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Title: Stephen H. Branch's Alligator Vol. 1 no. 10, June 26, 1858
Author: Branch, Stephen H.
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Stephen H. Branch's Alligator Vol. 1 no. 10, June 26, 1858" ***

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                           Transcriber Notes

 Obvious typos and missing punctuation fixed. Archaic spelling and
   inconsistencies in hyphenation retained.
 Unclear text in the ads in the original has been clarified by review of
   the same ads printed more clearly in other issues.
 The table of contents has been created and added by the transcriber.
 Italics are represented by underscores surrounding the _italic text_.
 Small capitals have been converted to ALL CAPS.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

                   Life of Stephen H. Branch.       1

                   Supervisor Blunt, and Paul       2
                     Julien—My Last Interview
                     with Madame Sontag.

                   James Gordon Bennett’s           3
                     Editorial Career.

                   _For the Alligator._             3

                   NEW YORK, June 15, 1858.         4

                   Advertisements.                  4

------------------------------------------------------------------------



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

    ----------------------------------------------------------------

   Volume I.—No. 10.]    SATURDAY, JUNE 26, 1858.    [Price 2 Cents.


       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.


Westport, Connecticut,—that he boarded at No. 24 Bleecker street, with
Mrs. Mallory, and that he was a clerk for Perkins, Hopkins, and White,
in Pearl street, near Hanover Square. I carried some beautiful books to
his place of business, and requested him to accept them. He sweetly
smiled, and opened the books, and warmly thanked me, and said he would
be pleased to receive them, but that as I was a stranger, he would
rather I would see his guardian, Morris Ketchum, a Banker in Wall
street, and give him my name and address, and if he were satisfied with
my references, and approved of his acceptance of the generous gift, he
would be most happy to receive the books. I was fascinated with his
modesty, and caution, and I took the books, and repaired to the Banking
House of Mr. Ketchum, to whom I briefly imparted what had transpired,
and left my references and departed, and called again, when Mr. Ketchum
said that he had inquired respecting my character, and that young Jesup
was prepared to receive my books, which I soon placed in his hands, and
our acquaintance began under the most favorable auspices. I soon invited
him to dine with me at Mrs. Tripler’s, when all the boarders were
enchanted with his beautiful person, and pleasing manners, and highly
cultivated mind; and I shall never forget how proud I was, as he sat
beside me. After dinner, I invited him to my room, where I gave him cake
and lemonade, and filled his pockets with delicious oranges. I then
played “Washington’s March,” “Yankee Doodle,” and “Hail Columbia,” for
him on the piano, and he departed for his place of business. He went
with me to Niblo’s Garden, then in its glory, and as we strolled
arm-in-arm in the meandering paths, and inhaled the exhilarating perfume
of the flowers, I was charmed with his chaste society, and enraptured
and inspired, and I breathed the music of language in his ears, and we
both were invested with the purest and loftiest and happiest emotions.
In a week from that joyous evening, he was seized with bleeding of the
lungs, caused by excited feelings, during his enthusiastic efforts to
please his employers, in the sleepless business season of early autumn.
He was borne to his mother’s abode in the country, where he soon calmly
resigned his soul to the Saviour, whose sacred virtues he had always
strove to imitate. Although I had briefly enjoyed the pleasure of his
society, yet his premature demise created a void in my bosom that made
the world a desolation. His mother soon removed to New York, and
occupied No. 39 Bond street, where I gratuitously taught her children in
English and the classics. But the invisible germ of consumption has
borne to the grave her pure, intelligent, and lovely Caroline, Charles,
Richard, and Frederick, and Morris, Arthur, Samuel, and Sarah anticipate
the same remorseless destiny. And may God cheer and bless their mother
in her loneliness and tears. The father of this interesting and
unfortunate family, was prostrated in the commercial crash of 1837, and
his depressed and spotless soul fled for refuge to the bosom of his God.
Morris Ketchum was his early business associate and friend, and has
educated his children, procured them lucrative clerkships, afforded them
facilities to visit nearly every nation, for health and general culture,
established them in houses of commerce, and has clung to them, in sun
and storm, like Pythias to Damon, and like Washington to his country. At
this period of my eventful career, I taught colored and Irish servants,
and those of all countries, in their kitchens in the evening, and
sometimes by daylight. Some paid me one shilling a lesson, and some two,
according to their wages and generosity. I taught the servants of the
Reverend Doctor Wainright, the Reverend Doctor Orville Dewey, Daniel
Lord, James T. Brady, Mr. Bowen, of Brooklyn, (of the firm of Bowen &
