above account, and find the same correct.

  JASPER E. CORNING, }
  H. PLANTEN,        } _Committee_.

  NEW YORK, May 22, 1855.

So that “$482,33, _for transportation of emigrants_,” was every cent
(out of the annual receipts of $7,822,67) that was devoted to the
legitimate objects of the Society. This is the boldest robbery of a
Charitable Society on record, though the following is close at its
heels:

_Official Statement_ of the _Hunter Woodis Academy of Music Calico
Ball_.

  Receipts, (rogues’ exhibit,)                $9,202 30
  Expenses, (rogues’ exhibit,)                4,288 72
                                              —————————
  Balance disbursed for _John Hecker’s_
    Bread, with a very small balance
    still in the hands of rogues              4,913 58

Peter Cooper was also President of this Ball, and Mayor Tiemann and
James W. Gerard the Secondary Managers.

 _Official Statement_ of the _Crystal Palace Ball_, of which Peter
 Cooper was the President, and Mayor Tiemann and James W. Gerard the
 Secondary Managers.

  Receipts, (rogues’ exhibit,)          $10,147 38
  Expenses, (rogues’ exhibit,)            6,828 03
                                        ——————————
  Balance still in hands of the Hunter
    Woodis Roguish Managers,              3,319 35

So that not one cent of the enormous receipts of this famous Ball has
been devoted to the purchase of one little loaf of John Hecker’s Bread,
nor to the relief of the indigent thousands, whom the receipts of this
Ball were intended to relieve. The _Hunter Woodis Society_ Managers
told me on Monday last, that the receipts of the Crystal Palace Ball
were §10,147,38, and that the expenses were $6,828,03, leaving a
balance in the hands of their Treasurer of $3,319,35, which is now
in their Safe, and that they have not disbursed one cent for bread
nor any thing else for the relief of the poor, and do not intend to,
until the next winter. I had a long interview with the officers of the
self-constituted _Hunter Woodis Society_, (at their official quarters,)
who are remarkably well clad, and smelt very strongly of cologne and
pomatum, and they seemed extremely happy in their gaudy easy chairs,
and I learn that they can often be seen on the fashionable avenues with
fast steeds, and at the Italian Opera, and the aristocratic clubs. One
of the leaders of the _Hunter Woodis Society_ (doubtless fearing that
I was about to let loose my _Alligator_ upon himself and associates,)
breathed honied words during my visit to the Society, and boldly said
that Peter Cooper was anything but an honest man, but that the _Hunter
Woodis_ Managers were all honorable men, and that all the members of
the _Hunter Woodis Society_ were Know Nothings. He told me this three
times, lest I should forget it, the fool supposing that I regarded Know
Nothing thieves with less abhorrence than Irish or British thieves, of
the Busteed, Connolly, or Matsell brand. I believe that most of the
charitable funds of the “American and Foreign Emigrant Protective and
Employment Society,” and of the “Academy of Music and Crystal Palace
Balls,” have gone into the pockets and bellies and bladders of the
scoundrels who collected those sacred funds for the immediate relief of
the Emigrants and Starving Poor of New York.




Startling Revelations.


In my coming revelations of Bennett and Hudson’s rascalities, I shall
prove that the former strove to black mail me during my protracted
Mnemonic Controversy with Professor Francis Fauvel Gourard in 1843, for
which I drew a revolver on _Satan_ in the _Herald_ office. I shall also
prove that I got Bennett the Corporation Printing at $3,000 per annum,
through my influence with my Aldermanic pupils,—that I wrote the
Printing Report, proposing to give Bennett $3,000 a year for the Common
Council Printing, and the other Journals only $1,000 a year,—that I
told Bennett I was teaching the Aldermen, and, among them, Alderman A.
A. Denman, of the Sixteenth Ward, who was Chairman of the Committee
to whom the Corporation Printing was referred,—that I bet Bennett
$100 that I would get the Corporation Printing for the _Herald_ at
$3,000 per annum,—that I not only wrote the Printing Report for the
Committee, but got it adopted by both Boards of the Common Council,
and got the Mayor to sign it, when Bennett gave me the $100, which was
a part of the $250 that I have only received from Bennett during my
voluntary connection with the _Herald_ since 1836,—that after I got
the Corporation Printing for Bennett, I continued to scourge the Common
Council through the Fire Reports of Alfred Carson, and a Caucus was
held, and a vote passed, demanding me to cease my philippics against
the Common Council, because they had given Bennett the Corporation
Printing at my request,—that I told the Alderman who was delegated
by the Aldermanic Caucus to request me to cease my philippics, that I
should not comply with their monstrous demand, and that I would see
Bennett and Hudson and the _Herald_ effaced from the earth, before
I would desert Alfred Carson and his noble band of firemen,—that
this Alderman then went to Bennett, (by direction of the Caucus,) and
requested him not to publish my Fire philippics against the Common
Council, and Bennett, (fearing they would deprive him of the Printing
if he refused,) cowardly and mercenarily complied, and also pledged
himself to conceal the anticipated robberies of 1852 and 1853,—that
the Common Council was so pleased with Bennett’s course, that they
made him overtures, through which he acquired a princely fortune,
as he did under Fernando Wood’s administration,—that one of the
members of the Committee, who reported in favor of Bennett’s Printing,
(who was my pupil,) received by a vote of the Common Council, 204
valuable lots on the banks of the East River, which he holds to this
day,—that this corrupt Alderman boldly besought me, at his house at
midnight, to abandon Alfred Carson, and go into the embraces of the
Common Council, which would ensure me a splendid fortune,—that I
nearly smote him on the spot with my maledictions and my indignant
glances,—that this Alderman was a bosom friend and confidant of the
then Aldermen Tiemann and Peter Cooper,—that he is the sacred friend
of Mayor Tiemann and Peter Cooper now,—that Mayor Tiemann and Peter
Cooper fear this Alderman, who has known them and all their political
villainy since 1828,—that this is the Alderman who first told me
of Mayor Tiemann’s and Peter Cooper’s public robberies,—that Mayor
Tiemann was an Alderman of the Common Council that gave Bennett the
Corporation Printing, and voted for it,—that this Alderman introduced
me to Alderman Tiemann on the very day that Tiemann originated the
Ward Island Purchases, which have been and are the foulest sources of
corruption and plunder in the annals of municipal legislation,—that
Tiemann and this Alderman acted in concert in the Ward Island
Purchases, and he assured me at the time that Tiemann was the slyest
and most pliable member of the Board of Aldermen, when there was an
enormous sum to be made at one grab, but that Tiemann would not peril
his reputation by embarking in small plundering operations—that Gov.
Wm. T. Pinkney recently told me in the rear of his Insurance Office in
Wall street, that this was precisely Tiemann’s course while a member
of the Board of Ten Governors, who never could be drawn into small
operations. I will also prove that Bennett has always been a Secret
Corporation Plunderer, and also a State and National Thief,—that his
unceasing denunciation of the Common Council, and the Legislature,
and Congress, is only to blind the people, and enable him to steal
the more,—that Frederick Hudson, his Secretary, while Bennett was in
Europe, got $30,000 from the Common Council, for suppressing one of
Alfred Carson’s terrible philippics against the Corporation, at the
election of all the Assistant Engineers of the Fire Department,—that
one of my Aldermanic pupils assured me that §30,000 was the sum that
Hudson received, and which I publicly nailed on the brow of Hudson at
the time, in the _New York Sun_, and other Journals, including the
_Firemen’s Journal_. These are only some of the numerous villanies I
shall prove against these scoundrels. I will also show that Bennett and
Fred and Ned Hudson conceived the Parker Vein and Potosi Swindles,
through which thousands were ruined, including widows and orphans,
and my brother William and his wife and interesting children, who
were reduced from affluence and happiness, to utter destitution. Poor
brother William is now a skeleton and shadow and wanderer in the
streets of Saint Louis, and forever separated from his wife and adored
offspring, through the heartless mercenary machinations and deviltry
of Bennett and the Hudsons of the _Herald_. When the details of these
Revelations are spread before the world, the question will be forever
settled as to the overshadowing Black Mail Operations of the _New York
Herald_.


      Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by

                          STEPHEN H. BRANCH,

 In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for
                  the Southern District of New York.




Life of Stephen H. Branch.


From Louisville I went to Wheeling, and thence to Baltimore, where I
visited a noble youth who had been my classmate, and during my illness
at Columbian College, he was ever by my side, when young White was
absent. He was now an invalid, and about to leave for the Mediterranean
in a clipper vessel, owned by his father, and strongly urged me to
accompany him without charge. In about a week we left Baltimore for
Gibraltar, with the captain, first and second mate, and a choice crew.
We had but one gale in the Atlantic, and, after a brief sojourn at
Gibraltar, we passed on, touching at various ports, until we reached
Alexandria. We visited the Pyramids, and passed a moonlight evening
on the Nile, and went to Damascus, Jerusalem, Constantinople, Athens,
and Rome, where we sailed on the Tiber, and reveled on the soil of
the departed Romans. We left for Baltimore, and had terrific gales
in the Mediterranean, and in the Atlantic. About ten days before our
arrival in Baltimore, my friend died, which shook me to the soul with
grief. On our arrival at Baltimore, his father and mother and sisters
kissed the dust in agony, and treated me like a son or brother. The
father gave me $100, and I departed for New York, in deep affliction
at my irreparable loss of a generous youth who had been so kind to
me. I became ill, and nearly died, and exhausted the $100, and wrote
to father, who sent me money, and I recovered after a severe struggle
with the arrows of death. I again saw Lewis Tappan, and began to teach
colored persons, for which I received a miserable pittance. I now
obtained board in Beekman street, with Mrs. Tripler, some of whose
boarders were named Thompson, Woodbury, Chapman, and Cuniffe. A Mr.
Bliss boarded there, who had been an eminent bookseller, and an early
friend to William Cullen Bryant, and, as he was now very poor, Mr.
Bryant obtained a situation for him in the Custom House. Mr. Bryant
often came to Mrs. Tripler’s to see Mr. Bliss, and they weekly dined
at the Spanish Hotel, in Fulton street. It was a pleasing and noble
spectacle to behold Mr. Bryant’s fidelity to Mr. Bliss in his penury
and old age. Henry J. Raymond (now editor of the _New York Times_) was
in the employ of Horace Greeley, at $4 a week, with a promise of more,
if he _proved true_ to Greeley, and became an expert paragraphist.
Raymond roomed and slept with my brother Thomas, at a boarding house
in Beekman street, near mine, and they each paid $1 75 a week, for
board and lodging, exclusive of washing, ironing, and mending. Their
room was next to the roof, and their only window was the sky light.
There was a large pillar in the centre of their funny little extra
attic cubby-hole, which had recently been placed there, to prevent
the dilapidated and shrunken and sunken roof from utterly caving in,
and burying the entire inhabitants of the superannuated edifice,
including the Lieutenant Governor in embryo of the Empire State. A man
ninety-four years old lived over the way, who told me that he was born
in the venerable building in question, and that his aged aunt often
told him that she was born there, and that the building could not be
less than one hundred and seventy years old. I closely examined the
beams and chimneys, and formed the opinion that it had seen not less
than two hundred winters, including summer tornadoes. I often visited
brother Thomas, and always dreaded climbing the ladder that led to his
and Raymond’s apartment. And when I entered their comic room, I had
to take off my hat, and squat down, and often when I arose to depart,
I bumped my head severely against the pigeon-house ceiling. But Tommy
and the proud Governor and Editor in the invisible future were very
short, and could walk erect as turkeys without bumping their heads, and
they really seemed to enjoy their little oven amazingly. They had but
one squeaking cot, (that Parson Brown, their host, bought at auction,)
and only one stool, and a pine table with only three legs. The fourth
leg was Raymond’s cane, which he placed under the table when he wrote
his $4 a week articles for Greeley’s _Tribune_. And it was a funny
spectacle for me to see Raymond seated on the stool, beside the three
legged pine table, (with his hair shaved to the skull.) writing for his
life, with Tom on the squealing cot, waiting for Raymond to close his
last paragraph, so that he (Tom) could have a chance to write a letter
in answer to an Advertiser in the _New York Sun_ for a clerk. They had
no wash bowl, nor pitcher, nor comb, nor looking glass, and washed
their hands and face in the yard with cistern water. I bought a pocket
comb for Tommy, which he often loaned to Raymond, and finally sold it
to him for a free ticket to a concert, which Greeley gave Raymond. I
at last obtained a situation for Tommy, and about daylight rushed into
his boarding house, (the door was always open all night,) and up I flew
the last flight of stairs and precarious ladder, and popped into their
