Part 2

Reclining on the velvet banks of the Hudson, were Mayor Kingsland and little Georgy, with steamers, and mariners, and forests, and the full round moon, and radiant stars reflected in the placid waters. With segars, and wine, and luscious cream before them, Georgy said: “Kingsland: I came from Brandon in the ship Perseus, in 1817, and was a valiant youth. Patrick Dickey was a passenger, with 400 others. We exchanged vessels at Halifax, and tarried several months at Perth Amboy, and resided in Banker street, (the Fifth Avenue of those days,) and at Niblo’s Garden, where my father was a fashionable Broadway dandy tailor, on whose big sign was ‘George Matsell, Tailor, from London.’ Our residence was the first brownstone mansion erected on Broadway. My father was of the Paine, Wright, and Owen creed, which I early imbibed. My brother Augustus was the Secretary of Fanny Wright, and I was her enthusiastic disciple, and sold her books, and pretty pictures, which were not obscene, and for which I was not indicted; nor were my associates imprisoned thirty days in the Tombs, whom I induced to visit America. Through Fanny Wright and George II. Purser, (who was the favorite of Fanny,) and Robert Dale Owen, I became a Custom House officer, under Martin Van Buren, and a Police Justice under Mayor Varian, and Chief of Police under Mayor Havemeyer, with whom and all his successors I had great influence. I pulled the nose of every Mayor save Havemeyer, whom I found extremely mulish; and yet I made him fear me when I chose. Although my salary was small, yet I realized a stupendous fortune like yourself, since you began your political career in the First Ward, as a shoulder-hitter, and a candidate for Assistant Alderman, and successful municipal oil contractor. We understand these political ropes and wires, Kingsland, and it is unnecessary to linger on them. You are on the Fifth Avenue, in a Persian Palace, while I adhere to Stanton street, in a humble dwelling, lest I be suspected by my enemies of acquiring vast treasures through my office of Chief. I think you commit a fatal error in your display of magnificence, but I’ll not murmur, as all are responsible for their own sins and imprudence. You may have a boisterous career, and a gust may arise, like that of Astor Place, when you may require my services. My coolness and intrepidity on that occasion, saved the city from universal massacre and conflagration. I judiciously remained in the Opera House, and commanded Woodhull, Talmadge, Westervelt and Sandford, to fire at the mob in the street, or all would have been lost, and the city instantly demolished, and its inhabitants butchered and burned to bleeding fragments and Kansas cinders. I was in the stage-box throughout the frightful spectacle, lest from my immense fat, I might be as palpable a target for the foe, as Daniel Lambert, my remotest ancestor on my Daddy’s side. Lambert is from Lamb, a word of Brandon origin, and hence the mildness of my disposition, although I am terrible in bloody conflicts, where the fate of a city is involved. And the eye of Providence was in my appointment by Havemeyer, and my skillful and courageous direction of the entire Astor Place riots. The Mayor, Recorder, Sheriff, and the General, were pale and timid, and faltered, and it required the lungs of Knox, (who could bellow into the ears of Washington across the icy and tumultuous atmosphere of the Delaware,) and the nervous fat of an immediate descendant of Lambert, and the herculean vigor of Sampson, and the impetuosity of Putnam, to brave the demons of Astor Place who strove to exterminate my countryman the gallant, and graceful, and intellectual Macready, who was right in the introduction of a dance in Hamlet, as Hamlet’s grandfather was a dancing master to the King of Denmark, and hence Ned Forrest had no right to hiss Macready for his testimonial of respect to Hamlet’s grand-father. Shakespeare, himself, was long a correspondent of Hamlet’s grand-father, and introduced the dance in Hamlet from his respect to his old friend, which Johnson ejected during the very year that Shakespeare died, because he had a quarrel with Hamlet’s grand-father in a ball-room, in Denmark, when Johnson not only got licked, but had his nose broken in five places, besides the horrible and irremediable fracture of its tip end. This is the gist of the whole Astor Place quarrel, and MacCready was familiar with all these historical truths, and hence his introduction of the dance in Hamlet. I saved the city and MacCready, and by adroit tactics I saved myself, by adhering to the stage box, (with a pistol in either hand,) until the massacre was over in the street, and the exasperated populace had dispersed, when I rushed into the open air, and knocked down a blind-crippled-music-grinder, and brandished my sword and pistols ferociously, and frightened a little boy almost to death, who was inquiring for his mother. It was hard for me to order the Mayor, Recorder, Sheriff, and General, to fire upon the Americans; but my duty to a fellow-countryman in peril, and to myself, and to the people, whose alien Chief I was,—and, above all, to a God, in whom I ardently believe, and love, and fear, and into whose eternal embrace I expect to go, demanded me to indirectly give the thrilling and fatal word of fire, which hurled a score of beings into the dreary entrails of the globe, and into the sudden and awful presence of our common Deity. And now, Kingsland, my dear boy, in view of my tried courage, and my prodigious influence with the file of Mayors who have preceded you, and of my aid to you in primary elections, and of my powerful recent secret support of you in your nomination and election—and—and—you know, Kingsland, all the rest. I say that, in view of all this, I desire you to let me remain as Chief of Police, for which I will cling to you as I did to Fanny Wright, and Robert Dale Owen, and George H. Purser, and to the City of New York in its hour of peril. Do this, my dear Kingsland, and I will lobby through the Common Council the Ganzevoort jobs, and all the oil contracts you desire, and let you go where you please unmolested; and you can join Messrs. Paine & Phalon in musical, or lottery and policy operations, and buy as many millions of dollars’ worth of land in Williamsburgh and Greenpoint, and own as many licentious houses in Church, and Leonard, and other streets, as you desire, and I will not cull a solitary hair from your beautiful and conscientious skull. What is your response?”

