I i i:: 
 
 I I liili:: 
 
 ! 
 
 i. It ,Tl * ' 'Pl' 
 
 iM 
 
 ! 'i 
 
 I ''/ftii 
 
 JFFli 
 
 
 
 
 
 :ii;i 
 
 
 
 i"fjH;i;!ifiii;}iHi;ii't!}!i?i;;;i;i:: 
 
 
 
 ;>'(! 
 
 i*i' 'I'i 
 
 
 M;; : ;m-: 
 
 
 
 fill 
 
 i 
 
 'iiiiiiiiiiii' 
 
 mm 
 
 II I 
 
 
 iliii 
 
 1 . 
 
 ii|:i| ;( '1;! 1 1,'i, 
 
 wmmm 
 
 111!! 
 
 iiii mii^iiiiiii! 
 
 \h 
 
 ;itli w 'I'lt'iii!!;!! ;!:' 
 i! 
 
 ii 
 
 :!i?ilifi;i. 
 
 iU 
 
 ! 1 
 
 if 
 
 :,dP 
 
 'l!hlt!» ill Ml )JlH 
 
 iiii!i(| liPlli 
 
' J 
 
 I 
 
 •A 
 
 i 
 
 i'. 
 
RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 OF 
 
 AN OLD CAETMAN 
 
 BY 
 
 1. 8. LYON, EX-CARTMAN, 
 
 BOONTON NEW JERSEY. 
 
 IHR.OIM: TiiE) ISTEAVAPLIi JOXJPtN" AL.. 
 
 ^^uftfe'^V^^.. 
 
 r»IMCE, -^S. OETVTS^ 
 
 PRINTED AT THE DAILY JOUIJNAL OFFICE, 184 MARKET STREET. 
 
 1 8 V 2* 
 

 . ! 
 
/ 
 
 \y' 
 
 a:r ancient cartman 
 
 HIS PROFESSIONAL REOOLLEOTIONS IN NEW YOEK THIRTY-EIVE Y£AES AGO. 
 
 ARTICLE No. 1 
 
 NEW YORK CARTMBN. 
 
 Work ! Ashamed to work V No, I am 
 neither afraid nor ashamed to work. I am 
 now over sixty years of age, and have been a 
 hard worKer all my life, and I don't care a 
 pin who knows it. Work is healthful to both 
 mind and body, and honorable and remunera- 
 tive to all those who perform it. The man 
 who works, if he is sensible, will always find 
 a dollar in his pocket and a loaf of bread in 
 his cupboard — and what more does any man 
 require to make himself both comfortable 
 and independent ? Fifty years ago everybody 
 worked and nobody considered it a disgrace 
 to work — for it was then work or starve. But 
 now-a-days many of our extra nice young 
 men, who sport their fine broadcloth and 
 glossy patent leathers, think it dishonorable 
 to work ; and consequently thieves, forgers 
 and murderers are on the increase— for our 
 fast young men have to do something or oth- 
 er to keep up appearances. 
 
 Thirty-five years ago I commenced business 
 in New York as a licensed cartman. I con- 
 tinued in that business for the next twenty 
 years following, and during that time I had 
 the honor of carting quite a number of well 
 dressed young men to tha old City Bridewell, 
 that used to stand in the City Hall Park. I 
 was at first what was then technically called 
 a "catch cartman," the business of which 
 was, to grab the first job that offered — pro- 
 vided that the compensation was satisfactory. 
 I afterwards got promoted to what the lower 
 crust cartman derisively termed a " fine arts 
 cartman." This fine arts business required a 
 spring cart, and other fixtures, suitable for 
 
 removing 'pictures, looking-glasses, and all 
 other kinds of household furniture, with care 
 and dispatch. This business was quite lucra- 
 tive at first, but, like everything else that has 
 money in it, it was soon overdone. Being 
 among the first to start in it, I obtained some 
 advantages which I retained to the end. This 
 employment, naturally enough, called me in 
 every direction all over the city — more especi- 
 ally in those locations occupied by those who 
 were then termed " the big bugs." I always 
 tried to do my work well and faithfully — and 
 by so doing I not only^ gained, but also re- 
 tained, the patronage of many of the best 
 families in the city. Gentlemen having thou- 
 sand dollar pictures and mirrors to remove, 
 were sometimes a little particular into whose 
 hands they entrusted them; and why shouldn't 
 they ? 
 
 Thirty-five years ago nearly all the New 
 York carfcmen were strictly honest and upright 
 men, and did their Tausiness on the square. 
 They were true as steel, and could be trusted. 
 Gideon Lee, one of New York's old-time May- 
 ors, once paid the city cartmen a very hig h 
 compliment. Old Gideon, I believe, was a 
 cartman himself in his younger days. He 
 said that, " during his whole term of office, 
 as Mayor of the city, but one cartman had 
 been brought before him charged with crime, 
 and that he very readily proved himself not 
 guilty." But I have been informed, whether 
 correctly or not I cannot say, that most of the 
 New York cartmen of the present day are 
 not a whit better or more honest than the 
 Broadway merchants and Wall street brokers. 
 
If this be really true, from my soul I pity 
 them. But, after all, how can it be expected 
 that they should retain their old-time honesty 
 when all the rest of the world are thieves? 
 Like all the rest of us, they are but human. 
 A man must be something: more or less than 
 human, at the present time, if he is expected 
 to keep his fingers out of his neighbor's 
 pockets. 
 
 A New York cartman, above all others, 
 should be an honest, intelligent and upright 
 man — for he must necessarily be entrusted 
 with untold wealth in one shape and another. 
 I recollect having on iny cart one afternoon 
 property valued at half a million of dollars, 
 be the same more or less. It consisted of a 
 collection of about thirty dingy-looking old 
 oil paintings — said to be the grandest pro- 
 ductions of some of the so-called old masters. 
 I never once doubted the genuineness of their 
 antiquity ; but, although I had plenty of 
 money in my pocket at the time, I wish to 
 have it distinctly understood that I did not 
 purchase them at that price. Aild right here 
 permit me to remark — not under oath, how- 
 ever — that I acquired a very high character 
 for honesty and square dealing during the 
 twenty years that I followed carting ; indeed 
 BO 7dgJi that I have not yet, with all my sub- 
 sequent practice, become a very expert thief, 
 which fact almost debars me from obtaining 
 my rightful dues in this thieving and grab- 
 game age. 
 
 The business of a catch cartman calls him 
 in every direction, all over the city, into the 
 damp and loathsome vaults of the dead, and 
 all through the stately marble palaces of the 
 living, into the attics of six-story hotels, and 
 down to the fish-smelling wharfs, whence the 
 " people" go down to the sea in ships. His 
 daily beat comprises not only the city proper 
 but all the surrounding country for twenty 
 miles or more round about. Everybody, trusts 
 the cartman — oftentimes with secrets that 
 they would not have divulged for the world 
 — and it is very seldom that their trust is be- 
 trayed. His cartman's frock, and his hon- 
 est, open countenance is a sufficient passport 
 for him to [go unchallenged wherever he 
 pleases, and there is no one to say to him, 
 " thus far mayest thou go and no further." 
 And no matter where he goes, whether it be 
 into the vaults of a bank or a lady's dressing- 
 room, everybody'supposes that ifs all rigid 
 
 and that he has been sent there by somebody 
 on business, and no one questions him for be- 
 ing there. Oftentimes ladies of the mry high- 
 est standing— sometimes standing as high &S 
 five feet six in their gaiters — confide secrets 
 to their cartman such as they would not dare 
 to intrust to their husbands, and much less to 
 their servant girls. A cartman who has es- 
 tablished a good character for honesty and 
 intelligence is looked upon by most busi- 
 ness men as a person of more than ordina- 
 ry importance, and treated accordingly. 
 
 During the last two weeks in April of epch 
 year the cartmen begin to put on a few extra 
 airs, and look and act with more importance 
 than at any other time during the year. 
 Everybody then calls him Mr. Cartman, and 
 when the first day of May arrives then "stand 
 from under!" He then becomes very domi- 
 neering, and everybody feels that it is their 
 interest, if not their duty, to bow and cringe 
 to him, for on that day of all the year it is 
 generally admitted that a cartman may 
 charge any price that he pleases. Through a 
 long continued practice this has become a 
 fixed custom, which no one presumes to call 
 in question, although there is no law in ex- 
 istence that justifies this assumption. All the 
 goods and personal property, as well as a large 
 portion of the real, contained within the city 
 limits have passed through the hands of the 
 New York cartmeu at one time or another, 
 and I fully believe that, were the truth of the 
 case known, more wealth passes through the 
 hands of the city cartmen every year than is 
 handled by the whole board of Wall street 
 brokers. 
 
 It is generally expected that a cartman 
 should know everybody and everything — 
 here, there and everywhere — past, present and 
 to come. He must know the exact locations 
 of all public and business places — theatres 
 and hotels, factories and workshops, shipping 
 points and railroad depots — what time this 
 ship sails, and what time that train starts, 
 and whether there are any runaioay couples 
 on board of either. He must know in what, 
 streets all the churches and justices' courts 
 are located ; to what denomination each 
 church belongs, and who preaches in them ; 
 the name of the presiding justice in each 
 court, and how large a fee it will require to 
 bribe each of them. He must know where to 
 find all the colleges and schoolhouses, the 
 
names of tlie professors in this college, and of 
 the teachers in that schoolhouse ; who lives 
 here, and who lives there ; when this man is 
 pfoing to move, and where that man has 
 moved to. He is likewise expected to know 
 all the doctors, both quack and regular, and 
 which can make the largest blue pills, and 
 which can saw off your leg without your 
 knowing it. Also, all the choice city scandal, 
 and who has been fortunate enough to see the 
 elephant ; who is going to elope with this 
 man's wife, and who is going to run away 
 with that man's daughter. In fact, it is gen- 
 erally expected by all those who know noth- 
 ing themselves that the New York cartman 
 should be an encyclopaedia and an intelligence 
 office combined ; and if he don't happen to 
 know all this and a great deal more, he is set 
 down as a know-nothing, and asked why he 
 don't go to school and learn his A, B, C's ? 
 But almost any sharp, wide-awake cartman, 
 who has taken out the first renewal of his li- 
 cense, would be able to answer all these ques- 
 tions correctly, and a great many more which 
 it would not be prudent for some gentlemen, 
 who value their domestic peace, to ask. 
 
 During my long connection with the cart 
 and carting, I generally went around with 
 both my eyes and ears open — the consequence 
 of which was that I often saw and heard 
 much that was strange and curious, that did 
 not find its way into the newspapers. I was 
 myself occasionally engaged in some queer 
 and startling adventures — abounding in fun, 
 trickery or romance — of which the outside 
 world knows nothing. In the way of busi- 
 ness I have frequently been on hand when 
 none other than interested parties were pres- 
 ent, discussing and wrangling over matters 
 not designed for the public ear — they little 
 dreaming at the time that there was a "chiel 
 amang them takin' notes." In this way I 
 collected and preserved in my memory many 
 little scraps of secret history, some of which 
 fire could not burn me to make public. But 
 there are other scenes and incidents about 
 which I am not so particular. Having not 
 much else to do at present, I have been and 
 still am engaged in writing up a few of these 
 now half-forgotten scenes and adventures, 
 which I hetewith offer you for publication, 
 should you deem them worthy the space they 
 will occupy. 
 I know very well that, like many other 
 
 scribblers for public favor, I am much bettef 
 fitted for acquiring knowledge for myself 
 than I am for imparting it to others ; but this 
 is rather more of a misfortune than a crime. 
 Like many other would-be great men, my 
 "early education was neglected," and I am 
 not ashamed to admit that what little intelli- 
 gence I may happen to possess wa,s acquired 
 out of books read while sitting on the tail of 
 my cart waiting for a job. But, still, I think 
 that I may venture to say — without feeling 
 the least bit proud — that I have seen worse 
 trash than I have written in print. 
 
 ARTICLE No. 2. 
 
 NEW YORK THEN AND NOW. 
 
 Most of my readers, I doubt not, have vis- 
 ited the great city of New York, and know 
 something about its vast and magnificent pro- 
 portions as a loliole — but few of them, I pre- 
 sume, have ever examined its many mazy 
 and intricate windings in detail. And why 
 should they ? An investigation of this kind 
 would require the labor not only of a day, 
 but of a lifetime : and even then, they would 
 be like a blind man groping his way in the 
 dai*k, unless they were accompanied by a 
 competent guide to pilot them through its 
 ten thousand palatial mansions, and lead 
 them into its twice ten thousand loathsome 
 dens of human misery and degradation. 
 Trusting that a brief sketch of the rise and 
 progress of the great city during the last quar- 
 ter of a century might prove entertaining to 
 some of my readers, I now propose devoting 
 this, my second article, to the task. 
 
 It is not always commendable for a person 
 to blow the trumpet of his own fame ; but 
 being now an old man, and not at all am- 
 bitious, I think that I may venture to throw 
 off my usually modest garb and boldly assert 
 my competency to do justice to the undertak- 
 ing. During my long-continued residence in 
 New York I had frequent opportunities for 
 seeing the city, and the people thereof, ouch 
 as few other men have ever had. My busi- 
 ness while there led me in every direction, 
 and gave me free access into many places, and 
 brought me into juxtaposition with many 
 parties, into which it would have been next 
 to impossible for money to gain me admis- 
 sion. A New York cartman engaged in the 
 
/. 
 
 general jobbing business cannot, if lie would, 
 avoid seeing and bearing many strange and 
 curious tbings, sucb as tbe devotees of fasb- 
 ionable life keep constantly screened from tbe 
 vulgar gaze of tbe public. I believe I can 
 truly say tbafc I bave seen New York city all 
 over — inside and outside, before tbe curtain 
 and bebind tbe curtain, by dayligbt, by moon- 
 ligbt and by gasligbt, above ground and un- 
 derground — yea, even from tbe lowest stews 
 of crime and pollution up to tbe gilded sa- 
 loons of tbe most sleek and saintly aristocrat. 
 And, reader, did I cboose to tell tbee all I 
 know concerning tbe city's wickedness, " I 
 could a tale unfold " tbat would barrow up 
 tby better feelings and cause tbe warm blood 
 to freeze in tby veins eren like unto tbat of 
 skimmed milk in an 1 scream freezer. But 
 tbee may rest perfectly easy on tbis point, for 
 I don't intend to divulge any of tbe secrets 
 tbat bave been intrusted to my safekeeping 
 in tbe way of business — not mucb, if I can 
 belp it. 
 
 Tbe New York of twenty five years ago, 
 and tbe New York of tbe present day, bear 
 but very little resemblance to eacb otber. 
 Then and now are borses cf an entirely differ- 
 ent color. A person leaving tbe city tJien, 
 and returning to it for tbe first time since, 
 noio, would no more know wbere be was tban 
 be would if be were suddenly dropped from 
 a balloon down in tbe midst of London for 
 tbe first time. All tbe old landmarks of tbose 
 days, witb few exceptions, bave been swept 
 away to make room for " sometbing new ;" 
 and still tbe cbange goes on. One generation 
 bas passed away, and anotber of an entirely 
 different type bas taken tbeir places. Con- 
 sequently very few of tbe old familiar faces 
 are anywbere visible to remind one of tbe 
 olden time. 
 
 And now, in order to more fully understand 
 tbis question, it will be necessary to note a 
 few of tbe cbanges tbat bave taken place 
 witbin tbe space of time mentioned. One of 
 tbe principal objects I bave in view is to 
 sbow tbat tbe city bas more tban doubled in 
 size and population, and tbat tbe present New 
 York has been mainly built witbin tbe last 
 twenty-five years. In 1834 tbe city contained 
 about 350,000 inbabitants, and covered less 
 tban half tbe ground which it now occupies. 
 Theii the bounds of the city proper did not 
 extend beyond tbe line of Tenth street from 
 
 9 
 
 river to river, and there were many thousand 
 unoccupied lots embraced within tbe space 
 situated below tbat line ; but, note, the city 
 proper extends as far up as Fiftieth street, and 
 numbers about 800,000 inhabitants. There 
 are comparatively few vacant lots located 
 below this line, while the whole island abo^'e 
 is becoming quite densely populated. Then, 
 all tbat vast tract of land lying between 
 Tenth and Fiftieth streets was covered over 
 with orchards, cornfields and vegetable gar- 
 dens, interspersed here and there witb a gen 
 tleman's country-seat and a few rude, old- 
 fashioned farmhouses ; noio, it is all checkered 
 over witb spacious streets and avenues, and 
 covered witb solid blocks of marble and 
 brown stone edifices, the city residences 
 of what are termed upper tendom. Then, 
 there were but two omnibus lines running in 
 the city — one on Broadway, and the other on 
 Hudson street — employing some half a dozen 
 stages eacb. A stage started every half 
 hour, and ran down as far as Wall street 
 — fare each way twelve and a half cents. 
 Now there are some thirty different lines, 
 employing about one thousand large and 
 elegant stages, running in every direction, 
 from South Ferry to Forty-second street — each 
 line starting a stage every five minutes ; fare 
 in all directions, five cents, and not able, to 
 accommodate more than half their customers 
 at that. Then there were no city railroads, 
 and but few public or private carriages ; now 
 there are five city railroads, upon which there 
 are some two hundred horse cars, transport- 
 ing thousands of passengers up and down the 
 island every hour in tbe day, at a cost of from 
 five to ten cents each. And, in addition to all 
 this, there are over ten thousand public and 
 private carriages, drawn by horses val ued at 
 from fifty to five thousand dollars a pair. 
 Then there were but 3,489 licensed cartmen 
 to do tbe whole business of tbe city ; now 
 there are between 6,000 and 7,000, and the 
 cry is " still they come !" Surely, " tbe world 
 still moves." 
 
 TJien most of the wholesale business was 
 transacted on the east side of Broadway, be- 
 low Fulton street ; noio, the whole space be- 
 low Chambers street, on both sides of Broad- 
 way, is occupied almost exclusively for the 
 same purpose. TJien the lower portions of 
 Broadway and Greenwich street, were occu- 
 pied as private residences by the oldest and 
 
Wealthiest families of the city ; now the same 
 localities are occupied by large storehouses, 
 drinking saloons and German boarding 
 houses. Then the retail dry goods trade was 
 confined exclusively to the west side of Broad- 
 way below Canal street, and to Canal, Grand 
 and Catharine streets ; noio you can purchase 
 dry goods at retail in almost any street in the 
 city, even up in the avenues among the old 
 time cornfields and potato patches. Then rhe 
 west side of Broadway was called the "Dollar 
 side," and the east the " Shilling side," and 
 both sides of Broadway above Canal street 
 were occupied as private residences, by what 
 were then termed " our best families ;" ?ioio 
 every house in Broadway, all. the way from 
 the Bowling Green up to Fourteenth street, 
 are turned into marts of traffic of some kind, 
 and whoever will take the trouble to traverse 
 this magnificent thoroughfare from one end 
 to the other will make no hesitation in ex- 
 claiming : •' There is but one Broadway in 
 the world, and that is Dollar side all over !" 
 At the time of which I am speaking (1834), 
 there was but one railroad leading into the 
 city from any quarter, and the fear of encoun- 
 tering an unavoidaUe accident, in which "no- 
 body was to blame," caused that to be very 
 poorly patronized ; but 7ioio, the city is the 
 terminus of more than a dozen of these great 
 iron-plated highways, connecting with others 
 all over the country, and which discharge 
 into this great mart of commerce thou- 
 sands^of human beings every hour in the day. 
 Then, such a thing as an ocean steamship was 
 unknown, and fifteen or twenty days, " Later 
 news from Europe" fully justified the issuing 
 of an " extra." Noic, more than a hundred 
 of the noblest and fastest steamships afloat 
 daily arrive at or leave the port of New York, 
 and instead of issuing an extra, one day's 
 later news is now published in the regular 
 editions of the daily papers. Then, horse ex- 
 presses conveyed important news from one dis- 
 tant point to another at the rate of ten or fif- 
 teen miles an hour — noio, a hundred telegraph 
 lines diverge from the city in every direction, 
 flashing back over their magnetic wires with 
 lightning speed news of the various events 
 that are constantly transpiring thousands of 
 miles away in every section of the country. 
 Then, Horace Greeley occupied the third story 
 of an old frame house in Vesey street, and 
 was himself engaged in setting up type for 
 
 the columns of the New Yorker, and James 
 Gordon Bennett at about the same time stood 
 behind a rude counter in a little old basement 
 in Nassau street, selling with his own hands 
 his own " spicy little Herald;" now, they 
 stand at the head of two of the greatest news- 
 paper establishments in the United States, 
 and both are men of substance — the former 
 counting his wealth by the hundred thou- 
 sands, and the latter by the millions. Greeley 
 flourishes like a green bay tree on Graham 
 bread and Adam's ale at his cozy little cottage 
 in Fourth avenue, while Bennett indulges in 
 his mutton chops and sips his . venerable 
 claret at his magnificent country seat at Fort 
 Washington, on the east bank of the noble 
 Hudson. 
 
 Then building lots fronting on the present 
 Union Square were sold for $500 each — now 
 they will readily sell for |15,000 to $20,000 ; 
 but the assessments levied upon them, from 
 time to time, have been perfectly enormous. 
 Then lots could be obtained on the Fifth ave- 
 nue, in the vicinity of Fortieth street, for 
 from $100 to $300 — now they are anxiously 
 sought after at from $10,000 to $15,000— and 
 so with real estate all over the city. The 
 children of many of the old market garden- 
 ers of that day, who had hard work to keep 
 soul and body together, now live in brown- 
 stone fronts, keep their carriages and liveried 
 servants, sport the finest silks and broadcloths, 
 and fare sumptuously every day. In common 
 parlance, they have got rich in spite of their 
 teeth, whether natural or artificial. In New 
 York the wheels of Fortune are always re- 
 volving — one man goes up to-day, and another 
 goes doioii to-morrow. One makes and another 
 loses — a business man cannot stand still if he 
 would ; for, if he does not rao-vQ forxcard, he 
 will most assuredly be found traveling on the 
 back track. Twenty-five years ago I saw a 
 man digging in a dirt-ba,nk, who lately died 
 worth three hundred thousand dollars ; and 
 I knew another, at about the same time, who 
 inherited five hundred thousand dollars, and 
 who, in less than five years thereafter, died 
 in the Alms House, not worth a red cent. I 
 have seen a man who stood at the head of one 
 of the largest banking-houses in Wall street, 
 and who could draw an accepted cb eck for a 
 million dollars, in less than ten years there- 
 after go into an up-town Dutch grocery and 
 purchase a No. 2 salt mackerel for his family 
 
breakfast— and carry it home himself. It was 
 viisfortune and not crime that brought about 
 this sudden change of fortune. I could name 
 more than one now prominent broker in Wall 
 street, who were once poor boys, loafing 
 around the streets, begging a chew of tobacco 
 of this one, and the loan of a shilling from 
 another, to pay his fare into the pit of Mitch- 
 ell's Olympic Theatre. Such are the vagaries 
 of ever-changing fortune, and none of us know 
 at present what good or bad luck may yet be 
 in store for us. 
 
 That New York is a go-ahead place no per- 
 son, who is in the least conversant with her 
 past and present history, can for one moment 
 doubt ; but it is only when we lake a de- 
 tailed view of the rapid progress that we can 
 fully comprehend the grand strides she has 
 taken. In some countries hundreds of years 
 have been consumed in the erection of a sin- 
 gle edifice, and we have often had it thrown 
 into our teeth by foreigners that we have not 
 the means nor the ability to master such a 
 job at all. But where upon the face of the 
 whole earth is there a single structure of any 
 description that can for a moment compare ' 
 with the great city of New York as a whole "l 
 And yet, despite of all the convulsions and 
 revulsions that have taken place within that 
 time, the present city of New York has been 
 wholly built within the last twenty-five years, 
 and that, too, without the aid of prince or 
 slave. Startling as this assertion may at first 
 appear to the uninitiated, it is nevertheless 
 true. Point me, if you can, to 3,000 buildings 
 on New York i sland that have been built 
 more than twenty-five years, and I don't 
 think that I could find much more than half 
 that number. Of the buildings that have'been 
 erected since 1834 there have been burned and 
 torn down, and again rebuilt, morethan there 
 are now standing that were built prior to 
 that time. And yet, should you take a stran- 
 ger to New York and show him around the 
 city, and then tell him that all this great 
 city had been constructed since 1834, he would 
 look at you with distended nostrils and glar- 
 ing eyeballs, while he most unqualifiedly 
 exclaimed " Impossible !" 
 
 Then Williamsburgh was s rural hamlet, 
 containing only a few hundred inhabitants, 
 and Brooklyn a small town, containing a 
 population of only a few thousands— ?20m the 
 lormer is a large town, comprising a popula- 
 
 tion of 50,000, and the latter a splendid city, 
 crowded with a population of 200,000. Then 
 Staten Island was a barren and unfrequented 
 place— ?i<?«) it is the abode of wealth and re- 
 finement, and thickly studded with the mag- 
 nificent country seats of wealthy New York- 
 ers. Then all the fashionable people resided 
 down town, and all the working people up 
 town — now the positions of the two classes 
 are directly reversed, or at least so near so 
 that it is now unfashionable to live below 
 Fourteenth street. Then the entire city was 
 well governed at an expense of about $2,000,- 
 000 a year — now it is the loorst governed city 
 in the world at a cost of $10,000,000 per an 
 num. Then the streets were kept well 
 cleaned by the corporation at a cost ef $75,- 
 000 a year — now they are not cleaned at all 
 by a contractor who theorizes the city out of 
 about $500,000 per annum. Then murders 
 and assassinations were of rare occurrence, 
 but when they did occur the perpetrators 
 were arrested and punished " as the law di- 
 rects " — noio foul deeds of this description are 
 perpetrated at almost every hour of the day, 
 but the perpetrators are very seldom arrested, 
 and if so, are generally acquitted on the plea 
 of insanity, or on a plea still more potent, 
 that of " belonging to our Ring." Then 
 some 300 night watchmen, at an expense of a 
 few thousand dollars a year, kept the whole 
 city in a state of quietness and security — noio 
 the city employs 1,400 day and night police- 
 men at an expense of half a million dollars a 
 year, to guard and protect the citizens in their 
 rights ; and still the work of crime and pillage 
 are grandly on the increase. Then New York 
 was a place fit for a quiet Christian white 
 man to dwell in — now it is the haunt of hu- 
 man devils, and more to be dreaded than 
 even Hell itself. New York may, perhaps, 
 be a handsomer, and a wiser, but certainly 
 not a better man, than it was twenty-five 
 years ago. 
 
 There is one thing, however, that is quite 
 certain. With all her glitter of prosperity, 
 and all her rapid increase of wealth and pop- 
 ulation. New York is not now the place for a 
 poor man that it was when I first took up my 
 residence there. Then there was plenty of 
 work for all ; wages were high, and all the 
 necessaries of life were low in price and bet- 
 ter in quality than they are at present ; now 
 wages are low, work scarce, and all the nee- 
 
9 
 
 essaries of life poor and bigh in price. Then 
 you could hire good, comfortable apartments 
 for $75 a year ; now the same accommoda- 
 tions will cost you twice that amount for the 
 same space of time. Then the farmers 
 brought their own produce to market, and 
 you could go down to the wharves and pur- 
 chase at retail anything you wanted from 
 first hands; note you cannot purchase any- 
 thing from first hands at all, but have to pay 
 two or three commissions upon every article 
 you obtain from the markets. Forestallers 
 are now constantly scouring the country in 
 every direction, buying up all kinds of pro- 
 duce long before it reaches the city, and often 
 before it comes to maturity. Then the work- 
 in gm an was looked upon and treated as a 
 human being ; now he is looked upon and 
 treated more like a brute than like a man and 
 brother. Verily, verily, I say unto you, that 
 New York has been growing great, without 
 growing good. 
 
 Change, and what is termed the spirit of 
 improvement, are now the order of the day — 
 and there is but little use in trying to impede 
 their onward march. All the ancient and 
 time-honored landmarks of the city are being 
 fast swept away — one by one they disappear 
 and are forgotten ; tiverything that bears the 
 impress of age and antiquity — everything 
 that remains reminding an aged man of the 
 glorious old past — everything esteemed and 
 held sacred by our defunct grandfathers, are 
 rapidly disappearing before the onward march 
 of the spirit of gain ! The Park Theatre — 
 the old " American Drury '' — upon whose an- 
 cient boards Cooke and Cooper, Hilson and 
 Barnes, and a host of other old-time worthies, 
 once gave character and standing to the " le- 
 gitimate drama ; " Columbia College, the ven- 
 erable Alma Mater of heroes and statesmen, 
 whose mortal bodies have long since passed 
 into dust and ashes, once famed as the oldest 
 literary institution in the city ; the quaint old 
 Tabernacle — yea, even the " Tabernacle of 
 the Lord," within whose walls have so often 
 echoed the commingled eloquence of saint 
 and sinner — all are gone ! and tall store- 
 houses, filled with the richest wares of com- 
 merce, now flourish where they once stood. 
 The old City Hotel, once so famous as the 
 place where fashionables used to hold their 
 " city assemblies," and the old Washington 
 Hall, the place where the ancient Whigs 
 
 used to assemble to listen to the fervid elo- 
 quence of their Clays and Websters, and 
 their Holfmans and Grahams, both have 
 long since disappeared, and the large and 
 costly storehouses of Astor and Stewart now 
 occupy the sites upon which they once flour- 
 ished. The overshadowing Broadway Bank 
 now rears its lofty turrets high above the 
 spot where the genial Phil Hone once resided. 
 The magnificent granite pile — then the 
 grandest and most costly private residence in 
 the city — in which John G. Costar lived and 
 died is now occu ied as a cheap concert hall, 
 in which lager-bier and " pretty waiters girls" 
 greatly abound ; and the neat, modest little 
 two-story dwelling-house opposite the Metro- 
 politan Hotel, in which the great millionaire 
 Astor breathed his last, is now known as one 
 of the most fashionable " gambling hells" in 
 the city, where thieves and blacklegs "mcst 
 do congregate." Even the old Potters' Field, 
 the last sad resting-place of thousands 
 of the poor and friendless, has been 
 modernized into a " parade ground " for 
 drilling the city militia — and a portion of 
 an uptown burying ground has lately been 
 transformed into a horse bazaar for the sale of 
 spavined nags and fast horses. 0, what a 
 desecration of that which should be looked 
 upop as hallowed ground ! Niblo's Garden, 
 long the pride and boast of all old New York- 
 ers, now sports its fashionable Metropolitan 
 Hotel, and Vauxhall Garden, once the Sum- 
 mer resort of gay and happy thousands, is 
 now encumbered by that misnomer of a build- 
 ing denominated the " Astor Free Library ! " 
 Of all the memorable and time-honored 
 buildings that graced the city but a few 
 years ago, how few now remain ! The old 
 Walton House in Franklin square still 
 stands, but to what " base uses has it 
 come at last ! " — degraded to a r'ommon 
 sailors' boarding-house, and a place where 
 much bad whisky is disposed of. The 
 foundation of the old building in Broad 
 street, once known as the " City Tavern," in 
 which Washington bade a final farewell to 
 the officers of the Continental army, still re- 
 mains in part, but now so changed in its ap- 
 pearance that Washington himself would not 
 easily recognise it, with its present " modern 
 improvements." Number one Broadway, the 
 headquarters of Sir Henry Clinton during 
 the Revolution, and of Washingron after the 
 
10 
 
 " evacuation" of New Yoik by the Britisli, 
 Btill stands solid as a rock, and tiriu as the 
 everlasting hills ; but. like the old Walton 
 House, it has been degraded from its " once 
 high estate," and is now used as a mart for 
 the disposal of Jiigh-toned mint juleps and 
 sherry cobblers. Of all the old Dutch build- 
 ings scattered over the lower part of the city 
 when I first took up my abode there, not one 
 now remains entire. About the only one of 
 which I have any knowledge, composed in 
 part of Holland bricks, is that standing on the 
 corner of Pearl and Ferry streets, at present 
 occupied as a Dutch grocery. 
 
 And now, reader, what think you of New 
 York city as it loas and is ? There is not an- 
 other place like it in all the world ; and 
 " with all its faults I love it still ;" for it pre- 
 sents to the world one of the most striking 
 exemplifications of whata/reeand enterpris- 
 ing people can do when they set themselves 
 about it. New York is what might be most 
 emphatically termed a fast city. Yes ! the 
 very fastest in all creation. Its meii are fast, 
 its women Ere fast, and so are its horses. Its 
 merchants are fast, its brokers SiVQfast, and 
 so are its swindlers. Its steamships &vefast, 
 its railroads are fast, and^so are its politi- 
 cians. Its churches are fast, its theatres are 
 fast, and so are its saints and sinneis. 
 Everything goes with a rush — everybody 
 are always in a liurry — and any man who is 
 of the city-born, can always recognize a fel- 
 low New Yorker in any part of the world, by 
 \\iQ fastness of his movements. I have seen 
 a fast man, with a fast horse and sleigh, 
 jump over a cartman's sled, without doing 
 any damage to either — and nobody to blame. 
 I have known men to leave their offices in the 
 afternoon, worth hundreds of thousands of 
 dollars, and v ake up the next morning not 
 worth a cent — and nobody made any richer 
 by the loss. New York is a fast place in 
 every sense of the word. It's a fast place to 
 make money in, and &fast place to spend it — 
 &fast place to live in, and a fast place to die 
 in. Justice and Religion are the only two 
 dignitaries that drive a sloio coach — and under 
 the present organization of society they could 
 not drive fast if they wished to. 
 
 The march of New York is onward ! and 
 all the convulsions and revulsions tliat her 
 speculating stockjobber may conjure up, can- 
 not impede her progress. Her march is on- 
 
 ward and upward, but whether for good or 
 for evil, God only knows. The mighty ma- 
 gician of Progress has but to wave his wand, 
 and lo !the time-bound quarry yawns, and the 
 grandly sculptured palace pile springs into ex- 
 istence, even like a vision of enchantment. 
 Other cities of the world may rear larger and 
 more cogtly public edifices, to gladden the 
 eyes of kings and princes, but, as regards 
 the splendor and magnificence of her jho- 
 tels and storehouses, and other places of 
 fashionable resort. New York can't be beat. 
 
 As a place for the disposal of rich and cost- 
 ly wares and merchandise the marble palace 
 of SteAvart stands without a rival in the 
 world. This building alone is valued at more 
 money than it has cost to build the whole of 
 Boonton, with the iron works included — and 
 its contents, which average from two to three 
 millions of dollars, are still more valuable 
 than the building itself. The St. Nicholas 
 lioiel, a building capable of accommodating 
 from twelve to fifteen hundred guests, is al- 
 lowed on all hands to be the largest and most 
 magnificently furnished hotel in the world — 
 its dimensons being about 300x250 feet, six 
 stories in height, and erected at a cost of 
 about two millions of dollars. 
 
 Taylor's mammoth saloon, 3onsidered one 
 of the seven wonders of New York, as it well 
 deserves to be, is worthy all the high enco- 
 miums that have been bestowed upon it. It 
 is composed of a single room, 50x300 in size, 
 and furnished in a style of more than Orient- 
 al magnificence — the marble and looking- 
 glasses in it costing $50,000, and the two 
 mammoth panes of plate glass in its front 
 windows costing $800 each. There is noth- 
 ing like it this side of sandpwn, and you 
 will have to travel a long wjly beyond before 
 you can beat it. 
 
 MAiiCii. 1860. 
 
 Such was the situation as viewed from my 
 standpoint ten years ago, running back 
 thence twenty-six years to 1834. Since then. 
 New York has increased in wealth and pop- 
 ulation far beyond that of any other ten years 
 of her former history, until she now stands 
 before us one of the greatest business marts 
 and money centres in the world. 
 
11 
 
 THE MAN WITH THE BIG WHIS- 
 KERS. 
 
 ARTICLE No. 3. 
 
 It was on tbe evening of September 14th, 
 1800 and blank. Twiligbt bad already set 
 ia, and the street lamps were just being light- 
 ed, when a " solitary " cartmen of about my 
 sixe might have been seen winding his de- 
 vious way up Sullivan street on his way to 
 his suburban home. When a little above 
 Bleecker street, a gentleman in Quaker garb, 
 who was standing upon the sidewrlk, beck- 
 oned him to haul up alongside the curb- 
 stone. 
 
 " Friend," said he, " hast thee anything 
 special on hand for the morrow T' 
 
 " Nothing, either special or in expectation." 
 
 " Then I would like to engage thyselt and 
 
 another of thy profession for the day^ — that 
 
 is, by the day, and for the whole day. Dost 
 
 thou understand me V 
 
 " I think I do ; you wish to employ two 
 cartmen for the whole day ?" 
 
 "Thee hast hit it exactly ; what will be 
 thy charge for the whole day ? The work 
 will be easy, both for thyself and horse." 
 
 " Five dollars is our usual price by the day 
 providing the work is not too hard." 
 
 " Thee mayest consider thyself engaged at 
 that price, and also thy associate. Thee and 
 thy friend will please call at No. 29 Grove 
 street, at precisely 5 o'clock to-morrow morn- 
 ing. Thee will please be punctual, for it is 
 on business of the utmost importance that 
 thy services are wanted." 
 
 " All right ; I will be on hand, with an as- 
 sociate, at the time and place named." 
 
 Continuing my way home, I met Jim 
 Moore, with whom I was slightly acquainted. 
 Informing him of the job I had on^^hand, he 
 very readily agreed to go with me and take 
 the chances. 
 
 The next morning we backed up in front 
 of No. 29 Grove street, at the appointed hour. 
 The old Quaker — I will call him old, although 
 he was not more than twenty-eight or thirty 
 years of age ; having been so much among 
 old pictures I had acquired the habit of call- 
 ing nearly everything I saw or handled old — 
 the old Quaker booq came to the door, and 
 pleasantly remarked : 
 
 "My good friend, I admire thy punctuali- 
 ty muchly. Thee hast hit the nail on the 
 head to a moment." 
 
 " Yes, sir; I always look upon punctuality 
 in busineps matters as one of the cardinal 
 virtues," I replied. 
 
 " I am much rejoiced to hear thee talk of 
 virtiie so understandingly. It is one of the 
 great principles that I most admire; and 
 now thee and thy companion will please to 
 go to work and load thy carts with as much 
 haste as thy strength and activity will per- 
 mit. I have several most excellent reasons 
 for getting my goods out of this earthly tab- 
 ernacle as soon as possible." 
 
 We then set to work and loaded our carts 
 with the best and most costly furniture con- . 
 tained in the two parlors. 
 
 Just as we had finished loading, a gentle- 
 man passed us on the run, and soon disap- 
 peared round the next corner. I should not 
 have noticed him particularly, only that he 
 sported the most enormous pair of black 
 whiskers that I had ever seen attached to a 
 human countenance. 
 
 Having now properly tied and secured our 
 loads, I notified the old Quaker that we were 
 now ready for a start. 
 
 " Thee will pleuse bear in mind that this i» 
 to be a strictly secret expedition — that thee 
 art engaged by the day — and that no ques- 
 tions are to be asked or answered. Thee will 
 now select thine own line of march, but let 
 thy course be as devious as possible, so that 
 thou meetest me at the Jersey City ferry at 
 precisely eight o'clock." 
 
 We then started ofi" n^on our " devious " 
 way, going up this streetjand down that, and 
 finally arrived at the ferry just as the eight 
 o'clock boat was ready to start. 
 
 The old Quaker was standing by the side 
 of the gate, and the very moment he discov- 
 ered us shouted: " Drive right straight on 
 board the boat — hurry up on the double 
 quick ; your ferriage is paid." 
 
 Just as we had fairly arrived on board, a 
 cab came rattling down Courtland street at a 
 furious rate, and stopped directly iu front of 
 the gate. A gentleman bounded out at a sin 
 gle leap, and, without stopping to pay his 
 fare, rushed down the bridge and jiimped on 
 board at the risk of falling into the river. 
 Stopping for a moment to pick up some loose 
 papers that had fallen out of the side pocket 
 
12 
 
 of hie coat when he sprang on board, he hur- 
 riedly disappeared into the ladies' cabin. It 
 wan the man with the big whiskers. 
 
 On landing upon the Jersey shore the old 
 Quaker motioned us to follow him, which we 
 did, until he halted in front of a dining saloon. 
 " Thee and thou," said he, addressing my 
 companion, "are to be mine guests lor the 
 remainder of the day. I have here ordered 
 refreshments for the inner man, for three 
 persons, to be in readiness at half-past eight 
 o'clock this morning. Although we toil not, 
 our poor, weak, frail and dying bodies crave 
 and require nourishment ; let us now enter 
 herein and partake of such entertainment as 
 mine host hath provided for us." 
 
 We all entered in and partook of a plentiful 
 breakfast, including all the delicacies of the 
 season, and after that a little strong water "to 
 warm the stomach and keep off the chills and 
 fever," as the old Quaker remarked. 
 
 We then continued our line of march up 
 Bergen Hill, thence down the Koboken road, 
 until we came to an open lot near the old 
 arsenal, where we came to a dead stop under 
 a large tree. 
 
 " Thee and thine will tarry here until my 
 return," said the old Quaker. " Thy dinner 
 will be served thee here at two o'clock pre- 
 cisely." 
 
 At precisely two o'clock he returned, bring- 
 ing with him a nice, clean, new basket, con- 
 taining a cold roasted chicken, accompanied 
 by numerous other fixings, and a small bottle 
 of gemiine old cognac. 
 
 Having appeased our appetites with the 
 good things provided, and warmed our stom- 
 achs with a drop of the cognac, we rested 
 upon our oars, awaiting further order, for we 
 had pledged ourselves to not ask any ques- 
 tions. 
 
 We remained in entire ignorance of our 
 future movements until about four o'clock, 
 when the old Quaker broke silence by re- 
 marking that " After due consideration of the 
 situation I have changed my whole order of 
 battle ; we shall not return to the wicked and 
 God-forsaken city until the shades of night 
 have fallen upon the noble Hudson, and the 
 city lamps have been lighted. This change 
 of programme will entitle each of thee to an 
 extra dollar for thy day's work." 
 
 At about seven o'clock the order was given 
 to strike tents and march down to the Hobo- 
 
 ken ferry. When we arrived there we found 
 the old Quaker standing near the gate, ap- 
 parently impatient at the slowness of our 
 movements. He informed us that our ferriage 
 had been paid, and bade us hurry on board 
 the boat. 
 
 While we were driving down the bridge 
 to the boat, a gentleman rushed past us, went 
 on board, and hurriedly descended the steps 
 that led into the engineer's room. It teas the 
 man with the big whiskers. 
 
 " Well, Jim," said I to my companion after 
 the boat had got fairly under way, " what 
 do you think of our Quaker employer and the 
 adventures of the day thus far ?" 
 
 " Why," said he, " I guess that our Quaker ■ 
 friend is all right, but a little queer at times ; 
 and as for the other adventures, I rather like 
 them." 
 
 " He may possibly be all right," I replied ; 
 but riglit or wrong, Quaker or devil, not a 
 thing goes oflF our carts until he has forked 
 over the full amount of cartage due us. I 
 have had a little experience in such matters 
 before to day, and I am fully satisfied in my 
 own mind that there is a screw loose some- 
 where." 
 
 " Do as you please," replied Jim, " but I 
 still think that the Quaker is all right, though 
 a little mysterious." 
 
 As the boat was entering the slip the old 
 Quaker came up to me and said : " Thee 
 will keep a bright look-out and follow me up 
 the left hand side of Canal street until thou 
 seest me stop, at which point thee and thy 
 companion will back up in a convenient po- 
 eition for unloading." 
 
 We followed on as directed until the old 
 Quaker came to a dead stop in front of a shoe 
 store near Hudson street, where we backed up 
 and began to make preparations for unload- 
 ing. Much to my surprise, the first thing I 
 noticed on reaching the sidewalk was the 
 man with the big whiskers coming up the 
 street from the ferry. As he approached, he, 
 and putting up his hand to the left side of 
 his mouth, in a low but emphatic tone of 
 voice, exclaimed : 
 
 " Don't take a thing off your carts until 
 your cartage has been paid," and then moved 
 rapidly on toward Broadway. 
 
 Thinks I to myself, " The crisis isapproadi- 
 ing," but I kept mum. 
 
I immediately turned around, and address- 
 ingf the old Quaker, said : 
 
 " I suppose, sir, that we have now arrived 
 at the end of our day's journey. I don't say 
 that there is anything wrong intended us, 
 but it is a part of our duty to protect our- 
 selves. Our cartage is now due us, and must 
 be paid before your goods can be delivered." 
 
 " Do I look like a knave that thee shouldst 
 doubt mine honesty ? Have I not entertained 
 thee all this long day like a gentleman, and 
 thee questions mine ability to pay thee ?" 
 
 "As matters now stand, we have our sus- 
 picions, and not without cause. You are an 
 entire stranger to us, and will have us at your 
 mercy the moment your goods leave our 
 carts. Our demand is just twelve dollars, 
 and the quickest way for you to remove all 
 our doubts will be to pay it. We are now 
 ready and willing to unload your goods, but 
 our cartage must be paid before we untie a 
 rope." 
 
 " Well, it matters but little to me whether 
 I pay thee now, or twenty minutes hence. 
 Here's thy money, all in good Chemical Bank 
 bills ; but it grieveth me sadly to have my 
 honesty doubted. Now, the sooner these 
 goods are removed out of sight of the curious 
 and prying public the better I shall like it. 
 Thee will pass them down into this basement, 
 where there are two robust men waiting to 
 receive them and pack them away. Use all 
 possible dispatch, and when they are properly 
 disposed of we will all go up to Friend N. 
 H.'s, and partake of a few of his noble Prince's 
 Bay oysters ; iut it grieveth me sadly to have 
 mine honesty doubted." 
 
 [The " N. H." here alluded to was Nicholas 
 Hough wout, the man who, about forty years 
 ago, first introduced the chea^ oyster system 
 into New York. In a short time thereafter 
 oysters on the " Canal street plan " were sold 
 all over the city, and " N. H." was soon for- 
 gotten.] 
 
 Just then a flaunting, gaily-dressed lady, 
 heavily veiled, made her appearance upon the 
 sc«ne. Throwing back her veil for an in- 
 stant, die exposed to public view a face of 
 surpassing loveliness and beauty — then ad- 
 dressing herself to our Quaker employer, she 
 in a very unlady like manner thus ex 
 claimed : 
 
 "Bully for you, Ned !— I guess that we 
 bar* got things all right now — your becom- 
 
 ing Quaker disguise has deceived that self- 
 conceited, red-whiskered young detective to 
 a nicety." 
 
 " You may bet your life on that, my lovely 
 Sue — with two such sharp and compliant con- 
 federates as I have with me the Devil him- 
 self could not detect my strategy. But we 
 have had a curious day of it, I can assure 
 you." 
 
 Eeplacing her veil the lady passed on, say- 
 ing that she would return again in a few 
 minutes. 
 
 Thinks I to myself again the plot begins 
 to thicken, but I said nothing. 
 
 The lady passed on amid the crowd, and 
 was soon out of sight. 
 
 Just then the man with the big whiskers 
 again made his appearance, and, tapping me 
 gently on the shoulder, said : 
 
 " Hold on, carman ! — don't untie a single 
 cord until I so order it. I am Deputy Sheriff, 
 and I now seize .all the goods contained on 
 these two carts, by virtue of a chattel mort- 
 gage." 
 
 " The devil you do !" shouted the now en- 
 raged Quaker ; " hands off, sir !" these goods 
 belong to me, sir," and rushing at the officer 
 with an unsheathed dagger in his hand, he 
 continued in a more subdued tone of voice : 
 " If thee would see the color and thickness 
 of thine own blood, thee will continue thy 
 interference in mine affairs ; if not, thee had 
 better pass on about thy business." 
 
 The next moment the officer had the sham 
 Quaker by the throat ; the dagger glittered 
 in the gaslight for an instant, then went 
 whizzing among the limbs of a tree overhead 
 and landed upon the awning in front of the 
 next store. 
 
 " Villain ! and so it seems that thou 
 would add murder to the long list of thy 
 other rare accomplishments; but not quite 
 yet. You think, no doubt, that you have 
 been playing a sharp, deep game, but your 
 badly assumed Quaker disguise has not de- 
 ceived me for a single moment. I now taka 
 pleasure in informing you that I am a de- 
 tective as well as a deputy sheriff, and I at 
 once arrest you, Edward Johnson, on a war- 
 rant for grand larceny." 
 
 Then placing a revolver within two inches 
 of his head, the detective continued : " And 
 now manifest the least attempt at resistance, 
 and I'll tunnel a hole through your wicked 
 
14 
 
 brains in less time than it would take a hun- 
 gry rat to go through a Limburger cheese." 
 
 " That's not my name, Bir j thee hast en- 
 tirely mistaken thy man, sir ; but if thee will 
 loosen thy iron grasp upon my throat and let 
 thy servant depart his way in peace, I will 
 freely forgive thee for thy unintentional mis- 
 take." 
 
 " Perhaps not ; perhaps I have ; anyhow, 
 I'll take upon myself the responsibility of 
 holding you by that name. I very seldom 
 mistake my man. Besides, a person with as 
 many aliases attached to his name as you 
 have seldom knows himself what his real 
 name is." 
 
 Tightening his grasp upon the prisoner's 
 throat the detective quietly restored the re- 
 volver to its usual hiding place, and then tak- 
 ing a small torpedo out of his vest pocket, 
 dashed it furiously upon the sidewalk. The 
 instant that it exploded two men sprang from 
 behind an awning post, and rapidly ap- 
 proached the spot where we were standing. 
 
 " Officers, take this man, Edward Johnson, 
 immediately to the city prison, and tell the 
 keeper to confine him securely in criminal's 
 cell N*^. 27 — and by the way, should Mr. Jus- 
 tice Bloodgood happ^ to be still in his office, 
 tell him that I will be on hand with my wit- 
 nesses at precisely ten o'clock to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 " And now, Mr. Quaker Johnson," continued 
 the provoking detective, " I hope that thee 
 will enjoy ' a good night's rest' at thy new 
 lodgings ; and mayst thee have many pleas- 
 ant dreams, and may they all be about that 
 self-conceited young detective and his red wJds- 
 kers." 
 
 As the trio moved oflf, the poor crestfallen 
 Quaker turned back his head for a moment, 
 and with a most woebegone look upon his 
 countenance, exclaimed, "Well.damnmy eyes! 
 it New York ain't a queer place." 
 
 The detective, now addressing his discourse 
 to us, Faid : " Well, carmen, we ha'-j.-^ had 
 quite a stirring time of it to-day, but we are 
 not quite through with it yet. It was my 
 intention to have made this seizure the very 
 moment that you left the boat, but I did not 
 want to see you cheated cut of your cartage. 
 You will now please drive these goods down 
 to the Sheriff's store, at No. 26 Ann street, by 
 doing which you will each a&a a dollar and a 
 half to your day's work," 
 
 We accordingly drove down to the store as 
 directed, and there found two men in waiting 
 to help us unload. Just as we had got every- 
 thing nicely housed big whiskers again made 
 his appearance. 
 
 " Well, carman, I see that you are already 
 unloaded ; now step up to the desk, and I 
 will settle with you " — which he did. " We 
 will now go over to my old friend Windust's, 
 and have a bit of supper together before we 
 part." 
 
 We went over to Windust's, as directed, 
 hooked and tied our horses, and went in. The 
 deputy was sitting alone by the side of a 
 marble-top table, and the moment he saw us 
 enter he beckoned us to come and take seats 
 beside him, which we did. 
 
 " Now," said he to me, " what shall we 
 have for supper ? Don't be afraid to ask for 
 anything that you may desire." 
 
 " A good nice hot mutton chop is about as 
 good as anything that I can think of for a 
 late supper." 
 
 " All right. Waiter 1" 
 
 " Here, sir 1 What's the order, sir ?" 
 
 " Three hot mutton chops and three glasses 
 cf iced claret. About how long shall we 
 have to wait for them ?" 
 
 " About six minutes and a half, sir ;" and 
 away scampered the waiter to give the order. 
 
 " And now, Mr. Deputy," I queried, " while 
 we are waiting for our mutton chops, suppose 
 that you enlighten us a little in regard to the 
 causes that have produced the grand explo- 
 sion which we all have this niffht witnessed ?" 
 
 " Certainly ; but the story in detail would 
 be a long one. In brief, it is something like 
 this: Two years ago Charles Marshall ^as 
 clerking it on a $2,000 salary, and had $1,000 
 in bank. Susan Martin was one of Mu.dame 
 Armand's handsome milliner girls, and had 
 nothing but the clothes on her back. They 
 met each other at a public ball — loved, wooed 
 and wedded. Then went to keeping house — 
 had everything nice — loved each other, almost 
 to death, for awhile. Finally wife eot a 
 touch of high-life on the brain — ran husband 
 in debt for jewelry and fine clothes — husband 
 protested against wife's extravagance — Sue 
 got mad and 1 an off with Ned Johnson, the 
 noted blackleg. Finally bill came in for $500 
 shawl — money was all gone — creditor impa- 
 tient for amount ot bill — husband had to give 
 
15 
 
 him ehattel-mortgage on parlor furniture to 
 satisfy him. Then husband called to the 
 country to see sick sister — wife informs black- 
 leg of the fact — wife and blackleg put their 
 heads together and lay plan for stealing 
 mortgaged furniture — was then employed to 
 work up the case — got on trail for the first 
 time last evening — saw you loading at the 
 door this morning — intended to stop you be- 
 fore you got out of the city — was delayed in 
 getting papers made out, and as you very 
 well know was j ust one minute too late. But 
 here comes our chops, all smoking hot — you 
 both know what has taken place since." 
 
 " Gentlemen — here, sirs !" exclaimed the 
 chattering waiter, " time's just up to a second 
 : — here's the mutton chops all red hot and the 
 claret all cold as ice." 
 
 We then set to with a zest and dispatched 
 our supper in silence. On rising from the 
 table the deputy turned toward me and in- 
 quiringly said ; " Do you know the name 
 and address of the carman who has been asso- 
 ciated with you to-day ?" 
 
 " I know his name and the place where he 
 stands, but I am not very intimately ac- 
 quainted with him." 
 
 " All right — that will do — now please give 
 me your name, number and stand. I may 
 possibly have to call upon you in relation to 
 this affair, but I think not." 
 
 I then handed him my card. He gave it a 
 hasty glance, and then holding it up near the 
 gaslight slowly read aloud — 
 
 I. S. LYON, 
 
 FtmNiTtnuE Cabt No. S489. 
 
 Stand, 
 
 Comer Broadway and Houston street. 
 
 Putting the card into his pocket he keenly 
 scrutinized my person for a moment, and then 
 inquired : 
 
 " Mr. Lyon, may I make bold to inquire 
 what part of the country you hail from ?" 
 
 " Certainly — I am a Jersey Blue all over." 
 
 " Did you, at any period of your life, ever 
 reside in the beautiful village of Orange ?" 
 
 " It was there that I served my apprentice- 
 ship." 
 
 " At what trade, if I may presume to ask ?" 
 
 " Well, I believe they used to call it shoe- 
 making ; at any rate the work consisted of 
 
 sewing, pegg«jg and pasting little bits of 
 leather together." 
 
 " With whom did you serve your time, 
 please ?" 
 
 '• With old Tim Condit, as they used to 
 call him, and a rum old fellow he was, too." 
 
 " Was you ever acquainted with a lad they 
 used to call Gus Baldwin ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes — certainly. He was one of my 
 shopmates, and was generally known as the 
 laziest boy in the village ; but he turned up 
 a trump after all. Gus is now an officer in 
 he U. S. Navy, and is cff with Capt. Wilkes 
 ton his exploring expedition." 
 
 "Did you know Tim Waldron — the','boy 
 who' always worked with a book;before him ?" 
 
 " Of course I did. Tim is now head teacher ' 
 in one of our city high schools, and bound to 
 make his mark in the world, if he lives." 
 
 " Well, once more. Do you recollect Will 
 Harrison, who worked in the same shop, and 
 whom the other boys used to call Baby-face, 
 because he couldn't raise a beard ?" 
 
 " Well, if I didn't, I don't know,who>hould. 
 Will was the handsomest boy in the village 
 — full of fun, and always playing his tricks 
 on the other boys, but kind and good-natured 
 to a fault. And oh, dear me, how I should 
 like to see him again !" 
 
 ' Well, take a good,nook ! My name is 
 William Harrison — sometimes called Bill 
 Harrison, the sharp detective. Do yon" dis- 
 cover any resemblance betweenjme and the 
 baby-faced boy of fifteen years ago T 
 
 " Not a bit. Why, sir, there is no more re- 
 semblance between yowand our Will of fifteen 
 years ago than there is between a'lion's mane 
 and an old Thomas-cat's whiskers." 
 
 "Perhaps not — but we] shall see. There 
 are more strange things transpiring in this 
 city every day than are even dreamed of by 
 many persons who call themselves smart." 
 
 " I know very well that this is '^a strange 
 world, and that New Tork is what the sham 
 Quaker called it, a queer place ; ^but you can't 
 fool me by palming upon'jme those huge 
 whiskers as being part and parcelof my old 
 baby-faced shopmate." 
 
 The wily detective'';then raised his^right 
 hand up to the'side of his face, and gently 
 pressing his forefinger against a small invis- 
 ible spring, fiercely .[exclaimed : " Presto ! 
 begone !" and the next instant the terrible 
 whiskers disappeared^from sight, and passed 
 into the land of the invisible. 
 
/ 
 
 16 
 
 There was no use in any longer dieputing 
 the fact, for there stood the well-remembered 
 features of my baby-faced old shopmate, all 
 unveiled before me — the same soft, fair skin, 
 creased with the same sunny and benignant 
 smile. The recognition was now mutual on 
 both sides, and the friendly greetings most 
 cordial and enthusiastic— indeed, so much so 
 that the whole establishment was soon in a 
 roar of the most boisterous merriment. 
 
 " I have been thinking all day," continued 
 the detective, " that I knew you as an old 
 friend and acquaintance ; but, blow me, with 
 all my supposed detective sharpness, I could 
 not spot you to a certainty until I saw your 
 name on the cart." 
 
 " By Jove, Will, I never felt so happy in 
 my life as I do at the present moment. Now, 
 tell us all about what brought you to the 
 city, how long you have been here, and all 
 about it — ^that's a good boy." 
 
 I" Well, I have been bumming around the 
 city here for the last ten years as deputy 
 sheriflF and detective, having in the meantime 
 acquired a little fame and accumulated a 
 small pile of dollars, which are deposited in a 
 safe place. But it is now getting late, and I 
 have yet some important business to attend 
 to before I can retire to rest. So, good-night, 
 old shopmate ; I will soon call and see you 
 again on your stand." 
 
 About a month later, sitting on the tail of 
 my cart one fine morning, intently engaged 
 in poring over the pages of " Milton's Para- 
 dise Lost," I was suddenly tapped on the shoul- 
 der by what appeared to me to be the hand 
 of a big, red-whiskered, Irish hod-carrier, 
 which was soon followed by the kindly salu- 
 tation of 
 
 " Good morning, old shopmate ; how are 
 you getting along during these hard times ?" 
 " Why, how's this ? Good morning, baby- 
 face ; and pray what's in the wind now ? 
 been dyeing your whiskers, I see, eh ?" 
 
 "No; not dyeing but changing them for 
 another pair ; always keep stowed away in 
 my wardrobe not less than half a dozen pairs 
 of different colors." 
 
 " And how about our old friend, the sham 
 Quaker ? what's become of him 1" 
 
 " Oh, he's all right ; was indicted, tried; 
 feund guilty and sent up to the State marble 
 works for four years and six months ; but he 
 begged mighty hard to be let oiF." 
 
 "And how about Charley Marshall and his 
 gay milliner girl ?" 
 
 " Well, they are all right, too. Charley 
 came back the next morning, borrowed $500 
 trom a friend, redeemed his goods, had them 
 taken home, and him and Sue are living to- 
 gether again as cosily as a pair of billing and 
 cooing turtle doves." 
 
 " Well," said I, " wonders will never cease. 
 The Quaker was about right when he pro- 
 nounced New York to be a queer place." 
 
 " Yes, New York is a queer place, and a 
 dangerous ; and it is my intention to get out 
 of it as soon as possible. I have just been 
 purchasing a farm out West, and I am going 
 out there to engage in farming. I am getting 
 to be too well known among the " roughs " 
 here in the city. I have already been shot at 
 twice ; the only chance I have for my life is 
 to emigrate. But I must be again on the 
 move. I am at present engaged in working 
 up a verv bad and dangerous case — danger- 
 ous, because there is a very wicked woman in 
 it. Should 1 happen to escape the next shot 
 fired at me, I will call and see you again in a 
 few days ; but at present I have only time to 
 say, Good morning, old shopmate." 
 
 " Good morning. Will ; don't fail to call 
 soon." 
 
 On the evening of that same day, at about 
 eight o'clock, a man and woman were seen 
 rapidly approaching each other on the side- 
 walk, directly under the darkening shadows 
 of the Carlton House, on the corner of Broad- 
 way and Leonard street. As they neared 
 each other, the short, sharp crack of a pistol 
 was distinctly heard by a gentleman who 
 was passing on the opposite side of the street. 
 The man was seen to stagger for a moment, 
 and then fell dead upon the sidewalk, his head 
 pierced by a pistol ball. The woman passed 
 rapidly down Leonard street, and suddenly 
 disappeared into a dark, narrow alley near 
 Elm street. The murdered man proved to be 
 my old shopmate, " the man with the big 
 whiskers." 
 
 On reading a detailed account of this tragic 
 event in the Herald next morning I could not 
 help mentally exclaiming, " Well New York 
 i» a queer place, and — a wicked /" 
 
 [Note. — There are plenty of old New York- 
 ers yet living who recollect that fatal night 
 when a man was shot and killed by a woman 
 
17 
 
 just under the shadow of the old Carlton 
 House, about thirty years ago. The woman 
 who was suspected of havingf committed the 
 crime was arrested and tried for the murder ; 
 but, notwithstanding the general evidence 
 was sadly against her, she succeeded in prov- 
 ing a strong alibi, and thus saved her neck 
 from the gallows.] 
 
 YE OLDE HEIRLOOM MIRROR. 
 
 ARTICLE No. 4. 
 
 It was a beautiful morning in the early 
 part of the month of September, 1854. I had 
 just returned from delivering a load of pic- 
 tures by the old masters at the marble palace 
 of one of the up-town millionaires. The boss 
 and myself stood together near the middle of 
 th« store, discussing the question whether we 
 should go and take a little something or not. 
 Just as we were on the point oi leaving the 
 store for that purpose we discovered " a soli- 
 tary horseman " — no, not a horseman, but a 
 tropical-looking gentleman — no, not a tropi- 
 cal gentleman, but a gentleman with a 
 tropical-looking countenance — -moving up to- 
 ward the place where we were standing. In 
 a moment thereafter the following conversa- 
 tion «nsued : 
 
 Stranger—" Good morning, sir ; very fine 
 morning, sir ; have a very handsome store 
 here, sir. My name is John Smith, sir ; I re- 
 side, when at home, down among the tropics, 
 in the old Island of Quadaloupe, sir ; I am 
 here for the purpose of having a job done in 
 your line, sir — a very particular job, sir." 
 
 Boss — *' I wish you a very good morning, 
 sir : a little eccentric I perceive, sir. Smith ? — 
 John Smith ? I think I have heard that name 
 mentioned before, sir ; at any rate, the name 
 sounds somewhat familiar, sir. It's a good 
 name, however, sir. Well, my name is Thom- 
 as Brown, sir ; I am sole proprietor of this 
 establishment, sir ; shall be glad to take any 
 orders that yOu may think proper to intrust 
 me with, sir." 
 
 Stranger^—" Mr. Brown, I owe you one, sir, 
 and, by-the-by, your name, too, sounds quite 
 like that of an old acquaintance, sir. Thomas 
 Brown, sir. Yes, sir, I was once done brown 
 outcf one of my valuable old heirlooms by 
 a person of that name, sir ; but I take it for 
 
 granted that yc^u, sir, are not a member of 
 the done-brown family of Browns." 
 
 Boss — " Why, Mr. Smith, you are pretty 
 hard on the Brown family this morning. No 
 doubt but what some of them deserve it ; but, 
 as regards myself, Mr. S«nith, I always try 
 to do business nearly on the square." 
 
 Stranger — "Well, Mr. Brown, having now 
 each had a shot at the other, let us at once 
 proceed to business. I have an old French 
 plate mirror in my possession which myself 
 and family value very highly — indeed, above 
 all price in dollars and cents — not so much, 
 for its intrinsic value, as for its having been 
 an heirloom in my family for over a hundred 
 and fifty years. It was made and brought 
 over from France in the year 1698, and put 
 up in the old stone mansion house in which 
 the Smith family have since continued to re- 
 side, where it has hung ever since, the pride 
 and admiration of every beholder. But, ow- 
 ing to the damp and humid climate of the 
 tropics, the frame has lost most of its gilding, 
 and the silvering on the plate has become so 
 defaced that I can no longer see to shave my- 
 self in front of it. Now, what I wish to know 
 is this, whether you can rpgild the frame and 
 resilver the plate or not 1" 
 
 Boss — " Well, if any man can do it I think 
 that I can — but how well it can be done, is 
 more than I can say until I see the condition 
 that it is in." 
 
 Stranger — " All right, Mr. Brown — I don't 
 expect you to make me a new mirror, but to 
 make the old one look as well as you possibly 
 can. And about how long a time will you 
 require to do it in ? I keep all of my heir- 
 looms heavily insured, and I should not like 
 to have this, the most valued of them all, out 
 of my possession any longer than is absoluta- 
 ly necessary." 
 
 Boss — " Well, Mr. Smith, the best that I 
 can say is, in case everything works well, I 
 can reship the mirror to you within about 
 thirty days after its reception here." 
 
 Stranger — " Thank you, Mr. Brown — that 
 will be full as good as I expected. I say 
 nothing about the price — ^all that I ask is, 
 that it shall be well done and quickly. The 
 cost is of no account whatever — charge what 
 you please, and I will send you a draft for the 
 amount. I start on my home voyage to-mor- 
 row, and will ship you the mirror immediate- 
 ly on my return. Here's my card — on the 
 back of it you will find the names of thre« 
 
18 
 
 iirfit-class New York business houses as refer- 
 ences. Please remember that dispatch is the 
 word. Good morning, Mr. Brown." 
 
 Boss — " Your expectations shall not be dis- 
 appointed. Good morning, Mr. Smith — I 
 hope that your return voyage will be a pleas- 
 ant one." 
 
 About six weeks after the foregoing con- 
 versation occurred, the boss and myself stood 
 in the front part of the store, complaining 
 about the duU times, when the door opened, 
 and the letter carrier hurriedly entered and 
 delivered a letter. It was a ship letter, sealed 
 with wax, on which was impressed an armed 
 Christian Crusader and a very savage looking 
 Turk, en ramjjawi— supposed to be the coat 
 of arms of the Smith famiiy. The boss at 
 once opened the letter, and having glanced 
 his eyes over its contents, he passed it over to 
 myself, at the same time remarking : 
 
 " Mr. Lyon, you had better take this bill of 
 lading, and go down and bring up Mr. Smith's 
 box immediately after dinner." 
 
 The boss was a Yankee by birth, but he 
 had resided in New York long enough to ac- 
 quire the manners of a gentlemen. He al- 
 ways called me Mr. Lyon whenever there 
 was anything of importance on hand — but 
 only Lyon when he invited me to go with 
 him and take a little something. The letter 
 read ae follows : 
 
 Smith's Old Hombstead Plantation, I 
 Island op Gdadaloupb, Oc*„ 5th, 1854. ) 
 Thomas Beown, Esq., Looking- Glass Maker, No. 749 
 Proadway, N. Y. : 
 
 Sbab bib : By the same vessel that brings you this 
 (btirk Mary Ann) you will receive box coniaining old 
 mirror, which please repair ana return as soon as pos- 
 ble. Please make it look as new as you c&n— cost no 
 okject. You will find bill of lading inclosed. Please 
 pay freight charj^es, and add same to bill. Had very 
 pleasant passage home— and a quick one. Dispatch 
 IB the word— cosi no object. All are dying with impa- 
 tience to see our eld friend in its new dress. 
 Yours truly, 
 
 John Smith, L. D. O. J. S. 
 
 The mysterious initial letters attached to 
 
 Mr. Smith's name were, after much debate, 
 
 pro and con., finally translated to read thus : 
 
 • Lineal Descendant of Old (or Original) John 
 
 Smith." 
 
 Having finished eating my dinner, I jumped 
 upon my cart and drove down to the foot of 
 Pine street, where I found the " Mary Ann " 
 lying alongside the wharf, discharging her 
 cargo. Going on board, I luckily found the 
 very identical box I was in pursuit of, lying 
 upon the deck. It was a large box, measur- 
 ing about 8x10 feet— very much larger than 
 
 I had anticipated, judging from the size of 
 the plate, which was only 30x48 inches. 
 
 " Mr. Mate," said I, addressing that oflBcer, 
 " I have come down for that box," pointing to 
 the one indicated. 
 
 " All right," replied the mate. " I shall be 
 mighty glad when it is out of my sight." 
 " That box," continued the mate, "was ship- 
 ped by one John Smith, one of the looniest 
 men I ever saw in my life. He informed me 
 in the most confidential manner that it con- 
 tained an old hairloom that had once be- 
 longed to Old John Smith, the original head 
 of the great Smith family ; that it had been 
 in the Smith family for, I don't now recollect 
 how many thousand years, and that there was 
 not money enough in the world to buy it. He 
 also told me that he had a large number of 
 other old hairlooms, of one kind and another, 
 in his possession, but that he never allowed 
 more than one of them out of his sight at the 
 same time. What the' devil the old lunati* 
 does with such a lot of eld looms ot any kind, 
 lumbering up his house, away down in old 
 Guadaloupe, is more than I" can tell, and more 
 especially as there is not now, and never has 
 been, a single weaver of any kind to be found 
 anywhere upon the island. But that is bis busi- 
 ness and not mine. I have, however, per- 
 formed my duty in informing you of the 
 contents of said box, as I promised Smith I 
 would do." 
 
 The box was hoisted up, loaded on my cart, 
 and brought up to the store. It took eight 
 men to unload it and roll it into the packing 
 room. When there the lid was taken off 
 and the contents exposed to view, and such 
 another sight mortal eyes never rested on 
 before. There lay the grand old mirror, em- 
 bedded in a forest of carved work two feet 
 broad on all sides, of the finest and most cu 
 rious workmanship that human eyes ever be- 
 held, but all dark and dingy as a blackboard 
 in a country school room. The mirror had 
 entirely lost its power of reflection, and the 
 frame was mouldy and tunneled with worm- 
 holes in every direction. Nearly the whole 
 field of animated nature was represented 
 on the frame. One scene represented a long 
 cavalcade of mail-clad Crusaders, with Peter 
 the Hermit at their head, wending their way 
 toward the Holy Land ; another discovered * 
 long lin« of turbaned Turks, drawn up in lin« 
 
19 
 
 of battle on the plains of Palestine, ready to 
 give tliem battle. There were long-bearded 
 monks, disconsolate-looking nuns, and pil- 
 grims with staff in hand wandering hither 
 and yon, shepherds attending their flocks, 
 and mounted huntsmen on the chase in pur- 
 suit of the wild boar. There were elephants 
 on the rampage, lions on the roar, tigers en 
 couehant, and hyenas on the grin; there were 
 whales and dolphins, snakes and scorpions, 
 frogs and lizards, peacocks and swans, and — 
 But it is sheer folly to attempt to describe 
 that which is indescribable. I thought that 
 I had seen some pretty fine specimens of carv- 
 ing before ; but all that 1 had previously seen 
 was nowhere when compared with this won- 
 der of the art. It was an undoubted unique 
 as well as an antique. Several of our city 
 carvers called in to see it and they all united 
 in declaring it to be a work of art without a 
 rival in its line. 
 
 " Well," said the boss, " what do you think 
 about this frame, Mr. Johnson '?" Mr. John- 
 son was foreman of the gilding-shop. " Do 
 you think you can regild it, and make a 
 good job of it ?" 
 
 " There will be no difBculty on that point," 
 replied Mr. Johnson ; " but it will take time." 
 
 " Take all the time and materials you may 
 require, Mr. Johson," replied the boss ; " but, 
 by all means, try and make a good job of it. 
 You will now take the plate out of the frame 
 and commence the work ot regilding the 
 frame at once, for it is a job that's got to be 
 pushed, And, by the way, Mr. Lyon, you had 
 better take the plate down to the depot — 
 French Looking Glass Depot, No. 43 Broad- 
 way — the first thing in the morning, and tell 
 them they must resilver it immediately, and 
 do it well — iio matter what may be the cost. 
 And if you like, on your return, you can 
 bring up one of Mr. Jay's plates." 
 
 The person here alluded to was John Jay — 
 not the old Chief Justice of the U. S. — but a 
 grandson of his of the same name. Twenty 
 years ago Mr. Jay was counted one of the 
 handsomest men that waited Broadway. 
 He married the only daughter of Hickson W. 
 Field, a Broadway millionaire, and one of the 
 original owners of the N. Y. Hotel. Mr. F. 
 was a fine, courtly old gentleman, but 
 mighty close-fisted in money affairs. Mr. Jay 
 is at present U. S. Minister to the Court of 
 Austria. I noticedjin the papers a few months 
 
 3* 
 
 ago that he had to appeal to the Austriaa 
 Government for protection, on account of 
 threats made against him by his brother-in- 
 law, H. W. F., Jr. who was on the rampage 
 and " went for him," because he fancied that 
 Mrs. Jay had got rather more than her share 
 of the paternal estate. 
 
 Well, the nex,t morning I took the old plate 
 down to the depot, and stood it up against 
 the wall. 
 
 " Mr. Remey," said I— Mr. Remey was the 
 head man in the silvering department — •' Mr. 
 Remey, here's an old plate that I want to 
 have resilvered. It must be well done, and 
 quickly — no matter what may be the cost 
 How soon can 1 have it ?' ' 
 
 Mr. Remey cast a hurried glance at the 
 plate, and replied : " I will place it into the 
 hands of the workmen and have it resilvered 
 immediately, and it will be in a condition to 
 remove in about fifteen days." 
 
 " All right, Mr. Remey, that will do," I re- 
 plied ; "but be sure and have it loell done— no 
 matter about tlie cost." 
 
 On going down to the depot again, about 
 two weeks thereafter, for another one of Mr. 
 Jay's plates, what was my surprise on find- 
 ing the old heirloom standing there un- 
 touched, in the same place where I had left 
 it. " Why, how's this, Mr. Remey f I in- 
 quired. " I have come down for this old 
 plate, and here it stands untouched, in the 
 same place where I left it." 
 
 " And it is not worth touching," replied 
 Mr. Remiey. " It would cost more to resilver 
 this old plate than it would to buy a new one, 
 and then it would not look any better than it 
 does now." 
 
 I went into the office to see Mr. Noel. Mr. 
 Noel was the head man of the establishment. 
 " Mr. Noel," said I, " I have come down for 
 Mr. Smith's plate, but I find it still standing 
 here unresilvered." 
 
 " Tell Mr. Brown that he had better buy a 
 new plate ; it would cost him much less than 
 it would to resilver this old one," was the re- 
 ply made by Mr. Noel. 
 
 " But, Mr. Noel," I replied, " this old plate 
 is an heirloom in the Smith family, and val- 
 uable on that account only. It must be re- 
 silvered, cost what it will, and look as it may. 
 And it must be done in time to ship it on the 
 4th of December next coming." 
 
20 
 
 " Must is a pretty strong expression, Mr. 
 Cartman," retorted Mr. Noel. It shall be done 
 in time, but I won't promise you that it will 
 look any better tlian it does now." 
 
 Time passed on. The gilders bad scoured 
 up the old frame, puttied up the worm-holes, 
 and finished up everything in the very best 
 manner possible. It looked splendid. A per- 
 son would have to shade his eyes when he 
 looked at it. It was as fine a piece of gild- 
 ing as was ever turned out of any shop. In 
 the meantime the third day of December had 
 arrived. On the morning of that day the boss 
 came to me with a smile on his countenance, 
 and said : " Mr. Lyon, you had better go 
 right down to the depot and bring up Mr. 
 Smith's plate, so that we can have it put in 
 the frame, and boxed up ready for shipping 
 early to-morrow morning." 
 
 I went down with all possible dispatch. 
 The very first thing that I noticed on enter- 
 ing the door was the old heirlocm plate 
 standing against the wall entirely shorn of 
 its ancient silvering, which had not yet been 
 replaced by any of the new. I looked around 
 for Mr. Remey, but that gentleman was just 
 then invisible. I then went into the oflSce in 
 quest of Mr. Noel, whom I found writing at 
 his desk. " Mr. Noel," said I, "I have come 
 down for Mr. Smith's plate, which I find still 
 standing here unsilvered. What's to be 
 done? — it's got to be reshipped to-morrow 
 morning or somebody will get 'hurt.' '' 
 
 " There's but one thing that can be done, 
 and that is to replace it with a neic plate," re- 
 plied Mr. Noel. 
 
 " But," Mr. Noel, " a neto plate will be but 
 a poor substitute for an invaluable old heir 
 loom — do you mind that ?" 
 
 " It can't be helped, Mr. Cartman. The 
 enamel on the back of this old plate is so cor- 
 roded and effaced by the ravages of tims that 
 it will have to be re-ground and polished be- 
 fore new silver can be made to stick to it — 
 and this is a job that can't be done in this 
 country at the present time. You will there- 
 fore have to either substitute a new plate or 
 return the old one in its present unsilvered 
 state." 
 
 " Mr. Noel," I replied, " such a fraud as 
 you propose would be attended with great 
 risk of detection. A new plate would, no 
 doubt, become a valued heirloom of the great 
 Smith familj in the distant and shadowy fu- 
 
 ture — but what will become of the venerated 
 old heirloom of the great Smith family of the 
 grand old past ?" 
 
 " Your musty old heirlooms are all great 
 humbugs," replied Mr. Noel. " Put in a new- 
 plate, say nothing about it, and let it take its 
 chances. Smith will never know the differ- 
 ereace ; I will take all the responsibility on 
 that point. Mr. Remey has» selected you a 
 new plate of the exact size and thickness of 
 the old one, which, being slightly imperfect, 
 I will put to you at half-price." 
 
 Seeing that there was no other way of get- 
 ting out of the scrape, I went black into the 
 store and took a looK at the plate that had 
 been selected for me. It was a very imper- 
 fect plate indeed, being full of waves and 
 small bubbles and not fit to put into an ordi- 
 nary frame. 
 
 " This plate will not answer at all, Mr. 
 Remey," said I. " If Mr. Smith has got to 
 be swindled out of hisold plate, he shall have 
 a good new one in its place." 
 
 After having carefully examined several, I 
 finally found a new plate of the exact thick- 
 ness of the old one, but it was two inches too 
 large one way and four the other. It was a 
 perfect beauty, without a wave or blemish 
 anywhere upon its big lily-polished surface. 
 
 " I will take this plate, Mr. Remey. Please 
 cut it to the exact size of the old one." 
 
 It was cut to the size required. Both plates 
 were placed upon my cart and taken up to 
 the store. 
 
 I now explained this swindling transaction 
 to the boss for the first time. He appeared 
 to be very indignant at the intended cheat, 
 at first ; but, seeing that there was no help 
 for it, he soon began to cool down. 
 
 " Well, I don't much like this style of do- 
 ing business," replied the boss ; " but, by 
 jings ! there is no other way of doing it. 
 Boys, hurry up now, and put this plate into 
 Mr. Smith's frame, and fasten it in securely. 
 We shall have to try this dodge on Smith, 
 and abide the chances of being detected, 
 which are anything but encouraging." 
 