McNamee, of New York,) and the servants of other distinguished citizens.
I obtained scholars by going from door to door, in the basement, and
asking the servants if they would like to learn to spell, read, write,
and cipher. My health had been miserable since I left Columbian College,
and I often expected to fall dead in the street, or suddenly expire in
the presence of my pupils. For a long period after young Jesup died, I
was very gloomy, and became utterly helpless and bed-ridden, and called
oftener on my father for money than I desired, to pay for board and
medical attendance. I got better, and crawled out into the open air, and
went in pursuit of scholars in a snow storm. I began at the Battery, and
applied at every door, until I came to No. 70 Greenwich street, when I
was asked to come in and warm myself, by a daughter of the lady of the
house, who kept boarders. After a long conversation, by a cheerful fire,
I was engaged to teach the daughter in the English branches, for my
breakfast and tea, and a very small dark room as a place of lodging,
which I could not conveniently occupy without a candle in the day time.
Humble as were to be my accommodations, my feelings were extremely
buoyant, and my ghastly form trembled with delight at my unexpected
resurrection from the depths of indigence and despair. Mr. Ditchett,
(subsequently a very efficient Captain of the Fourth Ward Police, and a
brave fireman, and an honest man,) had just married the eldest daughter,
whose sister was to be my pupil. I was kindly treated, and remained
until the first of May, when I went to Dey street, and afterwards to the
Graham House, at No. 63 Barclay street, where I saw the lean Horace
Greeley, one of the founders of the Graham System. The boarders were
mostly skeletons, and several were limping about the house, like frogs
or lizzards or grasshoppers, and among the limpers, was Horace Greeley,
who had what the Grahamites called a boiling crisis, or crisis of boils,
which was the result of youthful indiscretion, shower bathing, and
eating heartily of bran bread, mush and molasses, squashes, turnips,
beets, carrots, parsneps, and onions, for a long term of years. Although
I had been a miserable invalid a large portion of my days, yet I fancied
a speedy restoration to health, by eating unbolted wheat bread and
vegetables, and frequent bathing. I entered into a spirited conversation
with Greeley, who was reclining on the sofa, and in a loquacious mood,
who told me that he expected to be quite smart after the disappearance
of a large number of boils then all over his person, which he attributed
to salt rheum, that he inherited from his father, and which was recently
driven to the surface of his skin by a rigid adherence to the Graham
System, and three shower baths a day; and he advised me to begin to
bathe immediately, and to eat nothing but Graham bread for one month,
with warm water, milk, and sugar. I asked Greeley if he was sure it was
the secondary or inherited salt rheum that had come to the surface of
his snowy flesh in the form of boils, and he said he was quite sure it
was, as his father had it from his boyhood. I asked him if his secondary
or inherited salt rheum ever itched, and he said yes, sometimes, but he
was sure it was not the secondary itch, as he never had the first itch.
I then looked him dead in the eye, and asked him if he was positively
sure his boils were not the result of itch, and he asked me what I meant
by such severity of scrutiny. I replied, that I once had the itch, and
read many books on the subject, and knew all about it, and that his
boils (he had two on his pale nose) looked very much like secondary itch
blossoms. He cast searching glances, and sat in paralytic silence, save
when he scratched his boils, and the bell summoned me to my first Graham
dinner, and Greeley hopped to the table on one leg, and sat near Mrs.
Goss at the head of the Graham festive board. About forty skeletons were
present, and among them were Sylvester Graham (Bread,) himself, on a
lecturing tour from his country seat at Northampton; John McCracken, of
New Haven; Ralph Waldo Emerson; Abby Kelly; Fred Douglas and lady;
Francis Copcutt, mahogany dealer, who used to eat raw oats, and ride 30
miles a day on a hard trotting horse for dyspepsia; Jeremiah O.
Lanphear, tailor, and now first deacon and missionary of the Fulton
street Dutch Presbyterian Church, who had a gravel nearly as large as
General Winfield Scott’s, which was the largest that ever emanated from
a human bladder; Mrs. Farnham, the accomplished lady and genuine
philanthropist, and wife of the noble and famous California traveler,
who was the rival of Fremont as a mountaineer; Mrs. Anna Stephens, the
fertile and genial authoress; the celebrated Doctor Shew and lady; Mrs.
Storms, of Troy, and long a writer and foreign correspondent of the _New
York Sun_, and now of Texas; poor MacDonald Clark, the poet; Galutia B.
Smith; Matthew B. Brady, the daguerreotypist, who married his sweetheart
at the Graham House, and the room being crowded, I saw the exercises
through the key hole; Mrs. Travis; Albert Brisbane, a moonlight dreamer;
Mrs. Andrews, a strong Unitarian, (ninety-eight years old,) and her
grandson, Albert L. Smith, a nervous and catarrhal gentleman, who now
keeps a Graham House and Water Cure Establishment in West Washington
Place; Dr. John Burdell, brother of Dr. Harvey Burdell, who was
assasinated at No. 31 Bond Street; Leroy Sunderland, a Mesmeriser and
Pathetic lecturer; John M. King; George Foss; Dr. Henry W. Brown; E.