_Kingsland._—“Have I not declared that you were my first choice for Chief of Police?”

_Matsell._—“Yes. But that was only a verbal declaration. I desire the bird in my own cage. I want the fascinating documents under your signature.”

_Kingsland._—“Waiter: Bring me pen, ink and paper. [Writes.] There, Matsell, there it is, but do not use it until I see my political friends, and conciliate them with the assurance that your appointment was absolutely essential to the preservation of the Metropolis from riots, and sword, and fire, and ashes. If I fail to allay their exasperation, I shall send them to you, and if you fail to pacify them with promises of appointment, and those sweet accents that flow like Stuart’s syrup from your ruddy lips, and your oriental bows, and meek scrapes, and cringing smiles,—why, then, you must put your bloodhounds on their track on howling tempest nights, (when only owls dare prowl through the fearful darkness of ether,) who will pursue them to the dens of infamy and revelry, and blasphemy, and obscenity, and dicery, when you will have them in your awful clutches, as you have me. O, God! Matsell, I hardly know what I say. Wine works wonders, and now let us fill our glasses to the brim, and have another dulcet cream, and depart for the Metropolis,—and at our nocturnal farewell, let us kneel and swear beneath the universal concave, that we will cling to each other like Damon and Pythias, or Burr and Arnold, until our wormy conquerors begin their happy feast, and grin and dance over our silent and icy forms in the dreary and awful sepulchre. But remember my oil and other contracts, Matsell. Be piously true to them. When we next meet, I’ll tell you how to effect their continuation with the Aldermen, if you don’t know already, from your limited experience.”

_Chorus._

O, oil is the thing That the stuff will bring, Which will buy sweet cream To eat on life’s stream.

[More ice-cream next Saturday, of a superior quality.]

Supervisor Blunt.

Two more public documents, written by Stephen H. Branch for Orison Blunt, who was Alderman of the Third Ward in 1854, and Alderman of the Fifteenth Ward in 1857, and is now Supervisor from the Fifteenth Ward.

[From the N. Y. Herald, April 22, 1851.]

Paul Julien’s Second Concert.

The youthful artist has created a perfect _furore_ in musical circles—amateurs, professionals, _dilettanti_ and every body else; his talent is wonderful, and his improvement still more remarkable. He has, withal, the modesty which is the companion of true merit. His second concert was given at Niblo’s Saloon, on Thursday evening, and it was attended by as full and fashionable an audience as that which welcomed him on Tuesday evening. Mayseder’s grand variations were given for the second time, upon a single string; the second attempt was even more successful than the first, and the young artist gave the highest proof of genius in overcoming difficulties previously regarded as insurmountable. Another gem of the soiree was a duet for violin and piano-forte, by Julien and Richard Hoffman. It was capitally given and was encored. The vocal part of the concert was given by Mme. Commettant and M’lle. Henrietta Behrend. The enthusiasm of the audience at the matchless execution of Julien was unbounded.

But an episode occurred yesterday which was more telling in its effects than the applause of the audience on Thursday evening. It was a grand “variation” in the form of five one thousand dollar bank notes, a gift to the young musical genius. The following extraordinary letters describe the affair:

NEW YORK, April 21, 1854.

_Master Paul Julien_: I have heard your delightful music in the Concert room, and you have had the kindness to play for myself and friends at my residence. In earlier life I strove to learn the violin, but I abandoned it as too difficult for me. Its intricacies are unconquerable to all save those who are inspired. I have heard of the extraordinary perseverance and severe pecuniary trials through which your father has passed, to impart to you, his only child, a musical education. And I deem the efforts of both father and son highly commendable, and truly worthy of encouragement. I therefore present you with five thousand dollars, which I trust will be consecrated to your intellectual, musical, and moral culture.—Sincerely,

ORISON BLUNT.

[_Turn over for Paul’s response._]

New York, April 21, 1854.

_My Dear Sir_:—Mere words, though brightly glowing with affection, could not express my grateful emotions for your unexampled munificence. Nor could the most stirring strains I ever expect to conceive, reflect the chords you have touched in my heart. I can only assure you, that I will be very studious, and fondly cherish you next to my father and mother. I may soon return to France, and if you should ever visit me, I am sure that my friends would cordially receive you, for your substantial kindness to me during my sojourn in a far distant land. Affectionately,

PAUL JULIEN.

Alderman Orison Blunt, Warren street, New York.

We led Alderman Blunt into this, and we trust the public will not censure him, but lash us most unmercifully for such a vile imposture. Blunt never gave a cent to Paul Julien,—and when we asked him some time afterwards, to aid Paul, he declined; but Alderman Thomas Christy gave Paul $80, to relieve himself and father and mother. When we had our last sad interview with Madame Sontag, just prior to her fatal departure for Mexico, by way of the Lakes, (in a conversation of three hours at her room in the Mansion House in Albany) she assured us there never was such a talented youth as Paul Julien, and that she had adopted him, and warmly besought us never to desert him, not only as his private teacher, but as his pecuniary friend, and we most solemnly promised we would not. After Sontag died in Mexico, Paul became very poor, and as we were also indigent, we hatched this stratagem to deceive the public, and create excitement, and fill a concert room for Paul, and we asked Blunt to sign this sham letter, which he did. We have ever been disgusted with this wicked imposition, and have suffered the compunction of a penitent thief, and we now dash the odium from our conscience, as a midnight spider prowling round our nose. And as it is the only Barnum and Ullman operation in which we ever were enlisted, we trust and believe that the public will forgive us.

James Gordon Bennett knew nothing of our imposition, nor did Frederick Hudson, his Private Secretary, until the present week, when we disclosed the whole infamous proceeding to Mr. Hudson.

Fun, and Sun, and Shade.