 The plate was put into the frame, the back- 
 board was firmly screwed on, and the frame 
 was then turned over, front-side up. 
 
 A more beautiful, enchanting and magnifi- 
 cent picture than this old frame in its new 
 dress was never placed before the enraptured 
 gaze of wondering mortal. No world-re- 
 
1^1 
 
 nowned paintinsr'by any^.of the so-called old 
 
 masters could,^^' compare .with it. ■ It was a 
 
 pight ..worth going a thousand, miles to see. 
 
 Crowds of curious,, -New Yorkers called in to 
 
 praise and admire this grandest of all human 
 
 creations — this more than eighth wonder. of 
 
 the world. Well might the Smith family 
 
 feel proud in being the possessors of such a 
 
 grarid and magnificent, such a priceless and 
 
 world renowned old heirloom. To all those 
 
 who were not fortunate enough to get a sight 
 
 at it I can only say, as a consolation for their 
 
 disappointment, that they will have to 
 
 " Talk of beauties that they never saw, 
 And fancy raptures that they never knew." 
 
 This modernized old ^heirloom was boxed 
 up late that evening, and the next morning I 
 took it down to the wharf and reshipped it 
 on board the "Mary Ann." With it I took a 
 large envelope containing a letter from the 
 boss to Mr. Smith, and the bill of charges for 
 repairing old mirror ; and after^, getting the 
 bill of lading signed, I placed that, too, in the 
 same envelope, sealed it securely, and depos- 
 ite_d in the ship's letter-bag. . The letter was 
 very plausibly written, and well calculated to 
 cover up the fraud and make everything ap- 
 pear clear^and satisfactory. It read as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 No. 749 BROADWAY, New York, ) 
 December 4th, 1854. f 
 John Smith, Esquire, Smith's Old Hcymestead Plan- 
 tation, Mand of Quadaloupe : 
 
 Dear Sib,: I this day reship to your address, per 
 bark Mary Ann, box containing eld mirror in new 
 dress. I think that you. will be pleased with the 
 perlect^manner in which plate has been resilvered — 
 but the cost for doing it has been enormous. It had 
 to be regrovnd and polished, to make a good finish, 
 before it could be silvered ; but, as you charged me 
 to have it well done, "no matter, what might be the 
 cost." I have.asBumed the responsibility incurred by 
 the extra expense for making it so. Although I am 
 compelled to send you a heavy bill of charges, I can 
 assure you that my profits are very liffht—in fact, 
 scarcely sufllcient to cover expenses." 
 
 Inclosed please find bill of charges, and also bill o 
 lading. 
 
 \;^ Trusting that I have done the work in a satisfactory 
 manner, however much you may object to the cos<, 
 and hoping that the grand old heirloom will reach 
 you in good order, I remain, 
 
 Very respectfully and truly yours, 
 
 Thomas Brown. 
 
 The bill called for charges, amounting in 
 the aggregate 'to two hundred and fifty dol- 
 lars — two ^.hundred would ^have] covered all 
 expenses and left a large profit. The extra 
 fifty was added to the bill as a hlvnd to cover 
 up the cheat. It was a fine piece of financial 
 strategy, and would have added an extra 
 laurel to the brow of a Wall street broker. 
 
 It was now_about^he middle of February, 
 1855. The boss and myself were~staiading"at 
 
 one of the front windows gazing in wonder- 
 ment at an immense stage-sleigh containing 
 a hundred and fifty passengers, and drawn by 
 sixteen pair of fine horses, just then dashing 
 down Broadway. The store door suddenly 
 opened, and the letter-carrier hurriedly en- 
 tered and laid a letter upon the desk. It was 
 a large one, containing an immense wax seal, 
 upon which was impressed the great coat ot 
 arms of the grand old Smith family. The 
 boss took it up, broke the seal, and carefully 
 and slowly read over the contents of the let- 
 ter enclosed. As he read on I very distinctly 
 noticed a smile of satisfaction gently stealing 
 over his countenance. Having finished read- 
 ing, he handed the letter to me, at the same 
 time ejaculating with unusual emphasis the 
 single word, " Bully !" I then felt satisfied 
 that the artful dodge had accomplished the 
 work intended. The letter read as follows : 
 
 Smith's Old Homestead Plantation, ) 
 Island of Gaudaloupb, J- 
 Januabt 10th, 1855. ) 
 Hon. Thomas Brown, Prince of Looking Glass Ma- 
 kers, JVo, 749 Broadway, New York : 
 My Dear Sir : —Your esteemed favor of Dec. 4, 
 1854, and also box containing old mirror in its new 
 dress, have both been received. You will please ac- 
 cept a thousand thanks from myself and family, and 
 also from the whole Smith family, for the exceedingly 
 elegant and satisfactory manner in which you have 
 performed the diflicult work intrusted to your care. 
 The silvering on the old plate is perfect— Si,ndi the gild- 
 ing en the frame is all that the most fastidious per 
 son could desire. Indeed, had you sent us an entire- 
 ly new plate, in place of the old one, it could not have 
 pleased us any better. 
 
 Inclosed, please find draft for three hundred ($300) 
 dollars, which is drawn payable on sight. Your bill is 
 entirel.y too reasonrible— no person can do business and 
 live, without a fair profit. As you will notice, I have 
 added an extra fifty to your bill. I make this addi- 
 tion as a small token of my thankfulness for the very 
 prompt and satislactory manner in which you have 
 performed the very important and difficult work com- 
 mitted to your charge. 
 
 N. B. — I have yet remaining in my wine vault a 
 few bottles of genuine old French brandy, that came 
 over in the same ship with the old mirror— and I 
 should be greatly pleased and delighted if you would 
 pay me a visit, and drink a glass or two with myself 
 and a few very particular friends, in honor of our old 
 friend in its new dress. 
 
 With hi;^h consideration and respect, I remain your 
 most obedient and humble servant, < 
 
 John Smith, L. D. O. J. S. 
 
 "Bully for Smith!" I shouted, as I handed 
 back the letter. 
 
 " Yes," chimed the boss. " Bully for John 
 Smith ! Bully for us all ! And I say, Lyon, 
 this news is too good to pass without a drink. 
 Let's go over to Bob's and take a little some- 
 thing." 
 
 Well, we went over to Bob's and took a 
 little something, and — some oysters. It was 
 Bob Sinclair's, corner of Broadway and 
 Eighth street. Everybody knew Bob. He 
 kept one of the very best places of entertain- 
 
ment for the inner man in the city. But, 
 alas ! Human life is short at the best, and 
 quite uncertain. Bob and the boss were both 
 human. They have both long since gone to 
 that distant bourne where heirlooms and 
 mint juleps are neither made nor wanted. 
 
 On our return to the store the old heir- 
 loom plate was conveyed to me in due form 
 by a quit-claim deed as my portion of the 
 "spoils," obtained under false pretences 
 from the personal estate of the grand old 
 Smith family. It still remains in my posses- 
 sion, and is,, the very identical old "hair- 
 loom," as the mate called it, in which I have 
 wove this long and truthful story. 
 
 And now, I doubt not that, could I trace 
 out the whereabouts of the veritable John 
 Smith hereinbefore mentioned, and identify 
 to his satisfaction the genuineness of this old 
 mirror plate, he would gladly draw me his 
 check on the old Chemical Bank of New York, 
 payable at sight, for half a million dollars, to 
 again get the aforesaid old plate into his pos- 
 session. I might then become one of the 
 " bloated bondholders" of the country, ride in 
 a one-horse van, sport cheap jewelry, be able 
 to take a little something occasionally, and 
 have roast beef and plum pudding every Sun- 
 day for dinner — but, having no uses for 
 money, and no inclination to sport jewelry 
 aad eat roast beef, I must positively decline 
 the acceptance of Mr. Smith's generous offer. 
 Should he really insist on having the old 
 plate restored to him again, he can have it re- 
 turned on the following conditions and none 
 other, viz.': If he will pay to me in hand one 
 million dollars in nickel cents for children to 
 play store with and pay off and cancel our 
 magnificent national debt, then I will pledge 
 myself to deliver up and re quitclaim the 
 priceless old heirloom aforesaid to him and 
 his heirs forever. 
 
 How many hundreds of Mr. Smith's rela- 
 tives and friends have since stood in front of 
 that so called old heirloom mirror, and wor- 
 shipped and admired its unique beauties and 
 curious workmanship, fondly believing that 
 they were worshipping at the shrine of the 
 grand old original Jacobs, is more than I can 
 tell. But this much I do know, that the gen- 
 uine, Simon Pure, original Jacobs is now 
 in my possession, doing duty as a fly-screen 
 in the top of an old show- case, in! which a 
 variety of Gferman toys and Yankee notions 
 
 are exposed for sale to the highest Udder; 
 and should any of my readers have any cu- 
 riosity to see it, they will always find " ye 
 olde heirloom mirror" on exhibition at my 
 place of business, /ree of charge. 
 
 And thus it was that Smith lost his price- 
 less old family heirloom, and gained a splen- 
 did mirror, in which he could see to shave 
 himself; but not the shave that had been 
 played upon him. I. S. Lyon, 
 
 Ex-Cartman, No. 2,489. 
 
 WASHINGTON. 
 
 ARTICLE No. 4. 
 
 Hie glory fills the land— the plain, 
 
 The moor, the mountain and the mart — 
 More firm than column, ura or fane. 
 His monument — the human heart. 
 
 G. P. Morris. 
 To the Editor of the Daily Journal : 
 
 In my youth- 1 was taught to look upon the life and 
 charactei of Washington as being that of the model 
 man of all the world. Some of the best efl^orts of my 
 lite have been devoted to the work of trying to have a 
 monument erected to his imfnortal memory in the 
 city of New York that should foreshadow to the 
 future inhabitants of the United States the estima- 
 tion in which his memory was held by his country- 
 men of the nineteenth century; but for reasons 
 known only to myself the movement was not success- 
 ful at that time I know very well that in these latter 
 days, when the word loyalty has superseded that of 
 patriotism, such old fogies as Washington are but 
 little thought of ; but it is hard for us to forget our 
 old way and habits, and consequently I have not yet 
 lost quite all my old veneration for the character of 
 the Father of his Country. 
 
 Thefollowingarticle was written on the last anni- 
 versary of his birth— more for the purpose of warming 
 up my own cooling patriotism than in thelexpectation 
 that it would be approved by ethers. It is truly one 
 of the "recollections" of the Old Cartman of which, 
 he feels proud, no matter what others may think of it. 
 It was written to please myself, and not those who 
 think that a " Second Washington " has already ap- 
 peared. Should you think it worthy the space it 
 would occupy in the Journal," publish it ; if not, 
 burn it, and send me ^he ashes.which might, perhaps, 
 warm me up to do better next time. The memory of 
 Washington must not, and shall notbe forgotten, until 
 the Ex-Cartman becomes so imbecile in mind and so 
 palsied in his limbs that he can no longer make his 
 mark. 
 
 The American orator, if he rightly improve 
 the opportunities which are freely open to all, 
 needs not the aid ef a ProwetheviB to steal 
 
ail 
 
 patriotism within his bosom on a day like 
 this. The history of our country is rich in 
 materials suitable for the display of eloquence 
 of the highest order, and fraught with scenes 
 and incidents well calculated to impart re- 
 newed inspiration to the pen of poetry and 
 romance. The discovery and settlement of 
 this vast continent — the legends and tradi- 
 tions of the native Indians — our glorious war 
 for independence, and the immortal battle- 
 fields of the Revolution — these are themes 
 eminently calculated for the display of the 
 loftiest flights of human eloquence, and are 
 Bucb as Grecian nor Roman orator never had. 
 Though yet in our infancy as a nation, we 
 dwell in a land hallowed by a thousand fond 
 and endearing recollections. It is the home of 
 liberty, intelligence and religion — the birth- 
 place of Washington and Franklin, and the 
 theatre upon which have been performed 
 some of the greatest and grandest exploits re- 
 corded in history. Here are Jamestown and 
 Plymouth, Lexington and Bunker Hill, Tren- 
 ton and Monmouth, Saratoga and Yorktown, 
 Chippewa and New Orleans. These are 
 fields of lame, upon which were per- 
 formed feats of valor and heroism, 
 such as the world had never before 
 witnessed ; fields consecrated to liberty and 
 baptised in the blood of patriots and heroes, 
 battling for home and native land ; fields, the 
 glory of whose achievements shall live in 
 " song and story," and dwell upon the lips of 
 posterity, long after Marathon and Thermopy- 
 lae, Bannock-Burn and Waterloo shall have 
 been forgotten. Who, that possesses a pat- 
 riot's heart and the feelings of an American, 
 can visit any of those memorable places, 
 where fought and bled, the daring sons of 
 liberty, and not feel that he stands upon clas- 
 sic ground ? Who, that can peruse the glow- 
 ing and instructive history of his couhtry's 
 rise and progress — a history such as no other 
 country in the world can boast of — and not 
 feel proud that he is an American citizen, and 
 a co-heir to such a precious and invaluable in- 
 heritance ? 
 
 " Breathes there a man with soul so dead, 
 Who never to himself hath said, 
 This is my own, my native land." 
 
 Mb. Editor:— I shall not occupy your valuable 
 space, nor insult the intelligence of your readers, by 
 going into a detailed history of the life and character 
 of Washington at this time. His lame is as wide- 
 spread as the bouQdB ol civilization, and the whole 
 
 fire from Heaven to light up the altar-fires ofworld knows his his loj ly i(ait. Be was a most 
 
 wonderful and extraordinary man, and I verv much 
 fear that we shall " never look upon his like again." 
 He poFsessed the wisdom and sagacity to plan and 
 originate, as well as the untiring energy and perse- 
 verence to execute and accomplish, any project he 
 wished to carry out, in a more eminent degree than 
 any other man whose name is recorded in history. 
 Like the Heaven-inspired prophet of the olden time, 
 he willed it, and it was done— he commanded, and the 
 great work was accomplished— he declared to a won- 
 dering world that the great day of jubilee had arrived, 
 and that the toil-worn captives should go free— ha 
 proclaimed " liberty to the land and to the inhabit- 
 ants thereof," and instantly the chains and fetters of 
 the long down-trodden sons of oppression crumbled 
 and fell, and ransomed man again walked forth, fear- 
 less and erect, "emancipated and disenthralled." 
 
 Considered in the character of either a 
 soldier or a statesman, Washington has had 
 but few equals, and still fewer superiors ; and 
 whether on the battle-field or in the council- 
 hall, he always maintained the same digni- 
 fied and commanding traits of character. Al- 
 though there is no tinselled brilliancy in the 
 productions of his pen, still there is no lack 
 of wisdom and sound judgment in any of his 
 oflBcial writings ; and in all his intercourse 
 with his associates in public life he always 
 exhibited to the world all that is great and 
 good, all that is grand and ennobling, all 
 that is just and dignified inhuman character. 
 The history of his life and character is the 
 history of human greatness and human free- 
 dom ; and no man of ordinary intelligence 
 can read it attentively and not rise from its 
 perusal a wiser and a better man. And. 
 whether we will it or not the name of Wash- 
 ington is destined to live in the grateful 
 recollections of millions yet unborn, ages 
 after we and ours shall have crumbled into 
 dust and been forgotten. Like the gnarled 
 and storm-pelted oak, whose roots have been 
 embedded in the solid earth for centuries, 
 when the hurricane blast sweeps through the 
 forest, uprooting in its devastating course the 
 smaller trees by which it is surrounded — this 
 mighty and majestic monarch of the " wood- 
 ed realm" having bid defiance to the whirl- 
 wind and the storm — still stands forth in all 
 the pride and power of its native strength 
 and beauty, lifting its head on high and look- 
 ing calmly and serenely down upon the wide- 
 spread scene of ruin and desolation at its feet. 
 And thus shall it be with the name of Wash- 
 ington in after times. Having outrode the 
 storms and revolutions of a thousand years, 
 like the kingly oak of the forest, it shall 
 
24 
 
 staud alone in the solitudes of time, casting 
 a shadow of obscurity over all the other ones 
 treasured names of antiquity, unapproached 
 and unapproachable ; an orb of glory, illu- 
 minating -with its living splendors the dark 
 night of the past, and a beacon light to guide 
 the footsteps of the pilgrim of liberty through 
 all coming time. Age shall never dim the 
 luetre of his unsullied name ; oblivion shall 
 never shroud the sublime emanations of his 
 mighty genius ; ^^^ storms and throes of 
 revolution shall never blot out the record of 
 his glorious achievments ; but the career of 
 his future fame shall ever be onward and up- 
 ward, even like unto that of the eagle's, 
 whose flight is amid the sunshine and the 
 
 clouds. 
 
 •' His is Freedom's now. and Fame's, 
 
 One of the lew, the immortal names, - 
 
 That were not born to die." 
 Such, in brief, is the ^^history of the indi- 
 vidual whose birthday millions of happy 
 freeman have this day met to celebrate ; such 
 the character of the man whose name and 
 memory Americans delight to honor. Wash- 
 ington's is a fame, " not for a day only, but 
 for all time." As a man, his public and pri- 
 vate character stands before the world with- 
 out stain or reproach, and it presents a model 
 for emulation which it would be safe for eve- 
 ry American citizen to imitate. In early life 
 he enlisted in the service of his country, and 
 during his prime, for fifteen long years, he 
 bore the heat and burden of the day, for which 
 he refused to accept pay or recompense. Had 
 he desired it he might have been crowned the 
 sceptred monarch of the New World, but he 
 spurned the glittering bauble from his pres- 
 ence as he would the venemous reptile that 
 crawled at his feet. Take . him all in all, a 
 better or greater man than George Washing- 
 ton never lived. His integrity was incor- 
 ruptible, his patriotism was pure and siacere, 
 his philanthropy was of the highest order and 
 bounded by no human restrictions ; his be- 
 nevolence was widespread and without os- 
 tentation, and his Christianity was meek and 
 without guile. In the language of Charles 
 Phillips, the celebrated Irish orator, "No 
 people can claim, no country can appropriate 
 him ; the boon of Providence to the hu- 
 man race, his fame is eternity and his resi- 
 dence creation." 
 
 And now, whether we are willing to admit 
 the fact or not, we owe much of our present 
 
 prosperity 'and happiness to the wisdom, the 
 courage and the patriotism of our Revolution- 
 ary ancestors. " There is a Divinity which 
 shapes the affairs of men and nations," and 
 " rough-hew them as we will," the all-con- 
 trolling hand of the Great Invisible is con- 
 stantly at work, moulding them for the good 
 of His creatures. So closely and intimately 
 are the events of cause and effect of human 
 actions and results, linked together, that no 
 human foresight can divine the consequences 
 that might result from the loss of a single 
 link in the great chain ' of ,_ this most 
 wonderful and intricate combinatien. Had 
 William Pitt, instead of George the Third, 
 occupied the British throne; had Thomas 
 Jefferson written a petition or a remonstrance 
 instead of the Declaration of Independence ; 
 had Washington declined the commission of 
 Commander-in-chief of the Continental forces ; 
 had Benedict Arnold succeeded in consummat- 
 ing the black plot of conspiracy; had the battle 
 of Saratoga ended in defeat instead of victory, 
 or had the contest at Yorktown terminated in 
 the surrender of Washington instead of Corn- 
 wallis ; in a word, had any one of these events 
 resulted differently from what they did, who 
 can say what may have been its effect upon 
 the future destinies of the world's history ? 
 Would it be too much of presumption to sup- 
 pose that, had any one of these events trans- 
 pired differently from what they did, Eng 
 land might have been at this moment the 
 proud mistress of the world, with the Ameri- 
 can continent for one of her distant outposts, 
 and the people of this now great republic her 
 obedient and submissive subjects. Instead of 
 being a nation of freemen in the full enjoy- 
 ment of civil and religious liberty, we might 
 have been a colony of cringing slaves — "hew- 
 ers of wood and drawers of water " to the 
 British throne — the trembling dependents of 
 a foreign despot, who claimed the "right 
 Divine " to rule us with a rod of iron, by 
 the grace of God, and taxed to the utmost ex- 
 tent of human endurance, to maintain in regal 
 luxury a hoard of royal robbers, rioting on 
 the fat of the land three thousand miles be- 
 yond the seas. British ships would have 
 guarded our coasts; British troops would 
 have garrisoned our cities and towns ; British 
 sentinels would have been posted before onr 
 doors, and the tide-waters of the broad At- 
 lantic would still have flowed over many a 
 
25 
 
 waste place, now the higli-roacls of commerce 
 and the busy marts of traffic, where our "mer- 
 chant princes most do congregate." 
 
 Under the stringent sjstem of Colonial leg- 
 islaticn there were no inducements held out 
 to our oppressed ancestors to encourage them 
 to rise above the common level of their age 
 and nation. But the instant that their inde- 
 pendencehad been declared and acknowledged 
 almost instantaneously, as if touched by wand 
 of subtlest magician, the new divinity began 
 to stir within their bosoms, and from that day 
 down to the present time our march to na- 
 tional greatness and renown has been on- 
 ward ! One hundred and sixty-nine years 
 had intervened between the first settlement 
 of Jamestown and the promulgation of the 
 Declaration of Independence, and yet but lit- 
 tle progress had been made in the settlement 
 and civilization of this vast Continent. And 
 had the same state of affairs continued, a 
 thousand years more might have winged 
 their onward flight before this country would 
 have arrived at its present high state of pros- 
 perity and advancement. 
 
 But God in His mercy had willed that it 
 should be otherwise. The war of the Eevo- 
 lution having terminated in our separation 
 from the mother country — the Constitution 
 of the United Stages having been framed and 
 adopted — and the National Government hav- 
 ing been organized with Washington at its 
 head, a progressive movement commenced in 
 our social and political condition, which has 
 gone on, " conquering and to conquer," until 
 the infant republic of the West has grown to 
 be a giant in strength and stature, and now 
 stands before the enraptured gaze of an ad- 
 miring world, the model republic of modern 
 times ! Since the fourth of J uly seventeen 
 hundred and seventy-six, these then British 
 colonies have grown into a great, powerful 
 and independent nation — far outstripping in 
 all the elements of national greatness and 
 civilization, many of the kingdoms of 
 the Old World, whose existence was "rev- 
 erend with age and grey with hoar an- 
 tiquity " ages before the adventurous 
 sails of Columbus had caught the inspiration 
 of the Western breeze. Here, then, on this 
 great Western Continent, the grand theatre 
 of all our greatness and renown, we reign su- 
 preme, with none to molest or make us afraid ; 
 and it is to the indomitable energy and perse- 
 
 verance of our noble pi'ogenitors that We tire 
 indebted for most of the blessings and much 
 of the prosperity and happiness which we 
 now enjoy. They laid deep the foundation 
 stones of our Republic, and upon this solid 
 basis they reared the superstriicture of free 
 government and free institutions which still 
 tower aloft in all the pride and greatness of 
 their power, the wonder and admiration of 
 mankind. 
 
 The report of the last gun of the Revolu- 
 tion had scarcely died upon the listening ear, 
 when the work of progress and improvement 
 commenced their onward march. And what 
 has been the result in regard to our condi- 
 tion as a people ? Accustomed to toil and 
 fearless of danger, the hardy pioneers went 
 forth, and at their bidding the wilderness 
 disappeared, the desert bloomed and blos- 
 somed as the rose, the golden harvest waved 
 in the noonday sun, and countless flocks and 
 herds roamed the green pastures, and were 
 seen feeding on a " thousand hills." Beneath 
 their sturdy strokes the tail old forest trees 
 fell prostrate in the dust ; the rude hut of the 
 Indian disappeared, and cities and towns now 
 occupy the places where they stood ; the ta- 
 pering church-spire points towards the heav- 
 ens, and the merry, clanging school-bell sum- 
 mons our sons and daughters to their desks 
 in schoolroom and college-hall. The lurid 
 glare of blazing forge and furnace now il- 
 luminate the sable firmament and light up 
 the lonely dell where once the savage panther 
 screamed ; the whirring water-wheel and 
 ponderous trip-hammer now make " night 
 hideous" with their clangor, where once the 
 " wild fox dug his hole unscared ;" and from 
 the dark solitudes of many an ancient forest- 
 glen now ring forth the pealing anthem of 
 millions of joyous and happy freemen. 
 Other countries, 'tis true, have achieved great- 
 er triumphs in arts and architecture of vari- 
 ous kinds, than we can yet boast of. The 
 Old World is strewn with the ruins of an- 
 cient temples, obelisks and pyramids, reared 
 in commemoration of the mighty deeds of 
 the great master-spirits of their age and na- 
 tion ; but it was reserved for the people of 
 the New World to rear the greatest and 
 grandest political temple that the world has 
 ever witressed — mightiest of the mighty — 
 the noblest monument of them all — the great 
 temple of American Liberty, Union and In- 
 dependence ! 
 
26 
 
 Was t not right, tlien, in saying tliat we 
 owe much to the wisdom, the courage and 
 the patriotism of our ancestors? And yet, 
 how little d® we heed the solemn teachings 
 of the sages and heroes of our Revolutionary 
 era, who fought and bled, and even died, that 
 we might inherit the blessings of freedom ? 
 
 " How soon doth time 
 Sweep from the records of the hamati heart 
 The noble deeds our fathers won of yore ! 
 We prosper from their fame, and yet forget. 
 Whose blood, like water, moist'nd many a field, 
 That we might flourish well." 
 
 Let us, then, practice them ourselves, and 
 instill into the minds of our children the noble 
 sentiments of the Father of his Country : 
 " That the unity of government is a main pil- 
 lar in the edifice of our real independence — 
 and " indignantly frown upon the first daicn- 
 ing of every attempt to alienate any portion 
 of our country from the rest, or to enfeeble 
 the sacred ties which novo link together the va- 
 rious parts." 
 
 I know very well that the present is what 
 is termed a fast age, and that Young America 
 is abroad in the land. I know very well that 
 in these latter days men are springing up 
 in every direction, who vainly indulge the be- 
 lief that they are more capable of managing 
 the affairs of the nation than were their " il- 
 lustrious predecessors." But is it so ? Are 
 the people of the present day any wiser, more 
 patriotic, or any way better fitted for self- 
 government than were the people of our 
 Revolutionary era? Let every man be con- 
 vinced in his own mind ; but, as regards my- 
 self, I go in strong for the Union and Con- 
 stitution as our fathers made them. They 
 constitute what I call the great American 
 platform — a platform long enough, broad 
 enough and strong enough for the whole 
 American people to stand upon, no matter 
 whether they are native born or adopted. I 
 look upon the old American Constitution as 
 the greatest and grandest political structure 
 ever reared by human hands. It is the grand 
 citadel of our independence ; it constitutes the 
 indissoluble bond of our Union, and is the 
 impregnable rock of our political salvation, 
 against which the waves of faction and mis- 
 rule shall beat in vain. It is the great palla- 
 dium of our liberties — the mighty Areopagus 
 around which the true friends of their country 
 shall rally when all else is lost. It is an easy 
 matter to adulterate, but it is impossible to 
 purify pure gold. 
 
 Such are iny sentiments, whetlier right ot 
 wrong ; but it is perfectly right that every 
 one should be convinced in his own mind. 
 But, for upholding these opinions, for stand- 
 ing up in defence of this ark of our political 
 safety, I shall, no doubt, be ^looked upon by 
 some of our modern political reformers as a 
 little bit old fashioned. But when I recollect 
 that such grand old fogies as ^Washington, 
 and Franklin, and Jefferson, and Madison, 
 were among the master builders of the old 
 American Constitution, I feel that I have ta 
 ken sanctuary in a safe"place of refuge. 
 
 Other men may pursue whatever course 
 they please, but as for myself I have enlisted 
 for a life-cruise on board the good old ship 
 American Constitution ; and come weal or 
 come woe, blow high or blow low, in sunshine 
 or in storm, no matter how loud the enemy's 
 broadside may thunder, my motto is, and ever 
 shzil he, " Don't give up the ship!" Let us 
 then, one and all, unfurl our tattered banners 
 to the battle and the breeze — pipe all hands 
 on board — and with our old battle -flag nailed 
 to the mast fearlessly pursue our voyage, 
 fully resolved to stand by our guns as long 
 as there remains a "» sliot in the locker!" 
 And should the heavens threaten and the 
 clouds begin to lower ; should the angry 
 waves begin to roll, and the howling tempest 
 burst forth in its fury, then let us beat to 
 quarters, call all hands on deck, double-reef 
 our sails, make all taut fore and aft, and hav- 
 ing committed our souls to the protection of 
 the God of our fathers, patiently await the 
 issue of the storm ; and if at last the good old 
 ship is doomed to sink beneath the ocean 
 waves, then let her go down amid the war of 
 elements, with all hands on board ; and may 
 the starry old flag of our Washington be the 
 last object that shall disappear beneath, the 
 rolling billows of the great deep. 
 
 It has been said, and truly said, that the 
 voice of the people is the voice of God. It 
 then remains for the American people to say 
 yvhether the good ship, American Constitu- 
 tion, shall continue on her prosperous voyage 
 dispensing the blessings of peace and happi- 
 ness, of liberty and civilization abroad 
 throughout the world — or whether she shall 
 founder and sink amid the rocks and shoals 
 of unrelenting party strife. In unity there is 
 strength and safety — but a government divid- 
 ed against itself cannot stand. If we are 
 
27 
 
 just to ourselves, and true to the prin- 
 ciples of government, as laid down by the 
 framers and founders of our glorious 
 old Constitution, the United States will yet 
 become the grandest and mightiest republi- 
 can empire that the sun has ever stione upon. 
 Then, with hearts and hands united, and with 
 the patriotic spirit that animated the hearts of 
 our venerated ancestors burning within our 
 bosoms, we need not fear the hostile approach 
 of the combined world in arms, for we should 
 then present to the world an unbroken front, 
 on which would be written in characters of 
 living light the all potent words, " Ameri" 
 cans when united are invincible !" 
 
 Let us then continue to feel and act like 
 Americans, and not forget that we once had a 
 Washington, who was greatest of the great — 
 " the noblest Roman of them all." Let us 
 show to the world that we know how to 
 cherish and defend the institutions that have 
 been committed to our care and protection 
 Let us continue to celebrate with becoming 
 respect each returning anniversary birthday 
 of the Father of his Country ; tor by so doing 
 we shall keep alive that spirit of brotherly 
 love, without which we never need expect to 
 grow and prosper as &free and united people. 
 And when we shall have been laid in our 
 graves, and all the fleeting scenes of life and 
 beauty by which we are now surrounded shall 
 have passed away and been forgotten, our 
 children's children through countless genera- 
 tions yet to come shall rise up and fill the 
 places which we now fill, and reverently bless 
 the auspicious day that gave a Washington 
 
 to their country. 
 
 " Freedom shall wake the votive lay, 
 Fame blow her silver horn, 
 Oft as returns tbe glorious day 
 That Washington was born." 
 
 Patriotically thine, 
 
 I. S. Lyon, Ex-Cartman, No. 2489. 
 
 BoontoQ, N. J., Feb. 22d, 1871. 
 
 PROFESSIONAL BEGGARS. 
 ARTICLE NO. 6. 
 
 Mr. Philospher Greeley has told the world 
 " what he knows about farming." I now 
 propose telling the fifty thousand readers of 
 the Journal what /know about beggars and 
 begging. 
 
 That there are many poor and deserving 
 persons constantly on the beg, I do not pre- 
 tend to deny ; but the professioiial beggars 
 are always the most energetic and perse ver-. 
 ing, and are, consequently, the most success 
 ful. Dirty and slatternly looking women, 
 with one or more puny and sickly infants in 
 their arms, are constantly to be seen prowl- 
 ing about the streets soliciting alms ; and it 
 is no unusual tUing for some of the smarter 
 sort to pile on the agony, hj hiring two or 
 three of these poor innocents, at from twenty 
 to twenty-five cents a day each, and by this 
 means make a double appeal to the sympa- 
 thies of the childless. I have often heard it 
 said that these professionals owned a fine 
 large hall somewhere down on the " Points," 
 where they assembled and enjoyed them- 
 selves in high carnival when the business of 
 the day was over. 
 
 Yes! I used to know these New York pro- 
 fessional beggars well. I have seen them in 
 all their various phases, and have made them 
 a study for years. I have watched them 
 during their business hours through the day, 
 and when their daily avocations were ended 
 I have tracked them into their dens and hid- 
 ing'places. Their deceptive arts, sly canning, 
 shrewd tricks, canting hypocrisy and well 
 selected disguises make detection almost im- 
 possible. I have watched them as a cat 
 would watch a mouse, but I have only been 
 able to trap them when taken off their guard. 
 They may catch me if they can, but I don't 
 believe they ever will. But it has been said 
 that the laborer is worthy of his hire — and 
 why not the beggar of his alms ? The fools 
 are not all dead yet ; so let them ply their 
 trade and accumulate all they can. There is 
 but little difference, after all, between the 
 beggar and bondholder, for they both live 
 off the hard labor of others, and neither of 
 them pay any taxes. 
 
 This much by way of preface ; now for a 
 feW choice samples : 
 
28 
 
 SAMPLE NO. 1. 
 One bright Monday morning in June, 1848, 
 a stout built young mulatto girl, aged about 
 sixteen, led by a small, ragged, dirty-faced, 
 bare-footed girl, miglit have been seen slowly 
 wending their devious way up the dollar side 
 of Broadway. When they arrived under the 
 shadedn front of St. Thomas's church they 
 came to a sudden halt ; the elder of the two 
 unfolded a camp-stool, which she carried in 
 her left hand, and placing it hard up against 
 the iron railing in front of the church, quietly 
 seated herself thereon ; the small girl, tipping 
 her a sly wink, left. The mulatto beggar girl 
 was cleanly but coarsely clad, and her physical 
 condition very plainly indicated that she had 
 not been starved. After smoothing the 
 wrinkles in her dress and arranging her 
 headgear to her taste, she took from under- 
 neath a coarse, thin shawl, a thick piece of 
 white pasteboard, about 13x16 inches in size, 
 upon which was plainly printed in large let- 
 ters the following incription : 
 
 " To a Generous Public— Please Help a Poor Blind 
 Gid." 
 
 Having carefully attached the placard to 
 her breast, suspended from a string encircling 
 her neck, she then placed a small tin-cup 
 in her lap, and thus intimated to the pass- 
 ers-by that she was ready to commence taking 
 up collections. Notwithstanding the plump- 
 ness of her person the girl was, on the whole, 
 a poor, pitiful-looking object, and bore every 
 appearance of being in reality what she pro- 
 fessed to be — stone blind. 
 
 Business now commenced with her in good 
 earnest ; pennies poured into her little tin-cup 
 in a contiauous shower, and she appeared to 
 be in a fair way for reaping a rich harvest. 
 This state of affairs continued on for months ; 
 every day there sat the poor blind mulatto 
 girl, calm and unruffled as a marble statue 
 and sad and dejected as Patience sitting on 
 her monument. That she was doing a safe 
 and thriving business was quite certain. I 
 quite frequently saw ladies after they had 
 passed her turn suddenly back and deposit a 
 silver quarter intJ her little tin cup. The 
 girl seemed to possess an intuitive knowledge 
 of the diflference between silver and copper 
 coin, for the very instant that a silver piece 
 of any description was dropped into her cup 
 she would remove it therefrom and hustle it 
 into her pocket. 
 
 My stand being just around the corner in 
 Houston street, I used to watch this girl and 
 her ragged little tender pretty sharp. One 
 day I went close up in front of her and said : 
 '• Well, Miss, how are you getting along to- 
 day ?" 
 
 " Not berry well ; I'se not had mucli break- 
 fast." 
 
 " About how long have you been blind ? 
 and what caused your blindness f ■ 
 
 "I'se bin blind all my life; dun'no who 
 dun 't." 
 " Where are you residing at present ?" 
 " Dun'no ; down town, I blebe." 
 " About how much money do you collect 
 daily V 
 " Dun'no — guess not much — can't count." 
 " Do you ever take in any silver coin ?" 
 " Dun'no — can't see any dif'erence — dun'no 
 what mean." 
 
 During this brief conversation the poor girl 
 appeared to rest very uneasily in her seat, and 
 I was fully satisfied in my own mind that she 
 was playing a part, and very successfully, 
 too. 
 
 I, a few days thereafter, coming up Pearl 
 street, on my way home j nst after sundown, on 
 turning into Elm street noticed a very su- 
 perbly dressed young lady pop out ol a dirty 
 alleyway, and trip along up the street with 
 the fleetness and elasticity of a rope-dancer. 
 She was clad in a fashionable silk dress, and 
 sported any quantity of feathers, flounces, 
 ribbons and jewelry, and tripped along as 
 daintily as a Broadway belle. I caught a full 
 view of her face as she came out of the alley- 
 way, but the very instant she espied me she 
 turned her eyes in the opDosite direction, and 
 increased her speed very rapidly. I kept my 
 gaze fixed upon her for half a block, when 
 she glanced around slyly to see if I was still 
 observing her, and when she discovered that 
 I was still watching her, she suddenly stopped 
 in front of an Irish grocery, and began to 
 critically scan the odds and ends exposed for 
 sale in the front windows. Although she pro- 
 fessed to having been born stone Hind, the 
 recognition had been mutual. The dashing, 
 flashily dressed young lady who had so op- 
 portunely bounded out of that dirty alley- 
 way, was no more nor less than the blind 
 mulatto girl, who had been sitting like a 
 statue for the last three months in front of St. 
 Thomas's church, asking and receiving alms 
 
29 
 
 of a too confiding and credulous public. She 
 waB probably on her way to " Beggaro' Hall," 
 for the purpose of having a high old time 
 with her fellow professionals, and to indulge 
 in a grand oyster and champagne supper at 
 the expense of the charitable ladies of Broad- 
 way. 
 
 What became of the poor blind beggar 
 girl after that is more than I can tell, but it 
 is (Juite likely that she assumed a new dis- 
 guise, and appeared in a different character 
 in some other part of the city. At any rate, 
 she that day made her last appearance in front 
 of St. Thomas's church. 
 
 SAMPLE NO. 2. 
 It was on a bitter cold afternoon in the 
 month of January following. The wind 
 whistled and howled around the street cor- 
 ners, making human locomotion almost im- 
 possible, unless you sailed before the wind. 
 I was pacing briskly up and down the side- 
 walk in front of St. Thomas's church, lashing 
 myself with my arms to keep from freezing. 
 Presently I noticed a small boy and girl run- 
 ning up and down the block between Hous- 
 ton and Bleecker streets, fiercely importuning 
 every passer-by with the stereotyped suppli- 
 cation, " Please give me a penny to buy 
 mother a loaf of bread ?" The children were 
 thinly clad and ragged in the extreme, and 
 looked as though they were half starved. 
 Contrary to a former resolve not to give any- 
 thing to strange beggars, I was on the point 
 of putting my hand into my pocket and tend- 
 ering the poor children the price of a loaf 
 of bread for their mother — but I didn't. Their 
 appearance was so forlorn, and their appeal so 
 earnest, that it went directly to the heart, and 
 was liberally responded to by most of those 
 to whom it was made. Whenever they dis- 
 covered a lady accompanied by a gentleman 
 they would rush at them in the most furious 
 manner, seize them by their garments, and 
 give them no peace until their demands were 
 complied with. I scrutinized their move- 
 ments for some time, and could not help ad- 
 miring the pluck and perseverance displayed 
 by them in their thankless vocation. I soon 
 discovered a movement on their part that I 
 could not readily account for. I noticed that 
 every time they took up a collection they 
 would suddenly dodge around the corner of 
 Bleecker street, disappear for a few moments. 
 
 and then return again to their post and pros- 
 ecute their work with renewed vigor and per^ 
 severance. Watching them still more sharp- 
 ly I was not long in making up my mind that 
 there was a second party ensconced behind the 
 scenes somewhere. 
 