Gould Buffum, and his brother, William Buffum, now Consul at _Trieste_;
Mrs. Horace Greeley; Mr. Clutz; Mrs. Van Vleet; Messrs. Tyler, Bennett,
(a tailor), Otis, and Ward; Mrs. Gove; C. Edwards Lester; Mr. Danforth,
a spurious reformer; the brothers Fowler, phrenologists; father Miller,
the Millenium impostor; Mr. Seymour, a journeyman hatter at Beebe’s, who
got among the noisy methodists, who frightened him into a dangerous
nervous affection, and in bed one night, poor Seymour felt cold and
strange and numb, and pinched himself in the arms and legs, and it
didn’t hurt him, and he thought he was dead, and he got up, and kindled
a match, and lit a candle, and looked in the glass to see whether he was
dead or alive, and when he saw his eyes roll, and his jaws open and
close, he got into bed, and went to sleep. This was the gang at table,
and for dinner, we had bran bread and crackers, bean soup, roast apples
and potatoes, and boiled squash and carrots, but not a particle of meat,
grease, nor spices. All grabbed violently at the Graham viands, and
brought their teeth together like swine, and with similar grunts and
squeals. I calmly surveyed the motley and hungry group, and saw many
small piercing gray eyes, hollow cheeks, and sharp chins and noses, and
the voices of nearly all were husky and fearfully sepulchral. The themes
discussed were Anti-Slavery and Grahamism, and I soon perceived it
extremely perilous to breathe a word against the ultra views of the
susceptible and long-haired Graham spectres, who seemed united to a
ghost on these prolific themes. So, I listened and breathed not a
syllable in opposition to the crazy views advanced. I took a stroll
after dinner, and returned at sunset, and seated myself for my evening
meal, when we had Graham-bread-coffee, milk porridge, apple sauce,
Graham mush, and boiled rice, sparingly saturated with molasses and
liquid ginger. I ate and drank freely of this light food, and arose from
the table in excellent spirits, though I belched frequently. My belly
soon began to swell, and I got alarmed, and I asked Mr. Goss, the Graham
host, what it meant. He seemed perfectly cool, and said that his
boarders were often affected in that way, in passing suddenly from
greasy meats to the pure food of Grahamites, which was chiefly of a
vegetable and somewhat of a gassy and flatulent character. Goss then
left me. I thrice paced the parlor hurriedly, and began to feel choleric
and crampy, and went down stairs into the kitchen, and asked Goss to
send for a physician immediately, which he declined to do, as he thought
I was only a little spleeny, which would soon pass away, and advised me
to go to bed. He got me a Graham candle, and up we went, and did not
stop until we reached the roof, where he put me in a little room, with
two cots, on which there was a straw mattress, and a straw bolster, and
scanty covering. He said good night, and shut the door, and I got into
bed, and strove to sleep. I squirmed like an eel for about two hours,
and could endure my pains no longer, and arose and awoke my room-mate,
and asked him to escort me to the sleeping apartment of Mr. Goss. He did
so, and I knocked at his door, and out he came in his nightcap and white
apparel. I told him that I had cramps, and had an awful quantity of
frantic wind in my stomach, and felt as though my belly would burst
before morning, and that I was deathly sick, and asked him what on earth
I had eaten at his table to give me such violent cramps and flatulence
and diarrhœa, and nauseous and strange emotions. He told me that I was
nervous, and not accustomed to Graham food, but that I soon would be,
and urged me to again retire, and strive to sleep. He spoke these words
with kindness, and they soothed me, and I shook his hand, and off I went
up stairs to bed again. But in about ten minutes, I had a severe spasm,
with choking sensations, and I leaped from my nest like a man in his
last gasp, and unconsciously cast myself on the cot of my room-mate, who
instantly emerged from a profound sleep, and sprang like a tiger from
his bed, and threw me severely to the floor, and cried murder to the
pinnacle of his voice, and began to pelt me in the most brutal manner,
leveling the most savage random blows at my head and stomach. Goss and
the spectral boarders rushed into the room, and Greeley soon came
limping in, and they searched in vain for knives, revolvers, and human
blood. And they soon learned the cause of the cry of murder, and raised
me from the floor, and put me into bed, with a bloody nose and dark eye,
that my room-mate gave me, who apologised for his blows on the ground
that he always slept soundly, and was only partially awake when he beat
me. I accepted his apology, and Goss and Greeley, and half-a-dozen
attenuated Grahamites left me, for their beds again, and my chum took a
seat by my cot, and strove to soothe me. But the cramps returned, and I
became faint and giddy, and began to vomit profusely. I soon filled
basins, pitchers, spit boxes, hats, and boots, and deluged every thing
we had in the room, and my chum got a pitcher and basin in the next
room, and I soon flooded them, and I vomited until I thought I felt my
entire bowels struggling at my throat to get out, which nearly strangled
me. At last an enormous chunk came out, which proved to be the core of a
stewed apple, and the crust of Graham bread combined into a sort of
petrified substance, and I began to breathe again, and slowly improved
till daylight,

                When I embraced a sweet repose,
                And snored like thunder through my nose.

                  (To be continued to my last scream.)

------------------------------------------------------------------------



                     Stephen H. Branch’s Alligator.

         ------------------------------------------------------

                   NEW YORK, SATURDAY, JUNE 26, 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.

                  ------------------------------------



Supervisor Blunt, and Paul Julien—My Last Interview with Madame Sontag.


When I taught Alderman Orison Blunt the English branches at his elegant
residence in Murray street, I gave instruction to Paul Julien, the
juvenile Paganini, and to Rocco, and also to Madame Sontag in elocution,
in anticipation of her appearance in English Opera at Niblo’s, on her
return from Mexico. At the close of a long and interesting lesson,
Sontag opened her great heart to me, and disclosed her career from her
earliest recollection. Her narrative was eloquent and exciting, and as
she sat before me at the parlor lattice, in alternate tears and smiles,
with the moon rolling like a ball of silver through the air, she seemed
too pure and beautiful for earth. Her tears were the very soul of
sorrow, and none could resist their overwhelming influence,—her smiles
were irresistibly enchanting,—her voice in conversation was full of
entrancing melody,—her cavern dimples were the emblems of purity and
charity, and her entire expression was divine. And as her blood warmed,
and her bosom rose and fell, and her voice trembled and darted from the
faintest whisper to its highest intonation, her glorious eyes reflected
gorgeous temples in her soul, filled with sinless angels, breathing
sweet music to millions of her species. And the beauteous Sontag told
me, as we sat together in our last communion as human pilgrims, that her
childhood, and girlhood, and early womanhood were all devoted to the
cultivation of music for the enjoyment of the world more than herself,
which rendered her early years an utter sacrifice, and had deprived her
of the pastimes enjoyed by all her sex in the morning of life; that from
the hour she was called “_The little Daughter of the Danube_,” there was
no happiness for her; that she was early beset by lovers from nearly
every nation of Europe; that kings and queens lavished their choicest
treasures upon her; that princes besought her affections in tearful
supplications; that all France prostrated herself at her feet; that amid
the flattery and adulations of all classes and kingdoms, she was
induced, in a thoughtless hour, to cast herself into the eternal
embraces of a being who proved a jealous and savage tyrant, and a
heartless gamester; that ere her emergence from the brief hours of bliss
that should follow the marriage vow, he became odious in her eyes, and
she beheld a life of misery in all her future; that after years of
torture in his demon fangs, and after he had squandered her splendid
fortune of four millions of dollars, he dragged her from the sacred
precincts of private life, and from the pleasing society of her
children, into the public arena, to toil for his subsistence; that he
forced her to exchange hemispheres, and leave her tender offspring, when
they most required a mother’s protection; that he often brandished a
dagger in her eyes, when she refused to fill his purse for bibbling and
gaming purposes; that she was in fear of his poignard throughout her
long confinement in his hideous clutches; that for his traduction and
persecution of Alboni in her early years, she resolved to pursue her to
America to annoy, and, if possible, ruin her, for his sake, by singing
against her in the leading cities; that on the very day she publicly
announced her intention to visit America, Alboni went to the Cathedral,
and knelt at the altar, and swore that she would pursue her through all
latitudes, and cut the grass beneath her feet, to avenge herself on
Count Rossi, who strove to blight the buds and blossoms of her youth and
indigence; that she kept her oath, and followed her through city, town,
and village, and allured her choristers, through extravagant salaries
and donations, and sang on the evenings of her Concert and Opera
entertainments, and greatly reduced her receipts; that Rossi seized her
funds, as they accrued, and deposited them in banks unknown to her; that
her children often wrote in vain for means to defray their domestic
expenses; that Rossi, and Maretzek, and Ullman received all the benefit
of her arduous labors; that her lovely daughters were in the care of
strangers in Europe, and exposed to all the snares of life; that their
education was fatally neglected in her absence; that she was a slave to
Rossi, Maretzek, and Ullman, all of whom she thoroughly despised, and
that she had very seriously contemplated suicide. And thus did this
celestial being breathe her pensive music in my soul, and bathe my
vision with nature’s hallowed waters. And amid our mutual tears, and
smiles, and cheerful tones, and lingering glances, she enters the dismal
cars, and the bell proclaims the parting signal, and she penetrates the
deep perspective, until she is forever buried from my melancholy view.
She gives concerts on the borders of the northern lakes, and visits
Cincinnati, and quarrels and separates from Ullman, and goes to New
Orleans, and performs in Opera, and enters Mexico, amid the revengeful
maledictions of Ullman, who, as Rocco told me, dug her early grave, by
arousing the fearful jealousy of Rossi, to whom Ullman wrote from New
York, that he would find letters in her trunk from Pozzolini, the young
and fascinating tenor; that Rossi did find letters in her trunk from
Pozzolini, (filled with the most enthusiastic love,) which Rocco said
were doubtless placed there by Ullman, prior to her departure for
Mexico, to revenge himself on Sontag, for her refusal at Cincinnati to
give more Concerts under his direction; that Rossi belched words of
fire, and threatened her with instant death; that herself and Pozzolini
were seized with violent pains, on their return from the Mexican
festivals; that during her confinement, Rocco daily called, but was not
permitted to see her; that Rossi paced the balcony as a sentinel for
days and nights, and would let no one visit her; that he permitted Rocco
to enter her apartment only one hour before she died, when he found her
in the wildest delirium. And Rocco told me that Sontag and Pozzolini
were doubtless poisoned by Count Rossi, and that Ullman was the
instigator. Rossi artfully attributed their sudden death to cholera, but
the rumor flew on the wings of lightning, that Rossi was their murderer,
and he fled for his life to New York, with all her jewels, and went to
Europe. And Rocco sorely grieved to see her borne to her sepulchre
without kindred mourners in a far distant land; and when he saw her form
exhumed, and borne through mud and stones, and deposited as luggage in
the filthy suburbs of Vera Cruz, and exposed for weeks to the heat and
rain of those withering latitudes,—when he gazed at the remains of a
being who had been the pride and glory and adoration of all civilised
nations, and who had long been his own dear friend, poor Rocco
prostrated himself beside her coffin, and wept for hours in loneliness
and utter desolation. And now, dear Sontag, I can see thy pure and
genial spirit in its happy home, beyond the pretty stars. And while I
indite these melancholy words, thy sweet face smiles upon me from my
parlor wall, as you appeared in the immortal _Somnambulist_. It is the
likeness you gave me at our final interview, and represents _Amina_, in
the joyous bridal scene with _Elvino_, among her native cottagers in the
mountains. All! Sontag! I often think of thee, and my highest solace is
in gazing at thy bewitching smile, and laughing eyes, and lovely
dimples, and even teeth, and classic temples, as depicted in thy
likeness, which I shall keep while I linger in the dreary paths of
earth. And I will part with fame and fortune and with life itself, ere I
will separate from the precious picture of my adored Sontag. And my last
prayer to God shall be, that I may join my Parents and Kindred and
Sontag in the realms of eternal bliss.

                  ------------------------------------



                James Gordon Bennett’s Editorial Career.


                       BENNETT’S OFFICE IN 1835.

                          _Enter John Kelly._

_Bennett_—Well, my lad, I have borrowed a pair of old shoes for you from
my bed-fellow in Cross street. They may be rather large, but you must
contrive to wear them until Saturday, when I will get you a new pair, if
I have the money to spare. Sit down, Johnny, and try on the shoes.

_John_ (puts them on)—They are much too large, aint they?

_Bennett_—Well, yes, but if you put some pieces of newspaper in them,
you can lessen their size.

_John_ (stuffs them in the heels and toes and sides with fragments of
the _Herald_ of the preceding day)—There, sir, I guess I can wear them
now, and I am truly obliged to you for borrowing them for me.

_Bennett_—Not at all, John, for you did more than that for me yesterday,
in obtaining my papers from Mr. Anderson.

_John_ (in hurriedly walking across the office, steps out of one of the
aged shoes, but steps in again before Bennett’s keen eyes perceived that
one foot had stepped out)—That was a great pleasure, sir, and I hope you
will have the same good luck to-day.

_Bennett_—I sold very few papers yesterday, and I have very little
money, and Anderson has my watch, and I fear he will not let me have the
papers until I redeem it, and pay him for the _Heralds_ of to-day.

_John_—I will do all in my power to obtain them for you.

_Bennett_—I know you will, my dear little friend. But come—we will go
and try to get the papers. (They arrive at Anderson & Ward’s, in Ann
street. Anderson is absent, and Ward is partially drunk and asleep on
the counter, and Bennett arouses him.)

_Ward_—What are you about? (rubbing his eyes and garrping.) What do you
want (hic) so early in the morning, you vagabonds? hic, hec, hoc.

_Bennett_—I want my papers.

_Ward_—You can’t (hic) have them without the money, (hoc.)

_Bennett_—Please let me have them.

_Ward_—Where’s your (hic) watch?

_Bennett_—I let Mr. Anderson have it yesterday.

_Ward_—Don’t you (hic-a-che-a-che-Horatio-darn it, how I sneeze) sell
any _Heralds_ now-a-days? a-che-a-che-a-che-Horatio—O, Jerusalem! will I
never stop sneezing?

_Bennett_—It stormed yesterday, and I did not sell many, but it is
pleasant this morning, and I think I shall sell a large number.

_Ward_—Well, I’ll not be (hic, hic, hic,) too hard with you, old fellow.
There, take your papers, and try hard (hic) to sell (hic) them to-day,
and (hic-a-che) bring a whole lot of money to (hic) morrow.

_Bennett_—I will, Mr. Ward, and I’ll always remember you with gratitude
for your generosity to-day. Good day, sir.

_Ward_—Farewell, old boy. And just shut the door alter you. I have been
(hic) on a spree all night, (hec,) and I don’t want anybody else to come
in and bother (hic) me, until I finish my nap.

_Bennett_—I’ll lock the door outside, and put the key in the window.

_Ward_—Do so, old (hic) boy, do so. (And he goes to sleep, and Bennett
and John wend their way to Wall street.)

_Bennett_—Now, John, this is the last chance I shall have. If I fail to
sell my papers to-day, I am ruined for ever.

_John_—Had I not better go into the stores, and try to sell the papers.

_Bennett_ (kisses him in Nassau street)—My dear boy, if you will do
that, I will love you next to my God. My great trouble has been to get
honest boys to sell my paper, and return the money to me, instead of
going to the Theatre and eating peanuts with my funds. Now, you take
some, and I’ll take some, and you take one side of the street and I the
other, and let us toil for our lives (until the sun goes down) to sell
these papers, and, if we fail, my fate is sealed for time, and perhaps
for eternity!

_John_—What! You won’t commit suicide?

_Bennett_—God only knows what I shall do.

_John_—Well, I see there’s no time to be lost. So, give me some papers,
and I’ll go into the first store on this side, and you take the other
side of the street. (They separate, John going into every store on his
side, and Bennett into every store on the other side, until they arrive
at Wall street, when they go into Bennett’s office, in the old rat hole
at No. 20 Wall street, where they count their pennies, and find that
they have sold quite a large number of _Heralds_. They then drink some
water and eat some ginger nuts, for their breakfasts, and go down Broad
street, and enter every store on either side, and meet with great
success. John then takes South street, and Bennett Front street, from
the Battery to Fulton street, and afterwards take Water and Pearl
streets, and then they canvass either side of Wall street, and sell all
their _Heralds_, and go to a Restaurant and get something to eat, and
separate in the afternoon in high spirits. John then got some boys in
the Fourteenth Ward to sell the _Herald_, and in ten days Bennett had
about $40 surplus, and begins to put on aristocratic airs, and domineer
over Johnny Kelly.)

                           (To be continued.)

                  ------------------------------------



                          _For the Alligator._


                Wide-mouth shocking Alligator!
                I wish you were a Boa Constrictor!
                And crush within your awful fold,
                The villains with our pilfered gold,
                Who, with sanctimonious face,
                Steal with such a pious grace:
                They dance and dress and call it good,
                Because it gives the hungry food.
                But hold your mirror to their face,
                And show them their sad black disgrace:
                One robs the City’s golden coffers,
                And then a mighty Fabric offers,
                And tries to court a worldly fame,
                Out of such an impious shame.
                The temple thus to science rears,
                That he may surely soothe his fears,
                Lest his ignorance should be known,
                And lack of knowledge shown,
                And so the starving, suffering poor,
                He drives them fainting from his door;
                And tells them: (Oh! how very strange!)
                The Mansion’s taken all his change!
                And in his high, majestic wrath,
                He kicks a female down to earth!
                The mansion he will never give,
                While one heir of his shall live.
                See how this modern Simon Magus,
                Blinds our eyes, and then deceives us.
                Soon we shall see how very funny,
                He’ll make his “Union” yield him money:
                He finds it is so very pretty,
                To have a Mayor made of putty,
                That he can mould him at his will,
                To make his son an office fill.
                But lest Columbia prove too new,
                He lays a wire the ocean through,
                That he all Europe may invite,
                To bask in his resplendent sight.
                Oh! most happy England Queen,
                When she can say: “I’ve Peter seen!”
                Now see him cringe, and jump for fame,
                To reach the scroll, to write his name:
                But as he lives alone for fame,
                My verse will sure preserve his name.

                                                       PETER PIPER PICT.



                                                NEW YORK, June 15, 1858.


STEPHEN H. BRANCH:

SIR:—Permit me the privilege of making a few brief passing remarks,
asking a few questions, and respectfully suggesting a few hints as to
your weekly publication, the ALLIGATOR. Please to attribute any
intrusive errors in this communication as emanating from an inefficient
method of expressing my sentiments, as my heart is with you whole and
entire in spirit, and, with a few exceptions, to the very letter, in
your laudable endeavor to bring to light before the open day the hidden
villainies of the many detestable tyrants that have risen from the very
scum of poverty and criminal degradation, and who now so unaccountably
hold despotic sway _under the garb of honorable industry_ in every
branch of society, to the unjust injury and oppression of the poor,
humble, but honest man.

I am rejoiced to find the ALLIGATOR creeping its way to the literary
tables of almost every respectable News Depot in this and the adjacent
cities, piercing its deadly fangs into the very vitals of every
influential thief and scoundrel, and that the business public are now
availing themselves of the opportunity in patronising it as an
advertising medium, and I sincerely wish you every success.

Wherever I have an opportunity, I endeavor, indirectly, to pave the way,
to introduce the merits of the ALLIGATOR, and, as a matter of course,
have to give and take in the various opinions expressed as to the
carniverous propensities of that astonishing animal, and the choice
objects it pitches into for its daily food. The opinions and ideas
expressed on the subject are as varied as the colors in the rainbow. Any
man whose past misdeeds trouble his conscience, dreads the animal, as he
would a drawn sword, lest its brutal tusks should tear open to public
gaze what he had secretly hoped was unknown to mortal being.