FRANCES FAUVEL GOURAUD, the mnemonic lecturer of 1843, gave gold pencils and other gilded trinkets to males, and reticules to females. John Innman was editor of the _Commercial Advertiser_, to whom he gave a massive gold pencil, and desired to give a reticule to his fair lady, who was sister of the once famous Clara Fisher, and now Mrs. Maeder. The day was warm, and the cholera diarrhœa was prevalent, and he loudly rings the bell, and dashes into the house with all the enthusiasm of a Frenchman, and screams: “Mrs. Innman: Have you got one _necessaire_?” She is dumb for seconds, and her lily cheeks are balls of fire, and indignant phrenzy glares in her eyes, when she proclaims: “I will call the servant,” and furiously retires. The servant darts in and balls out: “Come hither sir,” and on he tramps, behind the servant, into the basement and the yard, where he is politely escorted into the _necessaire_, when he savagely ejaculates: “The _diable_! You von tam skamp! Why for you take me in dis vile place? By gar! by dam! What is dat I smell? What you for eat so much unions in dis country? You one tam rascal! What for you bring me in dis nasty place”?

_Servant_—“Mrs. Innman directed mo to show you the necessaire.”

_Gouraud_—“_Necessaire!_ Vat!—You call dis _necessaire_? By gar! You tell one tam lie. A _necessaire_ is full of holes.”

_Servant_—“And is not this _necessaire_ full of holes?”

_Gouraud_—“Yes—dat we admit for de argument—but they are such tam pig holes, dat de ladies’ perfume would all run out into de street. Why does for you laugh right in my face? Me will break your tam head if you laugh at me. A _necessaire_ has very small holes in my superb French beautiful and sublime and very glorious country. Me did not mean to ask Mrs. Innman for dis kind of _necessaire_. Me mean one little box, or bag, or re-tickle-em, to put her sweet perfume handkerchief, and other pretty little things in. Whew! O, by gar! Me shall sneeze? How me nose do tickle! Git me out of dis one tam yard. Me be sick already. By dam—me are ruined. Ah che—Horatio! Dare—does you not see dat? Did not me say me should sneeze? By dam! How you does smell in dis nasty country. Where is Mrs. Innman? Me must explain to her that me mean de other _necessaire_, and not dis _necessaire_.”

_Servant_—“You perhaps had better see Mr. Innman, as it would not be proper to explain such a thing to Mrs. Innman.”

_Gouraud_—(Seizing the servant by the throat)—“You are one tam villain, and me tell you me must see Mrs. Innman, for to ask her pardon, or Mr. Innman will give me no more puffs of my astonishing System of Mnemotechny. Me must see Mrs. Innman. Dare—dare is one gold pencil, (it was copper plated) and now let me see Mrs. Innman.”

_Servant_—“Well, I will ask her if it be agreeable to see you.”

_Gouraud_—“Bury well—bury well—and me will wait domb stairs, until you come with Mrs. Innman.”

_Servant_—(returns) “I have explained everything to Mrs. Innman, who says that she hopes you will excuse her from an explanatory interview, and regrets that _necessaire_ has been confounded with something less fragrant, and that she is very sorry she had you escorted into the yard.”

_Gouraud_—Seizes both hands of the servant, and dances, and runs him up and down the parlor like fury, and cuts half a dozen pigeons’ wings with his buoyant legs, and sings Marseilles, and darts out of the house, and down the street, as though a creditor was after him; and in the far perspective, with his elastic step and fancy and frantic gesticulation, evinces a wild delight that resembles the ecstacies of Elysium.

Our Beloved Brethren of the Press.

The Reporters of the Common Council have received 200 dollars each for their laborious services, which is a happiness to us beyond expression. We know their generous emotions, and their evening toil in a sickly atmosphere, some of whom have the ability and genius to wield the destinies of a city or nation. Although Horace Greeley recently told us that he had never been in the Board of Aldermen, and would hardly know where to find it, yet James Gordon Bennett has told us that he served a terrible apprenticeship as a Reporter of the Common Council, more than a quarter of a century since, and we know that most of the metropolitan editors were Municipal Reporters prior to their present exalted and lucrative, and powerful position as public journalists. Even before we baptised the _Alligator_, we had to endure the tortures of a ten years’ pilgrimage around the corners and through the subterranean caverns of the City Hall. But no more of this. We sincerely congratulate our Reportorial friends, on the reception of a trifling remuneration for their severe and honorable toil.