 Being just then a little troubled with what 
 is termed inquisitiveness on the brain, I 
 thought that I would attempt an investiga- 
 tion, for I felt quite certain tliat there was a 
 cat in somebody's meal-tub. I accordingly 
 took a run down to Mercer street, and pro- 
 ceeded up that street to the corner of Bleeck- 
 er. There was a porterhouse located on the 
 southerly corner of those two streets, and I 
 entered therein and took up my stand by a 
 window looking out upon both streets. I had 
 not stood there long when I noticed a man — 
 I will not call him a gentleman, although bis 
 dress and appearance denoted him to be sucK 
 — striding up and down the opposite side ot 
 Mercer street. The man was well dressed 
 and enveloped in a fine new pilot cloth over- 
 coat, tightly buttoned up to his chin. It was 
 quite apparent that he was waiting for some- 
 body or for something to turn up. Presently 
 the little beggar-boy popped around the cor- 
 ner and placed a couple of pennies into his 
 hand. The man looked first at the pennies, 
 then fiercely at the boy, and then, giving him 
 a slap on the side of his head, bade him be 
 off to his work and do better next time. My 
 blood was already on the boil, but I remained 
 quiet. 
 
 The boy had scarcely disappeared when the 
 little girl came Dounding around the corner 
 and deposited a silver quarter into the man's 
 outstretched hand. Sweetly smiling all over 
 his face, he patted the poor thing gently on 
 her head ; then taking a small cake out of his 
 pocket he gave it to her, and then motioned 
 her to hurry back to her post. And thus it 
 went for the next ten or fifteen minutes, first 
 one then the other returning and making 
 their deposit. The man continued to look 
 pleased, and well he might, for during that 
 time he must have received between one and 
 two dollars. Just then the boy came dashiug 
 around the corner with a childish smile on 
 his countenance and a silver half-dollar in his 
 hand. The man patted the boy approvingly 
 on his head, gave him a large ship liscuit, 
 and, stowing away the coin into his pocket, 
 started off on the run and came bounding into 
 
33 
 
 the porterhouse. Shrugging up hie shoul- 
 ders and stepping up in front of the bar, he 
 exclaimed in an authoritative tone of voice : 
 " I say, bar-keeper, it's a tam cold day ; I 
 vants von large, strong hot punch ; make him 
 out de very best stufiFyou 'ave— none of your 
 tam common vishee for me." 
 
 While the barkeeper was concocting his 
 punch the man (he v?as an undoubted Italian) 
 unbuttoned his overcoat, and taking out of his 
 vest pocket a large gold watch, to which was 
 attached a massive gold chain, casting his 
 eyes at the dial-plate, he remarked : " Come, 
 barkeeper, hurry up — its gittin' late." 
 
 The punch was now placed before him, 
 and, hot as it was, he dashed it down at a 
 single gulp. The barkeeper stared at him 
 with a look of amazement, and so did several 
 others. 
 
 " Now," said he, " let me 'ave von good se- 
 gare — non ave your tam cheap trash, but von 
 of de best imported." 
 
 After paying the bill he lighted his segar, 
 and hastened back to his post on the side- 
 walk, where he found both the children 
 awaiting his retnrn. 
 
 While in the porterhouse I feltvery much 
 like seizing the villain by the throat and 
 throttling him on the spot, but I didn't. 
 These big-whiskered Italian brigands gener- 
 ally carry about them very sharp, ugly-look- 
 ing daggers, and most of them are not very 
 particular as to who they bleed with them — 
 so considering " discretion to be the better 
 part of valor," F allowed the scoundrel to 
 escape with a Whole hide. Whether these 
 <*hildren were his own, dressed up in char- 
 acter to perform a part, or whether they had 
 been hired and tutored for the oc-asion, I 
 never tried to learn. Driving in the upper part 
 of Broadway, a few days after, I saw the same 
 parties performing in the same play, between 
 Eighth and Ninth streets. But, methiuks I 
 hear the reader inquire, " Why didn't you 
 hand them over to the police ?" My reply to 
 which is, for the very good reason that there 
 were no day policemen in tlie city at that 
 time. 
 
 SAMPLE NO. 3. 
 
 Many years ago — I don't now recollect the 
 
 exact year — a little withered old man might 
 
 have been seen seated on a box, 8*^anding on 
 
 the sidewalk, on the northerly side of Chat- 
 
 ham square, j ust at the commencement of the 
 Bowery. I had frequently noticed him in 
 passing along the square, and I thought him 
 the most pitiful and disgusting-looking ob- 
 ject that I had ever seen. A coarse piece of 
 trown pasteboard hung suspended from his 
 neck, upon which was inscribed in large 
 capitals the following : " I am a Poor Blind 
 Soldier of the Revolution." With uncovered 
 head there he sat, day after day, silently so- 
 liciting such contributions as the charitable 
 public might see fit to bestow upon him. 
 His general appearance denoted him to be a 
 mry old man, and very much enfebled by 
 age. Indeed, some of the Sunday papers had 
 said that he was a hundred years old, but if 
 he was he was certainly a very small person 
 for one of his age. Nobody seemed to know 
 him, or from whence he came, but everybody 
 talked about him, and wondered how he had 
 managed to live so long. His head was one- 
 half bald, and the other half was profusely 
 adorned with long, flowing, snow-white hair. 
 His face was shriveled and wrinkled, and of a 
 pallid and death-like hue. He looked, indeed, 
 an obj f ct of pity, but more of disgust. Some 
 of the papers had declared that he was a leper, 
 and cautioned their readers not to go near 
 him ; others said that he was just what he 
 purported to be, an old Revolutionary soldier, 
 and that it was a disgrace to the patriotism 
 of the country to allow him to be seen in the 
 streets begging. This state of affairs con- 
 tinued for months, without anbody being able 
 to obtain a clue to his history. Some few 
 shunned him as they would the plague, but 
 more pitied him and contributed to his relief. 
 But the denouement was drawing nigh. 
 
 One day, driving along up the square, I 
 noticed a party of Bowery roughs skylarking 
 on the sidewalk just below where the old 
 veceran was sitting, and I hauled up for a few 
 minutes to see the sport. They soon arrived 
 in the vicinity of the man of unknown years, 
 when one ot the heartless scamps, losing all 
 his love and veneration for things holy and 
 Revulutionary .seized the whitened locks of the 
 old man in his iron grasp, when lo ! the cen- 
 tenarian, forgetting all his assumed infirmi- 
 ties, sprang upon his leet in a trice, and the 
 next moment he went bounding across the 
 square at a rate of speed never before wit- 
 nessed in that locality, leaving his venerable 
 locks and the outer skin of his face dangling 
 
31 
 
 in the liands of the brutal rowdy. And eo 
 this poor old blind soldier of the Eevolution 
 turned out to be a slender youth of seventeen, 
 with hair as black as night, and with racing 
 abilities that it would be safe to bet on. The 
 old continentaler pointed down Oliver street, 
 with several bundled dirty ragged urchins 
 close upon his heels, and shouting at the top 
 of their voices : " Stop that old Revolution- 
 er — crackee ! how he runs !" 
 
 The roughs had a jolly time over the Revo- 
 lutionary relics left in their possession, and 
 the lookers-on had a good time generally. 
 Verily, verily. New York has produced some 
 very fast young men — you may safely bet on 
 that. It was, I doubt not, the last appearance 
 of the accomplished young rogue upon that 
 or any other stage in the character of a Blind 
 Old Soldier of the Revolution, 
 
 SAMPLE NO. 4. 
 
 And now for the king of beggars — a man 
 whose character and conduct almost beggar 
 description. My stand at that time was on 
 the westerly corner of Broadway and Canal 
 street, the same corner upon which the Bran- 
 dreth House now stands. At the time of 
 which I am writing there was a plain old 
 three-story brick house standing there, the 
 basement of which was occupied as a dining 
 saloon and the first story as a porterhouse. 
 On the northerly corner, directly opposite, a 
 certain Mr. Walker kept a fashionable boot 
 and shoe store, having its main entrance on 
 Broadway. 
 
 Oie morning in the latter part &i May, 
 1838, an old man of not less than seventy 
 years, with staff in hand, came hobbling 
 along the upper side of Canal street, toward 
 Broadway, apparently seeking a place of rest. 
 When he arrived at the corner he glanced 
 around for a moment, then taking one of Mr. 
 Walker's empty boot boxes, he deliberately 
 placed it on the middle of the sidewalk, and 
 quietly seated themselves thereon. He then 
 t-0)k off his hat, placed it between his knees, 
 began bobbing his head ad a furious rate, and 
 commenced rolling up his eyes toward the 
 awning overhead, as much as to say, " I am 
 now ready to proceed to business." There was 
 no apparent sham or disguise about him — not 
 a bit of it. He was, no doubt, just what he 
 appeared to be, a poor, feeble old man, 
 and the very embodiment of humility itself. 
 
 It was impossible for any one to pass him 
 without noticing him, and his manner was so 
 pitiful and imploring that it was next to im- 
 possible for a person to pass him without 
 dropping a penny or two into his hat. It was 
 very evident to a looker-on that he was doing 
 a safe and profitable business. Retaining his 
 position until near noon, he then returned the 
 box to the place whence he had taken it fron), 
 and then, repairing to the dining saloon on 
 the opposite corner, he ordered the best din- 
 ner the place could furnish. Dinner over, he 
 then hobbled up into the porterhouse, or- 
 dered a mint julep, took a costly meerschaum 
 pipe from his pocket, filled it with the most 
 choice and fragrant tobacco, and, having 
 lighted it, quietly seated himself on a settee 
 and commenced reading the morning news. 
 At two o'clock he was again at his post, on 
 his box in front of Mr. Walker's store, where 
 he remained until about sundown. 
 
 And thus it went, day after day, week after 
 week, and month after month, until the old 
 man became so well known to the frequent 
 ers of Broadway as any stationary object lo- 
 cated thereon — not excepting the Astor House 
 and Barnum's Museum. The shameless 
 course pursued by the old beggar caused con- 
 siderable comment among residents of that 
 locality, but no one feeling it his duty to in- 
 vestigate the matter, the old fellow continued 
 to beg and feast unmolested. I had often 
 heard it hinted that the old man was a down- 
 right impostor — that he was the owner of 
 considerable real estate, and had any amount 
 of money out at interest on bond and mort- 
 ga;^e — but nothing of a strictly reliable char- 
 acter could be ascertained from any quarter. 
 
 Being on my way home about dusk one 
 evening in July, just as 1 had turned out of 
 Broome into Sullivan street, I discovered the 
 old Broadway beggar trudging along up the 
 street, staff in hand, directly ahead of me. 
 When up near Spring street he dodged into 
 a narrow alleyway and was out of sight in an 
 instant. My curiosity was a little awakened 
 and I drove up alongside of the curbstone in 
 front of an Irish grocery, located on the up- 
 per Bide of the alleyway. The groceryman 
 was standing in the door and I alighted and 
 called for a segar, bavins lighted which, I 
 said : " Patrick, do you know the old gentle- 
 man that just entered this alleyway ?" 
 
3i 
 
 " Bedad ! but it's . meself tliat nuglater be 
 after knowing bim, tbe old Jew I He's me 
 landlord, bad luck till bim !" 
 
 "Is tbat so? He's a man of property, 
 tben ?" 
 
 " Yez better belave tliat — its avan so, tbe 
 auld bdtban ! Pie's bin me landlord for more 
 nor five years, and one of tbe divel's auld &kin- 
 flints to boot. It's bimself tbat owns all tbe 
 bouses between bere an' Spring street, and 
 tbe Lord knows bow mucb more baside." 
 
 " Tbank you, Patrick, tbe news wbich you 
 bave communicated is wcrtb remembering." 
 
 I counted tbe bouses referred to, and tbeir 
 number was five — wortb at tbe lowest esti- 
 mation $15,000. I tben took a turn down 
 tbe alleyway for tbe purpose of getting a 
 peep at tbe old beggar's residence. It was a 
 large, neat, tbree story brick building — mucb 
 more so tban.tbe average of rear bouses. Tbe 
 gas was already ligbted, and tbrougb tbe 
 openings of tbe lace curtains 1 could distinct- 
 ly see a fine display of gilt mirrors and costly 
 paintings. Everytbing looked neat, clean 
 and comfortable. Tbe cat was now fairly out 
 of tbe bag, and migbt be easily seen witbout 
 glasses. Tbe name., " Williams," sbone fortb 
 resplendently from a large gotbic, well pol- 
 isbed silver door-plate. 
 
 Going into tbe porterbouse on tbe corner, 
 a few days after, I found tbe old man sitting 
 alone on tbe settee enjoying bis pipe. I took 
 a seat beside bim, tbinking tbat I would bare 
 a little conversation witb bim. 
 
 " Well, neigbbor," said I, " bow are you 
 getting along tliese dull times ?" 
 
 " Poorly, very poorly indeed — I am not 
 making enougb to pay my expenses— just 
 paid seventy-five cents for a very indifferent 
 dinner, and a sbilling for a weak, sloppy 
 julep— costs me every cent of two do'lars a 
 day to live, and some days don't take in above 
 a dollar and a balf. Can't stand sucb a busi- 
 ness mucb longer ; am losing money every 
 day." 
 
 " Yes, times are very tigbt, and money is 
 dreadful scarce. I baraly know wbat is go- 
 ing to become of us poor devils wbo bave to 
 look to tbe public for our support. If it's a 
 fair question, may I inquire about wbat bave 
 been your average receipts daily, since you 
 bave been doing business in tbis section of 
 tbe city, and tbe bigbest amount taken in in 
 any one day .?" 
 
 " Well, sir, to tell you tbe plain trutb, 
 tbere is no average about it. Some days I 
 bave takes in as bigb as eleven dollars, but 
 only on a few special occasions. My general 
 average is from two to six dollars. At pres- 
 ent I am not doing more tban balf tbat, for 
 most of my best customers are now rusti- 
 cating in tbe country. If business don't im- 
 prove soon I bardly know wbat's going to 
 become of me." 
 
 " Wby, Mr. Williams, I understand tbat 
 you are in possession of a large p.operty, 
 botb real and personal." 
 
 "My good gracious! wbo in tbe world 
 told you tbat my name is Williams ?" 
 
 " Nobody ; I read your name in very large 
 and distinct letters on your bandsome door- 
 plate in Sullivan street." 
 
 " Tbe devil you did ! but wby were you 
 tbere sneakmg around my private premises ? 
 It was a very mean act on your part, to say 
 tbe least, and I don't tbank you for it. But 
 all tbis trouble and exposure comes from my 
 careless servants leaving my alley gate un- 
 locked ; damn them ! But you don't intend to 
 expose me, do you ?" 
 
 " Ob, certainly not, if you will only inform 
 me bow many bundred tbousand dollars you 
 are wortb." 
 
 Well, to tell you tbe solemn trutb, I am 
 wortb but very little at present — a mere notb- 
 ing. But tbere was a time wben I owned 
 considerable property — but it is all gone, and 
 left me a beggar in my old age. I am now 
 in my seventy-second year, and notbing is 
 left me but my profession. If times don't 
 mend soon I fear me tbat I sball be compelled 
 to go to tbe alms bouse, and end my days 
 tbere among tbe common paupers. It grieves 
 me to tbe beart wben I tbink of it." 
 
 " Tbat's all, Mr. Williams — go abead and 
 do your double best — I won't expose you, and 
 you know mucb, better tban I do tbat tbe 
 ' fools are not all dead yet.' " 
 
 One fine morning, a few days later, a dash 
 ingly dressed young lady, accompanied by "i 
 so-called Hungarian Count, wbo displayed to 
 public gaze many more native hairs than for- 
 eign graces, came rattliLg down tbe dollar 
 side of Broadway, tbe " observed of all ob- 
 servers." Tbey dropped into Walker's, not to 
 purchase but to price some of bis latest im- 
 ported French gaiters. Haviftg tumbled over 
 balf the stock in his store witbout buying 
 
33 
 
 anything, they came rushing out upon the 
 sidewalk, not dreaming that there were any 
 other persons in the world except themselves. 
 They stumbled against the old beggar, who 
 was sitting bolt upright upon his box, and 
 the whole trio toppled over together in a 
 somewhat mixed and confused condition upon 
 the sidewalk, the lady exhibiting to the vulgar 
 gkze,fre6 ofcliarge,& set of very ragged skirts, 
 a very clumsy pair of ank'es, a very full-fed 
 pair of calves, and an extremely dirty pair 
 of stockings. The Count, being the first upon 
 Lis feet, hurrieily gathered up his rumpled 
 parcel of second-hand dry goods, and the 
 twain dashed off down Broadway at a furleus 
 rate, cheered on by a gang of young vaga- 
 bonds who followed afier them, shouting 
 and screaming like so many unchained devils, 
 " Stop that Hungry-garian Count, who is 
 running away with the old clam-peddler's 
 daughter !" A couple of gentlemen, who 
 were passing at the time, assisted the old 
 beggar upon his feet, and a trio of newsboys, 
 who had stopped to witness the sport, gath- 
 ered up the contributions of the morning and 
 restored them into the old man's hat, not for- 
 getting, however, to transfer the larger por- 
 tion thereof safely into their own pockets. 
 
 Mr. Walker then came out, and informed 
 the old man that he had been blockading 
 the sidewalk in front of his premises 
 until it had became a nuisance, and 
 ordered him to leave instanter. The old 
 beggar, taking the hint, left — but not until 
 he had bestow ed a shower of fearful maledic- 
 tions upon the head of the poor Count and 
 his fair tender, who had been the cause of his 
 losing one of the very best begging stands in 
 the city. 
 
 But, methinks I hear the reader cry out, 
 " Hold ! enough !" and being very much of 
 the same opinion, I shall come to a close ; but 
 not until I have cautioned every one of them 
 to look out sliarp when they come in contact 
 with New York's wily professional beggars. 
 I. S. Lyok, 
 Ex Cartman, No. 3489. 
 
 Boonton, N. J., May, 1871. 
 
 SYLVESTER GRAHAM. 
 
 ARTICLE NO, V. 
 
 How many of your readers of the present 
 generation have ever heard this name men- 
 tioned before ? And yet but fifty years ago 
 Sylvester Graham was one of the best known 
 and oneof tbe best abused men in New Jer- 
 sey. How fleeting and evanescent is all hu- 
 man fame ! and yet we are all struggling to 
 acquire it in one shape or another, thinking 
 that it will endure forever. Most of the peo- 
 ple of the present generation, however, know 
 a little something about Graham bread — but 
 how few of them know anything about its 
 author or its origin ? The design of my pres- 
 ent article is to post them a little on this 
 point. 
 
 Sylvester Graham, the person whose name 
 stands at the head of this article, was the in- 
 ventor of the bread that bears his name. Of 
 Mr. Graham's early history 1 know but little, 
 but my recollection is that he came from Con- 
 necticut to this section of country about the 
 year 1816 or 1817, being then some 20 or 21 
 years of age. About the year 1818 or 1819 he 
 was a resident of Parsippany, in this county, 
 and kept a country store in a little old wood- 
 en building that then stood near the spot 
 where Judge Cobb's barn stands now. When 
 a small boy, many is the time and oft that I 
 have taken butter and eggs to his store and 
 exchanged them for sugar and molasses. 
 Butter was then worth about 10 cents a 
 pound and eggs 6 cents a dozen ; brown sugar 
 costing about 25 cents a pound and molasses 
 |1 50 a gallon. In those days poor peo- 
 ple indulged in but few of the luxuries 
 that are deemed indispensable in almost 
 every family at the present day —and what it 
 will require to satisfy the wants of the next 
 generation it would be hard to say. Graham 
 was an eccentric and wayward genius from 
 first to last — and well do I remember his 
 general appearance. He used to be very gay 
 and foppish in his dress, and in his manners 
 and appearance he bore a very strong resem- 
 blance to the late N. P. Willis, as I recollect 
 him- twenty years ago — both being in the 
 strict sense of the word what was then, and 
 is now, denominated a ladies' man — and like 
 Willis, he spent much of his time in wooing 
 
34 
 
 the Muses. Mr. Graliam was a man of many 
 parts, and endowed with many noble quali- 
 ties — but, like most of us, he was human, and 
 consequently had his weak points. He was a 
 good prose writer, a poet, an orator, a musi- 
 cian, a portrait painter and a play actor of 
 more than ordinary merit. He wrote many 
 splendid articles, both in prose and verse, for 
 the Morristown, Newark, New York and 
 Boston papers, and I have never yet seen a 
 piece of his composition that was not worth 
 reading. He was also one of the leading 
 members of the old " New Jersey General 
 Debating Society " — a society that embraced 
 among its members many of the most talented 
 young Jerseymen of that day, such, for in- 
 stance, as John J. Wurts, George Wurts, Jas. 
 Gibbs, John F. Ellis and George Meeker. 
 This society was formed about the year 1820, 
 and held its meetings alternately in Morris- 
 town, Newark, Bloomfield and New Bruns- 
 wick. 
 
 Mr. Graham sometimes wrote over his own 
 signature, but more generally over that of 
 
 " G , of New Jersey," and his writings 
 
 were very extensively copied by the news- 
 papers of that day. He had a long i^iscussion 
 with a number of able opponents in the col- 
 umns of the New Jersey Eagle, in the year 
 1830, on the subject of " Punishment of mur- 
 der by death," he taking the negative side of 
 the question. I have carefully preserved a 
 number of his poems and essays in an old 
 scrap-book, and I now find them much more, 
 instructive and entertaining than anything 
 that is published in the fashionable maga- 
 zines of the present day. His " Ode'to the 
 Moon," a prize poem published in the Boston 
 lieeorder, commencing with the following 
 verse :— 
 
 " Fair, lomely Moon, thou speakest not, 
 
 Yet thou are eloquent to me ! 
 Oh I that the scenes could be lorgot, 
 
 Which have been witnessed oft by thee ! 
 B ;t, no ! remembrance will not part 
 
 With what it once too dearly prized ; 
 The bosom cannot cease to smart 
 
 Whosu fselings have been sacrificed !" 
 
 His "Farewell ta Parsippany," May 16, 
 1832, commencing thus : 
 
 " Parsi,ipany, list ! for the tale I will tell, 
 
 Shall rejoice thee extremely to hear ; 
 Oh ! list to my lyre's valedictory swell 1 
 
 The bard thou hast hated now bids thee farewell! 
 Farewell— with a smile and a tear !" 
 
 His address " To Mary Ann, who crowned 
 me with laurel and roses," of which the fol- 
 io ving is the first verse ; 
 
 " Mary, why thus my brow beset. 
 
 With laurels and with roses fair ? 
 Thd wreath is blooming lovely yet. 
 
 But ah! 'twill wither there! 
 For my cold temples oft are wet 
 
 With the inhospitable sweat 
 Of melancholy care. 
 
 Nay, Mary, nay ! thou shalt not twine, 
 Wiih heart and hand so pure as thine, 
 
 A brow so blight and bare." 
 
 And his " Lines written during a thunder 
 storm at 3 o'clock Thursday night, August 
 3d, 1833," of which take the following first 
 four verses as a sample : 
 
 " Love ye, who will, the sylvan vale— 
 The culm retreat— the peaceful li!e— 
 The moon's mild beams— the balmy gale, 
 Remoce from maa and nature's strife. 
 
 Love ye, who will, the social tie — 
 The kindred throb— affection's wiles— 
 
 The presfing lip— the sparkling eye, 
 And beauty's love— and beauty's smiles : 
 
 Love ye, 'who will, the martial field- 
 The blood-beffotten wreath of fume; 
 
 And ye who will, may sceptres wield, 
 And die to leave the world a name. 
 
 But let me love sublimer things 
 Than earth or earth-born beings love. 
 
 And on anticipation's wings. 
 Thro' faith's bright vista soar above !" 
 
 These are all pieces of high merit ; and, in 
 my humble judgment, are surpassed by but 
 few others that have since been written by 
 an American poet. A sad disappointment in 
 a love affair (which breathes itself through all 
 his poetry) caused Mr. Graham's removal 
 from Parsippany about the year 1822. I know 
 but little of his history after he left this sec- 
 tion of country, but my recollection is that he 
 went to New York, where he first studied 
 medicine, then law, and finally divinity. It 
 was after he left Parsippany that he invented 
 his branbread system of diet, and became a 
 somewhat noted and eccentric preacher of the 
 Gospel, but of what denomination I do not 
 now recollect. Take him for all in all, a sin- 
 gular and erratic genius was that of Sylves- 
 ter Graham's ! 
 
 About the year 1818 — having first obtained 
 the consent of the trustees — Graham fitted up 
 the third story of the old brick academy at 
 Parsippany as a place for theatrical perform- 
 ances. It was quite a large place, and was 
 very neatly and commodiously fitted up, con- 
 taining an elevated stage, and seats so ar. 
 ranged and raised up that the whole audi- 
 ence could have a good view of the perform- 
 ances. Graham was grand Major Domo of 
 the whole concern — manager, scene-painter, 
 costumer and chief actor. The fact is, it was 
 his own individual establishment ; he fur- 
 nished all the requisite funds for carrying on 
 
35 
 
 the concern, and took bis cLances of being re- 
 imbursed out of the profits ; but it was gen- 
 erally understood that he made a little some- 
 thing out of the enterprise. His assistant 
 players were talented young ladies and gen- 
 tlemen, belonging to the first families of the 
 village. 
 
 The plays performed — and they were gen- 
 erally well performed — were mostly of a 
 laughable character, such as "Paul Pry," 
 " Family Jars," &c. These entertainments 
 always took place during the Winter months, 
 continued for about a fortnight at a time, and 
 were held for a number of ,years. The most 
 respectable families for miles around used to 
 attend these highly entertaining exhibitions. 
 In good weather the house wasalways^crowd- 
 ed. The people of those days were not afraid 
 nor ashamed to go there and indulge in a 
 good, hearty, honest, square, old-fashioned 
 laugh,which was more beneficial to their sound 
 bodily health and digestion than a dose of 
 blue pills or a modern oyster supper. There 
 was more true religion, more sterling hon- 
 esty and liberal-mindedness among the young 
 men and women of those days 'than there is 
 among their canting, |^hypocritical descend- 
 ants in these latter times. The people then 
 shunned everything that was mean and dis- 
 honorable, but they dared to enjoy them- 
 selves in a rational and harmless amusement, 
 without stopping to inquire " What would 
 Mrs. Grundy say ?" They did not then ex- 
 communicate their next-door neighbors from 
 the church or good society because they at- 
 tended a village exhibition and drank spar- 
 ingly of hot lemonade, while they themselves 
 sipped off slyly to New York to see the 
 Black Crook and indulge in unlimited quan- 
 tities of hot Tom-and-Jerry — all under the 
 false pretense of going to the city to buy cheap 
 goods. 
 
 The following " supplement" to Collins' 
 Ode on the Passions, written by Graham, and 
 recited by himself at.the close of the exhibi- 
 tions in 1819, is but little inferior to the orig- 
 inal production. At any rate it is highly spir- 
 ited and abounds in fine poetic images. It is 
 certainly worth reading and preserving, more 
 especially as its being one of his earliest pro- 
 ductions : 
 
 And he amid the Irolic play, 
 
 As if he would the charming air repay, 
 
 Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings.- 
 
 5* 
 
 -Collins. 
 
 But as the little god in rapture smil'd, 
 
 On rushed in fury, from a nook retired, 
 With haggard look, and air and gesture wild, 
 
 A love-lorn maniac, with mad phrenzy fir'd ; 
 His step was hasty now, and now delay'd ; 
 
 He grasp'd a dagger in his trembliug hand ; 
 beemed desperate now, and now appearM afraid ; 
 
 And now he gnash'd his teeth, and madly shook 
 brand. 
 First he beat loudly on the hollow drum. 
 
 Then blew a blast upon the clarion shrill ; 
 Then stood a moment motionless and dumb. 
 
 As tho' himself were stone inanimate and chill ; 
 But as subsided the delirious fire, 
 
 His brow relaxed— his eye more mildly beam'a ; 
 
 And calm he seem'd. 
 As tho' all undisturbed by love or ii-e ; 
 
 Then with a placid smile- 
 Tears wet his cheeks the while- 
 He gently took the sweet, melodious lyre, 
 
 And sottly and serenely played ; 
 The notes harmonious rung, 
 
 As o'er the chords his fingers stray'd. 
 And sweeter still he sung— 
 '• Oh ! she was divinely fair. 
 
 Was all my love— was all my care ; 
 
 When I was sad, she sigh'd for me ; 
 
 When I was glad, she smil'd with me ; 
 
 Upon my lips how oft she hung. 
 
 How kind the music of her tongue. 
 
 When lying on my breast. 
 
 With melting look, she all her love confess'd. 
 
 Bat where now is she '! 
 
 O death ! O misery ! 
 
 Those foul, pei-fidious charms. 
 
 Now fill a rival's arms— 
 
 Those lips that gave me kisses. 
 
 Now 1 now ! a rival presses." 
 
 Then fierce again became his look 
 
 Again his naked blade he shook 
 
 And plunged him headlong on the ground ; 
 
 Then started up and wildly gazed a^-ound. 
 
 And raged, and foamed, and frantic tore his hair. 
 
 Exclaiming, " Death ! damnation ! hell ! despair 
 
 O horror ! vengeance ! murder ; O ! 
 
 Let go my heart ! mad demon ! let me go ! 
 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha !— 
 
 Away, foul fiend ! away ! away ! 
 
 Dest still pursue ?— then let me die >" 
 
 Thus saying, he raised his steel on high, 
 
 And plunged it downward furiously. 
 
 It reached his heart, he drew it out, 
 
 And from the gaping wound the warm life's blood 
 did spout ! 
 Groans, stifled groans— sighs interdicted sighs ; 
 
 His cheeks grew pale ; his senses reeled around ; 
 The shades oi death came o'er his hollow eyes ; 
 
 He staggered, tumbled— died upon the ground. 
 
 It was a very cold night, indeed ; but, it 
 being the last performance of the season, the 
 house was crowded almost to suffocation. 
 When the actor stabbed himself and fell, his 
 white vest smeared with blood, there was a 
 terrible commotion among the audience — 
 many of them supposing that Graham had 
 really killed himself. Had the house been on 
 fire the consternation could not have been 
 greater than it was. A score or more of 
 ladies fainted outright, and the rest raved 
 and screamed li^e so many maniacs just broke 
 loose from Bealam. The scene was ter- 
 rible beyond description, and for a few 
 moments the tumult was sufficient to 
 appal the stoutest heart. Doctors were 
 called for — there were two or three in 
 the house at the time — windows were 
 smashed, and snow J»id water were used 
 
36 
 
 witliout sti at. The doctors flew to tlie rec-cue, 
 and uumerous old-fashioned smelling bottles 
 weie brought into requisition. But after the 
 first alarm was over it was found that nobody 
 was killed, and but few were wounded— ex- 
 cept in their pride and feelings. Most of the 
 ladies soon recovered from their fright, and 
 were taken home by their friends ; but it was 
 a long time before a few of the more nervous 
 old maids were fully restored to their wonted 
 health and cheerfulness. It was generally 
 believed that Graham had written and intro- 
 duced the piece for the purpose of revenging 
 himself on some of the ladies who had jilted 
 him— at any rate it caused him to be more 
 shunned and despised by most of them. The 
 startling events of that night of horrors con- 
 stituted the theme of social gossip round 
 many a village fireside for years after ; but 
 probably there are not ten persons at present 
 living who have any recollection at all about it 
 Graham removed from Parsippany about 
 the year 1822. He returned there again on a 
 visit a few days after, a licensed preacher of 
 the Gospel, and solicited permission to preach 
 in the old church, located there seventy years 
 before ; but the same church-folks who had 
 encouraged and cheered him on as a player, 
 now indignantly scouted his request and re- 
 fused to listen to him as a preacher. He then 
 applied to the trustees of the old brick acade- 
 my, and his request was granted ; and there, 
 one Sunday night, in the school-room, he 
 preached to a much larger audience than he 
 had ever played to in the room overhead. His 
 sermon was a very eccentric one, and he was 
 very severe and sarcastic on that class of per- 
 sons who would gladly pay their shilling to 
 see the devil perform his foolish antics, while 
 they refused the use of tha house of God to a 
 messenger of Christ, who offered to preach to 
 them gratis. The sermon was long, eloquent 
 and full of cutting invective against that class 
 of persons whom he denounced as the best 
 aiders and abetters of the devil in his crusade 
 against Christ's ministers. As a whole, it 
 was certainly a curious sermon. 
 
 But alas, poor Graham ! He'a|_dead now 
 and gone to his last account ! May his once 
 troubled spirit rest in peace. His was an 
 eventful and wayward existence, full of 
 bright hopes and bitter disappointments. 
 But that he did not live entirely in vain is 
 quite evident from the.good works which he 
 
 has left behind him. If not his poetry, his 
 bran bread will remain a towering monument 
 to his memory until that dread monster, dys- 
 pepsia, shall have been banished from the 
 world ! 
 
 Little did the writer of this rude sk etch 
 even dream — when a poor, bare-footed boy, 
 hanging round Graham's counter in 1820, the 
 hope big within Ms bosom that some '>ne 
 would give him a stick of candy — that he 
 should ever live to write the. life (and the only 
 one that has ever been written) of the eccen- 
 tric and talented young store keeper, in the 
 then far distant year of eighteen hundred and 
 seventy-one. But it has been even so — and 
 he don't feel a bit ashamed of what he has 
 been doing, although so poorly and ineffectu- 
 ally done. 
 
 TWICEi CHARGED WITH THEFT. 
 
 ARTICLE NO. 8. 
 
 Yes ! verily, it is even so. Twice during 
 my life I have been charged with theft. I 
 don't deny the fact — that is the charge ; but 
 I do most decidedly and indignantly deny the 
 theft. The facts of the case, as I recollect 
 them, still retain a place in my memsry, and 
 are looked upon as rather pleasant incidents 
 of the past ; and being an extremely modest 
 man, I intend, if possible, to narrate them 
 without Mushing. I shall give the facts pre- 
 cisely as they occurred, without going into 
 any unnecessary personal details of the par- 
 ties concerned. The first charge was made 
 by a lady, and the second by a gentleman ; I 
 say lady and gentleman despite the hard 
 words that passed between us, for they after- 
 ward both proved themselves to be such. My 
 stand at the time was on the corner of Broad- 
 way and Houston street. 
 
 Madame Rhonan was an American girl by 
 birth and education, but transferred into a 
 French lady by marriage, and at the time of 
 which I write she was a person of a very un- 
 certain age — that is to say, she was about 
 sixty, be the same more or less. She resided 
 in a fine large house, situated on one of the 
 highest points on Staten Island, and was suj \ 
 
37 
 
 posed to be quite wealthy. She had a hand- 
 some daughter who married a prominent 
 Wall street broker and lived in a fine house 
 in Bond street, New York. Madame and her 
 daughter used to exchange residences with 
 each other once a year ; they both residing in 
 Bond street dui'ing the Winter and on the 
 Island during the Summer. This exchange 
 of residences very naturally necessitated the 
 removal of more or less personal baggage, 
 and the removal of the aforesaid baggage also 
 necessitated the occasional employment of one 
 or more cartmen . My cart being the only 
 one standing in the neighborhood at that 
 time, I was frequently called upon to do odd 
 jobs for both families. I had been over to the 
 Island several times, sometimes to take loads 
 over and at others to bring back the same ar- 
 ticles again. In the meantime I had become 
 more or less acquainted with the principal 
 members of both families, and they began to 
 address me quite familiarly as " our carman." 
 Such was the situation of things generally, 
 when, one Thursday morning in the latter 
 part of December, 1840, the waiter came down 
 to the stand and notified me that Madame 
 wished to see me at the house in Bond street. 
 
 I immediately went up to the house, rang 
 the bell, and was at once ushered into the 
 august presence of Madame Ehonan, who, 
 with all the grace and sweetness of a girl of 
 eighteen, thus addressed me : 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. Carman. Oh, I am 
 so glad that James has found our old carman ! 
 Please sit down a moment, and I will inform 
 you what I wish to have done. Now, please lis- 
 ten attentively. I have a very handsome 
 suite of parlor furniture — indeed, I may say 
 magnificent beyond description — at my house 
 over on the Island, which I want brought 
 over here for the purpose of showing it off 
 among my friends during the holidays ; and, 
 oh, I am quite sure that the bare sight of it 
 will create a sensation ! It consists of a sofa, 
 two arm and eight parlor chairs, all composed 
 of the choicest rosewood, and made by Roux, 
 of Broadway, the backs and seats of which 
 are adorned with splendid embroidered pat- 
 terns, all worked by my own hands. Now, 
 can you procure the services of another good 
 carman to go with you and bring over the 
 chairs tliis afternoon — mind you, I don't want 
 anytbjpg but the chairs brought over to-day, 
 do you understand ? — the two armchairs on 
 
 one cart, and the eight parlor chairs on the 
 other. On to-morrow or next day you can go 
 over yourself and bring tlie sofa ; and, mind 
 you, should I find the least soil or stain on 
 any of them, you may expect to witness some- 
 thing a little more terrible than •' a tempest in 
 a teapot." 
 
 " Madame," I replied, " 1 think that I un- 
 derstand you. Your commands, as respects 
 tu-day, shall be strictly complied with ; but I 
 am otherwise engaged for to-morrow, and 
 probably for the next day. I will, however, 
 do the best I can for you." 
 
 I engaged another cartman, and we both 
 went over to the Island by the 1 o'clock boat. 
 We found the furniture all neatly and care- 
 fully covered, standing in the dining-room 
 ready for removal. Some half-dozen servants, 
 both male and female, were there engaged in 
 clearing the room of all its other furniture, 
 seemingly making preparations for a grand 
 ball, or some other kind of frolic. We set to 
 work, loaded the chairs in the most careful 
 manner, brought them over to the city, and 
 delivered them at the house in Bond street; 
 all in good condition. Madame paid the 
 other cartman, and said she would settle 
 with me for both loads when I brought over 
 the sofa. 
 
 I was so pressed with work at the store that 
 I could not find time to go over for the so''a, 
 either on the next day or the day after, f nd 
 on Saturday evening I called at the house to 
 notify Madame of the fact. 
 
 '•'Why, how's this?" said she. "I don't 
 understand this kind of business at all. One 
 of my servant girls has been over here this 
 afternoon, and informs me that you came 
 over there and got the sofa yesterday. Now, 
 how do you explain this ? and what have you 
 done with my sofa V 
 
 " I think your girl must be laboring under 
 a grand mistake. I have not been out of the 
 city since I was here with the chairs. There 
 must be a big mistake somewhere, Madame." 
 
 " It is all very well for you to prate about 
 mistakes, but that don't restore my lost sofa. 
 That sofa cost me every cent of $500, and if 
 it is not forthcoming very soon somebody 
 will find themselves in trouble that they little 
 dream of. But I am going over to the Island 
 myself on Monday, and I intend to give the 
 matter a thorough sifting." 
 
S8 
 
 Early on Tuesday morning the waiter agaiiv 
 came down to the stand and said that Mad- 
 ame wanted to see me at the house immedi- 
 ately. I went up to the house at once, and 
 there found Madame standing upon the land- 
 ing at the head of the hall stairs, looking 
 more like an enraged fury than a human 
 p-eino-. The very moment her eyes caught 
 sight of me she. in anything but sweet and 
 dulcet tones of voice, thus rapidly and vehe- 
 mently exclaimed : — 
 
 " I say, you carman you, what in Satan's 
 name have you done witb my sofa ? There is 
 no mistake about it at all. I have been over 
 to my house on the Island, and both of my ser- 
 vant girls positively say that either yourself, or 
 the man that was with you, came over there 
 on Friday and took away my sofa — now, 
 what have you to say to tliat 1 And what's 
 still more to the point, the deck hands on the 
 boat say that they saw a cart, containing just 
 such a sofa as I described to them, come on 
 board on that very self-same Friday after- 
 noon — and what have you to say to tJiat, you 
 bad man you ? Only think of it — that sofa 
 cost me every cent of $500, and contained 
 f 300 worth of the most elegant embroidered 
 work ever seen by human eyes — and all done 
 by my own hands. Oh, good heavens ! — 
 what shall I do f- I tell you, now, I want you 
 to bring back my love of a sofa — if you don't, 
 I do verily believe that I shall go crazy. Oh, 
 dear ! oh, dear ! — what in the world shall I 
 dof 
 
 Here she came to a momentary pause, and 
 I embraced the opportunity offered, to re- 
 mark : — " Madame, you had better try and 
 keep cool — my word for it, everything will 
 come out right at the proper time. I once 
 knew an amiable old lady, who lost or mislaid 
 her spectacles. She soon worked herself into 
 a towering passion, and accused one of her 
 best friends of stealing them. She finally 
 resorted to her Bible for consolation ; and on 
 opening its pages at the place where she had 
 been reading a short time before, she sud- 
 denly threw up her hands in wonderment, 
 and smilingly exclaimed : — " Well, I declare, 
 if here ain't my lost spectacles, right in the 
 place where I left them, where I was reading 
 all about them " foolish virgins !" Now, you 
 have a valuable sofa, that has been either lost 
 or mislaid, and you accuse me of stealing it — 
 but I don't lose my temper, and rave like a 
 
 lunatic. No !— I keep cool, and try to reason 
 upon the question — well knowing, that the 
 law looks upon every man as being innocent, 
 until he has been proven guilty— &nd I think 
 that this is the best way to act, in deciding 
 upon any difficult question." 
 
 " No— you are mistaken — I did not accuse 
 you of stealing it. But I don't want to hear 
 anything more about your old woman and 
 her spectacles — and the hint at the foolish 
 virgins might as well have remained unsaid. 
 I have just been over there myself, and I have 
 carefully searched every room in the house, 
 high and low, except the garret — and I don't 
 think that my sofa would be very likely to 
 get up +here, without any one knowing it. It 
 is all very well for you to talk about keeping 
 cool— you have not lost a $500 sola, Jiave 
 you ?" 
 
 " Well, you do say that I have taken it 
 away from one house and have not delivered ; 
 it at the other — and that you can prove it. \ 
 Now, this is what I call pretty Jiard talk, to i 
 say the least of it. But how about your ser- ,^ 
 vants ? — do you consider them in every re- 
 spect trustworthy ?" ; 
 " I do, most assuredly — they have all been | 
 with me for three years and upward. The j 
 sofa has certainly been taken away — and who ( 
 else but yourself, or the man that was with ] 
 you, could have taken it ? That's what 1 do 1 
 say, and the sooner you return it the better it 
 will be for you." ' 
 " Madame, this is a very serious charge. If ; 
 you really think that I have taken it your ! 
 duty is plain — you should have me arrested, i 
 and if found guilty severely punished. But j 
 I still think that you are mistaken in your i 
 calculations, and that you will yet find your ' 
 sofa, j ust exactly where some of your friends i 
 have placed it." | 
 " Well, I am going over again on Monday 
 next, and I shall take another good look for I 
 it — but mind you, if I don't find it over there. 
 I shall take out a search warrant, and I'll I 
 have every house in the city searched until I \ 
 find it — that's what I shall do." 
 
 " Madame," said I, " no matter how humble 
 a man may be, his good name and character 
 is always dear to him — and the manner 
 which you have "assailed mine has'^j^been al 
 thing but pleasant to my feelings.", [■> 
 
 " Never mind now," said she, and a forced, 
 smile stole over her countenance^ for a mo. 
 
39 
 
 ment — " a carious tliouglit has just tliis in- 
 stant occurred to my mind, which may pos- 
 sibly change the whole aspect of this strange 
 affair. I am going over again, and I will 
 make known to you the issue of my visit, 
 whatever it may be, on Tuesday [morning 
 next. But I don't think that I have ever 
 charged you with stealing my sofa." 
 
 About 10 o'clock on the morning of the fol- 
 lowing Tuesday I called again at the house 
 in Bond street for the purpose of hearing the 
 report. I found madame in the back parlor, 
 sitting in a large arm-chair, reading one of 
 the morning papers. The instant I entered 
 the room she arose from the seat and greeted 
 me with one of her old-time salutations. 
 Then pointing to a vacant chair she contin- 
 ued : — " Now, Mr. Carman, please take a seat ; 
 don't be afraid of soiling the chair. These 
 chairs were made for use as well as orna- 
 ment. Sit down for a moment. I have 
 some excellent good news to tell you this 
 morning. I have been over to the Island 
 and have found my long lost but not stolen 
 sofa. And where on earth do you suppose^ 
 that I found it ? You give it up, do you ? 
 Well, all right ; you couldn't guess in a week, 
 so I'll tell you. And would you believe it ? 
 I found it just where I expected to — stowed 
 away up among the rubbish in the garret. 
 Yes ! and placed there by my stiipid, deceit- 
 ful and lying servants — the more fhaxi foolish 
 virgins — who, it seems, have been having a ■ 
 servants' Christmas ball in my splendid 
 dining-room. But I have discharged them 
 all — the wretches ! — every one of them, from 
 my service forever." 
 
 " I am very glad, Madame, to hear that you 
 have found your lost sofa — found it just 
 where it was left, as I always thought you 
 would. And so I have turned out not much 
 of a tliief after all, just as I always knew 
 that I should." 
 
 " The fact is, Mr. Carman, I have never 
 reaUy believed that you did steal my sofa ; 
 and yet I have been abusing you like a dog ; 
 but I couldn't help it at the time. The sup- 
 posed loss of my elegant sofa maddened me to 
 such a degree that I did not know what I was 
 doing and saying half the time. I know that 
 I have done you a great wrong, but not in. 
 tentionally. I am too much of a lady at heart 
 to tender you any kind ©f pecuniary consider- 
 
 ation as a solace to your wounded feelings, 
 but I can and do most cheerfully withdraw 
 all the unkind expressions that I used toward 
 you in this unpleasant business, and any other 
 satisfaction which you may demand." 
 
 "Not another word, Madame — the settle- 
 ment is made. You have found your sofa — 
 you have discharged all your lying servants 
 — you have withdrawn all your offensive 
 language — now let peace be declared between 
 us." 
 
 " Nobly, said, Mr. Carman ! And now here 
 are $10 to recompense you for the trouble I 
 have given you." 
 
 " Only five dollars, Madame — that's three 
 dollars for the load and two dollars for lost 
 time — not another cent — that's all you owe 
 me." 
 
 " Just as you say, Mr. Carman ; but you 
 may depend upon it, everything will be all 
 right in the future. This Lae b len a tragic- 
 comedy that will not bear repeating — cer- 
 tainly it will not be played again upon this 
 or any other stage, with myself sustaining the 
 principal character." 
 
 " The next time it is played here or else- 
 where I beg to be counted out altogether." 
 
 " And now, how about the future ? Shall 
 we be again permitted to address you as — 
 ' Our Carman V " 
 
 " Certainly. Good morning, Madame." 
 
 One Monday in the latter part of April 
 1841, a gentleman came into the store and 
 inquired — " Carman, is that your horse and 
 cart standing in front of the door ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, I believe it is — do you wish to 
 employ a horse and cart, sir ?" 
 
 " I am going to change my residence in a 
 few days, and, seeing that you have a good 
 horse and cart, I should like to engage you to 
 remove my furniture." 
 
 " Yes, sir — about when do you wish to have 
 it done, and about how many loads will you 
 have ?" 
 
 " Well, the carman that moved me last 
 clia/rged me for twenty-five loads, and I have 
 made but few additions to it since. I am go- 
 ing to remove from 100 Fourth street to 48 
 Clinton place — only a short distance, as you 
 will notice. I wish to commence about day 
 after to-morrow morning — about what will be 
 your charge per load f 
 
 "It is a very busy season just now— my 
 charge will be $2 a load." 
 
40 
 
 " It strikes me that your charge is rather 
 high. You should bear in mind that the dis- 
 tance is short — and I intend to send up a 
 couple of men from my store to assist you. 
 Say $1.50 and you may consider yourself en- 
 gaged." 
 
 " I don't wish lo be particular — good help 
 is worth something on such a job — I'll close 
 with you on the terms which you propose, 
 and say no more abou': it." 
 
 Then turning toward the boss, the gentle- 
 man remarked : " Mr. Brown, I suppose that 
 you know this man — do you consider him 
 perfectly trustworthy ?" 
 
 "Perfection, sir, is a virtue not often found 
 in this world," replied the boss — " but I can 
 say this much in Mr. Lyon's favor, that / have 
 been trusting him for the last five years, and 
 should have no scruples about trusting him 
 during the next hundred, should we both live 
 that length of time." 
 
 " That will do " — and then addressing him- 
 self again to me, he said : " Mr. L7on, you 
 may now consider yourself engaged for the 
 job — don't forget the time — No. 100 Fourth 
 street — you will see my name, Eichard 
 Shanks, on the door-plate." 
 
 I was on hand at the appointed time ; but, 
 to my surprise, I was informed that Mr. 
 Shanks had already given his orders and gone 
 down town. Instead of the two good men 
 promised I found but one, an Irish lad about 
 nineteen years old, who was much freer in 
 the display of his blarney than of his muscle. 
 
 " Why, how's this ?" I inquired of the Irish 
 girl in charge of the house. " What kind of 
 a man is this Mr. Shanks of yours ?" 
 
 " He's not my Shanks at all, at all," replied 
 the girl, " but a lone widower, wid naithur a 
 chick nor a child about the house, barrin' his 
 own self and us two servant girls. He is a 
 very nice kind ave a man generally, but a lit- 
 tle singular, and absent minted at times, and 
 these be the orders he's bin after giviu' me. 
 It's meself thaf s to stay here and superintind 
 the loading of the goods, and it's Bridgit 
 that's to go to the new house and resave 
 thim and stow thim away- And now yir can 
 go to work as soon as yir plaze, and it's vary 
 careful yir will be that niver a thing gits 
 strayed or stolen." 
 
 We then went to work, but Pat proved 
 anything but a good tool to work with, for he 
 spent about half his time tattling witli the 
 
 Biddies about their friends in Ould Ireland. 
 We continued to work on, but our other good 
 man still remained invisible. At about sun- 
 down on the third day we arrived at the new 
 house with our last load, and while we were 
 unloading Mr. Shanks made his appearance. 
 
 " Mr. Shanks," said I, " you have not done 
 exactly the square thing by me in this job ; 
 you promised me two good men to help me, 
 but you have put me off with only one, and 
 he is less than half a man." 
 
 " Well, really, it can't be helped now ; it 
 was not possible to spare another man from 
 the store. 'Tis true, I am a little singular 
 at times, but you will find me anything but a 
 had man at heart. But, by the way, how 
 many loads have you had ? Nothing lost or 
 stolen, I hope 1" 
 
 " Just twenty-one loads, and nothing either 
 lost or stolen, that I am aware of." 
 
 " Only twenty-one loads ! did you say ? 
 Then that rascally carman that moved me 
 last Spring must have cheated me out of the 
 price of at least five loads, the scoundrel !" 
 
 " Yes, sir, just about the same amount that 
 you have cheated me out of this Spring by 
 withholding the services of the other man 
 you promised me." 
 
 " Can't be helped now ; but, although I am 
 a little singular now and then, you will find 
 me all right in the end. You are quite cer- 
 tain that there was nothing either lost or 
 stolen ?" 
 
 " I hope that it may be all right in the end, 
 but I am sorry I can't see it in that light." 
 
 " Twenty-one loads I think you said ? 
 Well, I'll look around, and if I find every- 
 thing all right I'll call down and settle with 
 you on your stand." 
 
 On the morning of the third day thereafter, 
 Mr. Shanks called upon me at my stand and 
 said : " Carman, I have not yet had the spare 
 time to give the house much of an examina- 
 tion myself, but my girls inform me that there 
 is a marble top washetand missing ; will you 
 be kind enough to inform me what you have 
 done with it ?" 
 
 " Well, it's only a few months ago that I 
 was accused of stealing a $500 sofa, and now 
 comes another charge of stealing a marble-top 
 washstand. Why, if I keep on stealing at 
 this rate I shall soon be able to open a first- 
 class furniture wareroom. But> Mr. Shanks, 
 
are you certain sure that you have had a 
 washstand stolen ?" 
 
 " I did not^say^it was stolen, but tke girls 
 say that there is one missing — understand me, 
 missing. But I will give the house a thor- 
 ough searching myself in a day or two, and 
 will report to'you the result ; and if found I 
 will call and settle with you ; if not, you will 
 have to find it yourself." 
 
 The next morning Mr. Shank8"^called upon 
 me again and said: "Carman, I have just 
 been giving the house a most thoroughgoing 
 search myself ; I have examined every nook 
 and corner, from the basement to the attic, 
 and the washstand is nowhere to be found. 
 It cost $30 but a few months ago, and I can- 
 not settle with you until you have returned 
 it. Everything else is all safe and in good 
 order, much more so than I have usually 
 found them." 
 
 " Then you have finally come to the con- 
 clusion that I have stolen a washstand from 
 you worth $30. I very much doubt if you 
 have had one stolen at all — but suppose that 
 you have — what then? Admitting that I 
 am a public thief— and what then ? Are there 
 not other thieves in the city besides myself 1 
 The hall doors of both your houses stood wide 
 open during the whole time that 1 was re- 
 moving your furniture — and during most of 
 the time your girls were lounging around on 
 tke second and third floors. Don't you think 
 that it is possible somebody else might have 
 stolen it, that is, provided it has been stolen 
 at all T 
 
 " All that I have to say at present is I am 
 a man of sho7't stories — when the washstand 
 is restored into my possession, your money is 
 ready for you." 
 
 " I wish you toj^understand that I am a man 
 of short stories too. ^If.,.you think that I have 
 stolen your^ washstand, ^^you know how to 
 proceed — the courts are open, and the law 
 will protect you in your rights. Perhaps 
 you may think that I am a little singular as 
 well as yourself — and probably I am. I want 
 my cartage, and I intend to get it if I can ; 
 and in case it is not paid me between this 
 time and Saturday night, the first thing I 
 shall do on Monday morning^will be to place 
 my account in the hands of a lawyer for col- 
 lection. That's all. QoaA morning, Mr. 
 Shanks." 
 
 Saying which, I jumped upon my cart and 
 drove off" to do a small job that was waiting 
 for me, leaving Mr. S. standing upon the 
 sidewalk, looking like a man who had been 
 thunderstruck. 
 
 On the following Saturday Mr. Shanks 
 again made his appearance on my stand. 
 The appearance of his countenance was very 
 much like that of a sneak-thief. Indeed, if 
 he had just been convicted of stealing his 
 own washstand he could not have looked 
 more mean and sneaking. Sideling up to 
 ward me, with his eyes intently fixed upon 
 the pavement, he drawled out, in a whining 
 tone of voice, " Well, carman, 1 have called 
 for the purpose of settling that little bill of 
 cartage." 
 
 '•The devil you have!" I exclaimed. 
 " Why, how's this ? Have you found your 
 stolen washstand ?" 
 
 " Yes ; one of my girls accidentally hap- 
 pened to come across it yesterday s,fternoon." 
 
 " And where in the name of wonder did 
 slie find it ? — up the spout in one of the old 
 Jew pawnbroker's shops in Chatham street 1" 
 
 "No; she found it just exactly where she 
 herself had placed it when engaged in put- 
 ting down the carpets. The stupid hussy ! 
 she had stowed it away into a dark closet on 
 the third floor, completely buried out of sight 
 beneath a pile of beddioj^, and forgotten all 
 about it — the crazy-headed fool!" 
 
 " So, then, you are pretty well satisfied that 
 I didn't steal it, after all ? But it seems a lit- 
 tle singular to me that, in so " thoroughly 
 searching the house from basement to attic,' 
 you should have overlooked it yourself." 
 
 " Perhaps it does ; but never mind about 
 that now. Let me see— twenty-one loads at 
 $1 50 per load amounts to $31 50 in all. 
 Well, here are $33— you can keep the odd 
 fifty cents as a compensation for the trouble 
 and delay which I have given you. You will 
 be kind enough to give me a receipt in lull 
 for the bill." 
 
 " A receipt did. you say? Then you still 
 have doubts as regarding my honesty ? I am 
 not often asked for receipts in my line of 
 business." 
 
 " Perhaps not. But Jam a little singular 
 on this point. Whenever I pay any money I 
 consider that I am entitled to a receipt for it." 
 
 " Certainly ; you are entitl^^ to ^ receipt if 
 
42 
 
 you desire it. Please step into Mr. Brown's 
 store and I will give you one." 
 
 We then went into the store, and I went ta 
 the desk and wrote the following : 
 
 Nb-w York, May 6th, 1841. 
 Received this day of Richard Shanks, " who is a 
 little singular, uow aud then, but not a bad man at 
 heart," thirty one dollars and fifty cents, in full for 
 removing twenty-oue loads of lurninire from No. 100 
 Fourth street to No. 48 Clinton place, and for all 
 other dues and demands, now due or becoming due, 
 past, present and to come, while grass grows and 
 water runs, now, henceforth and forevermore, world 
 without end, amen. ' „ „ .^^ 
 
 $31.50. (Signed) I. S. Lyoh, cartman. No. 2,489. 
 
 I handed Mr. Shacks the receipt and fifty 
 cents, at the same time remarking : — " Here 
 sir, is your receipt, and the change due you. 
 I hope that both will prove satisfactory — es- 
 pecially the receipt, for I have been very 
 particular in making it out." 
 
 " But why do you return the fifty cents ? 
 I intended that as a present." 
 
 " I am not at present in a suflfering con- 
 dition, and consequently do not feel like pa- 
 tronising " Gift Enterprises." When I am 
 compelled to beg, it will not be in front of 
 48 Clinton place, that T shall solicit alms." 
 
 " Bat you have put a great many useless 
 and unnecessary words in this receipt — and 
 some of them are not of a very complimentary 
 character." 
 
 " Although a little singular now and then, 
 I am not a had man at heart. You demanded 
 a receipt and I have given it] to you. It is 
 full and complete in all its details, and war- 
 ranted to stand the test of the most critic 1 
 cross-examination." Saying which I left. 
 
 On the fifteenth of the same month I re- 
 ceived through " Boyd's City Dispatch Post" 
 
 the following letter : 
 
 New Yoek, May 15, 1841. 
 To I. S. Lyon, No. 695 Broadway : Sir— Inclosed 
 please And $10 bankbill. It rightfully belongs to you 
 and I hasten to restore it. You need not make any 
 inquiries in regard to it, for you jWili never know 
 whence it came. It is needless for me to say that 
 conscience prompts me to do as I have done. 
 
 Justice to the Wronged." 
 
 "Oh, the sly old fox ! — singular to the last !' 
 I said to myself, as I put the money into my 
 pocket — " and certainly not a had man at 
 heart after all." 
 
 Time passed on, and I had quite forgotten 
 all about Mr. Shanks and his marble-top 
 washstand — little expecting to ever see either 
 of them again ; but 1 was nevertheless mis- 
 taken. On the morning of theSOth of April 
 following I was sitting on the tail of my cart 
 reading and inwardly laughing over the 
 "Comical Adventures of Mr. Obadiah Old- 
 
 buck," which had just then been published, 
 when I received a smart slap on my shoulder, 
 accompanied by a " Good morning, Mr. Ly- 
 on !" 
 
 And sure enough, it was my old friend 
 Shanks, with a pleasant, good natured smile 
 on his countenance. 
 
 '■ Why, good morning Mr. Shanks," said I, 
 and I tendered my big brawny hand, whjch 
 he accepted, and shook in the most cordial 
 and hearty manner. 
 
 " Well, I am going to move again in a day 
 or two — ^how would you like to undertake the 
 job?" 
 
 " I don't know, Mr. Shanks — how about that 
 receipt ? The time for which it was drawn is 
 Hot quite up yet." 
 
 " Oh, hang the receipt ! — am a little singu- 
 lar now and then, 'tis ',true — but I hope you 
 don't suppose that I wasfool enough to^take 
 that to heart. It was a good joke — yes, a 
 very excellent joke — and I richly deserved all 
 the back-handed compliments which^you be- 
 stowed upon me. But are you willing to try 
 me again ? I greatly like your^style of hand- 
 ling furniture. Make your own price, and I 
 shall not dispute it. Try me again ; you will 
 find me not a had man at heart." 
 
 " Move you again ? — yes, certainly, a hun- 
 dred times if you wish it. Yes, I am a little 
 singular now and then myself, but I am the 
 poorest man in the world to habor old grudges. 
 You will furnish me with one good man to 
 help me, I suppose V 
 
 " Yes ; select your own man — two of them, 
 if you like, and I will pay them. And mind 
 you — do you understand me 1 — make them do 
 . ail the hard work !" 
 
 I moved Mr. Shanks five times after that, 
 and he never once asked me how many. loads 
 or how much I charged a load, but always 
 paid me the full amount demanded without 
 asking any questions; and what was still 
 more curious, I noticed that in counting out 
 the money he always managed every time to 
 make a mistake in my favor of from |3 to $5, 
 and would never allow me to correct it. The 
 fact is, Madame Rhonan and Mr. ^Shanks 
 were two of the best customers I had ever aft- 
 erward. 
 
 It will thus be seen that a man never loses 
 anything by standing up in defence of his 
 own rights. If a man is stupid enough to 
 look upon himself as a slave, he will always 
 
43 
 
 be treated as sucli by others ; but if he holds 
 up his head and acts the part of a man him- 
 self, as a fifeneral rule he will receive manly 
 treatment at the hands of those who look 
 upon themselves as his superiors. I have 
 lived in the world long enough to learn this 
 simple fact : that if you wish to bw respected 
 by others you must first learn to respect 
 yourself. Crockett's is a very good maxim 
 for all young men to adopt — " Be always sure 
 that you are right, and then go ahead !" 
 
 OLD ROUGH AND READY. 
 
 ARTICLE NO. 9. 
 
 I once owned an old horse who caused me 
 many grievous trials and tribulations. He 
 was as black as a Fifteenth Amendment, and 
 nearly as stupid. I called him " Old Rough 
 and Ready." The Lord knows he was rough 
 enough, but the ready was not quite so appar- 
 ent. Like angels visits, his steps were few, but 
 unlike those friendly visits, they were not far 
 between. The fact is he was decidedly slow, 
 and that was the only good quality he had 
 about him. This was his chief recommenda- 
 tion, and I bought him on that account. My 
 work was of such a character that I had to 
 have a horse that I could trust. I had had 
 Old Rough and Ready about three years, and 
 I could trust him — there was no mistake 
 about that. It was safe to leave him un- 
 hooked and tied anywhere — and wherever he 
 was left there I would be sure to find him. I 
 do verily believe that he would have stood in 
 the same place and position, unless ordered 
 to move — and he always moved very reluct- 
 anly — until the last trumpet sounded. 
 
 It was now the third Spring since I had 
 owned him, and he had become more slow 
 and stupid than ever before. It was getting 
 to be a hard matter for me to thrash him into 
 a trat, and I began to think that I should 
 have to part with him ; but I thought that I 
 would try and get along with him until the 
 Spring work was over. 
 
 6* 
 
 It was now about the middle of April, 1850. 
 One morning a gentleman came into the 
 store and asked me if I could move him. His 
 name was Gassner. He resided in Houston 
 street, and kept a large retail grocery store 
 in Chatham, near Pearl street. He wanted 
 to remove from his present residence up to 
 the corner of Irving place and Nineteenth 
 street. I engaged to do the job at the rate 
 of a dollar and a half a load — he to pay for 
 the extra help. He asked me if I had a kind 
 and gentle horse. The boss told him he 
 might safely depend on that, as he had no 
 recollection of ever having seen him going 
 off a walk in his life. So we struck a bar- 
 gain — the work to be commenced the next 
 morning at 9 o'clock. 
 
 I obtained the assistance of a stout, active 
 young Irishman, and we backed up in front 
 of the Houston street premises next morning 
 at the appoin*.ed hour. I had set out to make 
 $15 that day,' and should easily have accom- 
 plished it, but for a sad accident that after 
 ward occurred. Mr. Gassner was on the spot, 
 and told us to go to work and load to suit our- 
 selves, as he knew nothing about moving. 
 Mr. G. was a jovial, good-humored sort of a 
 'man — full ot jokes and anecdotes, and not a 
 hard man to please. We got along finely 
 during the forenoon, having delivered three 
 loads by a little past noon. When we re- 
 turned for the fourth load, Mr. G. invited us 
 into the dining room to partake of a bit of 
 cold dinner. Therfe was a bottle of brandy 
 standing on the table, of which ^we partook 
 sparingly. After dinner we commenced on 
 the parlor furniture. Mr. G. cautioned us to 
 be very careful in handling it, as it was all 
 new and costly, and greatly admired by his 
 ^ife— pleasantly remarking that, should it 
 receive any injury at our hands, we might 
 expect to get a good broom-sticking. TLe 
 furniture was of choicest rosewood, made 
 light but tasty, and was neatly enveloped in 
 stiffbrown linen covers. We put on a sofa 
 across the front of the cart, a marble top cen- 
 tre table directly behind it, and eight parlor 
 and two arm chairs in the rear of the table. 
 They made a very light load, but it was all 
 we could carry with safety. • On arriving at 
 the new house, which was situated on the 
 northerly side of Irving place, one door above 
 the corner of Nineteenth street, I told the 
 Irishman to take the feed bag and hold it up, 
 
so that tlife horse could take a bite, while I 
 unloaded the chairs. I had such entire con- 
 fidence in old Roughy's docility that I did 
 not even put the Look on the cart wheel. I 
 had just taken off the last chair, when there 
 came a little spiteful gust of wind, which set 
 the sofa covering to flapping quite lively for 
 an instant. 
 
 Old Roughy suddenly began to prick up 
 his ears and looked as if he had awakened 
 from a three years' slumber. He then cocked 
 his eye around to the right, then quickly 
 jerking his head round to the left he struck the 
 frightened Irishman on the side of his head 
 and sent him sprawling into the gutter. Pad- 
 dy gave a terrific Irish howl, and Old Roughy 
 making a sharp, short snort, threw back his 
 ears, and started off on the jump as though 
 there were ten thousand unchained devils 
 howling at his heals. All this was the work 
 of but a moment. He crossed the triangle 
 formed by tbe corner of the two streets oppo- 
 site, passing between a tree and a hydrant 
 without touching either, and down off the 
 curb-stone into Ninteenth street, dashing the 
 centre table upon the pavement, badly bruis- 
 ing the frame and smashing the marble slab 
 into nearly fifty pieces. He then gave a loud 
 snort, laid back his ears, and gathering him 
 self up into about half his ordinary size, 
 started off down the street at a speed that was 
 perfectly astonishing. Bidding Paddy to 
 stay and gather up the fragments of the bro- 
 ken table, I started off in full chase after the 
 old run away. I thought that I had seen 
 horses >un before, but I was mistaken. A 
 two-forty gait was nothing when compared 
 with the rate of speed at which old Roughy 
 was traveling. I cared not what became of 
 horse, cart or sofa, so that no one was killed 
 or hurt. Following on as fast as I could run, 
 I craned up my neck and tried to look ahead 
 to see if there was anything in the street 
 ahead of him. The street was entirely free 
 of all obstructions as far as I could see, and I 
 prayed to God that he would continue on down 
 to the wharf and plunge into the river and 
 sink so deep that he would never be seen 
 again. But what was my horror and conster- 
 nation when I saw him dash around the cor- 
 ner of Nineteenth street and proceed up the 
 First avenue. I knew that the First avenue 
 was densely populated with poor people who 
 generally had large families of small children, 
 and that both sides of the street were lined 
 
 with old carts and wagons of one kind or an-"' 
 other. The thought almost paralyzed me, for'' 
 I now felt almost sure that murder would be 
 committed and that I myself should probably 
 be torn to pieces by the infuriated Irish 
 people. 
 
 I had now arrived at the Second avenue, and 
 thinking that perhaps the maddened old ani- 
 mal might turn, and come back up twentieth 
 street. I dashed across the open lots, for the 
 purpose of trying to head him off and stop 
 him. Just then I saw him, coming on the rush 
 up Twentieth street, snorting and bellowing 
 like a mad bull, with .a swarm of men, women 
 and children shouting and screaming at his 
 heels. I nnw began to tremble for my own 
 safety— for I felt quite certain that murder 
 had already been committed. There were 
 several carriages and carts coming down the 
 same street just ahead of him, and I saw at a 
 glance that, unless he was stopped at once, a 
 collision would be inevitable. Desperation 
 gave me courage, and I resolved in my own 
 mind th^t I would ttop him, or die in the at- 
 tempt. I made the rash and daring attempt, 
 and it luckily proved successful. As he near- 
 ed me, I made a sudden rush at his head— 
 with my right hand 1 seized him firmly by 
 his mane, and then thursting the fingers of 
 my left hand deep into his extended nostrils, 
 I ran on with him, holding on to his nose 
 with the gripe of a dying panther. A car- 
 penter coming down on the opposite side of 
 the street at the time, sesing the danger I 
 was in, set down his tool box and hastened 
 to my relief Our united efforts brought 
 him to a stand, just before he reached the Sec- 
 ond avenue. 
 
 My first thought after securing the runa- 
 way horse was to inquire of a hatless Irish- 
 man, who had outrun the rest of his party, 
 whether anybody had been killed or injured ? 
 " No, bedad !— yez may thank your stars 
 for that same. St. Patrick himself could'nt 
 ave come through the crowd wid more care 
 than did 'yer brave little black poney-" 
 
 " Many thanks to you for this good news, 
 Patrick ; Iwas very fearful that one half the 
 children in the street would have been either 
 killed or wounded." 
 
 " And be the self same token ; its a bit of a 
 mistake yez 'ave made ; me name is not Pat- 
 rick, at all, at all, but Pat O'Reily, at yer.. 
 Sarvice, sir." "• 
 
45 
 
 " All right, Pat — " a rose by any other name 
 would smell just as sweet" — and so long as 
 there has been no damage done, I am sa- 
 tisfied." 
 
 The bridle was still hanging on the hames, 
 just where I had placed it. The sofa was 
 minus one of its front legs, and that was all 
 the damage I could discover. Thus far, Mr. 
 Gassner appeared to be the only sufferer. 
 Thanking the brave carpenter for his timely 
 assistance, I again mounted my cart and 
 drove back to the house with the sofa. I 
 then drove home and put old Rough and 
 Ready into .the stable, not caring much wheth- 
 er he lived to come out again or not. 
 
 I went up to the house again about four 
 o'clock. I found Mr. G. in the front parlor, 
 and, contrary to my expectations, in a very 
 agreeable state of mind. With a pleasant 
 smile on his full, open countenance, he jok- 
 ingly inquired — 
 
 " Well, how now about that extr'a kind and 
 gentle horse of yours ? I see that he has 
 been playing us a very sad and disastrous 
 trick. But, first let me ask. Has anybody 
 been hurt '?" 
 
 " No, sir — thanks to a kind Providence, no- 
 body has been hurt, and nobody but your- 
 self, I believe, has suffered any damage," 
 
 ''I am heartily glad to hear that ; and such 
 being the case, iioe ought not to complain. 
 We can't expect to live and die without en- 
 countering our share of accident. 'Tis true, 
 this has been a bad one, but let us content 
 ourselves with the consolation that it might 
 have been worse. I don't take it much to 
 heart myself, but my dear little wife has been 
 nearly crying her eyes out over it ; but I guess 
 that she will live through it, provided you 
 keep yourself out of hei' sight for a few days." 
 " I very much regret what has happened ; 
 but seeing that it cannot be helped now, all 
 we can do is to try and repair the damage." 
 
 " That's it, exactly. I have just sent the 
 damaged furniture to the cabinet maker's for 
 that purpose. Call again in about two weeks, 
 and we will then try ana arrange a settle- 
 ment. But that extremely gentle ihcfrae of 
 yours has deceived you sadly ; you had bet- 
 ter keep a sharp watch on him in the fu- 
 ture." 
 
 " I shall, most assuredly — but, good Lord, 
 how the old counterfeit did run ! I should ' 
 just as soon have expected to see the Astor 
 
 House start off on the run as old Rough and 
 Ready " 
 
 The next morning I drove down and took 
 my place on the stand as usual. Presently I 
 descried the Irishman who had been with me 
 the day before coming up Houston street on 
 the sidewalk alongside the church fence. 
 The moment that old Roughy's eye caught 
 sight of him he pricked up his ears, gave a 
 loud snort, and with extended jaws went for 
 him as he would after a bundle of fresh green 
 grass in the early Spring time. Paddy saved 
 himself by scrambling over the high iron 
 fence, but lost the better part of his panta- 
 loons in his attempt to escape the fury of the 
 enraged animal. It was the last time that 
 Pat attempted to exhibit himself in that lo- 
 cation. 
 
 One morning about two weeks thereafter I 
 called to see Mr. Gassner for the purpose of 
 having a settlement. I met him on the cor- 
 ner, j ust as he was starting down town to his 
 store. 
 
 " Mr. Gassner," I said, "f have called up for 
 the purpose of having a settlement with 
 you." 
 
 " Yes, yes !" he replied, " that little bill of 
 cartage ought to have been settled long ago. 
 Let me see, four loads T believe it was ? That 
 amounts to just six dollars. Here's a ten 
 dollar bill — it's the smallest I have about me 
 — have ycu any change 1" 
 
 " That's not what I meant, sir ; how about 
 the broken furniture ?" 
 
 " Ah, yes — the broken furniture — I had for- 
 gotten all about that. Yes, yes ! that came 
 home yesterday afternoon, all as good as new ; 
 the bill was j ust thirty dollars. I paid it on 
 the spot — never like to have these small bills 
 standing against me — thought that I was 
 more able to lose it than you was. Frightful 
 accident, but accidents iciU happen in spite of 
 all our watchfulness — am always willing to 
 stand my share of all such losses. Yes, yes ! 
 that's all right ! It was a lucky accident after 
 all ; my little wife is all right again, too ; it 
 has always seemed wonderful to me that no- 
 body got hurt.' Buthave you the four dollars 
 in change about you T 
 
 " That is not exactly my style of doing 
 business, Mr. Gassner. I never take pay of a 
 man for destroying his property, and I shall 
 not accept a cent of you for cartage. You 
 have dealt much more generously by me than 
 
46 
 
 I had any reason to expect., and for whicli I 
 return you a thousand thanks." 
 
 " Just as you say, Mr. Cartman ; you can 
 have your money if you will. At any rate, 
 should you ever get in a tight place, you can 
 draw on me at any time for a ten dollar bill. 
 But I have an engagement down town this 
 morning, and must be on the move." 
 
 Mr.. Gassner was one of the finest specimens 
 of a true American gentleman that I have 
 ever met with. Such a man as that deserves 
 to enjoy all .the fun and good things of this 
 world, and all the unspeakable glories of the 
 world to come. I have been in some pretty 
 tight places since, but never in one so tight 
 as to make me feel mean enough to draw on 
 Mr. G. for that ten dollar bill. 
 
 Old Rough and Ready was never worth a 
 cent for work after that runaway. I jobbed 
 round with him a little during the month of 
 May, but it did not amount to much. As the 
 warm weather increased he got so full of in- 
 ward heat — and his hide was so thick there 
 was no possible chance of its working its way 
 out — that he almost lost the power of locomo- 
 tion. The fact is, he was a used up nag. 
 
 It was now the first week in June, but he 
 had Eot yet cast a hair, and it was a hard 
 matter to pull one out of him. I had a large 
 mirror to take out to College Point, on Long 
 Island, on or before the 15th, but I knew very 
 well that I could never get there with him in 
 his present condition. I therefore took him 
 to a horse doctor, and asked him what he 
 thought of him. 
 
 " He's in a very bad fix," replied the doc- 
 tor — " but I think that I can bring him round 
 all right in two or three days. He's a bit 
 hide-bound, and requires a little bleeding and 
 physicking." 
 
 I left him, and called again on the after- 
 noon of the third day to see how he was get- 
 ting along. 
 
 " Why," said the doctor, " this old horse of 
 yours is the hardest customer I have ever had 
 in my life — I can't do nothing with him. He 
 won't neither Need nor physic — I give him 
 up — ^you'll have to have him sheared." 
 
 " Well, what's the charge 1" I inquired. 
 
 " I shall only charge you for his keeping. 
 Seeing as how he wouldn't neither bleed nor 
 pjiysie, I shant charge you any thing for doc- 
 toring — call it three dollars." 
 
 I paid the charge, and took the old hide- 
 bound, no " bleed nor physic" son of a blast 
 
 furnace home again, aad put him into the 
 stable. I let him remain there for three 
 days more, and then tpok him out and drove 
 him down town again. He seemed to feel a 
 little better, and I felt greatly encouraged 
 thereat. 
 
 Early on the morning of the 15th we load- 
 ed up the mirror, and John (a young man 
 from the store) and myself started off for the 
 Point. The weather was moderately cool, 
 and Old Roughy started off on a brisk walk 
 as though he intended to put in a full day 
 this time. Turning at once into the Third 
 avenue, we continued up the same tintil we 
 reached Yorkville, and then down Eighty- 
 Sixth street to the Astoria ferry. Thus far 
 everything was satisfactory ; but after we had 
 passed through Astoria, and got out into the 
 open country, the heat very rapidly increased, 
 and old Roughy began to wilt and slacken 
 his gait. I then began to feel that the game 
 was nearly up, but I said nothing. The heat 
 was now becoming more intense every mo- 
 ment. We were descending a short, steep 
 hill, about a mile and a half beyond Astoria ; 
 Old Roughy began to reel and stagger like a 
 drunken man. I jumped off the cart and 
 caught him by his head, just as he was going 
 down upon his knees. I called to John to 
 j ump down and unhitch him from the cart aa 
 soon as possible ; it was not done a moment 
 too soon, for in another instant he would 
 have fallen, and the large glass would per- 
 haps have been dashed into a thousand pieces. 
 The prospect before us was now decidedly 
 gloomy and disheartening, for there was not 
 a single house in sight. 
 
 " And what's to be done now ?" John in- 
 quired as he rolled the cart off on the road- 
 side. 
 
 " I know of but one thing that can be done," 
 I replied, " and that will have to be done 
 quickly. You will have to go on ahead 
 among the farmers and hire a horse, if you 
 can." 
 
 It being a very busy season of the year 
 among farmers, he started off with but very 
 liti ] e hopes of success. But he returned, how- 
 ever, in about an hour's time, accompanied 
 by a large, noble-looking horse, and a very 
 shrewd, cunning-looking darkey. The darkey 
 demanded four dollars (I was to have but $5 
 for the whole job,) for the services of himself 
 and horse, which I had to pay. We then put 
 the new horse before the cart, and John and 
 
47 
 
 the darkey started off in high spirits for the 
 Point. Myself and old Roughy retired to a 
 shady little grove hard by, and there patient- 
 ly awaited their return. 
 
 It was a terrible hot day, but having my 
 dinner and feed-bag with me we weathered 
 it out. I had given Old Roughy a good scrub 
 bing during the afternoon, and when the cart 
 returned at six o'clock he was thoroughly 
 cooled off and felt as gay and cheerful as 
 a lark. Having settled with the darkey we 
 put our frisky old delegate before the cart 
 and started for home under a good round trot, 
 even without the usual accompaniment of the 
 whip. He made most excellent time foi a 
 whole quarter of a mile, and then broke down 
 into a slew walk, indeed, so slow that it was 
 difficult for us to tell whether he moved or 
 not. But we paddled on as best we could 
 and reached the ferry at about 8 o'clock. I 
 was now fully satisfied in my own mind that 
 if we got home at all we had a night's work 
 before us ; so when we arrived on the New 
 York side of the river I said to John, "You had 
 better take a stage and ride home, and I will 
 fight it out the best way I can." He said " he 
 guessed that he would." There was no bet- 
 ter evidence than this needed to prove that 
 John was smart. I now trudged on aloue 
 with Old Roughy. We were nearly an hour 
 in reaching the avenue. When we had de- 
 scended about half-way down Yorkville hill, 
 I noticed that old Roughy began to reel and 
 stagger. I j amped off the cart, and taking 
 him by the head carefully led him down the 
 hill and in front of the " Five Mile House." 
 I went into the bar-room, stated my situation 
 to the landlord, and asked him if he had a 
 place where I could turn my horse in for the 
 night. He said that he had charge ^f a 
 three acre lot on the other side of the avenue 
 into which I could turn him if I liked, and 
 calling in the hostler he told him to run the 
 cart into the wagon-house and lock it up for 
 the night. I took a littU sometldng at the 
 bar, hailed the next stage bound city-ward, 
 into which I seated myself, and rode home a 
 sicker if not a wiser man than I was that 
 morning. 
 
