“YES,” said Irving, “I, too, have made a few notes of ‘things to be
remembered,’ as we passed together some of the last proofs of these
chronicles and impressions. For instance, here is a memorandum,
‘Politics’; and it refers to General Horace Porter’s anecdotical
illustration of ward politics, and to Mr. Millett’s letter on art and
tariffs.”
“Let us take the story first,” I suggested.
We both remembered it; so, likewise, will several American friends of
that excellent _raconteur_, Horace Porter, one of New York’s brightest
post-prandial orators.
Irving had been making inquiries about the city government of New York,
and remarking upon the curious little wooden houses away up at the
further end of New York city.
“Oh,” said Porter, “those places belong to the last of the Manhattan
squatters. Most of them are occupied by families, who, as a rule, pay
little or no rent at all. They are on the outskirts of progress. As
the city extends into their district they disappear, seeking ‘fresh
woods and pastures new.’ Nevertheless some of them become quite firmly
established there. They are included, for voting purposes, in the
Twenty-fourth ward of the city. The houses, as you have observed,
are not architecturally beautiful. All the inhabitants keep fowls
and animals in their basements or cellars. As a rule nobody repairs
or attends to their abodes. Occasionally in wet weather they could
bathe in their cellars. Recently one of the most important men in
the district was a Mr. Mulldoon, whose very practical views of city
politics will be gathered by the story I am going to tell you, which
also illustrates the local troubles from a sanitary point of view.
Mulldoon’s premises were flooded. He was advised to apply to the
Commissioner of Public Works on the subject, and to use his political
influence in the matter; and he did. Entering the office of the
commissioner, he said:—
“‘My name is Mulldoon. I live in the Twenty-fourth ward; I conthrol
forty votes there; I kape hens; the wather has inundated my cellar, and
I want it pumped out at the public expinse.’
“‘We have no machinery to do that kind of work; it does not belong to
our department,’ said the officer.
“‘And be jabers if I don’t get that wather removed it will go hard wid
the party. I’ll cast thim forty votes for a Dutchman.’
“‘You had better go to the fire department.’
“‘Divil a bit; it’s the wather department I’m afther.’
“‘The fire department have appliances for pumping, we have not; I
recommend you to see the fire department.’
“He does so.
“Arrived at the proper officer’s desk, he says, ‘My name is Mulldoon;
I live in the Twenty-fourth ward; I conthrol forty votes there; I kape
hens; the wather has inundated my cellar, and I want it pumped out at
the public expinse.’
“‘The work does not belong to this department, Mr. Mulldoon; we put out
fires, not water. I’—
“‘Indade,’ said Mulldoon, calmly; “thin let the party look to it, for
I’ll rather cast thim forty votes for a nigger than Tammany Hall shall
get wan o’ them.’
“‘I was going to say, when you interrupted me, that you had better
see the mayor, and get an appropriation for the sum necessary to be
expended, and then you’ll have the business done right away.’
“‘An appropriation, is it? Thank ye! I’ve niver gone ag’in’ my party;
but I object to having my hens drowned under my very roof.’
“Going straight for the mayor, he said, ‘Mr. Mayor, sorr, my name is
Mulldoon; I live in the Twenty-fourth ward; I conthrol forty votes
there; I kape hens; the wather has inundated my cellar, and I want it
pumped out at the public expinse.’
“‘I am sorry I cannot help you, Mr. Mulldoon; but’—
“‘Not help me!’ exclaimed the chief of the little caucus in the
Twenty-fourth ward; ‘then, by my soul, I’ll cast them forty votes for a
hathen Chinee’—
“‘If you had not interrupted me, I was going to say that’—
“‘Oh, then, I beg Your Honor’s pardon; it is only just my bare rights
that I am saking.’
“‘If you go to the Board of Aldermen and get an appropriation, and
bring it to me, I will see that the work you claim shall be done.’
“‘Very well, then, and thank Your Honor,’ said Mulldoon, who in due
course presented himself before the principal officer of the board, an
Irishman like himself, and having considerable power.
“‘My name is Mulldoon; I live in the Twenty-fourth ward; I conthrol
forty votes there; I kape hens; my cellar is inundated, and I want
it pumped out at the public expinse. The mayor’s sent me to you for
an appropriation, and, by St. Patrick! if you refuse it, divil a wan
o’ them votes will ye ever get. I’ll cast them for a native American
first!’
“‘I don’t see how I can get you an appropriation, Mr. Mulldoon.’
“‘You don’t; well, then, the party may go to the divil, and Tammany
Hall wid it! I’m ag’in’ the lot o’ ye!’
“‘Don’t lose your temper, Mr. Mulldoon, I’ll see what can be done for
you; but, in the meantime, will you allow me to suggest that it would
be less dangerous for the party, considering the situation of your
residence, if, in the future, _you would arrange to keep ducks_!’”