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 Turk.

Life of Stephen H. Branch.

My brother Albert came to New York without the knowledge of father, and I got him a situation at the Harpers. I shall never forget how hard I besought John Harper to employ Albert, who did not want a boy, but kindly employed him to please me. Albert had the salt rheum, and also had very small and spiteful yellow bugs on the surface of his cranium. As I had to sleep with him, I combed his head every day, and when I found one of the little villains, I most cruelly tortured him with pins and flame, to terrify his brethren who remained, and to thwart his return to Albert’s head. But in spite of my bloody precaution, poor Albert’s skull teemed like Egypt of old, with ferocious animals, and I retired with him at night, invested with the fear of a culprit on his march to the scaffold. The yellow scamps made such a Napoleonic resistance, that I procured a finer comb, and in my violent efforts to drag out and exterminate the enemy, (who were deeply embedded and irresistibly fortified in his invulnerable skull,) poor Ally screamed, like an eagle on his cliff, and Mrs. Harper came to the basis of the attic stairs, and severely scolded us for quarrelling and fighting, as she supposed. Mrs. Harper was extremely nervous, and fearing she would learn that Albert had battalions of animalculæ in the region of his brain, and also trembling lest they would ground arms, and encamp and form tents in my luxuriant intellectual foliage, I advised Albert to return to Providence, and after long persuasion, with candy and peanuts, and peaches, he assented, and I went to Captain Bunker, Junior, who kindly consented to take him to Providence, without charge. While leaning on the railing of the steamer, with our eyes on the beautiful panorama of the bay, Captain Bunker told me that my lot was cast in a vicious city, and that I must resist evil temptation, and always be a good boy, and become a worthy man, and breathed other kind words into my ears, which soothed my lonely and inexperienced heart, made me cry vociferously, and I have always cherished him with the purest affection. Albert went to Providence with Captain Bunker, but instead of going to father’s, he proceeded to Boston with the money John Harper gave him, and thence to Eastport, Maine, where the yellow bugs increased so rapidly, that he was compelled to return to Providence, where father had his head shaved, which presented a bloody battle plain, full of teeming entrenchments, and his yellow foes so bewildered him, that the hospital nurses had to watch him closely, for several days, lest he would destroy himself.

John Harper often called me from the composing to the counting room, and sent me to the Banks in Wall street to get or deposit money. I often contemplated the robbery of the Harpers, by flight to a foreign land; but when I reviewed their exact justice to all men, and their kindness to myself and brother Albert, and to all their apprentices, journeymen, and laborers, I would falter in my wicked purpose. While returning from bank with a $500 bill, I dropped it by design, and asked a stranger if he had lost it, who said yes, and strove to seize it from the pavement, but I was about one second in his advance. While about to run, he seized me and demanded the return of his $500 bill. I cried and screamed lustily, and during the scuffle, two gentlemen came to my relief, when my antagonist soon fled, and I run down Cliff street, like a bloodhound. Better time was never made from the old pump of Saint George’s to the Harpers. I never again pretended to lose a $500 bill.

(To be continued to our last groan.)

The following meritorious gentlemen are wholesale agents for the Alligator.

Ross & Tousey, 121 Nassau street. Hamilton & Johnson, 22 Ann street. Samuel Yates, 22 Beekman street. Mike Madden, 21 Ann street. Cauldwell & Long, 23 Ann street. Boyle & Whalen, 32 Ann street and Bell & Hendrickson., 25 Ann street.

Advertisements—One Dollar a line

IN ADVANCE.

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.

RODGERS, BOOKSELLER, STATIONER and NEWS VENDER, Broadway, near Twelfth street.

Books, all the new ones cheap, at Rogers. Magazines, soon as out, cheap, at Rogers. Stationery, London made, cheap, at Rogers. English Papers, imported by Rogers. American Papers, all sold by Rogers. Books to Read, at one cent a day, at Rogers.

EXCELSIOR PRINT, 211 CENTRE-ST., N. Y.

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.