 A 9 o'clock the next morning I made my 
 second appearance on the avenue in front of 
 the '' Five Mile House." I found Old Roughy 
 in the field, busily engaged at his morning's 
 repast. Walking up by the side of the fence 
 I bade him a friendly " good morning !" — he 
 
 immediately returned the salutation by a 
 graceful nod of his head. He then came close 
 up to the fence where I was standing, and 
 looked and acted as though he was glad to 
 see me. I then went and got out the cart 
 and harness, and again crossed over to the 
 field for the purpose of catching him. And 
 now commenced a series of horse gymnastics 
 that baffles all my powers of description. 
 
 With the bridle hanging on my arm I got 
 over the fence and approached the place' 
 where Old Roughy was feeding. As soon as 
 he discovered me he at once stopped eating 
 and came up toward me. He had a pleasant, 
 comical smile on his countenance, and looked 
 uncommonly sweet and good-natured. I 
 raised the bridle and attempted to put the 
 bit into his mouth, but — whew ! he gave a 
 most tremendous snort, kicked up his heels, 
 and with tail erect started off on the run like 
 mad. He ran at his utmost speed, two or 
 three times around the field in a contracting 
 circle, then coming suddenly to a dead halt 
 he reared himself upon his hind feet in an al- 
 most perpendicular position, and began to 
 move up toward me, bobbing and nodding 
 his head as much as to say, '■ Good morning, 
 old boy !" Then coming down again upon 
 his all fours he looked me square in the face 
 for a moment, and then nodding me a polite 
 bow, he said as plain as a horse could say, 
 " Catch me if you can !" and dashed off again 
 at a furious rate, occasionally looking back 
 and neighing for me to come back and have 
 a little fun. 
 
 " Zounds !" said I to myself, " that old dele- 
 gate is getting to be as mad as a March 
 hare ; but there seems to be a method in his 
 madness." 
 
 In the meantime quite a number of men 
 and boys had collected on the avenue and 
 stood looking over the fence to see the sport. 
 I invited them to come over and assist me, 
 and about forty of them tumbled themselves 
 over for that purpose. Among the number 
 there was a little short, stumpy, bandy-legged 
 old darkey, who said : " Sah, if you eber 'spec 
 to catch dat hoss, you mus talh hoss to Mm." 
 He tried to do it, but Old Roughy couldn't 
 see it. The old delegate seemed to take great 
 pleasure in frightening and tormenting that 
 same egotistical old darkey, as the sequel will 
 show. 
 
 And now the sport commenced in good 
 earnest. Old Roughy appeared to feel as 
 
thougii he was in a circus ring, and performed 
 accordingly. There didn't appear to be any- 
 thing ugly or vicious in his actions ; it was 
 all play on his part, and he seemed to enjoy 
 it hugely. He appeared to fully comprehend 
 that he was the principal object of attraction, 
 and he acted in accordance therewith. But. 
 there is no use in trying to describe his per- 
 formances — they had to be seen to be appre- 
 ciated. He reared and he plunged — he 
 walked upon his hind feet and upon his fore 
 feet — he pranced and he danced — he trotted 
 and he cantered — he walked and he ran — he 
 laughed and he grinned — he dodged this one 
 and he ran after that one — ^he rolled and he 
 tumbled, until he almost banished himself 
 from view in the dust of his own kicking up. 
 Such antics in a horse were never witnessed 
 before, either inside of a circus ring or outside 
 of it. 
 
 He finally ceased his froUicking and again 
 commenced feeding. The old darkey again 
 approached him for the purpose of " talking 
 hoss'' to him. Bat Old Roughy had his eye 
 fixed sharp on him. " Grinning a horrid, 
 ghastly smile," with his mouth wide open, 
 he went for Mm as hard as he could stave. 
 The " man and brother" turned tail to, and 
 ran as fast as his short, bandy legs could 
 carry him — but the grinning old delegate 
 overhauled him, and seizing his old slouched 
 hat in his teeth, he reared himself upon his 
 hind legs, and began to dance around in the 
 most comical manner imaginable — putting on 
 at the same time one of the most sardonic 
 grins ever witnessed. After thus prancing 
 around for a few moments, he gave the old 
 hat a sling behind him — came down again 
 upon his all fours — cast a solemn and digni- 
 fied glance at his gaping auditors — then ut- 
 tering a loud and boisterous horse-laugh, 
 " with slow and measured step " he delib- 
 erately moved oft a few paces, and bending 
 down his head quietly commenced nibbling at 
 the short grass, just as though he was alone 
 in the field. We were j ust then on the point 
 of giving him up as too many for us, when an 
 old country drover j umped over ihe fence and 
 excitedly exclaimed : — 
 
 " Why in thunder don't you make a pen, 
 and drive the old fool into it ? — it's the only : 
 way that you can trap the old ass !" 
 
 There was a large pile of old loose rails 
 lying in the field near by, and a pen was soon 
 constructed. Old Roughy stood a short dis- 
 
 tance oflF, quietly looking on while it was be- 
 ing built — and the very instant that it was 
 completed, to the wonderment of all present, 
 he marched up and walked deliberately into 
 it. I immediately followed him into the pen 
 —he held down his head — I put on the bridle 
 and quietly led him out to the avenue, amid 
 the wildest shouts and cheers of the specta- 
 tors ! Bichard was himself again. 
 
 A crowd of some 500 persons had collected 
 to witness this strange and wonderful exhi- 
 bition. Every carriage and stage, passing 
 up or down the avenue at the time, had 
 stopped to witness and enjoy the sport. Quite 
 a number of ladies had vacated their car- 
 riages, for the purpose of obtaining a better 
 view of the performances — and several of 
 them had laughed until tears of delight ran 
 dancing down their flushed cheeks. It was 
 better than a stage play, as one lady remark- 
 ed, and nothing to pay. 
 
 Having harnessed up old Roughy, and put 
 him before the cart, I then went into the bar- 
 room to settle my bill. I said, " Landlord, 
 what's the damage f 
 
 " Why, bless your soul ! nothing at all, 
 cartman," he replied. "But I own myself 
 indebted to pou a great deal more than I am 
 able to pay. Why, sir, your horse has enter- 
 tained me beyond the power of expression. 
 Yes ! it was an entertainment better than any 
 circus show that I have ever witnessed. But, 
 by Jupiter ! I have laughed myself almost out 
 of breath. It was splendid — it was sublime 
 — it was worth going a thousand miles to see. 
 That's so ! yes, by George ! you must take 
 something with me — you mustn't say no. By 
 the flowing beard of the prophet ! but I never 
 enjoyed myself so in my life.. What'll you 
 take? 
 
 I t,opk a little something with the landlord, 
 bade him good morning, jumped into my 
 cark and pointed for the city. Encouraged by 
 the shouts and cheers of the enthusiastic 
 crowd, old Roughy started off" on the run ; 
 but he soon slackened his speed down to an 
 ordinary trot. He kept up the latter gait 
 until we arrived at the foot of Sixty-first street 
 hill, when all on a sudden he came to a dead 
 square halt. 
 
 The very moment that he stopped he slowly 
 turned around his head and looked at me in 
 the most beseeching manner imaginable, as 
 much as to say : " Well, I'm played out 
 again !" I now began to think that the old 
 
49 
 
 scoundrel Was fooling me, and 1 laid on the 
 whip without stint ; hut it was of no use, for 
 it made no more impression on his old double- 
 thick hide than it would have made on one of 
 our modern iron-clad monitors. He moved up 
 the hill at the rate of about a mile in two hours 
 md I expected every minute that he would 
 ;ease moving at all. Everybody that passed 
 me looked at me slia/rp and laughed. I began 
 to feel ashamed of myself, and wished that the 
 aid fool would tumble down and break his 
 worthless old neck. But there was no such 
 ?ood luck in store for me, so I trudged on 
 until I came to an opened street that led into 
 the Second avenue. This avenue was but 
 little traveled at that time, and consequently 
 I avoided many a brazen stare and many a 
 boisterous laugh. After encountering many 
 " hairbreadth escapes by flood and field," I 
 finally arrived at my stable in Nineteenth 
 street, near Third avenue, at half-past one 
 o'clock P. M., having traveled just three miles 
 in the brief space of three hours and a half. I 
 put Old Roughy in the stable, fully deter- 
 mined in my own mind that, let what would 
 come, I would never put harness on him 
 again — and 1 didn't. 
 
 When I went to feed him, just before going 
 to bed, I found him still puffing and blowing 
 like an over-fed porpoise. He Mowed out, 
 however, during the night, and when I went 
 to feed him nest morning I found him quite 
 cool, rational and comfortable. He winnowed 
 me a good-morning, rubbed his nose affection- 
 ately against my shoulder, and seemed re- 
 joiced to see me. After feeding him I went 
 out on the corner. The first person I noticed 
 was George Eicardo coming down the avenue 
 on his cart. George used to stable in the same 
 stable with me, and knew Old Roughy very 
 well in his better days. I beckoned him to 
 stop a moment. George was a cartman, 
 horse-jockey and horse doctor combined, and 
 al ways considered himself extra smart. 
 
 " George," said I, " I want to sell you Old 
 Rough and Ready. You can have him at a 
 bargain." 
 
 " Well, I don't know that I want to buy 
 any horse at present. What do you ask for 
 him ?" 
 
 " Come down to the stable and see him, 
 and then we will talk about the price." 
 
 We went into the stable, and George gave 
 the old delegate a critical examination. He 
 was as fat and sleek as a seal. 
 
 "The old fellow appears to be a little hide- 
 bound — but I think that a little Needing and 
 physiclcing will bring all right. But I don't 
 know that I want him — what do you ask for 
 him ? " 
 
 " Yes, a little hide-bound, I balieve — wants 
 a ball or two, and perhaps a little bleeding. 
 What will you give for him, anyhow ? " 
 
 " Well, I don't think that I want him at 
 all — but here's a $30 bill — if you would rath- 
 er have it than the horse, put it in your 
 pocket." 
 
 I took the $30 bill, and put it into my pock- 
 et — you may bet heavy on that. 
 
 I saw George again on a Saturday morning 
 about two weeks after. " By thunder ! " said 
 he, " you got the best of me on that horse 
 trade after all." 
 
 "So I suspected — but what of it ? — you had 
 him at your own price." 
 
 '•■ Yes, I know that — but he's the cussedest 
 old fool of a horse that I ever had anything 
 to with in all my life. He won't neither bleed 
 nor physic, any more than a stone." 
 
 " I was fully aware of all that — why didn't 
 you " talk boss" to him ? But what have 
 you done with him ?" 
 
 " You might talk boss or Latin to him for 
 a week, but it wouldn't loosen a single hair 
 on his old hide-bound carcass. But what 
 have I done with him I have given him 
 up as a bad job. He is catalogued for sale, 
 up at the horse market, this afternoon — you 
 had better go up and buy him." 
 
 I went up to the sale. I arrived there just 
 as Old Roughy entered the ring. He looked 
 gay — he did. He had been peppered up to 
 the highest point of horse endurance,and fully 
 fitted up every way for the occasion. His 
 tail stood up like a flagstaff and his head was 
 thrown back almost into the face of the boy 
 on his back. He danced and pranced around 
 the ring like a French dancing master, hardly 
 knowing which foot to raise first. He stood 
 No. 7 on the catalogue and was thus de- 
 scribed : "One black horse about fifteen hands 
 high, coming nine years old, (I had bought 
 him for twenty, three years before) in good 
 condition, and sold for want of use." 
 
 " There you have his tedigree in full ; now 
 what shall I have bid for him ?" shouted the 
 auctioneer. 
 
 He was started at twenty and knocked down 
 at thirty dollars to an Irish dirt cartman. 
 
60 
 
 "1?'ine bargain you have there, Patrick," 
 chimed in the chattering auctioneer — " only 
 thirty dollars — dog cheap at twice that money 
 — please, sir, step up to the clerk's desk arn^ 
 shell out the rhino. Next." 
 
 " Chape, is it, did ye say, Mr. Auctioneer ? 
 Begorro, it's not twice thirty dollars that I'd 
 be after takin* for him, inny way. It's an all 
 day boss I'm told that he is ; and, bedad ! he's 
 jist the boy I've bin looking after." 
 
 I thought to myself, " Paddy, its differently 
 you'll be thinking about thatold delegate be- 
 fore you're five days older," but I said noth- 
 ing. 
 
 I met George a few days later and inquired 
 how Old Roughy was getting along ? 
 
 " Done gone ! as the old darkey said," he 
 replied — "played out the first day — third 
 load fetched him — caved in, and died in his 
 tracks, with his harness on. I knew just 
 what his end would be the very moment he 
 refused to hUed and physic." 
 
 Alas ! Old Rough and Ready ! He was a 
 horse marine of many parts, of an infinite 
 number of jests, and ot much rude merri- 
 ment — and also a little trickery and deceit. 
 But, crackee ! how he could run — when you 
 didn^t want Mm to. 
 
 And now, moat patient reader, if there is 
 any charm at all about the foregoing narra- 
 tive, it must be on account of its truthfulness 
 — for " nothing have I extenuated, nor aught 
 set down in malice." In nearly all its essenj. 
 tial particulars, it is as true as holy writ — as 
 have been, and will be, all these old time 
 recollections. 
 
 HENRY CLAY. 
 
 ARTICLE NO. 10. 
 
 " I wonlfl rather be Right, than be President."— 
 H. Clay. 
 
 The name and fame of Henry Clay, is now 
 the common property of his country. The 
 time has at length come when we can dis- 
 course about his public acts, without the fear 
 of being called party men. A greater orator 
 •—a truer patriot— a wiser statesman never 
 
 lived. There are but few persons of mature 
 age in the United States, who have not been 
 electrified by the spirit-kindling tones of his 
 matchless eloquence, or joined in prolonging 
 the swelling coral strain of — " Here's to you, 
 Harry Clay !" 
 
 It was the second night after the election — 
 the Presidential election of 1844. Henry Clay 
 and Theodore Frelinghuysen, were the Whig 
 candidates for President and vice-President of 
 the United States. The Whigs had assem- 
 bled in large numbers at National Hall, in 
 Canal street, to hear the news. It was gener- 
 ally supposed that the vote of the state of 
 New York would decide the contest. All the 
 Democratic strongholds in the state hadybeen 
 heard from, and the Democratic ticket was 
 only about 300 ahead. The Eighth Senatorial 
 district was yet to be heard from, and it al- 
 ways gave the Whig ticket from 13,000 to 
 15,000 majority. One of the smart arithme- 
 ticians of the payty, had figured up a clear ma 
 joriiy of 10,000 for the Whig ticket, and so 
 announced the glad tidings to the assembled 
 multitude. Three cheers were called tor, and 
 three tremendous cheers were given for the 
 great Whig victory ! Shortly after, from 
 10,0'JO to 15,000 enthusiastic Whigs formed 
 themselves into a procession, and with ban- 
 ners flying and music playing, singing and 
 cheering as they went, proceeded up Broad, 
 way to the residence of the vice-President elect 
 to congratulate him on the success of hjs 
 election. Mr, Frelinghuysen was at that time 
 Chancellor of the New York University, and 
 resided in a handsome mansion in Washing- 
 ton place, adjoining the University building. 
 The immense procession, now numbering 
 nearly 20,000, halted in front of his residence, 
 or as near there as they could get, and called 
 him out. His immediate appearance was 
 greeted by three times three and & tiger. The 
 noise and confusion having somewhat subsid- 
 ed, Mr. Prelinghuyseui from the high stoop 
 of his stately mansion, addressed the swaying 
 multitude of humanity, in one of his most 
 happy and eloquent strains of oratory. He 
 congratulated the great Whig party person- 
 ally for the distinguished honor they had 
 confered upon him — and pledged himself that 
 their most ardent expectations should be more 
 than realised. Making one of his most dig 
 Bified bows, he bade the vast multitude a 
 cordial good night, and retired. 
 
61 
 
 Sweet and pleasant were the dreatns of the 
 delighted Vice President elect on that auspi- 
 cious and ever-memorable night of the great 
 Whig victory. But the endj was not ;; yet. 
 There is " many a slip between the cup and 
 the lip," and so it proved in'this case. 
 
 It was now the third night after the election, 
 and the interest in the final result had in no- 
 wise abated. It was now fully known to all 
 that the vote of the State of New York would 
 give the victory, and throughout the day it 
 had been generally conceded by the leading 
 politicians of both parties that Clay and Fre- 
 liughuysenhad been elected ; but there was 
 now and then a shrewd Democratic politician 
 who shook his head knowingly and said : 
 " Hold on a bit, until the morning boats ar- 
 rive." 
 
 I had gone down in the neighborhood of 
 Tammany Hall, hoping to learn the truth as 
 to the final result. The doubtful problem 
 was soon solved, and the truth of the question 
 made manifest to the most skeptical unbe- 
 liever. The morning boats from Albany 
 had just arrived and brought the astound- 
 ing intelligence that the old Empire State 
 had cast her thirty-six electoral votes for 
 the Democratic ticket, and that consequent- 
 ly Polk and Dallas had been elected. 
 The Whig abolitionists in the western part of 
 the State, manifesting their usual inconsist- 
 entcy, had voted against the President of the 
 Colonization Society and in favor of one of 
 the strongest advocates of slavery in the 
 whole country. The too credulous Whigs 
 had celebrated their grand victory just 
 twenty-four hours too soon. It was cruel in 
 the extreme in the friends of Mr. Frelinghuy- 
 sen, and foolish in himself, to have allowed 
 them to place him in such a false and ridicu- 
 lous position ; but it was done, and done to 
 the dishonor of one of the noblest men that 
 this country has ever produced. That night 
 the grand old Chancellor of the New York 
 University retired to rest one of the sickest 
 men on Manhattan island. 
 
 The startling news brought down by the 
 Albany boats burst upon the city like a clap 
 of thunder in a clear sky, and took everybody 
 by surprise. Like a bugle blast sounded 
 along the lines of a victorious army, the news 
 spread over the city from Bull's Head to the 
 Battery with the rapidity of a flash of light- 
 ning. The wildest and most intense excite- 
 
 7* 
 
 ment everywhere prevailed, and the over- 
 joyed Democrats hardly knew whether they 
 stood upon their heads or upon their heels. 
 The mighty hosts of old St. Tammany had 
 for once crossed the " Cayuga bridge " in tri- 
 umph. They had bearded the " Young Lion 
 of the West " in his den, and victory now sat 
 perched high up on the flaunting banners of 
 the " great Unterrified." Tar barrels blazed 
 in every street; skyrockets whizzed and 
 sputtered overhead ; cannon roared in every 
 direction, and the roll of martial music was 
 heard from every corner. Within the nu- 
 merous barrooms in the immediate vicinity of 
 Park row and "Subterranean square" the 
 clash of tumblers and decanters commingled 
 with the high-pitched voices of the drinkers, 
 forming a scene of tumult and disorder that 
 out-bedlamed even Bedlam itself. Such an- 
 other time had not been witnessed in Gotham 
 within the memory of that unerring guide- 
 post of the past — the " oldest inhabitant." 
 
 In the meantime, the tongues ot the ram- 
 pant and excited multitude were by no means 
 idle. Political cant phrases were bandied 
 from inouth to mouth in every quarter. It 
 was " Down with the Coons," and up with 
 the " Young Hickories ! " Three cheers for 
 the old " Empire State, and the people there- 
 of 1 " " Get out of the way. Old Dan Tucker !" 
 the "Unterrified Democracy" have tri- 
 umphed ! " Texas is as good as annexed, and 
 Oregon will soon be occupied ! " " Give us the 
 whole hog ©r none \~fifty-four, forty, or a 
 fight ! " " Old John Bull may knock, but he 
 can't come in ! " " Old Harry West is again 
 defeated, and the country is safe ! Hurra ! for 
 Col. Polk and Capt. Dallas ! " " That same 
 old coon is as dead as Julius Caesar, and plen- 
 ty of log cabins to let ! " " And now boys, 
 let's go into the Pewter Mug, and — liquor." 
 
 Presently, a well-known orator of the vic- 
 torious party, mounted upon an empty beer 
 barrel, and with the spirit of prophecy big 
 within his bosom, loudly vociferated " Henry 
 Clay, the Great Embodiment of the Whig par- 
 ty, is dead, defunct, fallen ! and the places 
 that once knew him shall know him no more 
 forever." 
 
 This was a prediction that I had not been 
 prepared to hear, and I hastened home and 
 began to ponder the matter over in my own 
 mind, in a manner something like the follow- 
 ing : 
 
62 
 
 And is it really true that Henry Clay is a I 
 fallen ma.n ? and tbat the glory of his name ' 
 and the greatness of his a(;hievements are to 
 he hlotted out forever from the i)roi-id recol- 
 lections of the glorious old past ? Henry Clay 
 fallen ! No ! no ! he has not fallen ! , 
 " As well tlie tall and pillared A.lleghames lall ! 
 As he, Columbia's chosen s;)n and pride, 
 The slanderiid and ths sorely tried." 
 'Tis true he has heen defeated, but not an- 
 nilillated. He has lost his election, and with 
 it all hopes of the Presidency ; but the past 
 efforts of his mighty intellect, and the sub- 
 lime display of his towering genius, are em- 
 bodied in tlie imperishable chronicles of liis 
 country's history, and there they will remain 
 forever, a proud and lasting monument of 
 his wisdom, his patriotism and his eloquence. 
 No, he has not fallen ! There is not a page 
 that records the history of his country's grow- 
 ing greatness, during the last forty years, 
 that does not contain a living monument in 
 commemoration of the intellectual greatness 
 of Henry Clay. The temple of his fame 
 stands not upon a sandy foundation, and lia- 
 ble to be prostrated in the dust bj every pass- 
 ing gale. The able and eloquent defender of 
 the honor and liberties of his own country, 
 he has never forgotten his dutj^ to the people 
 of other lands, who were struggling to se- 
 cure the same blessings for themselves ; a 
 firm and consistent advocate of a liberal and 
 comprehensive policy in all our dealings with 
 foreign nations, he has ever been foremost in 
 watching and guarding the best interests of 
 his own ; " the stern and uncompromising 
 champion of civil liberty and the people's 
 rights, he has always maintained the su- 
 premacy of civil over military power, and 
 stood ready tt) tAcew himself into the breach 
 and oppase with the whole force of his 
 mighty intellect all attempted usurpations of 
 arbitrary power and military dictation. 
 
 'Tis true the political jugglers have again 
 succeeded in defeatiTig the " man of the peo- 
 ple," and the Whig's have been disaj^poiuted 
 and humiliated by the result ; but their gal- 
 lant leader has not falUn in tiie estimation of 
 those who have supported him. The fierce 
 and devastating sirocco of political corrup- 
 tion has passed over the land, demolishing 
 their hopes, prostrating their power, and dis- 
 poiling the party of its "fair proportions;'" 
 but Henry Clay himself has not been 
 scorched by the fire, nor has his former rep- 
 
 utation been soiled by the slanders of his op- 
 ponents. Like the grand, towering, timo- 
 lashed old pyramids of Egypt, he has stood 
 firm and undaunted amid thehowlings of the ■ 
 storm and tempest, and now stands calm and 
 erect on the proud and lofty eminence of his 
 former greatness — unscathed in the contest 
 through which he has just past — still mighty 
 even in defeat, and looking calmly down up- 
 on the fragments of his party that lie scat- 
 tered over the great battle Geld o( the hard 
 fought conflict, unterrified and subduced by 
 the scene of ruin and desolation that sur- 
 rounds him. 
 
 There is a magic in the name, and a dis- 
 interested nobleness in the life and character 
 of Henry Clay, more potent and captivating 
 to an intelligent mind than pertains to that 
 of any other man of our country at the pres- 
 sent day ; and it strikes me that the sovereign 
 •people have dishonored themselves, and done 
 great injustice to the services of a man hon- 
 estly intitledto, and every way qualified for, 
 that elevated station, in not electing him to 
 the Chiof-Magistry of this great nation. A 
 man who would " rather always be Right 
 than be President," ought to have received 
 better treatment at the hands of a people for 
 whom he had so long and zealously labored 
 — but the people seemed to think otherwise. 
 Such a man may be heaten, but he can never 
 be subdued. Born in the lap of indigence and 
 obscurity — rocked in the cradle of revolution 
 and political excitement, schooled in the school 
 of adversity, and bred up to do the drudgerj' 
 of a small farm, when he should have been 
 '■ poring o'er the lettered page" — had not the 
 simple ■' Mill Boy of the Slashes" been pos- 
 sessed of a genius of a high order, he would 
 never, in all human probability, have risen 
 above the common level of his village play- 
 mates. But the inate power and greatness of 
 his giant mind soon rent asunder the bonds 
 that would have chained down forever the 
 intellact of an ordinary man ; and when left 
 free to act for himself, the latent force of his 
 unshackled genius overcame every obstacle 
 and triumphed over every difficulty, until he 
 found himself in the front ranks of his 
 country's defenders, and among the foremost 
 in the fight. 
 
 The life of Henry Clay has been one con- 
 tinued struggle of alternate success and de 
 (eat ; and there is no man now living who 
 better knows how to enjoy the one or how to 
 
53 
 
 encounter the other. Conscious of the purity 
 Qi his own motives and the rectitude of hia 
 conduct throujfh liie, and well-kaowiujj that 
 he had obtained for himself a name and repu- 
 tation that would outlive the hatred and 
 prejudices of his most bitter enemies, it 
 mattei'S little to the fame that shall cluster 
 round his name in future times whether he 
 was successful or not in the contest which has 
 just terminated. His fame as an orator, a 
 statesman and a patriot will survive the 
 slanders of the present, and live in the hal- 
 lowed remembrances of millions yet unborn, 
 ages after the nameless traducers of his name 
 and character shall have passed into nothing- 
 ness and been forgotten. 
 "And now, no age is on liis heart nor dimness in liis 
 
 He wanes not with tlie lltful lights that darken in the 
 
 sliy ; 
 JBiit prouder still, in name and fame, with flaming 
 
 ])lume and crest, 
 lie shines among a nation's stars the hrightest and 
 
 the best!" 
 
 What ! Fallen l^Henry Clay fallen ! 
 Such a thing is not possible — for the great 
 " champions of freedom" in a hundred dis- 
 tant, foreign lands stand ready to tear him 
 up and crown Mm greatest of them all ! The 
 name of Henry C]-a,Y forgotten ! Such an 
 event could never take place — for, though 
 the whole of this mighty continent, with all 
 the treasured record of its vast greatness, and 
 all the glorious trophies of its power, should 
 be blotted out of existence to-morrow, the 
 name of this illustrious statesman would still 
 live in the grateful recollections of millions 
 of kindred hearts in other lands. Forgotten, 
 indeed ! Should any man now alive be per- 
 mitted t-o live until the name of Clay is for- 
 gotten he would be an object of greater in- 
 terest and curiosity to the teeming millions 
 of our most distant posterity tlian would be 
 the old hoary-headed Wandering Jew, should 
 he suddenly make his appearance among the 
 people of the present day, trembling and tot- 
 tering benwath the ponderous weight of 
 twenty centuries! 
 
 lieary Clay has not fallen ! nor will his 
 name and fame soon be forgotten. The bright 
 star of his renown is still in the ascendant — 
 the course of his glorious career is still on- 
 ward — the flight of his brilliant genius is 
 still upward, " conquering and to conquer." 
 A powerful and well organized party, led on 
 to the conflict by a host of unprincipled dem- 
 agogues, have succeeded in defeating him in 
 
 his election to tLe Presidency, but they never 
 can rob him of his former liigh ard well-de- 
 served reputation, nor deprive him of the 
 privilege of doing his duty to himself, to his 
 country and to his God. No defeat shall ever 
 crush the living energies of Tiis giant mind ; 
 no pensioned band of hostile scribblers shall 
 ever succeed in writing him down ; and come 
 weal or come woe, you will always find him 
 arrayed on the side 'of his country, fully 
 armed for the conflict and ready to respond 
 to its call. Himself a " man of the people," 
 he has always stood foremost in defence of the 
 people's rights. A lover of his loJiole coun- 
 try, he has always labored faithfully to ad- 
 vance the general peace and prosperity of the 
 whole. A friend of the Union and Constitu- 
 tion, he has always been found nobly battling 
 in favor of their protection and perpetuity. 
 Proud of his native land, he has always been 
 found upholding the honor and glory of his 
 country,both at home and abroad. And should 
 the time ever come when any factious and 
 daring band of discontented and ambitious 
 demagogues shall attempt the overthrow of 
 this great and glorious Union, you would find 
 him in the front ranks of its noble defenders, 
 ready to " do or die" in its protection. And 
 should any such band of human devils finally 
 succeed in pulling down the lofty pillars of 
 this God-approved Republic, and demolish the 
 majestic temple of American freedom, when 
 the storm of war had passed over, and the 
 smoke of battle had cleared away, you would 
 find Henry Clay, regardless of self, still on 
 the field of battle, fearless and undismayed, 
 with the light of hope still beaming in his 
 eye, still standing firm and erect amid the 
 deepening gloom of despair, with one hand 
 bearing up a broken column of Freedom's 
 overthrown temple, and with the other gath- 
 ering up the disjointed fragments of the torn 
 and shattered American Constitution : 
 " AMj.riiis 'mid the ruins still !" 
 
 Many moons have fulled and waned, many 
 a beautiful flower has bloomed and withered,^ 
 many great and startling events have tran- 
 spired, and many a sad and heart-rending 
 scene has been witnessed since the foregoing 
 sketch was written. The great statesman of 
 the West has since gone down in peace and 
 quietness to the tomb, " with all the honors 
 of his country blest," Yes ! Henry Clay, the 
 
54 
 
 great American Commoner is dead ! That 
 noble heart that pulsated only for his coun- 
 try's good is now cold in the icy grasp of 
 death, that love-lit eye that beamed so bright- 
 ly with the fires of intellect and genius is 
 now dimmed in endless night, the melody ot 
 that silver-toned voice, upon which " listen- 
 ing Senates" have so often hung with delight 
 is now hushed and silenced forever. The 
 man who would " rather be always Right 
 than be President," has been gathered to 
 his fathers — but though absent in the flesh 
 his spirit still pervades the land, bidding the 
 youthful aspirant after political honors not to 
 despair. Yes ! Henry Clay is dead ! but the 
 noble political lessons which he taught us 
 while here upon earth still remain to remind 
 us how sadly we have gone astray from his 
 wise and wholesome teachings. 
 
 I was a Whig in 1844. but I am a Demo- 
 crat now ; for I could not so stultify my 
 reason and better judgment as to continue to 
 act with a party who had adopted a code of 
 political principles so at variance with those 
 laid down by the founders of our Govern- 
 ment, and which had, made our country so 
 great and prosperous, and which Henry Clay 
 cherished and advocated up to the last day 
 of his life. With Henry Clay, the Great 
 Compromiser, in the United States Senate, 
 even at the advanced age of threescore and 
 ten years, disunion and rebellion would hard- 
 ^ ly have been possible ; but a mysterious 
 Providence, for some wise purpose, decided 
 that it should be otherwise. 
 
 THE DISAPPOIirrMEMT. 
 
 ARTICLE NO. ll. 
 
 It was a fine autumnal morning in the lat- 
 ter part of September, in 1837 or 18i^>8, as near 
 as I can recollect— at any rate it was "just at 
 the early dawn of ocean steamship i naviga- 
 tion. My stand at the time was on ihC cor- 
 ner of Broadway and Canal street, and my 
 business was that of a catch oartman. I w. ^s 
 Bitting on the tail of my cart, anxiously wait-" 
 ingforacall. About 9. o'cLoq^ I noticed^ < 
 gentleman of the name of Wijght— Edward, | 
 
 I think — coming up Canal street towards 
 Broadway. I was a little acquainted with 
 Mr. Wright, having done a few jobs for him 
 during the previous Summer. He was then 
 a widower, and boarded at No. 28 Laight 
 streetj'opposite St. John's park. I had al- 
 ways found him a very nice, liberal and 
 agreeable kind of a man to work tor. To sum 
 up all his character in a single word, he was 
 a gentleman. He came up to the place where 
 I was sitting, and thus addressed me : 
 
 " Good morning, Mr. Cartman. I am about 
 removing to Charlesten, S. C, and should 
 like to engage you to take my luggage down 
 to the packet this afternoon — say about 3 
 o'clock. There will be a pretty good load of 
 it, but I think that you will be able to put it 
 all on one cart. Can I depend upon you at 
 that hour'" 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Wright — I will endeavor 
 to be on hand at the time you have men- 
 tioned, and will do the best I can for you." 
 
 "AH right — that will do — but please, Mr. 
 Carman, don't disappoint me." 
 
 " You may depend upon me, Mr. Wright, 
 unless something should prevent me, over 
 which I have no control." 
 
 At VZ-} o'clock I had the offer of a dollar 
 load, which I did not feel it my duty to re- 
 fuse. As represented to me, it was a nice, 
 handy job, and would not require more than 
 an hour to do — so I ventured to engage it. I 
 supposed that Mr. Wright was going on 
 board of a sailing packet, and I knew that a 
 few minutes one way or the other would be 
 of no great consequence, in case I should get 
 delayed — lor it was not my intention to dis- 
 appoint him. But, as bad luck would have 
 it, the j ob I went to do turned out to be quite 
 different from what it had been represented ; 
 and consequently it took me longer to do it 
 than I had calculated upon. The conse- 
 quence of which was, that I did not reach the 
 house in Laight street until half-past two ; 
 and what was still more annoying, I found 
 instead of one, two large loads of goeds await- 
 ing shipment. 
 
 " Why, carman, how's this V " inquired Mr. 
 Wright in a rather sharp tone of voice — "you 
 are nearly half an hour behind your time." 
 
 "I know it," I replied, "but I could not 
 possibly get here any sooner. I have been 
 badly deceived, and that is the reason why I 
 have been detained." 
 
55 
 
 " And I fiad that I am going to have two 
 loads instead of one — what's to be done about 
 it?" 
 
 " Nothing in the world plainer, Mr. Wright 
 — you will have to employ two carts instead 
 of one." 
 
 " Yes, true ; I did not think of that before. 
 I have been so full of trouble all day that I 
 hardly know what I am about myself. Here, 
 Thomas (addressing the waiter) you go down 
 to the wharf and bring up another cart as 
 soon as possible. Hurry up a little now, for 
 once in your life." 
 
 " Yes, sir ; never fear me ; I'll have one 
 here in a trice." And off started Thomas on 
 the run. 
 
 " And now, carman," continued Mr. Wright, 
 " I think that you had better commence load- 
 ing your own cart at once, for we shall not 
 have a moment's time to spare. These goods 
 must all be on board the steamship ' Home' 
 before 4 o'clock, or I shall lose my passage. 
 You'll have to hurry up, or I shall be left be- 
 hind ; it was my neglect in not telling you 
 this before." > 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Wright ; you should have told 
 me that before, and then I should have made 
 my calculations accordingly. Had I known 
 that you were going on board a steam, instead 
 ot a sailing packet, I should have been here 
 on time. But I think that we shall be all 
 right yet, provided no bad luck befalls us." 
 
 The hall, stoop and sidewalk in front of 
 the house were piled up with trunks, boxes, 
 bundles and carpetbags, quite sufficient in 
 bulk and weight to make two full loads. I 
 now commenced loading, and put the larger 
 half thereof upon my own cart. At 3 o'clock, 
 and just as I had finished loading, along came 
 the waiter with another cart. At precisely 
 3i o'clock we were both loaded, and, as we 
 thought, ready for a start ; but just then Mr. 
 Wright came out of the house and said : — 
 " Thomas, you will now go into the yard and 
 bring out old " Dick," and let one of the car- 
 man lash him to the tail of his cart." 
 
 In a few moments thereafter Thomas made 
 his appearance at the alley-gate, dragging 
 after him a surly, vicious-looking old nanny- 
 goat. 
 
 " Now, carman," said Mr. Wright, " fasten 
 old Dick securely to the tail of your cart, and 
 hurry down to the ship with alj possible dis- 
 patch. Mind and don't make any mistake 
 —steamship ' Home,' pier No. 4 North river. 
 
 I have ordered a carriage, and shall be down 
 there before you, and will try and persuade 
 the captain to hold on a little, in case you 
 should fail to get there in time." ' 
 
 I lashed his old goatship to the tail of my 
 cart, but very much against his stubborn 
 will. He held back a little at first starting, 
 but he soon became more reasonable, and 
 finally trotted along quite contentedly. We 
 made very good time until we arrived at the 
 corner of Greenwich and Courtland streets ; 
 but here we became entangled in a crowd of 
 carts and country wagons, and were soon 
 brought to a dead stop. I, shouted to the 
 cartmen directly in front to turn out and 
 make way for us, as we were bound to the 
 Charleston steamer, and loaded with the 
 " United States mails." 
 
 " Not much !" said the grinning cart- 
 man immediately in front of us. " Uncle 
 Sam don't very pften send off his males nor 
 even his females in trunks and packing-box- 
 es. You had better not fret yourselves, for 
 you won't get through until your turn 
 comes." 
 
 The crowd of carts was now rapidly on the 
 increase both in front and rear of us, and 
 each driver was trying to force his way ahead 
 of the cart in front of him. In the mean- 
 time, some one in close in my rear ran against 
 the fretful old goat and knocked him upon 
 the sidewalk. The cord with which he had 
 had been fastened broke, and away he went, 
 growling and butting his way through the 
 crowd at a fearful rate. 
 
 Having hurriedly removed our carts to the 
 side of the street, we started off in hot pursuit 
 of the vicious old transgressor, and after an 
 exciting chase of some fifteen minutes we 
 succeeded in securing the author of all our 
 troubles and loss of temper just as the City 
 Hall clock struck four. It was now very evi- 
 dent that the game was up and that Mr. 
 Wright was doomed to encounter a most 
 grievous disappointment — and I now wished 
 a thousand times that I never had anything 
 to do with the job. Hurrying on again, we 
 turned down Carlisle into West street, from 
 whence I could distinctly see that the ship 
 had already moved out of her berth alongside 
 of the pier, but we continued on our course 
 j ust the same as though we were unaware of 
 so important a fact. When we arrived at the 
 end of our trip, we found Mr. Wright stand- 
 ing on the end of the pier intently gazing at 
 
56 
 
 the fast receding steamer, now about two 
 in,ilea down the bay, aad every moment grad- 
 ually lesseuiug to the view. As we drove 
 down ,the pier Mr. Wright rapidly ap- 
 proached us, and with tears in his eyes ex- 
 citedly exclaimed : 
 
 " In heaven's name, carman, 'what has de- 
 tained you so long ? Here I stand, and there 
 goes the ship steaming down the bay, leaving 
 a blank space of full two miles between us. 
 It's too bad, indeed it is, with my passage 
 paid aad my goods standing packed ready for 
 shipment for three whole days, and here I 
 am left behind after all this careful prepara- 
 tion, and all come of your disappointing me. 
 I am naturally of a quiet and forgiving dispo- 
 sition, but this cruel disappointment is really 
 more than I can patiently endure." 
 
 I explained to him the trouble that we had 
 with the old goat, and assured him but for 
 t'iat we should have been down in time ; but 
 he was not then in a mood to listen to reason 
 or to heed explanations of any kind. 1 felt 
 guilty enough in all conscience at the part I 
 had performed in this disappointment, but I 
 did not feel that the whole blame should rest 
 upon my shoulders. This tewing an old bull- 
 headed goat through the crowded streets I 
 did not look upon as any part of my duty as 
 a public cartman, and but for the delay which 
 he caused us we should have been down in 
 time. 
 