cosy room, and there they lay, reposing and dreaming of the past, and
of better days in perspective. Tommy was on his side, and his face
was partially eclipsed with his sheet, but Raymond was flat on his
back, and he had a tooth-ache poultice on his cheek, covered with his
handkerchief, which encircled his head around his ears, and he looked
pale, and plaintive, and care worn, and I pitied him. I softly thrust
my hand into the clothes, in pursuit of Tom’s feet, which I began to
tickle, when Tom (who was always as nervous and ticklish as a very
susceptible girl) suddenly popped over on the other side, and gave
Raymond’s poultice n bang, when the latter gave a growl, and popped
over on his other side, and, in doing so, dislocated his poultice,
which came out in great profusion, and run all over his face and down
into his neck, and the bed clothes, and yet the Governor and Editor in
embryo snored on, as though nothing had transpired. I then made another
lunge for Tommy’s feet, and grabbed one, and held it, and tickled it
tremendously, which proved to be Raymond’s, who darted up from his
pillow, and exclaimed: “Sir: What under Heaven are you doing with my
feet? I demand you to let them alone. I despise your impertinence,”
and, without waiting for my explanation or apology, he violently buried
himself in the clothes, and off he went into a profound and noisy
slumber. I seized Tom by his ear and hair and arm, and dragged him from
the bed, and he unconsciously pulled all the bed clothes with him,
as he was yet about half asleep. It always took about half an hour to
thoroughly arouse Tom from his morning orisons. But when I told Tom
I had got him a situation, he awoke mighty quick. Raymond was so mad
to find himself stripped of all the bed clothes, that he threatened
to tell Parson Brown, the host, but Tom told him if he did, that he
would give him the worst thrashing he ever had, which made Raymond
tremble. Although Tom was much shorter and weighed infinitely less than
Raymond, yet he could strike a powerful blow, and Raymond knew it.
Tom and Raymond slept together two nights after that, without saying
a word to each other, but Sunday morning came, and as Raymond was a
stiff Presbyterian, and attended Dr. Potts’ Church, he extended the
hand of forgiveness and friendship to little Tommy, who accepted his
apology, and they were sweeter friends than ever. I now get mournful
intelligence from New Orleans and Providence. I receive news of the
death of my dear brother Albert at New Orleans, and my father writes me
that my wife’s father told him that he was about to induce his daughter
to apply for a divorce from me. My father told him that I had been in
delicate health for several years, which had kept me very poor,—that
he was obliged, from humanity, to send me money occasionally, and that
under these melancholy circumstances, and in view of all that had
transpired in previous years, if he chose to induce his daughter to
apply for a divorce, he could not help it, and that probably neither
himself nor myself would oppose it. My father-in-law then said that
there was no alternative, and his daughter would apply for a divorce
immediately, and my father and father-in-law bade each other a cold
farewell, and never recognised each other afterwards. The divorce soon
followed, to which I made not the shadow of resistance. What rendered
the divorce extremely painful was the almost daily visits of my wife
to my father’s house ever since my disastrous crisis in 1837, when
I was confined in the Providence jail. And even after the divorce,
my faithful and unfortunate wife continued her visits to my father’s
for a long period, without the knowledge of her father and mother,
and wept, and wailed, (as my step mother has often told me,) like the
disconsolate and ever-weeping Niobe. My father-in-law owned several
ships, and not long after the divorce, the carrying trade was suddenly
paralysed, and he failed for an immense sum, and he struggled, and
tottered, and fell, and never recovered his commercial position. And
the magnificent mansion in which I was married, was violently seized
during his occupation, and his furniture thrown into the street,
and himself and family ruthlessly ejected from its palacious halls.
I lamented his downfall, but his fellow merchants did not, as they
ever regarded him as a merciless miser. I brooded long on my wife’s
calamities and my own, and with a melancholy heart I went to Saint
Thomas’s Church on a cloudy summer day, and the Sexton politely
escorted me to a pew. I had not long been seated, when a youth entered
with beautiful eyes and hair and features of touching sadness, and
took a seat beside me. He so strongly resembled a youth named Charles
Manton, who early died, (and whom I loved as no other being not of my
kindred blood,) that I could not withdraw my eyes from his fascinating
form and expression. During the prayers and chaunts, we divided the
sacred book between us, and at the close of the exercises, we left the
pew together. As we were about to leave the church, I inquired his
name, and residence, which he readily imparted, informing me that his
name was Charles A. Jesup,—that he had recently lost his father,—that
his mother resided in

(To be continued to our last dream.)




Advertisements—25 Cents a line.


Credit—From two to four seconds, or as long as the Advertiser can hold
his breath! Letters and Advertisements to be left at No. 128 Nassau
street, third floor, back room.


ALANSON T. BRIGGS—DEALER IN FLOUR BARRELS, Molasses Casks, Water, and
all other kinds of Casks. Also, new flour barrels and half-barrels; a
large supply constantly on hand. My Stores are at Nos. 62, 63, 64, 69,
73, 75, 77 and 79 Rutger’s Slip; at 235, 237, and 239 Cherry street;
also, in South and Water streets, between Pike and Rutger’s Slip,
extending from street to street. My yards in Williamsburgh are at
Furman & Co.’s Dock. My yards in New York are at the corner of Water
and Gouverneur streets; and in Washington street, near Canal; and at
Leroy Place. My general Office is at 64 Rutger’s Slip.

  ALANSON T. BRIGGS.


SAMUEL SNEDEN, SHIP & STEAMBOAT BUILDER.—My Office is at No.
81 Corlears street, New York; and my yards and residence are at
Greenpoint. I have built Ships and Steamers for every portion of the
Globe, for a long term of years, and continue to do so on reasonable
terms.

  SAMUEL SNEDEN.


JOHN B. WEBB, BOAT BUILDER, 718 WATER STREET. My Boats are of models
and materials unsurpassed by those of any Boat Builder in the World.
Give me a call, and if I don’t please you, I will disdain to charge you
for what does not entirely satisfy you.

  JOHN B. WEBB.


FULTON IRON WORKS.—JAMES MURPHY & CO., manufacturers of Marine and
Land Engines, Boilers, &c. Iron and Brass Castings. Foot of Cherry
street, East River.


BRADDICK & HOGAN, SAILMAKERS, No. 272 South Street, New York.

Awnings, Tents, and Bags made to order.

  JESSE A. BRADDICK,
  RICHARD HOGAN.


