Stephen H. Branch's Alligator, Vol. 1 no. 09, June 19, 1858
Author: Unknown
Date: 2015-05-26T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: New York (N.Y.) -- Politics and government

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Stephen H. Branch's Alligator, Vol. 1 no. 09, June 19, 1858

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Title: Stephen H. Branch's Alligator, Vol. 1 no. 09, June 19, 1858

Editor: Stephen H. Branch

Release date: May 26, 2015 [eBook #49053]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STEPHEN H. BRANCH'S ALLIGATOR, VOL. 1 NO. 09, JUNE 19, 1858 ***

| 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

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

STEPHEN H. BRANCH’S
ALLIGATOR.

c2

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.)

c5

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.

c6a

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!

c6b

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.

c7

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.

c8

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.

c10

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.

—The cover image has been created by transcriber and placed in public domain.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STEPHEN H. BRANCH'S ALLIGATOR, VOL. 1 NO. 09, JUNE 19, 1858 ***

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Table of Contents

- STEPHEN H. BRANCH’S ALLIGATOR.

- James Gordon Bennett’s Editorial Career.

- Incomparable Meanness.

- Stephen H. Branch’s Alligator.

- Spectres and Hobgoblins.

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

- The Way New York is Bamboozled.

- ANNUAL STATEMENT.

- Startling Revelations.

- Life of Stephen H. Branch.

- Advertisements—25 Cents a line.

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE