------------------------------------------------------
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.
------------------------------------
Human Devils.
Some $10,000 have been expended in building fences, and improving the
forest grounds at the corner of Fourteenth and Fifteenth streets and the
Sixth Avenue? We have received a card, heralding a “Palace Garden,”
signed by De Forest and Tisdale, Proprietors. Mr. De Forest was the
Treasurer of the Crystal Palace Ball, and Mr. Tisdale is the Treasurer
of the Hunter Woodis Benevolent Society. A few loaves of John Hecker’s
bread, distributed among the poor, was the only charitable result of the
Academy of Music Ball, and none of John Hecker’s bread, nor of any
baker, nor any necessaries of life were distributed among the indigent,
as the result of the mighty and lucrative Crystal Palace Ball. Both of
those Balls were given by the public—for the benefit of the Poor—in the
name of the self-constituted members of the Hunter Woodis Society, and
De Forest and Tisdale, who control the vast receipts of that Society,
now open an Ice Cream and Lager Bier Saloon on a scale of unprecedented
magnitude and magnificence, while the poor creatures are starving, who
own all the surplus funds in the vile grasp of the Hunter Woodis
Society, and of the outside scamps, who partially control those pauper
funds. De Forest and Tisdale (who thrice cunningly assured me that all
the members of the Hunter Woodis Society were Know Nothings) beckoned me
last week to their gorgeous chariot on Broadway, and told me that they
were “snags,” and through dagger eyes, and ferocious gestures, and
stunning declamation, threatened my utter annihilation, for my recent
exposure of their plunder of our generous citizens, and the private
paupers, whose funds they withhold and squander. If one of the huge
villains of these devilish days in which my lot is cast approaches me
with menacing look or attitude, he will be a dead thief before he can
implore the God of truth and justice and mercy to forgive him for his
awful crimes. Where the $40,000 that were doubtless received by the
Managers and Treasurers of the Academy of Music and Crystal Palace
Balls; and where their vast private collections have all mysteriously
vanished, will never be disclosed to the poor of this, nor of coming
generations, but, at the Throne of God, these consummate villains and
infernal scamps will have to confront the famishing creatures they have
robbed and starved, when they will be convicted, and condemned, and
hurled from Heaven’s resplendent heights into a gulph of yelling devils,
who will pinch them, and prick them, and bite them, and lance them, and
roast them through wasteless ages.
O, what I hear, and what I see,
Makes me from earth yearn to be free.
------------------------------------
James Gordon Bennett’s Editorial Career.
_Bennett and John Kelly._
_Bennett_—John, the wall cracked again yesterday, and I fear this old
ruin will soon fall, and bury us in death. So, after you have folded
those papers, you can take them and the broom, and I will take my
memorandum book and easy slippers, and we will go to the new quarters
that I hired yesterday in Broadway. The rent is very cheap, and I am not
to pay it until the end of the month, which is a godsend in these days
of poverty.
_John_—I have only got fifty papers to fold, and I will soon be ready.
_Bennett_—Hurry, Johnny, for the building may fall before we get out.
(John folds papers mighty fast.)
_John_—I am ready, sir.
_Bennett_—Come on then. (They depart for Broadway, with all their
luggage, consisting of fifty _Heralds_, a broom, memorandum book, and
Bennett’s easy slippers.)
_Enter Landlord._
_Landlord_—Mr. Bennett, I told you that you could pay your rent at the
end of the month, but I have concluded to require it in advance.
_Bennett_—I have not the money to spare, but I will let you have my
watch as security.
_Landlord_—I have no pawnbroker’s license, and I fear it would be a
violation of the law to take a watch in pawn.
_Bennett_—I have let Anderson & Ward have it as security for the payment
of my papers some fifty times, and they have not been arrested.
_Landlord_—Is it gold or silver?
_Bennett_—Silver.
_Landlord_—What is its value?
_Bennett_—Twenty dollars.
_Landlord_—Does it keep good time?
_Bennett_—It goes well, don’t it, Johnny (giving him a wink.)
_John_—Yes, sir. (May God forgive me for this lie.)
_Landlord_—I will take it, but you must try to pay the rent before the
close of the month.
_Bennett_—I will, sir. Our circulation is rapidly increasing, ain’t it,
Johnny?
_John_ (pale as death)—Y-e-s, s-i-r. (O, Heavenly Father, do forgive me
for another lie.)
_Landlord_—Good day, Mr. Bennett, and may success attend your
enterprise.
_Bennett_—Good by, sir, but don’t call again until the very last week in
the month.
_Landlord_—I will be as lenient as I can. Good day. (He goes.)
_Bennett_—John, why did you say y-e-s, s-i-r? This is no time to drawl
your words. And I saw your lips quiver, and your eyes and arms directed
to Heaven, as though you were engaged in silent prayer. This won’t do,
sir. My case is desperate. Can’t you lie, in matters of business,
without invoking the celestial pardon? If you can’t, you will soon ruin
me. What say you, John?
_John_—My parents will not let me tell lies. They would kill me, if they
caught me in the two lies I have told for you to-day. They are extremely
indigent, but they are as honest as poor Burns, the great poet of your
native land, who said:
“The honest man, tho’ e’er sae poor,
Is king o’ men for a’ that.”
And who also said:
“O, wad some Pow’r the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!”
_Bennett_ (stamping the floor)—Darm it, boy, this is no time for poetry.
Hang Burns, who was an old fool, and lived on air, like all the poets. I
prefer Richard, who said:
“I have set my life upon a cast,
And I will stand the hazard of the die.”
Or Iago:
“This is the night,
That either makes me, or fordoes me quite.”
Or Ophelia, with whose beautiful aphorism I closed my leading editorial,
in the first number of the _Herald_:
“Lord, we know that we are,
But know not what we may be.”
But darm the rhyme. We want bread and butter. I have been starving on
truth and poetry, and I intend to lie, and cheat, and black mail, during
the residue of my days. Do you understand me?
_John_—Yes, sir, but I can’t lie. I had rather be poor, and tell the
truth, than lie, and cheat, and wrong my fellow creatures, and be
loathed by my parents, and be despised by myself, and by others, and
have sleepless nights, and be in constant fear of death, and be in
danger of a prison or the scaffold. So, you had better get another boy.
_Bennett_—I am sorry to part with you, dear Johnny, because you have
been so true and kind to me.
_John_—I would like to remain, but I must leave, if you require me to
lie. And yet I dread to inform my poor father and mother that I have
left you, and have no means to aid them. But I had rather go hungry than
tell lies, and I hope and believe that my parents will forgive me for
leaving you.
_Bennett_—I fear you are too conscientious to be my associate in the
reckless and unscrupulous career of journalism before me, and therefore
I shall advertise for another boy to-morrow.
_John_—Very well, sir. (John takes his hat to go.)
_Bennett_—Don’t go until I get another boy.
_John_—I must go now, because you have proclaimed yourself a dishonest
man, and I should be unhappy if I remained longer in your presence.
_Bennett_—How much do I owe you?
_John_—Nothing.
_Bennett_—Yes I do.
_John_—You can have it, because I fear you did not get it honestly, and
I do not want it. (John goes.)
_Bennett_ (soliloquises)—This boy’s rebuke is terrible. And now I am
alone. O God! if I only had his integrity, I would make any sacrifice.
That boy has got the principles of Washington in his breast, and the
world will hear of him. No earthly power can crush the love of truth in
the heart of that dear little boy. And now what shall I do? His merited
castigation has unnerved and unmanned me. I know not which way to turn.
I have but little money. I cannot get another boy so faithful as Johnny.
I must strive to sell my papers in the stores alone, now that Johnny is
gone, and, if I fail, I am forever ruined. But this won’t do. I must not
despair. I must rally. (He arises, and paces his office rapidly, with
compressed jaws and lips, and distended nostrils, and clenched fingers,
and ferocious gesticulation.) I must not whine now. I must cut and
smash, and detract and terrify the innocent, and levy thousands on the
affluent, or I am forever lost. I have no associate, nor friend, nor
kindred in all this land, and I can only degrade myself, as my aged
parents are in the deep mountain glades of Scotland, and can never hear
of my degradation. So I will be a devil. I will advertise for another
boy, and if I get one who will conspire with me in my contemplated
villainy, my fortunes will yet be vast. (He writes an advertisement, and
puts it in the _New York Sun_.)
(To be continued.)
Peter Cooper’s Funny little Grocery-Groggery, at the Corner of the
Bowery and Stuyversant Street, in 1820.