WILLIAM M. SOMERVILLE, WHOLESALE AND Retail Druggist and Apothecary,
205 Bleecker st, corner Minetta, opposite Cottage Place, New York.
All the popular Patent Medicines, fresh Swedish Leeches, Cupping, &c.
Physicians’ Prescriptions accurately prepared.

  WM. M. SOMERVILLE.


A. W. & T. HUME, MERCHANT TAILORS, No. 82 Sixth Avenue, New York. We
keep a large and elegant assortment of every article that a gentleman
requires. We make Coats, Vests and Pants, after the latest Parisian
fashions, and on reasonable terms.

  A. W. & T. HUME.


THE WASHINGTON, BY BARTLETT & GATES, No. 1 Broadway, New York. Come
and see us, good friends, and eat and drink and be merry, in the same
capacious and patriotic halls where the immortal Washington’s voice and
laugh once reverberated.

  O come to our Hotel,
  And you’ll be treated well.

  BARTLETT & GATES.


J. N. GENIN, FASHIONABLE HATTER, 214 Broadway, New York.


GENIN’S LADIES’ & CHILDREN’S OUTFITTING Bazaar, 513 Broadway, (St
Nicholas Hotel, N. Y.)


EDWARD PHALON & SON, 497 and 517 Broadway, New York—Depots for the
sale of Perfumery, and every article connected with the Toilet.

We now introduce the “BOUQUET D’OGARITA, or Wild Flower of Mexico,”
which is superior to any thing of the kind in the civilized world.

  EDWARD PHALON & SON.


EXCELSIOR PRINTING HOUSE, 211 CENTRE ST., IS furnished with every
facility, latest improved presses, and the newest styles of type—for
the execution of Book, Job and Ornamental Printing. Call and see
specimens.


CHARLES FRANCIS, SADDLER, (ESTABLISHED IN 1808,) Sign of the Golden
Horse, 39 Bowery, New York, opposite the Theatre. Mr. F. will sell his
articles as low as any other Saddler in America, and warrant them to be
equal to any in the World.


H. N. WILD, STEAM CANDY MANUFACTURER, No. 451 Broadway, bet. Grand and
Howard streets, New York. My Iceland Moss and Flaxseed Candy will cure
Coughs and Sneezes in a very short time.


JAMES GRIFFITHS, (Late CHATFIELD & GRIFFITHS,) No. 278 Grand St., New
York. A large stock of well-selected Cloths, Cassimeres, Vestings,
&c.], on hand. Gent’s, Youths’ and Children’s Clothing, Cut and Made in
the most approved style. All cheap for Cash.


AUG. BRENTANO, SMITHSONIAN NEWS DEPOT. Books and Stationery, 608
BROADWAY, corner of Houston Street.

Subscriptions for American or Foreign Papers or Books, from the City or
Country, will be promptly attended to.

Foreign Papers received by every steamer. Store open from 6 A. M. to 11
P. M. throughout the week.


P. C. GODFREY, STATIONER, BOOKSELLER, AND General News dealer, 831
Broadway, New York, near 13th street.

  At Godfrey’s—Novels, Books, &c., all the new ones cheap.
  At Godfrey’s—Magazines, Fancy Articles, &c., cheap.
  At Godfrey’s—Stationery of all kinds cheap.
  At Godfrey’s—All the Daily and Weekly Papers.
  At Godfrey’s—Visiting Cards Printed at 75 cents per pack.
  At Godfrey’s—Ladies Fashion Books of latest date.


C. TYSON, CORNER OF NINTH STREET & SIXTH AVE. Has for sale all the late
Publications of the day, including all the Dally and Weekly Newspapers.


SEE “JOBSON’S RED FLAG,” OF THIS DAY. FOR monstrous news. Published at
No. 102 Nassau Street.




                         TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.

—A Table of Contents was not in the original work; one has been
 produced and added by Transcriber.






End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Stephen H. Branch's Alligator Vol. 1
no. 9, June 19, 1858, by Stephen H. Branch

*** 