 " I would rather," continued Mr. W., " a 
 hundred times that you had left the goat run- 
 ning at large in the streets than to have thus 
 lost' my passage at this particular time. But 
 it does seem as though the Evil One himself 
 had been working against mc all this ^m- 
 blessed day— for I have met with nothing but 
 crosses and disappointments sinctleunrise this 
 morning. Even the livery stableuaan dis- 
 appointed me, and at the last moment I 
 had to seek elsewhere for a carriage-;-t!ie 
 consequence of which was that I did not 
 reach here myself until the ship was under 
 way and beyond hailing distance. And what 
 I ought now to do under the circuoistances 
 is more than I can tell." 
 
 " Mr. Wright, I do most sincerely regret 
 the part that I have taken in placing you in 
 your present unenviable position ; but it can- 
 not be remedied now, and I do not think that 
 the tchok blame should be placed upon my 
 shoulders," 
 
 " Perhaps not, but I cannot see it in any 
 other light at present. Had you been at the 
 house at 2 o'clock, as you agreed to, the 
 whole business might have taken an entirely 
 different, and I doubt not, a more favorable 
 tarn — at an rate, you would then have been 
 free of blame." 
 
 " We live in a world of doubts and uncer- 
 tainties, Mr. Wright, and little know what a 
 day or an hour may bring forth. Accidents, 
 misfortunes add disS,ppointments frequently 
 happea to the most favored of human beings, 
 and all of us have to meet and etdure our 
 share of them." 
 
 " Your reasonings are all plausible enough, 
 but I am not at present in a temper to profit 
 by them. I can forget and forgive almost 
 anything else, save a cruel disappointment, 
 occasioned by the carelessness of a thought- 
 less and iinfeeling person." 
 
 ■' My good old mother used to tell me that 
 disappointments were oftentimes blessings in 
 disguise, and it may possibly prove so in your 
 case. This steamship business is as yet but 
 in its inTancy — in fact, the present voyage of 
 the ' Home ' is only intended as an experi- 
 mental trip, and it is looked upon by many of 
 our best scientific men &:i a very uncertain 
 and dangerous experiment. Should she hap- 
 pen to go down with all on board the news 
 of such a sad event might possibly reconcile 
 you to your present disappointment. Stran- 
 ger things than this have happened." 
 
 " I feel very sensibly the truth of what you 
 have uttered : but whsu I inform you that 
 my poor old crippled father is on board the 
 'Home;' and that his life is as dear to mo as 
 my own, you will then know the cause of all 
 my grief and agitation over this bitter dis- 
 appointment. He being in a very infirm and 
 crippled condition I took the precaut ion to 
 have him carefully placed in his berth on 
 board the ship early this afternoon, so that 
 he might not be annoyed or injured by the 
 thoughtless crowd which always collect upon 
 the deck of a ship just on the eve of her de- 
 parture. And, oh ! if I could only have got 
 down here in time to have gone on board 
 with him, or to have taken him on shore 
 again with myself, I should not have cared 
 what would become of all else ; but when I 
 think of the terrible agony and distress of 
 both mind and "body that he naturally must 
 suffer, when the deepening shades of night 
 
set in, and he finds that I do not come to bis 
 relief, tlie thought drives me almost to dis- 
 tra,ption. lielpless and alone — out upon the 
 wide and tempestuous ocean — with no kind 
 friend to cheer and protect him — should dan- 
 ger thi'eaten the ship what chance of escape 
 do you think there would Ve for my poor, 
 dear old crippled father? I wish I could 
 ^chool my mind to the belief that disappoint- 
 ments are intended for our good, but I can- 
 not." 
 
 " Mr. Wright," I continued, " I now see 
 your position in quite a different light than I 
 did before, and I can and do most feelingly 
 sympathize with you in your bereavement ; 
 Init after all, words of sympathy, no matter 
 how warmly expressed, afford Ijut little con- 
 solation in a case like this. As to your fears 
 in regard to the manner in which your aged 
 father may be treated hy the passengers on 
 board the ' Home,' I think you hare no just 
 cause of alarm. There are a large number of 
 Southern people on board, and I have wit- 
 nessed enough of their kindness and liberal 
 hospitality to know that they will tenderly 
 care for the wants and comfort of any re- 
 spectable stranger whom accident or misfor- 
 tune shall have cast into their midst. All I 
 can further say is, try and be comforted with 
 the hope that all may yet turn out for the 
 best ; sad as the disappointment is, it possibly 
 may yet turn out to be a Messing in disgtiise. 
 But, as for myself, I would much rather have 
 remained a whole week without a single load 
 than played the tragic part that I have in this 
 dreadful business." 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Wright, rather sharply, 
 " bad as it has turned out, I see no good that 
 can be gained by a continued discussion of 
 the subject. All that remains for me to do is 
 ' to hope on and hope ever.' You will now 
 please return the goods to the place from 
 whence you took them." 
 
 The foregoing running conversation took 
 place while we were standing on the pier, 
 straining our eyes in gazing after the swift- 
 sailing steamer, which was just then on the 
 point of disappearing from our view. 
 
 We then returned to the house, where we 
 unloaded the goods and stowed them away in 
 the front hall of the basement. On our our 
 way back the old goat trotted along behind 
 the cart as quietly and contentedly as a pet 
 lamb. Mr. Wright having settled with the 
 other cartman then came uu to me and said : 
 
 " Well, carman, how much' am I to pay 
 you for your services? But, to be plain with 
 you, I think that I shall be doing injustice to 
 myself if I pay you a single cent." 
 
 "Mr. Wright," I replied, "you don't owe 
 me a single farthing. I should feel thorough- 
 ly ashamed of myself should I charge a man 
 for doing him an irreparable injury. I freely 
 acknowledge that I have done you a grievous 
 wrong, and I am man enough to own it — but 
 not quite to . the extent that you charge 
 against me." 
 
 As some one in the fullness of his wisdom 
 once said : " Blessed be the man who invented 
 sleep." But, I think I could name at least 
 three persons not more than a thousand miles 
 asunder, who, on the night of that day of 
 disappointment, neither slept nor slumbered, 
 viz.: the disappointer, the disappointed and 
 the victim of the disappointment. Of the 
 dimppointer I can truly say that he endured 
 a night of unspeakable horrors, and not 
 among the least of them were fearful visions 
 of wrecked steamships and aged, crippled 
 men crying out in their extremity for help ! 
 
 But time passed on, and the recollection of 
 the events of that day of disappointments was 
 beginning to fade from my memory. Another 
 week had been subtracted frorh the present 
 and added to the past, but no tidings of the 
 " Home's " voyage had yfet reached the city. 
 The sun was fast sinking beneath the western 
 horizon ; the evening's swelling tide of New 
 York's locomotive humanity was now at its 
 flood, and was still rolling on up-townward, 
 an irresistible, living torrent. I was sitting 
 upon my cart, bemoaning the dullness of the 
 times, and wondering where the next day's 
 bread and butter was coming from. Just 
 then I was suddenly startled from my reverie 
 by the sound of a newsboy's voice away down 
 Broadway shouting and screaming : "Extra 
 Herald !" This was the only sound that 
 could as yet be heard and understood distinctly. 
 Extras then were not quite so common as they 
 have since become, and they were only issued 
 when there was news of the utmost import- 
 ance to communicate. In a few moments 
 more a little dirty, ragged newsboy, covered 
 with dust and perspiration, and nearly out of 
 breath, came running up Broadway, shouting 
 and crying at the top of his voice, " Here s 
 the extra Herald, containing a full account of 
 the loss of the steamship ' Home,' with all 
 on board!" Stopping for an instant on the 
 
58 
 
 corneir, lie was sooa stirrounded tjy An eager 
 and excited crowd of half frantic persons, 
 eafik one pulling and hauling the other, and 
 all impatieijt to secure an " extra" at almost 
 any price. I had feared this news, and now 
 that it had come all my courage forsook me, 
 and I felt like a condemned criminal shud- 
 dering at sight of the gallows. My whole 
 body felt as though it had been suddenly par- 
 alyzed — the stagnant blood chilled in my 
 veins — damp and darkening clouds flitted be- 
 fore my vision, and I came very near fainting 
 on the spot. I did not dare trust myself to 
 wait any longer to hear the details of the ter- 
 rible disaster, and seizing the reins I started 
 at once for home. I new felt that I was a 
 doomed man, and that Mr. Wright would 
 most certainly kill me on sight ; and I also 
 felt that I deserved to die a thousand deaths, 
 for had I not been the cause of dooming his 
 poor, old, inflrm and crippled father to a wa- 
 tery grave ? 
 
 I went home, but not to eat or sleep. I had 
 the horrors the worst way and without any 
 intermission. I had got a crotchet into my 
 head that Mr. Wright would trace out my 
 residence and break in and kill me before 
 morning. For hours I lay in my bed and 
 planned a»d schemed how I could escape his 
 fury. I finally came to the esnclusion that I 
 would run away, but where to I could not de- 
 termine. Geing to Texas (" G. T.") was then 
 all the rage among those who were afraid to 
 show themselves in the city ; but then I was 
 afraid that I might get shipwrecked myself 
 in trying to get there. Then again I thought 
 that I would change my stand to some other 
 part of the city, and thus foil Mr. Wright in 
 his attempt to trace me out. Bat towards 
 morning I again changed my mind and con- 
 cluded that I would brave it out, and if I got 
 killed it would be no more than I deserved. 
 
 Having thus determined upon the course I 
 intended to pursue, I went down on the stand 
 the next morning at my usual time. I had 
 been there only a few minutes, when I discov- 
 ered Mr. Wright coming up the street towards 
 me. My first impulse, when I first saw him, 
 was to jump upon my cart and drive away ; 
 but he was already too near me io be easily 
 avoided ; so I resolved to remain and face it 
 out, let what would happen. He looked sad 
 and thoughtful, but. not the least bit revenge- 
 ful or bloodthirsty. As h« approached me he 
 very politely extended his hand and said : — 
 
 " Good morning, Mr. Carttiian ; 1 silppose 
 that you have heard the dreadful news ?" 
 
 I felt somewhat assured, from the kind 
 manner in which he addressed me, that he 
 intended me no harm, and I thus cautiously 
 replied : — " Yes, sir, I have heard that 
 the ' Home' hadJDeen wrecked, but how bad- 
 ly I have not yet been informed, for I have 
 just this moment arrived on the stand ; but I 
 hope and trust that no great harm has been 
 done." 
 
 " I am sorry to be compelled to inform you 
 that, as far as the ship itself is concerned, our 
 worst fears have been more than realized. 
 The ' Home' has gone down to the bottom of 
 the sea a total wreck, with nearly all on 
 board — but, thank God! my poor, dear, dear, 
 crippled old father was among the very few 
 who were saved ! As you predicted, he fell 
 into good hands. He was the very first per- 
 son placed in a lifeboat — the only one on 
 board the ship — and it was his infirm and 
 crippled condition alone that saved him. Two 
 noble gentlemen of Charleston, learning the 
 unprotected condition in which he was placed, 
 in a few hours after the ship got under way, 
 took him under their immediate personal 
 charge and protection, cared for and comfort- 
 ed him, both by day and by night, during 
 the whole voyage ; and when the final crisis 
 came, they gently and carefully conveyed him 
 safely into the lifeboat, and then, with a hero- 
 ism more than mortal, themselves went down 
 to a watery grave with the doomed ship ! 
 All this information I have from my dear old 
 father, in a letter of his own writing, which I 
 received late last evening. He is at present 
 safely and comfortably housed with a stranger 
 friend at his private residence in the hospita- 
 ble city of Charleston, and is in the enjoy- 
 ment of very much better health than when 
 he went on board the ill-fated ' Home.' God 
 bless, protect and prosper the kind-hearted 
 people of the South, into whose hands it has 
 been his good fortune to fall." 
 
 " Mr. Wright," I replied, " I am exceed- 
 ingly rejoiced to learn that your aged and 
 infirm father has escaped in safety the fatal 
 doom that has befallen the larger portion of 
 the passengers and crew of the lost ship. It 
 is certainly a great consolation to me to know 
 that he had such kind and true friends to 
 stand by him, and look after his welfare at a 
 time when friendship generally passes for 
 naught. In case you had been on board 
 
59 
 
 yourself and close at his side, tliinya would 
 not have been mana;ied mucli better, but 
 they rni/^hk have turned out a j^read deal 
 worse. On the whole, 1 think that I may 
 now venture to congrntulate you on your 
 good fortune in being left behind, althojigh 
 you took it so greatly to heart at the time." 
 
 " Yes, I do now feel thankful that I was left 
 behind, and I have come up here this morn- 
 ing to tell you so, and also to thank you for 
 being the partial cause of it. Yes, I owe you 
 a most humble apology for the rude and un- 
 courteous manner in which I treated you at 
 that time — and I trust that I am yet man and 
 gentleman enough to make it. Had I suc- 
 ceeded in getting on board the ship with my- 
 self and goods, I should to-day have been a j 
 ruined man, provided I had escaped with my 
 life. All the property that I possess in the 
 wide world, consisting of jewelry, silverware 
 and fancy goods, amounting in all to some 
 $12,000 or $15,000, was contained in the sev- 
 eral trunks and boxes which you took down 
 to the ship — and had they unfortunately been 
 placed on board, I should to-day have been 
 with them down in the bottom of the sea, or, 
 in case my life had been spared, then I 
 should have been a poor, penniless beggar, 
 among strangers in a strange land. But 
 it was the will and pleasure of a kind 
 Providence that it should be otherwise, and 
 I certainly feel most grateful for the special 
 favor. I did not see it then, but I can now 
 see it most clearly, that upon that memorable 
 day of trouble and anxiety all my seeming 
 disappointments were real blessings in dis- 
 guise. An agent, under the watchful care and 
 guidance of a mysterious Providence, you 
 have been the means of saving my fortune, 
 and probably my life. And having now, as 
 I fervently hope and trust, made you an am- 
 ple apology for my former rude and ungen- 
 tlemanly conduct toward you, I wauld like 
 to settle with you in a liberal manner for the 
 services which you rendered me on the occa- 
 sion alluded to. Please name the amount 
 that I owe you, and I will pay it to you with 
 interest." 
 
 " Nothing at all, Mr. Wright — you don't 
 owe me oae single cent. For any services 
 that I have rendered you, it is satisfaction 
 enough for me to know that your father is 
 safe, and that I have done nothing to icjure 
 you." 
 
 " But I do owe you for work done for me — 
 the laborer is worthy of his hire, and I insist 
 upon it that you shall accept at least a suffi- 
 cient sum to pay you for your labor." 
 
 " In view of what has already been said, I 
 do not think it would be proper for me to ac- 
 cept even the price of my labor." 
 
 " Well, then, if you will not take anything 
 for your labor, here's a ten dollar bill — please 
 accept it as 9. present from me." 
 
 "In this case I cannot accept anything as a 
 present ; but being a poor man, if you think 
 proper, you can pay mo my regular cartage, 
 $3, nothing more." 
 
 " It wou^d please me much better if you 
 would accept the whole $10, or $30 if you 
 will, but if only $3, you will have to take it 
 out of this bill, as it is the smallest I have 
 about me at present." 
 
 "I have not that much ch8nge about me, 
 but I will step into the broker's office on the 
 corner and get your bill changed." 
 
 " All right ; but you had much better keep 
 the whole of it, it belongs to you and will do 
 you no harm." 
 
 I stepped into Mr. Secor's office on the cor- 
 ner, and got the bill changed ; but when I re- 
 turned with the change, Mr. Wright had dis- 
 appeared forever. I have not seen him since 
 from that day to this. 
 
 There are many thousand persons still liv- 
 ing on Manhattan Island, who yet recollect 
 what a thrill of horror was spread through 
 every family circle in the great city on the 
 night of the announcement of the loss of the 
 " Steamship Home," more than thirty years 
 ago — and more especially among the families 
 of those who had relatives and friends on 
 board. 
 
 Some ten years later I made a business ac- 
 quaintance with three Southern ladies, whose 
 hoTie residence was near Newborn, N. C, but 
 who were accustomed to spend their Sum- 
 mers at the North. They were three of the 
 most sociable, liberal and large-hearted ladies 
 that I ever had business transactions with in 
 the whole course of my life. They were all 
 widows— mother, daughter and granddaugh- 
 ter — and tliey all lost their husbands on hoard 
 the " Home." It is not at all improbable but 
 that it was some of their husbands who as- 
 sisted in saving Mr. Wright's dear, old, crip- 
 pled father's life. 
 
60 
 
 "MIND YOUR OWN BJJSINESS. 
 
 ARTICLE NO. 12. 
 
 The year 1810 was a year that " tried the 
 souls" of New York cartnien — and also of 
 several other workers. It was the dullest 
 business year that I experienced during my 
 twenty years' residence In the city — one dol- 
 lar a day being my average yearly wages, 
 with horse, cart and family to support out of 
 it. The whole country was still reeling and 
 staggering under the terrible blow caused 
 by the grand smash-up in 1837, and, conse- 
 quently, everybody was on the economise. 
 Politics and politicians alone ruled the day ; 
 and getting a job of any kind of work that 
 would pay was next to impossible. Every 
 man had become a leading politician, and 
 everything was at a dead stand-still, except 
 politics. " Little Van" had long since been 
 declared a " used-up man," and the blight 
 and flaming star of " Tippecanoe and Tyler 
 too" was grandly in the ascendant. Every- 
 body inquired of everybody else what was 
 the meaning of all the " great commotion, 
 motion, the counttt-y through ;" bnt no one 
 could furnish an intelligent and satisfactory 
 reply. " Log cabins," with the " latch-string 
 hanging out," sprang up in every direction ; 
 " hard cider" flowed through the land like . a 
 river ot milk and honey, and could be freely 
 indulged " without money and without 
 price ;" but the promised " two dollars a day 
 and roast beef" dodge, like the " mule ^nd 
 forty acres of land" dodge promised to our 
 " man and brother" humbug ot later times, 
 ■was as yet visible only in the distance, and 
 all the while growing " beautifully less." 
 
 As I was saying, or as I should have said, 
 it was the dullest August of the dullest year 
 on record. During the three years preceding 
 carting had been a very profitable business, 
 fully justifying the old maxim that " it is an 
 ill wind that blows no body any good." The 
 ruin and downfall of half the business men 
 of the city in 18o7 had thrown a flood of 
 business into the hands of lawyers, sheriffs 
 and constables ; and the dull times that soon 
 followed caused the other half to curtail their 
 expenses, by cutting down their former es- 
 tablishments. The consequence of all this I 
 
 change of basis on the part of business men 
 was that a great deal of extra carting had 
 to be done, and thus what was a curse to the 
 man of business proved a blessing'to the cart- 
 men. Sheriffs and constables weie every day 
 giving employment to all the cartmen they 
 could secure ; and seeing that the money did 
 not come out of their own pockets, they were 
 uncommonly liberal in paying their em- 
 ployes — in fact, so much so that they very 
 often paid them twice or three times the 
 amount allowed by law. But this kind of 
 business had played itself pretty well out in 
 the Spring of 1840, and every kind of busi- 
 ness was now as dead financially as was 
 poor " Littie Van" politically. 
 
 From 1&30 to 1840 was what might v^iy 
 appropriately be termed the " (iolden Era" 
 among the New York cartmen. There were 
 then no hotel stages or express wagons in 
 existence, and consequently the licensed hack- 
 men and cartmen had a complete monopoly 
 of the carrying trade of the whole city. What 
 we used to term steamboat baggage — for 
 which we used to receive from one to three 
 dollars a load, according to the size of the . 
 load and the distance it was carried — furnish- 
 ed the most profitable employment that a 
 cartman could find to do. Whether there was 
 anything doing through the rest of the day 
 or not, we could always, in the Summer time, 
 count on a load of baggage every afternoon, 
 between three and four o'clock, to some one 
 of the five o'clock boats. 
 
 The day had been one of the hottest of the 
 season — one of the mdtvmj kind — but was 
 now fast drawing toward its close. It was 
 already past four o'clock, and also past the 
 usual hour for catching a load of steamboat 
 baggage. I was j ust on the point of throwing 
 u|) the sponge and calling it a clean skunk— 
 a term applied by one cartman to another 
 when he went all day without a load — when 
 I noticed a, colored lad, whose age was about 
 seventeen, coming down Broadway on the 
 run, dodging this one and running against 
 that one, in his efforts to force his way 
 through the crowd. When he reached the 
 stand he was nearly out of breath, but jump- 
 ing upon my cart at a single bound, he 
 said : — 
 
 " Please, carman, drive right straight 
 Broadway up, near Grana street, quick ! — ■ 
 cart broke down bad — gemsaenin hurry, wait 
 for you come up an carry baggnge down 
 
01 
 
 steamboat — no time for spare — please, quick, 
 hurry up !" 
 
 Down went the Bponge, and off I started on 
 the double-quick, " Broadway up !" Near 
 (Jrand street I found an old butcher's cart, 
 piled up with trunks and carpetbags, toppled 
 over on its side, with the off axletree broken 
 square off, close up to the inside of the hub. 
 Standing around the wrecked cart were five 
 smart, genteol looking young gentlemen, with 
 consternation and despair pictured on their 
 otherwise handsome countenances. 
 
 " Carman," said one of them, " please back 
 up here, quick ; put this haggage on your 
 cart, and hurry with it down to the Albany 
 boat with all possible dispatch, or we shall 
 all get left behind. Come, now, boys, spring 
 to \hfi rescue, and help the carman load his 
 cart ; the moments just now are precious." 
 
 We now all set to work with a will, and 
 in a very short timethe baggage was changed 
 from the broken cart to the whole one, and I 
 commenced tying on the load. 
 
 " Do you think, carman," continued the 
 spokesman of the party, " that vou can get 
 down to the foot of Courtland street in time 
 for the 5 o'clock boat ?" 
 
 I took a hasty look at my watch — it wanted 
 but twenty five minutes to five. 
 
 " No, sir," I replied, "the thing's impossi- 
 ble. The only chance of getting your bag- 
 gage on board will be for me to take it up 
 to the old State Prison dock, where the boat 
 st.ps to take on board the uptown passen- 
 gers. This will be your only chance, and not 
 a very bright one at that ; but I think that I 
 can get up there in time." 
 
 " Well, then, push on at once for the old 
 State Prison dock with all the speed that 
 your horse can stand, but for CJod's sake try 
 and not disappoint us. Bear in mind that 
 dispatch is the word, and charge accord- 
 ingly." 
 
 At that moment an empty carriage came 
 dashing along down Broadway ; they hailed 
 it, and jumping in, told the driver that a five- 
 dollar bill would be his in case he delivered 
 them at the boat in time to get on board. 
 
 Being now ready for a start myself. I told 
 the lad to fix himself securely on the hind 
 end of the cart, to hold on tight, and keep a 
 sharp lookout that notbing tumbled off. Go ! 
 was now the word, and we went — ^yes, ^oe 
 went! you may bet high on that. My horse 
 was fresh and in good trim for going, and 
 
 the way we pitched in among the carriages 
 and stages w as a caution to the lookers-on. 
 Everybody made room for us to save their 
 own necks, for they all thought that we were 
 running away to a dead certainty. There 
 were no policemen in the city in those days, 
 or we should most assuredly have been ar- 
 rested and fined for fast and reckless driving ; 
 so we had it all our own way. Sir John (Jil- 
 pin himself never run a tighter or a more fu- 
 rious and reckless race. Our course was first 
 up Broadway to Spring street, and then down 
 Spring to West street. When we reached 
 West street, fronting on the river, I took a 
 hasty glance down the river, and not seeing 
 anything of the boat, I concluded that we 
 wei;e all right. Slacking up a little, we con- 
 tinued on up West street until we arrived at 
 the boat's landing place. She had just that 
 instant moved out from her berth at the foot 
 of Courtland street, and was turning her 
 prow up the river. We here found some 
 forty or fifty persons, men, women and chil- 
 dren, collected on the end of the pier impa- 
 tientlywatting for the boat to come up. I 
 drove up near the gang-plank and deposited 
 my load in a position where it would be handy 
 to hurry it on board when the boat arrived. 
 Having got everything nicely stowed away 
 on the dock, the colored boy stepped up to 
 me and said : 
 
 " Well, sah, how much I hab to pay you 
 for ride dis load ? De young bossy say dat I 
 must pay you big price." 
 
 "Yes, laddy buck," I replied, "we have had 
 a rather lively time of it, but I shan't be hard 
 with you — we'll call it about two dollars." 
 
 I noticed that the mention of the two dol- 
 lars caused several of the bystanders to 
 prick up their ears, and look as though they 
 wanted to say something. 
 
 "Yes, <!ah," continued the darkey, "here's 
 de money, and 'tankee beside— but dis cliile 
 don't care to hab nodder sich a shakee up 
 rite away." 
 
 He then handed me two silver dollars — 
 such a sight would be good for sore eyes 
 now. I put the money into my pocket and 
 then drove a little back out of the crowd, and 
 commenced fixing up my ropes. 
 
 Just as I was on the point of leaving, I 
 
 noticed the colored lad, followed by some half 
 
 a dozen gentlemen, hastening toward me. 
 
 The lad was the first to break silence by 
 
 aying : — 
 
G2 
 
 ''I say, bossy, dese gfemmen say dat you 
 charge good deki too much for ride de load 
 ob baggage, and dat you must gib me back 
 some — don't know anyting 'bout it myself — 
 tougbt it was all right — young bossy tell me 
 pay big price." 
 
 "Which of these gentlemen said so?" I in- 
 quired — "I wish that you would point him 
 out to me, I should like to see him." 
 
 "I said so," responded the foremost of the 
 party. "And /say so, too," chimed in the 
 other four. 
 
 The gentleman who spoke first was a tall, 
 gaunt, raw-boned individual, somewhat past 
 his prime, and might have been taken by 
 mistake ior the late President Lincoln ; but 
 by no possible mistake could he have been 
 taken for a pleasant featured, good-loolupg 
 man. He was clad in a full suit of rusty, 
 faded black broadcloth, wore a high, stiff 
 standing shirt collar, supported by a soiled 
 white cravat, carried an old tattered leather 
 carpet bag in his hand, and looked altogether 
 the very picture of a poor country clergyman. 
 1 liked neither his looks nor his conduct ; but 
 still his whole appearance denoted that he 
 was a marked man, and a bad one. 1 hap- 
 pened to know a little about his antecedents, 
 but I kept mum. 
 
 " I Bay, you carman you," continued spokes- 
 man No. 1, " you ought to be ashamed uf 
 yourself, so you should, to charge that poor, 
 ignorant colored boy such an exorbitant 
 price for carting that load. Gracious me! 
 Two dollars a load ! I never heard of such a 
 charge before in all my life. You would not 
 have dared to charge the owners of that bag- 
 gaige such an outrageous price !" 
 
 To which I replied pretty uharply : " Sir, 
 are you in any way or manner personally in- 
 terested in this business ? If so, I am ready 
 to listen to you." 
 
 " We are all interested in seeing that our 
 fellow creatures are not cheated during their 
 absence, and that is the reason why I have in- 
 terfered in this ease." 
 
 " Sir ! do you know anything about the 
 circumstances of this case? — do you really 
 know from whence I brought this baggage, 
 whether from Yorkville or Harlem ? Ijook 
 at that horse, and see if you think he has 
 been doing an easy job." 
 
 " No matter from whence you brought it," 
 chimed in No. 3, "two dollars is too much to 
 charge, and nobody knows it better than 
 
 yourself. The law allows no such price as 
 that, let me tell you." 
 
 " Of course not — neither does the law com- 
 pel a man to kill his horse to accommodate a 
 stranger. Extra work is always entitled to 
 extra pay — is it not ? And I don't consider 
 that it is any of your business what I charge, 
 so long as the money does not come out of 
 your pocket." 
 
 " Well," said No. 3, " your charge is entire- 
 ly too high, no matter what may have been 
 the circumstances of the case. / have j ust 
 had my baggage brought here, all the way 
 from Brooklyn, and all that I paid the car- 
 man for doing the job was seventy-five cent.i." 
 
 " Yes ! that was all you paid him— that 
 was very reasonable indeed ! bat did you pay 
 your carman all that he asked for doing your 
 job? That's the question I should like to, 
 have you answer." 
 
 " It's none of your business what he asked 
 — that is all I paid him, and it was quite 
 enough. There is too much of this over- 
 charging going on among carmen of the pres- 
 ent day, and it ought to be broken up. I wish 
 you to understand that I am not fool enough 
 to 2yay a carman all he aslcs." 
 
 " I congratulate you on your good luck in 
 finding a carman mean enough to do your 
 twenty shillings' worth of work for seventy- 
 five cents — but after all, it would be hard to 
 tell which of the two is the meanest, yo\\mt:\l 
 or your carman." 
 
 " Let us take his number !" shouted No. 4, 
 " and hand him over to the owners of the 
 goods, when the boat arrives." 
 
 " See here, my good friends, did any of you 
 ever read a certain story about how much a 
 certain man therein named once gained by 
 ' minding his own husinessf " 
 
 " Carman," chimed in No. 5, " I think that 
 you had better return to the boy about two- 
 thirds of the money that you have taken 
 from him, and go off quietly about your busi- 
 ness — if you don't you will quite likely get 
 yourself into serious trouble." 
 "Gentlemen, youseem to take an unaccounta- 
 ble interest in the business of others, and 
 probably to the neglect of your own. To re 
 lieve you from all further responsibility in 
 this matter, I have concluded to remain here 
 until the boat comes up ; and if the owners of 
 this baggage object to the price that I have 
 charged, 1 will then very willingly return 
 them the whole amount." 
 
C3 
 
 " Better take his number, to make every- 
 thing sure," said No. 1, '• I believe it to be 
 our Christian duty to report his misdeeds to 
 our absent friends, the owners of this bag- 
 gage. I am perfectly satisfied in my own 
 mind that this carman is a bad, if not a dan- 
 gerous man." 
 
 In an instant, note books and pencils were 
 whipt out of the pockets of the whole five, 
 and the terrible tell-tale figures, 2489, were 
 carefully traced therein. 
 
 " And now," continued No. 1, as he returned 
 his book into his pocket, " whether thanked 
 for it or not, we shall each enjoy the sweet 
 consolation of knowing that we have per 
 'formed our Christian duty in this matter." 
 
 " Yes ! and a very honorable duty it is, too 
 — and I hope that you will be suitably recom. 
 pensed for your trouble. And now, perhaps 
 you would like to have my name and place 
 of residence, to place along side of my num- 
 ber. You will find both on record in the 
 Mayor's office, down in the City Hall." 
 
 *' Why, bless my soul ! you are growing 
 impertinent as well as dishonest, are you ? 
 But, you'll sing quite a diflferent tune frem 
 that when the boat comes up." 
 
 " Perhaips so, but not quite yet. You may 
 threaten as much as you please, but when I 
 have rights to defend, I am not the man to be 
 easily frightened. The good Book tells us 
 that the " wicked flee when no man pur- 
 Bueth" — but i shall not flee from the presence 
 of a man who never puts a penny into the 
 contribution box, except when he sees a chance 
 to HteMl a shilling out." 
 
 " Sir ! your insolence is becoming almost 
 intolerable, and I'll not bear it much longer. 
 There is a point when forbearance ceases to 
 be a virtue." 
 
 '• So there is, and it will require but a little 
 more of your meddlesome interference before 
 I expose you, and show you up in your real 
 character." 
 
 " Go ahead and do your worst — I defy you. 
 I can very soon make it apparent to these 
 kind gentlemen that my , character stands 
 above reproach. I am quite a different gen- 
 tleman from what you take me to be." 
 
 " I have never yet taken you for a gentle- 
 man — but perhaps I may have been mistaken 
 — we shall soon see. It is the general belief 
 that every question has two sides to it, and so 
 
 has this. Now, suppose that when you were 
 in the dry goods business a stranger had 
 come into your store and purchased a bill of 
 goods, and j ust as he had paid you for them , 
 I should have come rushing in and said to 
 you ; — ' Sir, you have been taking the ad- 
 vantage of this poor gentleman — he, is an 
 entire stranger in the city, and knows noth- 
 ing about the price of your goods — you have 
 charged him at least double what they are 
 worth — I can take him to a place where lie 
 can buy them for half the price that you have 
 charged him — you ought to feel heartily 
 ashamed of yourself for taking the advantage 
 of a strange gentleman who knows nothing 
 about the ways of this wicked city, and if 
 you don't immediately disgorge a portion of 
 your ill-gotten plunder I'll have you arrested 
 at once.' How would you like that kind of 
 style of interference in your private business? 
 — answer me that question, if you please." 
 
 " I should not have liked it at all, and 
 what is still more to the point, I would not 
 have tolerated it from you or any one else. 
 I should have ordered you out of my store 
 at once, and should most probably have ac- 
 celerated your exit with the toe of my boot. 
 That, however, is quite a different kind of 
 question from the one now under discussion ; 
 but how in the world did you come to know 
 I had ever been in the dry goods business?" 
 
 "Yes ! that is quite a different question," to 
 be sure — but only in the transformation of 
 persons — the pri7ici2ile in both cases is pre- 
 cisely the same. Yes ! you would have 'or- 
 dered me out of your store,' and you would 
 haye served me right, even had you used the 
 'toe of your boot.' But, 'how did I come to 
 know that you had ever been in the dry 
 goods business T Yes ! that's the point we 
 are trying t9 get at — but, don't you begin to 
 think that you have waked up the wrong 
 person. How do I happen to know any- 
 thing ? Or, as you would probably put the 
 question, what right hh.ve I to know any- 
 thing? It is a part of my legitimate business 
 to hunt up and ferret out such vile humbugs 
 as you are. I do it for the protection of my- 
 self, as well as my employert'. Why, sir, 
 you could not go to a single store in the 
 city, where I am employed, and obtain a dol- 
 lar's worth of credit to save your life. Yes, 
 sir, your name is recorded in all their books 
 of private inquiry as decidedly bad. The 
 
G4 
 
 Court of Bankruptcy is a very poor place in 
 wliicb to deposit important financial infor- 
 mation, provided you wisli to have it kept 
 secret." 
 
 Tlie boat was cow within sight, and rapid- 
 ly approaching the landing-place. Most of 
 thoBe who were awaiting her arrival had 
 come up within hearing distance of the high- 
 contending parties, and seemed to enjoy the 
 discussion hugely. Among the number there 
 was a well-dressed, jolly-faced looking old 
 bummer, of unmistakable sporting proclivi- 
 ties, who, stepping up in front of No. 1 (the 
 guns of the other four had been long since 
 silenced) and gently patting . him on the 
 shoulder, said : " I say, old boy, you had bet- 
 ter throw up the sponge and leave the ring, 
 for the carman is getting the better of you." 
 
 " 1 shall do no such thing," tartly replied 
 No. 1 ; " but I say, you wretch of a carman, 
 you, what do you mean by all this fulsome 
 twaddle about the secrets of the Court of 
 BankruiTtcy ? I hope, you rascal, you, that 
 you don't presume to think that you know 
 me ; the thing is preposterous in the ex- 
 treme. I am a man of peace — a quiet. Chris- 
 tian gentleman — and quite capable of attend- 
 ing to my own business." 
 
 " Know you ! Yes, sir, I know you like a 
 book, and can read you quite as easily. Your 
 name is John Jones, of the lately extin- 
 guished firm of Jones, Bones & C6., three 
 years ago wholesale dry goods dealers down 
 in Pearl street. Perhaps you may yet have 
 a limited recollection of the former existence 
 of such a firm ; if not, I will go a little more 
 into its details. At any rate, you have, no 
 doubt, a pretty distinct recollection of the 
 fact of your having swindled your honest 
 creditors out of the small and insignificant 
 sura of one hundred thousand dollars. 'And 
 now, Mr. Jones, don't you begin to think 
 that, although a ' quiet. Christian gentle- 
 man,' you have commenced ' attending to 
 your own business' with the wrong man V" 
 
 " Better throw up the sponge, deacon," 
 again chimed in the old sport; "that last 
 round of the carman's came very near pre- 
 venting you from coming to time." 
 
 " It is false ! Every word the villain has 
 uttered is false ! — and I have a mind to have 
 him arrested for slander. His insoleuvje is 
 most too much for a quiet, Christian gentle- 
 man to bear, and I'll not endure much- more 
 of it." 
 
 " Villain ! scoundrel ! slander ! Oh, yep, 
 these are all very complimentary expressions, 
 but they don't make me feel the least bit 
 proud. If these charges are all false, why 
 do you warm up so, Mr. Jones ? Unwelcome 
 truths sometimes have a tendency to trouble 
 a guilty conscience more than a twice repeat- 
 ed falsehood ; is it not so, Mr. Jones? You 
 charge me with that which I know I am not 
 guilty of, but it does not ruffle my temper in 
 the least ; but the moment that I charge 
 home upon you unpalatable truths you let 
 your bad temper get up as high as a cat's 
 back. But I am not quite done with you yet. 
 Is not your son at present doing business on', 
 the very money that you cheated your honest' 
 creditors out of? and are not you yourself 
 now living off the profits of his business ? 
 You don't deny that, Mr. Jones, do you ?" 
 
 " I don't deny but that I failed in business ' 
 during the terrible crash in '37, but I do deny 
 most emphatically that my son is at present 
 doing business on any money of mine. My 
 failure was caused by the failure of pther par- 
 ties, who heartlessly swindled me out of 
 over a hundred thousand dollars, and com- 
 pelled me to suspend my business much 
 against my will. The fact is, that I am not 
 to-day worth a dollar in my own name." 
 
 " Your defence is very plausibly worded, 
 Mr. Jones, and speaks well in favor of the 
 subtlety of your reasoning powers, and I give 
 you full credit for it ; but where did your son 
 George, a young man of only twenty-».hree 
 years of age, obtain his capital to start busi- 
 ness with? Perhaps you can answer that 
 question in a satisfactory manner — to yonr- 
 self." 
 
 "It's no use, deacon, once more shouted the 
 jolly old sport — "you had better throw up 
 the sponge — the carman is too many for you 
 — one blow more like the last, and you won't 
 be able to come to time." 
 
 " Yes, I can answer that question too, to 
 the satisfaction of any reasonable man — the 
 money was loaned him by a wealthy aunt, 
 and he is at present supporting myself and 
 family out of the profits of his btisineas. Will 
 that answer satisfy you?" 
 
 " It might, possibly, if I did not know any 
 better— that story, or more correctly speak- 
 ing, that falsehood, might do very well to tell 
 to the children or the horse marines, but not 
 to men of sense and judgment. Your son has^ 
 not au aunt in the world to-day who pes- 
 
65 
 
 Besses a thousand dollars in her Own right. 
 It is your creditors' money that your son is 
 doing business on, and uo one knows it better 
 than yourself. Do you uuderstaud that, Mr. 
 Jones V 
 
 " Gentleui'jn," said Mr. Jones, addressing 
 his associates, " I trust that you will do me 
 the favor to not believe anything that this 
 foolish and crazy-headed carman has been 
 saying about me — it's only been done to shield 
 his own misdeeds. 'Tis true that the unprin- 
 cipled villain has somehow made himself ac- 
 qiiaiuled with my name, and the history of 
 my private misfortunes — but he has falsified 
 the history of my life in almost every import- 
 ant particular. I will only add for your fur- 
 ther information that I am a member of Dr. 
 Cautwell's church, in good standing, and that 
 I am about the last man in the world who 
 would intentionally wrong any one — espe- 
 cially as 'he has wronged this poor colored 
 boy." 
 
 " You are a member of Cantwell's church, 
 are you ? So much the worse for the church. 
 Yes ! it is just such canting hypocrites as you 
 are that bring disgrace and reproach upon the 
 Christian church, all th^ world over. You 
 might belong to a hundred churches if you 
 liked — but you will first have to become an 
 honest man before you can;,_become a true 
 Ohrintian. Professions are nothing — good 
 conduct and upright dealing with your fel- 
 low men are everything — and cheat and de- 
 fraud whoever else you may, you will yet live 
 long enough to realize the important fact 
 that you caii't cheat your own conscience !" 
 
 " Did any Christian man ever hear such a 
 tissue of blasphemous nonsense before? It 
 pains me to hear it." 
 