If the crawling reptiles you select to satisfy the craving appetite of
that amphibious animal (with such extended jaws continually gaping) are
really of such an abhorrent and loathsome nature as represented by you
in such bold relief, I should never cease lashing their diseased and
ulcerated carcases with whips of poisoned scorpions, till I purged and
purified their polluted system with wholesome antidotes. It strikes me
that your gormandising hydra-headed monster can never be satisfied with
common carrion: it seeks for something more nutritious for its
sustenance. It appears he is like Pharoah’s lean kine—the more he
devours, the thinner he gets, and his rapacity increases, and what seems
so singular is, that he has abundance of choice prey for ever at his
side, which he selects indiscriminately, and an untold amount laid up in
his store houses for ages to come.

Nothing do I admire more than the free use of strong and emphatic
language to express our approbation or disapprobation of men’s actions
public or private, and from the general tenor of your style, and the
peculiar advantages you possess as a scholar, and the unlimited
information you have treasured up as a man of experience, with regard to
public characters and measures, I feel confident that you can convert
every tooth of the Alligator into a poisoned arrow that will deal death
and destruction into every particle of air whereever it wings its
flight, and you can more effectively hit your mark with surer certainty
by avoiding the use of such terms and phrases as would be looked upon by
the general class of readers, as rather coarse or vulgar; although I
myself consider your style as purely hieroglyphic, and that your
sarcastic way merely emanates from a proud, manly, straightforward, bold
and independent above board kind of a spirit than that of malice, with
the view to convey the sentiments of your mind, in order to express your
strong feeling of detestation and abhorrence of every unprincipled
scoundrel, against whom your fiery shafts of indignation may happen to
be turned, cutting to the very heart’s core like a two edged sword.

The body of the ALLIGATOR is too small by a long shot. It would greatly
enhance its usefulness by being more liberal. Increase its pages, extend
its columns, devote a space to correspondents, and, if need be, stretch
its stomach so as to afford an opportunity to others to open their
store-houses, and contribute their quota of similar wholesome food to
the hungry cannibal, in order the better to assist in the process of
digestion.

                                                  Yours Respectfuly,

                                                          ANTI-TYRANT.

------------------------------------------------------------------------



                    Advertisements—25 Cents a line.


Credit—From two to four seconds, or as long as the Advertiser can hold
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                                                         251 Broadway.

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JAMES MELENEY, (SUCCESSOR TO SAMUEL Hopper,) Grocer, and Wholesale and
Retail Dealer in Pure Country Milk. Teas, Coffee, Sugars & Spices.
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Street, New York. Families supplied by leaving their address at the
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BOOT & SHOE EMPORIUMS. EDWIN A. BROOKS, Importer and Manufacturer of
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ENVELOPES of all patterns, styles and quality, on hand, and made to
order for the trade and others, by Steam Machinery. Patented April 8th,
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I will strive hard to please all those generous citizens who will kindly
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                                                     EDWARD VAN RANST.

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J. W. MASON, MANUFACTURER, WHOLESALE and Retail dealers in all kinds of
Chairs, Wash Stands, Settees, &c. 377 & 379 Pearl Street, New York.

Cane and Wood Seat Chairs, in Boxes, for Shipping.

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FULLMER AND WOOD CARRIAGE Manufacturers, 239 West 19th Street, New York.

Horse-shoeing done with despatch and in the most scientific manner, and
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AUG. BRENTANO, SMITHSONIAN NEWS DEPOT, Books and Stationery, 608
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Subscriptions for American or Foreign Papers or Books, from the City or
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Foreign Papers received by every steamer. Store open from 6 A. M. to 11
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P. C. GODFREY, STATIONER, BOOKSELLER, AND General News dealer, 831
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       At Godfrey’s—Novels, Books, &c., all the new ones cheap.
       At Godfrey’s—Magazines, Fancy Articles, &c., cheap.
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       At Godfrey’s—All the Daily and Weekly Papers.
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       At Godfrey’s—Ladies Fashion Books of latest date.

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SEE “JOBSON’S RED FLAG,” OF THIS DAY, FOR interesting news. Published at
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JOHN B. WEBB, BOAT BUILDER, 718 WATER STREET. My Boats are of models and
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                                                         JOHN B. WEBB.

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                                                        SAMUEL SNEDEN.

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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,
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                                                    ALANSON T. BRIGGS.

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Awnings, Tents, and Bags made to order.

                                                    JESSE A. BRADDICK,
                                                        RICHARD HOGAN.

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

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