 " Hold on a bit, Mr. Jones, I have not quite 
 done with you yet. This has been a war of 
 your own beginning, but I intend^ to have a 
 hand iu ending it. I always use cUncIt nails 
 in my workshop, and whenever I have occa- 
 sion to drive them into such a shaky piece of 
 timber as you are (he was beginning to shake 
 all over, like a man in an ague fit), I gener- 
 ally clinch them in the inside so effectually 
 that they will stay there." 
 
 " You are a bold, bad man, sir ; and I now 
 advise these gentlemen to not have anything 
 more to say to you. I have never yet in my 
 life volunteered to do an act of kindness for 
 a stranger but that I received more abuse 
 
 than thanks therefor. This wrangling in 
 public with a common carlman is not a prop- 
 er business for a Christman gentleman to be 
 engaged in, and iu the future I shall make it 
 a rule to vund iny oion biuiness, and leave 
 other people to attend to theirs. I shall now, 
 gentlemen, leave this business with you to 
 dispose of in any way you may think proper." 
 
 Here the (jkristian qentlcman threw up the 
 sponge, and commenced moving ofi" toward 
 the end of the pier — but not without a part- 
 ing salute from the well-shotted guns of the 
 " common carman." 
 
 '■ You a ' Christian gentleman ! ' I can es- 
 teem and respect — yea, even reverence the 
 good man and true Christian, whether in the 
 church or out, who lives a blameless life and 
 does right — but when a man, formed in the 
 image of his Maker, so far debases himself as 
 to ' steal the livery of the court of Heaven 
 to serve the devil in,' I can hold no commu- 
 nion with him, Christian or otherwise. You, 
 sir, are a counterfeit — you are a wolf in 
 sheep's clothing — you are a black sheep 
 in Christ's flock — you are, sir — yes, sir, 
 you are a mean man ! I am a mau 
 of peace and wish to do right. I very sel- 
 dom commence a quarrel with any one my- 
 self, but when wantonly attacked, I generally 
 try and defend myself the best way I can. 
 You, sir, commenced this war upon uiy rights, 
 without any jUst cause or provocation on my 
 part — and having volunteered to serve in the 
 front ranks, I now denounce you as a pol- 
 troon and a coward for beint); the first to back 
 out of the fight," 
 
 "Hold on, carman, that will . do," again 
 shouted the old sport" — "it's contrary to the 
 rules of the ring to strike your antagonist 
 after he throws up the sponge — but by Jove ! 
 it has been a good square figh*," 
 
 The boat had now arrived at her lauding, 
 and I here embrace the occasion to state that 
 Mr. Jones was the very first man that rushed 
 on board, and that, too, without once making 
 an exhibition of my number as recorded in 
 his notebook. 
 
 The very instant that the gang plank 
 touched the dock, the young gentleman, the 
 spokesman of the party, sprang on shore, and 
 seeing me standing alongside of the baggage, 
 joyfully exclaimed — " Thank you, carman, 
 glad to find you here on time everything is 
 all right, I hope." 
 
66 
 
 "Yes. sir. I believe so. I think that you will 
 Had every thin jo: sale and in good order." 
 
 " Well, carman, you have done us a great 
 kindness, and are justly entitled to our 
 warmest thanks. We are all students of 
 Union College, and to-morrow is Commence- 
 ment day there, and it would have been a 
 great disappointment to us in case we had 
 been left behind. But have you been settled 
 with for your services yet f 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied No. 0, before I had a 
 chance to open my mouth — " yes, sir, he has 
 been paid about three times the amount that 
 the law allows him — took advantage of your 
 absence and charged your colored boy two 
 dollars — never heard of such a charge before 
 in my life — paid my carman only seventy five 
 cents tor bringing my baggage all the way 
 from Brooklyn. He wanted to clear out be- 
 fore your arrival, but we thought it our duty 
 to detain him, and we made him promise to 
 return the whole amount iu case you were 
 dissatisfied with the charge — here, sir, is his 
 number, 2189— you can now deal with him as 
 you think his conduct deserves." 
 
 " Thank you, my good friend, for your well- 
 meant intentions," replied the student. " 'Tis 
 true, sir, we ai-e all young men as yet, but we 
 feel quite confident that we are capable of 
 managing our own business — we would rather 
 have paid 4)ur carman fifty dollars than to 
 have been disappointed. This is all that I 
 have time to say to you, sir." 
 
 " And now, carman," said the student, 
 turning round and addressing himself to me, 
 " 1 want you to fulfil your promise ; please 
 return me the two dollars that the boy paid 
 to you." 
 
 No. 3 now began to grin all over his face ; 
 he thought, no doubt, that the object for 
 which he had been persecuting me was about 
 to be accomplished ; and, to speak the honest 
 truth, I thought so too. 
 
 " Yes, sir, certainly, sir, if you demand it. 
 I promised in presence of quite a number of 
 gentlemen here that I would return the 
 money in case you manifested any dissatis- 
 faction at the charge, and I intend to be as 
 good as my word ; here, sir, is the very same 
 money that the boy paid me." 
 
 " Oh, no, sir — excuse me, carman — I did not 
 mean t?iat. This is only silver that you have 
 received. I intended that you should have 
 had gold for this job. There is no law to 
 
 compel a man to overwork himself or his horse 
 to accommodate any one — such a special favor 
 as you have conferred deserves gold in return. 
 Here is a five dollar gold piece— it is certain- 
 ly the smallest amount that we can offer you, 
 in exchange for the silver you have just re- 
 ceived — and many thanks for your kindness 
 in waiting here until we came up. so that we 
 could compensate you in a proper manner for 
 your services." 
 
 " Thank you, sir, for the generous and lib- 
 eral manner in which you have compensated 
 me for my services — more, a great deal more, 
 than the work was worth — but I accept it, sir, 
 as a wholesome rebuke to this gentleman for 
 his impertinent interference in the affairs of 
 others." 
 
 Just then No, 8 gave me what he no doubt 
 intended should be a glance of annihilation, 
 replaced his notebook in his pocket, and hur- 
 riedly sneaked on board the boat, where his 
 other four meddlesome companions had al- 
 ready sneaked ahead of him. 
 
 Everything now being in readiness for a/ 
 start, the engineer turned on the steam 
 again, and the noble vessel moved off on her 
 course up the majestic Hudson, riding upon 
 the water like a "thing of life" — and also a 
 "thing of beauty and a joy forever"-7pro- 
 vided she didn't blow up ! A moment before 
 the boat started the gentlemanly student 
 grasped me by the hand, and after giving it 
 a good, hearty, old-fashioned shake, said, 
 with decided emphasis : "Goodrbye, carman ; 
 but what a blessing it would be to the world 
 at large if every man would mind his oion 
 business." 
 
 After the boat had left, I ascertained of i\e 
 colored boy the names of those bright young 
 students, and I have kept them stored away 
 in my memory ever since. They all turned 
 out to be smart men. Two of them have 
 since been to Congress, two others have as- 
 sociated themselves together as a law firm 
 and both have become distinguished in their 
 profession ; the other is at present a learned, 
 professor in one of our best colleges. So 
 much for minding your own business ! 
 
 Some five years later there was established 
 in Pearl street a large dry goods house, un- 
 der the title ot John Jones, Sons & Co. The 
 Co. was one of the young Bones's. The senior 
 member of that firm was a certain " quiet. 
 Christian gentleman," whose personal ap- 
 
67 
 
 pearance bore a very strong resemblnnce to 
 that of the late President Lincoln. It is not, 
 however, on record that any of the old debts 
 of the firm of Jones, Bones & jpo. were ever 
 paid. In less than two years thereafter there 
 was another grand smash up among the 
 Jones's. But that did not prevent the fine 
 carriage of John Jones, Esq., from making its 
 daily appearance on Broadway. At present 
 the title of the grand old Jones establishment 
 reads : " John Jones's Nephews" — the Jones's 
 having worked all the Bones's completely out 
 of the concern. But the poor creditors of the 
 defunct firm of John Jones, Sons & Co. have 
 not yet been settled with. That " gay and 
 festive cuss," as A. Ward would have called 
 him, the wealthy and distinguished John 
 Jones, Esq., still takes pride in boasting that 
 he is a " quiet, Cliristian gentleman," and a 
 member of Doctor Cantwell's church, " in 
 good standing." And thus wags the world 
 — the biggest scoundrel being looked upon as 
 the greatest saint — provided he is wealthy. 
 
 MOTT'S ANATOMICAL MUS'EUIjil. 
 
 ARTICLE NO. 13. 
 
 [I give the following entirely from memory, but I 
 believe that I have given all the main facts correctly 
 —at any rate I have so intended. The dialogues be- 
 tween the doctor and myself are given in the same 
 language that was made use of on the occasion as 
 near as I can recollect it ; but still I do not claim tbat 
 1 have quoted the exact words used in every case. I 
 intend no disrespect to the doctor himself, or to the 
 prolession to which he helonfes ; for I know as well 
 as they do that such collections are absolutely neces- 
 sary to a proper and successful treatment of surgical 
 operations.] 
 
 Thirty-five years ago Doctor Valentine 
 Mott was one of the best known men in this 
 country : and as a skillful and successful 
 surgeon his reputation was world-wide. 
 About that number of years ago he crossed 
 the Atlantic, and traveled very expensively in 
 Europe and the Holy Land. On his return 
 he published a book of his travels, but it was 
 not half so interesting and entertaining as 
 himself, or almost any one of his surgical 
 lectures. His library was large and valua- 
 ble, and contained many^rare and interesting 
 
 9* # 
 
 curiosities which he had collected during his 
 foreign travels. The old doctor used to re- 
 side in his own house, on the corner of Depau 
 place and Thompson street, and I presume 
 that his family resides there still. I fre- 
 quently used to have calls to take articles of 
 various kinds to his house, and occasionally 
 to do jobs of one kind or another for his 
 family. He also had a handsome country- 
 seat, comprising several broad acres, out on 
 the old Bloomingdale road, a little beyond 
 the renowned village of that name. I was 
 out there two or three times with furniture 
 and baggage for the family, it being their 
 principal place of Summer resort. 
 
 It was not, however, with the old doctor, 
 but with his son. Doctor Alexander B., that 
 the following adventure occurred ; and should 
 this article ever happen to fall under his no- 
 tice, I trust that he will not take any offence 
 at it, as nothing of the kind is intended. The 
 doctor always treated me like a gentleman, 
 and that is all that I have a right to expect " 
 of any one. I do not assert it as a fact, but I 
 am somewhat inclined to the opinion that the 
 doctor had been the least bit wild in his 
 younger days, and it would be a little some- 
 thing curious to see a modern M. D. who has 
 not been more or less so. I have seen a little 
 of medical student life myself, and I think I 
 can speak somewhat understaudingly on this 
 point. I have seen them pour out of the 
 lecture-room by the hundreds, and a more 
 reckless and dare-devil looking class of young 
 men I have never seen in all my life. I have 
 seen them in squads of a dozen or more when 
 on a bender late at night, bumming around 
 town from one fashionable saloon to another, 
 demolishing everything within their reach, 
 to the terror and consternation of all timid 
 lookers-on. 
 
 I have also seen them in their private apart- 
 ments, (generally in the attic regions of sec- 
 ond and third class boarding houses) engaged 
 in their secret, high-handed, bacchanalian rev- 
 els, when I considered him a brave man who 
 dared to enter into their midst. I once had 
 a call to take the baggage of a couple of med- 
 ical students down to the Philadelphia boat, 
 and I shall never foi;get the wild scene of tu- 
 mult and disorder which their apartments 
 presented to view. It was a large room in 
 the attic of a four-story boarding house on 
 Broadway, in which some fifteen or twenty 
 Western medical students had collected to 
 
 / 
 
68 
 
 enjoy a parting " blow out " with twoof their 
 number, and a " high old time " they were 
 having of it. The room in which they were 
 assembled was so clouded with tobacco smoke, 
 and that not of the most fragrant and delect- 
 able Oder, that it was utterly impossible to 
 see distinctly across the room, the narrowest 
 way. The stove was red hot, and standing 
 upon its fiery surface was a huge tin boiler, 
 full of badly concocted whisky punch on the 
 boil, the escaping vapors of which filled the 
 room with its noxious odors, making the 
 heated atmosphere almost unendurable. All 
 the furniture in the room was more or less 
 disabled — every thing was smeared and be- 
 grimmed with smoke and dust — every thing 
 looked filthy and repulsive in the extreme. 
 The carpet was ragged, and soiled, and 
 stained with spilt liquor and tobacco j nice, 
 from one end to the other — and you could 
 scarcely move your foot in any direction with- 
 out stepping upon an empty whisky bottle. 
 Defaced and greasy French novels, song 
 books without a title, and torn and detached 
 sheets of music were scattered hither and 
 thither — revolvers, daggers, sword-canes, bro- 
 ken umbrellas, smoking-pipes of various pat- 
 terns, long and short — some of them looking 
 as though they had been smoked in since the 
 year cne down to that time — lay strewn in 
 wildest profusion*. in every direction. But, 
 when the whole party rose upon their feet, 
 glass in hand, and all joined together in 
 shouting with united voices the then popular 
 choral strain of " We won't go home till 
 morning " — by the crimson beard of the Pro- 
 phet ! you would have thought that the day 
 of doom had arrived, and that the world was 
 surely coming to an end ! 
 I But let that pass. I think I have a slight 
 ^ recollection that the young doctor was shot 
 at a few years since, somewhere up in the 
 Second avenue, by some kind of a lunatic — 
 every body now-a-days claims to be insane 
 whenever he attempts to kill his best friend — 
 but I believe that he " still lives." At any 
 rate, the " good of science " requires that I 
 should mabe the following " awful disclo- 
 sures " for the benefit of the uninitiated. 
 
 One morning in the ear^y part of March, 
 1850, when I went down to the store, I found 
 the dector engaged in conversation with the 
 boss. Having concluded their discussion, the 
 doctor turned round to me and said ; " Car- 
 
 man, I suppose that you are not much hur- 
 ried with work just now." 
 
 " Not much," I replied — " business of all 
 kinds seem to be almost at a stand still at 
 present ; but why do you ask f 
 
 " Because, I can give you a small job, in 
 case that you are willing to do it." 
 
 " Willing to do it ? It would be a very 
 disagreeable job indeed if I refused it in these 
 dull times." 
 
 •' Well, I freely admit that it is not a very 
 desirable job, but still some one \^ill have to 
 do it. Besides, it is a job that will require 
 considerable care and some little secrecy." 
 
 " If there is any money in it, I don't think 
 that I should feel justified in refusing it. In 
 regard to the care part of it, I believe that 
 my reputation is tolerably well established 
 on that point ; but as to my capacity for 
 keeping a secret, I hardly know what to say 
 about it — it will depend a little upon the size" 
 of it." 
 
 " Of course there will be a little money in 
 it ; I don'i expect you to work for nothing. 
 As to your carefulness, I am quite willing to 
 risk you on that point ; and you will be full 
 as much interested in keeping things secret 
 as I am."' 
 
 " All right, then — if it is anything fit for a 
 white man to do, I am your man." 
 
 " I will now inform you as to the character 
 of the work in hand, and you can then judge 
 for yourself whether it will suit you or not. 
 It is simply to remove the old doctor's an- 
 atomical museum from its present location, 
 in the Stuyvesant Institute, up to the new 
 college in Thirteenth street. Do you think 
 that you possess pluck and nerve enough to 
 attetnpt the job ?" 
 
 " I am plucky enough on some points. Doc- 
 tor, but on others I am the biggest coward 
 alive. I, however, make it a rule ta go 
 through with anything I undertake to per- 
 form — never put my hand to the plough and 
 turn back." 
 
 " Well, then, come up to the Institute to- 
 morrow morning at about nine o'clock, and 
 I'll have a man there to help you. Come 
 right on up stairs until you arrive at the top 
 story of the building, east corner, and tap at 
 the door marked " Private." 
 
 The next morning I drove up to the Insti- 
 tute at the time appointed, and, having 
 hooked and tied my horse, I entered the main 
 hallway of the building and commenced the 
 
69 
 
 grand ascient. I say grand ascent, for it was 
 not till I arrived upon the fifth floor that I 
 found the room I was in search of. I first 
 tried the knob of the door, which I found 
 locked. I then gave it a gentle tap, when it 
 was opened by the doctor himself, and in a 
 moment thereafter I stood bolt-upright in the 
 august presence of the grand collection of 
 skulls and skeletons of — I don't know how 
 many past generations. It was a sight well 
 calculated to chill the hot blood in the veins 
 of a novice, or to freeze it in the veins of a 
 weak and timid man ; but having myself 
 seen a few such interesting curiosities before, 
 I did not faint, or even change color, at sight 
 of the fearful exhibition before me. 
 
 " Good morning, carman," said the jovial 
 and fun-loving doctor — " but how-is this ? — 
 you don't seem to faint or pale worth a cent. 
 I have got my restoratives all ready and close 
 at hand, expecting that you would entertain 
 us with at least one fainting fit the moment 
 you entered this room of horrors — but I guess 
 that I shall not have occasion to use them." 
 
 " Why, what do you mean doctor ? Did 
 you expect that you had engaged a coward to 
 assist you ? If you did, you will probably find 
 yourself mistaken. I did not come here to 
 faint, or even to turn pale at sight of this ex- 
 hibition, but to assist you in the removal of 
 these grand old trophies of your profession." 
 
 " Well, " continued the doctor, laughing 
 heartily," I guess that you'l do — but, I did 
 expect that the sight of these human mon- 
 strosities would have frightened you a little, 
 if nothing more." 
 
 " As regard the siglit, doctor, I can stand 
 that without flinching, but I must say that 
 the smeW almost unmans me. Why, your place 
 here smells more like a dead-house than any- 
 thing else ^hat I can compare it to. 1 see no 
 good reason why, these dry and well-cleaned 
 human bones should have such sickning, 
 burial-vault smell." 
 
 " Oh, the room is very hot at present, and 
 badly ventilated — we shall have things very 
 much better arranged in the new building. 
 But I don't mind it a bit, and you will soon 
 get accustomed to it yourself. The " good of 
 science" requires that we should all sacrifice 
 a little <t)f our personal comfort to its pro- 
 motion." 
 
 " All right, doctor — if you can stand it I 
 think that I can — but still, I cannot truthfully 
 say that I enjoy it," 
 
 " Don't think about it, carmab, and you will 
 soon cease to smell it. It is one of the dis- 
 comforts of our professioii, and so we make 
 up our minds that, ' what can't be cured 
 must be endured.' " 
 
 " By the way, I see that you are smoking, 
 doctor — do you allow anybody else to smoke 
 in this room ? I think that perhaps a good 
 smoke might assist a little in driving away 
 this offen&ivfe small, provided, you will per- 
 mit it. What say you to this proposition ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes — go ahead ! Smoke away as 
 much as jou please. There is a box of most 
 excellent segars standing on the table — help 
 yourself to them whenever you, like — they 
 won't cost you anything. And, by the bye, 
 I thick that should you smoke all the time 
 while engaged in this job, it" will not be at 
 all detrimental to your health." 
 
 My assistant had not yet made his appear 
 ance, so I took a segar, and having lighted it, 
 I commenced taking a more general and de- 
 tailed survey of the heterogeneous contents. 
 The room was, well, say twenty feet square, 
 bo the same more or less, with counters on 
 two sides, and glass cases, shelves and draw- 
 ers, containing anatomical preparations of one 
 kind and another, compactly arranged on 
 Ktree sides of the same. There was a long 
 narrow pine packing box, standing upon a 
 couple of saw-benches on one side of the room, 
 and any number of smaller boxes and barrels, 
 scattered around in every direction — one stove, 
 one camp stool and a few old chairs, one 
 small table and a well-worn broom. Stowed 
 away upon the shelves were several hundred 
 glass jars, large and small, containing most 
 of the amputations made by the old doctor 
 during a forty years' practice, ranging in size 
 from an infant's little finger up to a huge 
 tumor weighing thirty-three pounds. On the 
 counters were deposited piles of well preserved 
 bones, representing the anatomy of every part 
 of the human frame. Here stood a case 
 containing a full-grown human skeleton, per- 
 fect in every part, its bloodless arteries filled, 
 with red sealing wax, blown in so neatly that 
 the student could trace correctly every vein 
 in the human body ; in other cases were 
 detached parts (halves and quarters) of other 
 human skeletons prepared in the same way. 
 There were five barrels filled entirely with 
 human skulls, representing what once were 
 heads belonging to , certain portions of the 
 human family of almost every age and nation, 
 
.10 
 
 of the world— skulls of pigmy dimensions 
 and of giant stature, some fresh, full and 
 complete in every part, and others wasted 
 and wasting away in the last stages of decom- 
 position. There were two heads of Indian 
 chiefs from the Rocky Mountains, that looked 
 as fresh and lifelike as though they had just 
 been severed from their parent trunks, the 
 long, lank hair and bright red and yellow 
 war paint being still plainly visible thereon. 
 All the great battle-fields of the world had at 
 least one representative skull in this grand 
 collection — this one from Marathon and that 
 one from Waterloo, another from Bunker 
 Hill and still another from New Orleans — this 
 one from the Lord knows where, and others 
 for ought I know to the contrary, from the 
 bloody battle-fields of Donnybrook Fair. At 
 •■ any rate there were a thousand times as many 
 of them as I care ever to see together again, 
 and quite as many of them as all the doctors 
 in the whole country would require focr scien- 
 tific purposes. 
 
 '■ And now, carman, continued the doctor, 
 having seen our magnificent museum some- 
 what in detail, what do you think of it as a 
 whole ? It is generally admitted by compe- 
 tent judges that this is the most valuable and 
 interesting collection of the kind in the Un^jt- 
 ed States, and I think justly so. The old 
 doctor has been offered fifty thousand dollars 
 for it, but he won't sell it any price, as he in- 
 tends to bequeath it to the college. • But 
 what do you think of it anyhow ?" 
 
 " Well, doctor, to tell you the truth, I don't 
 think muchof this collection anyhow. It may be 
 worth twice the amount that you have named, 
 to yoti doctors, for aught I know to the con- 
 trary — but if it belonged to me I would glad- 
 ly give it to any one who would be obliging 
 enough to remove it out of my sight. I am 
 a little curious on the subject of old books 
 and autographs, but I have no desire what- 
 ever to invest any of my looafe capital in stocks 
 of this kind. I should much rather be the 
 owner of Greenwood Cemetery, where the 
 honored dead are decently buried out of sight, 
 than of this vast collection of human bones 
 and horrid grinning skulls and skeletons. 
 But ' Alas ! poor Yorick !' what a sickening 
 smell !" 
 
 " So you begin to feel like backing out, do 
 you ? I guess that you had better hold on — 
 you will soon get used^to the smell." 
 
 " Don't be alarmed, doctor — I am not going 
 to back out — if you can stand it I think that 
 I can." 
 
 Just then the re was a light tap on the out- 
 side of the door, but whether spiritual or hu- 
 man was as yet uncertain. The doctor opened 
 it, and a very respectable-looking colored 
 man entered the room — he being the perpon 
 engaged to assist me in the removal of the 
 museum. 
 
 " Well, Henry, you have got here at last 1" 
 queried the doctor ; " we have been waiting 
 for you a long time." 
 
 "Yes, sah," replied the darkey ; "but I'se 
 bin drefually boddered — de pigs all got out 
 de pen, an' I'se had to go an' hunt dem up. 
 But I'se here now, sah." 
 
 I should judge that this was not the first 
 appearance of my colored assistant upon a 
 stage where none but skeleton actors ap- 
 peared to play the principal parts ; for he did 
 not appear to be the least bit shocked or ter- 
 rified at the horrid scene before him. 
 
 We now commenced work in good earnest. 
 At the suggestion of the doctor — and it was 
 a very sensible one — we packed everything 
 in boxes and barrels, and then carried them 
 down and deposited them in the hall at the 
 top of the first pair of stairs, until we had 
 enough there to make a load. We then hur- 
 ried them down, placed them upon the cart 
 and hastened off with them to the college 
 The doctor said that as many persons were 
 strongly prejudiced against the profession on 
 account of their using these anatomical prep- 
 arations for scientific purposes, it would be 
 better not to expose them to the prying eyes 
 of the public, as he did not wish to create 
 any trouble or disturbance. Many of the cu- 
 rious passers-by eyed us very sharply while 
 we were loading, but no one attempted to 
 molest us. We got off three loads the first 
 day, and " nobody hurt ;" but that we worked 
 in fear and trembling I shall not pretend to 
 deny. 
 
 There were three\very stylish new dwell- 
 ing houses directly across the street, in front 
 of the college, one of which was already oc- 
 cupied. The very moment that we drove up 
 with the first load two ladies made their ap- 
 pearance at one of the third story windows, 
 and this they. continued to do every time that 
 we arrived with a fresh load. The college 
 building was not yet quite finished, and we 
 
^1 
 
 unloaded everything on the floor of the large 
 room of the first story, the front windows of 
 which were wide, and extended from the floor 
 to the ceiling. Consequently the ladies on 
 the opposite side of the street could easily see 
 nearly across the whole length of the room in 
 which we were unloading. They closely 
 scanned every article as we deposited them 
 on the floor, and frequently exchanged sig- 
 nificant glances at each ©ther, as much as to 
 say, " what kind of strange neighbors are we 
 going to have opposite?" My own impres- 
 sion is, judging from their fidgety movements, 
 that they were not overpleased with their first 
 appearance. 
 
 I shall not so stultify myself in presence of 
 the intelligent reader as to say that I enjoyed 
 a " good lifghtB rest" on that ever memorable 
 and never-to-be forgotten night. I think it 
 would be safe to say that I saw in my dreams 
 on that occasion more human skulls and 
 skeletons than are contained in all the 
 anotomical museums of the world combined ; 
 but, having been told that- the " good of 
 science" requires that such collections should 
 exist, and feeling very sensibly that the good 
 of my own pockets req uired that a few more 
 dollars should be collected therein, I deter- 
 mined to go ahead and complete the job, let 
 what would happen. But the worst was yet 
 to come, as the sequal!»will show. 
 
 The next morning at nine o'clock found 
 me again at the door of the museum, " the 
 postjwhere duty called ;" but the darkey's 
 pigs having again broken out of their pen, or 
 some other mishap having befallen him, he 
 did HiPt come to time. 
 
 " "Well, 'carman," said the loquacious 
 Doctor, "seeing that our help is a little behind 
 time again this morning, what say you to 
 taking a turn in our lecture-room until he 
 arrives f 
 
 Wishing to see all, now that my hand was 
 in, I said— " Push on wherever you please. 
 Doctor, and I will follow wherever yon 3are 
 lead." 
 
 Wo then went down into the lecture-room, 
 and took a brief survey' of its various con- 
 tents, the Doctor explaining the meaning of 
 this, and the uses of that, as we hurried along. 
 Here were the amputating-tables, upon which 
 operations were performed for the benefit of 
 thick-headed students, and there were numer- 
 ous curious instruments and models used by 
 
 the professors in illustrating their surgical 
 lectures. But, as I considered this a purely 
 private exhibition, a friendly condescension 
 on the part of the Doctor, I shall not divulge 
 any of the secrets witnessed on that occasion 
 
 On our return to the museum we found the 
 darkey waiting for us at the door. We then 
 set to work and succeeded in getting our 
 fifth and last load upon the cart about two 
 o'clock in the afternoon. After having taken 
 down all the other portable articles in the 
 room I pointed toward the box standing upon 
 the saw-benches, and said : " How about this 
 box. Doctor — do you wish to have it re- 
 moved ?" 
 
 " No, not just yet," replied the Doctor, smil- 
 ing — " this box is not yet quite ready for re- 
 moval." Then pushing the cover a little on 
 one side, he continued : " I forgot to mention 
 it before, but this box contains a subject upon 
 which there is considerable work to do before 
 it can be removed — you ean take a look at it 
 if you have a mind to. " 
 
 I took ahasty peep into thebox, and, skulls 
 and skeletons to the rear ! what does the read- 
 er imagine that it contained ? Why, nothing 
 more nor less than the larger portion of a full 
 grown human body, floating in a liquid sub- 
 stance of some kind or other. 
 
 " Well, doctor," I said, " the secret is out — 
 that smell which we have been talking about 
 so much is no longer a mystery. You have 
 got a little the best of me, 'tis true, but I 
 shall not complain, now that we have got so 
 near through wilh the job. Yes ! you call it 
 a ' subject,' do you ? but / make no hesita- 
 tion in pronouncing it a dead body — a human 
 
 corpse 
 
 " All right ! — call it what you please,— pro- 
 fessionly, we call it a subject, but it is a dead 
 body, nevertheless — if it wasn't, 1 shouldn't 
 care to have it quite so near me. I should 
 have mentioned it before, but I was afraid 
 that perhaps you would have left the job if I 
 had : you need not, however, be afraid of it, 
 for it has lost its power to hurt you. It is 
 not a pleasant sight, I am willing to admit — 
 but the ' good of science ' requires that we ■ 
 should do many things that, if we had our 
 choice, Avould be left undone." 
 
 " Never mind. Doctor, I don't feel the least 
 bit ofifended at what you have done, for I did 
 not come here expecting' that I were going 
 to inhale the sweet perfumes of " Araby the 
 blest " wafted to my nostrils from a pyramid 
 
72 
 
 of full blown roses. As yoU feiii&rked in 
 regard to your profession, the good of our 
 pockets requires that we cartmen should do 
 many things that are distasteful to our finer 
 sensibilities — and, permit me to say, this has 
 been o^e of them." 
 
 " Yes, that's so ; but how are these things 
 to be avoided ? Somebody has got to do 
 them. Now, I don't crave the job, but I shall 
 have to commence work on this subject to- 
 night, and I shoul#be very glad if some one 
 would come here and keep me company. It 
 is not a very pleasant business, I can assure 
 you, to work on here solitary and alone, until 
 eleven and twelve o'clock at night, as I have 
 often done. Now, suppose that you come 
 down and spend an hour or two with me to- 
 night, and see if you don't enjoy it." 
 
 " Thank you, Doctor ; but I think that I 
 would rather be excused. I have no ambi- 
 tion to divide the honors of such a position 
 with you, however much I may have enjoyed 
 the pleasure of your conversation and com- 
 pany during the past two days." 
 
 " You are not at all singular on this point, 
 carman, for it is not often that I can find a 
 person who is willing to keep me company 
 on these occasions." 
 
 When I returned to the street I found a 
 half-drunken, rowdy looking fellow, standing 
 alongside the cart, with the covering over the 
 top of one of the barrels raised, and he in- 
 tently looking therein. The instant that he 
 saw me coming he hurriedly replaced the 
 covering, and, staggering off up the street, he 
 shouted to a companion who was leaning 
 against a lamp-post a f%w yards off: " I say, 
 Tom, come back here, and I'll show you 
 Bomethin' ; there's an old Indian chiefs head 
 in that barrel, by thunder there is ! come 
 back and see it !" 
 
 "Old Indian chief's head be damned !" re- 
 plied his companion. " I say come along, old 
 Spoony, or I'll go on and leave you. If you'd 
 said there was a fool's head on your shoul- 
 ders you'd 'ave come much nearer the truth. 
 Come on, I say ; what the devil do you 'spose 
 an old Indian's head would be doin' in that 
 'are bai-rel, you miserable old ass, you ?" 
 
 " I tell you there's an old chief's head there, 
 for I seen it ; let's go back and take a squint 
 at it. It's all daubed over with red and yal- 
 ler paint, it is ; and, blast my eyes, if I don't 
 believe it's alive, I do.!' 
 
 " Come along, Ben, you blal-sted old buoi- 
 mer, you. Spose'n thar is an old redskin's 
 head in that ar' barrel ; and mor'n that, 
 spose'n it's alive and all painted up in fancy 
 colors for a fight — that's his bis'uess, an' not 
 your'n. I say onct more, come along, old 
 nooddle head, an' let's go up on the corner 
 an' hav' a drink." 
 
 " Wal, Tom, I'll go 'long with you and 
 take a drink, but if I didn't see an old Indian 
 chief's head in that barrel I wish I may go 
 sober for a whole week." Saying which the 
 twain locked arms and went staggering off 
 up Broadway. 
 
 I knew perfectly well that the old bummer 
 had seen the old chief's head in the barrel , 
 and I felt a little fearful that him and his 
 crazy-heade4, companion might take it into 
 their heads to return and kick up a muss, 
 perhaps a riot. I had mannaged to get along 
 very smoothly and unmolested thus far, and I 
 did not care to get mobbed at the last mo- 
 ment — so, everything being ready for a start, 
 I jumped upon my cart and started off 
 through Bond street, and so on up Fourth 
 avenue to the college. When I returned, 
 after delivering my load, I noticed some half- 
 dozen of the Fifteenth ward roughs hanging 
 around the corner of Broadway and Thirteen 
 street, apparently watching to attack me 
 when I came up — but rdy presence of mind 
 saved me from, perhaps, a good drubbing. 
 
 The tos^e of that horrid smell remained in 
 my throai for several weeks thereafter ; and 
 skulls and skeletons were my daily and 
 nightly companions for months. For a long 
 time, whenever I noticed a fine lady or gentle- 
 man passing up or down Broadway, I could 
 always distinctly see a flesbless, grinning 
 skeleton, of about the same size, following 
 them as though it were their shadow. The 
 Doctor, after a little higgling about the price; 
 paid me ten dollars for doing the job. The 
 " good of science" may require what it will, 
 but I have never since had any ambition to 
 remove anybody else's anatomical museum. 
 
73 
 
 Oreat Sensation t—Trememdons Excltr. 
 ment ! !— Major lions Bow Has Been 
 IIer« ! !— Major liOng Bow Has Spoken 
 Here ! I— Major I.ons Bow Has De- 
 parted Hence to Unknow^n Regions ! ! 
 
 ARTICLE NO. 11. 
 
 BOONTON, N. J., July 19, 1871. 
 
 Mr. Editor : — I discontinue my " Recollec- 
 tions" for a few weeks for the purpose of mak- 
 ing room for a trio ol sensational articles 
 from the proiific brain of our distinguished 
 countryman. Major Long Bow, the " Great 
 American Traveler." It will be seen by the 
 Major's advertisement that twenty shots were 
 promised, and only three were fired, and 
 whether the public have lost or gained by the 
 omission muse be judged by what follows. As 
 they contain no special netcs, I have not hur- 
 ried in forwarding them. 
 
 A few days ago there arrived in this town, 
 by the early morning train, a gentleman of 
 most strange and singular appearance. He 
 was a man of gigantic proportions, appa- 
 rently about forty-five years of age, and sport- 
 ed a pair of whiskers very much resembling 
 a brush heap. His clothing looked seedy and 
 travel stained, and he wore a most fearful and 
 terror inspiring broadsword, dangling at his 
 lett side ; and altogether he appeared to be a 
 man of more than ordinary self-importance. 
 The moment his feet touched the platform he 
 hailed a coach, and ordered the coachman to 
 drive him at once to the " Spread Eagle Ho- 
 tel," which fronts on the grand public square 
 at Massaker Town. This ancient fortified 
 town — fortified on one side by rattlesnake 
 meadow, and on the other by the grand old 
 Tourne (the highest mountain in all these 
 regions) — is situated in a southwesteily direc- 
 tion, about 1 J miles from Boonton. Massaker 
 Town has been the homestead residence of 
 the grand old Massaker family from time im- 
 memorial — the ground upon which it stands 
 being looked upon as the most classic ground 
 we have in Morris county. It is at present a 
 place of fashionable Sunday resort for the 
 fast young people of Boonton, of both sexes, 
 as well as the place where handsome black- 
 berry girls most do congregate during the 
 blackberry season. The town is now very 
 populous, for the Massakers very seldom die. 
 
 Old App. Massaker, or rather old Red-eye 
 Massaker, as he is more generally called — all 
 the Massakers have always been more or less 
 blessed with sore eyes — although now a tr^^e 
 over three hundred years old, will bag a 
 sheep or strip a henroost nearly as quick, and 
 with as little noise, as he could at any former 
 period of his life. 
 
 * On his arrival at the " Spread Eagle" the 
 stranger entered his name on the hotel regis- 
 ter simply as Major Loa^ Bow, " the ^reat 
 American Traveler." He was immediately 
 shown to room No. 760, the highest room in 
 the house, and upon his arrival there he rang 
 the bell furiously, and when the waiter made 
 his appearance about an hour thereafter he 
 ordered brought up to his room a demijohn of 
 old American rye and a box of American 
 cigars ; " and, do you hear," repeated the Ma- 
 jor to the waiter, " don't bring me any of 
 you^ imported trash, for I am American all 
 over." 
 
 Early on the following morning immense 
 handbills, of which the following is a genu- 
 ine copy, were discovered posted up all over 
 the town of Boonton and all the region^ round 
 about : — 
 
 MAJOR LONG BOW HAS ARRIVED ! 
 
 BLACKBEERY HALL, MASSAKER TOWN, IN A BLAZE OF 
 GLORY ! ! 
 
 The citizens of tliis town and vicinity will convene 
 in BlacklDerry Hall this afternoon, to listen to the 
 First Shot from the Long Bow, of the " Great Ameri- 
 can Traveler." The course will consist of a seriea of 
 Twenty Shots, to be continued daily, until the " last 
 gun" has been fired ! Firing will commence at 4 
 o'clock precisely. The famous Massaker Town Band 
 will be in attendance. N. B. None but those who 
 never laugh will be admitted ! ! 1 
 
 Tickets for the whole number of Shots 50 cents; 
 single tickets 3 cents. 
 
 Massaker Town, July 18, 1871. 
 
 Fearing that none of your regular reporters 
 would be present, I went over for the parpose 
 of reporting the Major's shots for the columns 
 of the Journal. Blackberry Hall is an im- 
 mense establishment, being the ancient gar- 
 den spot of the renowned old Massaker fam- 
 ily — a cleared open space, circular in form^ 
 situated in the midst of a large field of black . 
 berry bushes. The rostrum was located un- 
 der a leafless old apple tree, the dry limbs of 
 which formed a kind of canopy over the 
 speaker's head. The band consisted of any 
 number of treetoads, perched in the same 
 tree, and twice that number of bullfrogs 
 stowed away in a small mudpuddle near by 
 
u 
 
 The meeting was presided over IqlJ the vener 
 able old App. Massaker, who had b^en fur- 
 nished with a dead-head ticket for that pur- 
 poBfr-fty particular request of the wide aicake 
 Major. The price of admission being so rea- 
 sonable, a large and highly respectable audi- 
 ence had convened, embracing all the well- 
 known dignitaries for miles around. 
 
 Among the 'very distinguished persons 
 preser^ I noticed the following : — Ex-Mayor 
 Biom Massaker, anfl his two lively servant 
 girls ; Hans Massaker, of the " Spread Ea- 
 gle," and his intelligent hostler ; ex-pound- 
 keeper Josh Massaker, and his hired man ; 
 Rip. Massaker ; the Misses Maesaker, two 
 very old maids, daughters of the venerable 
 chairman, suppose^ to have fallen in love 
 with the Major's huge whiskers ; a lame boy 
 on crutches, three bare-footed blackberry 
 girls, and one young Fifteenth Amendment ; 
 also one broken-legged old horse, one aged 
 jackass, minus its right eye, a surly looking 
 old mastiff, a homeless old cow, a pet lamb, 
 that looked as though it hadn't seen milk for 
 a fortnight, three saucy-looking blacksnakes, 
 about ten feet long, and a brace of venerable- 
 looking old rattlesnakes — all of which seemed 
 highly delighted with the gallant Major's 
 variegated discourse. Although not visible, it 
 was quite evident, judging from the delicious 
 odors that came floating upon every gentle 
 breeze, that there was as much as one skunk 
 somewhere within smelling distance. 
 
 At 4 o'clock .precisely the Major mounted 
 the rostrum. His appearance was greeted 
 with such thunders of applause as none blit 
 the sturdy citizens of Massaker Town are 
 capable of producing. Having very com- 
 plaisantly surveyed the vast crowd before 
 him for a moment or two, he took an old- 
 iashioned curry-comb from his capacious 
 pocket,*and having parted his terrible wliis- 
 kers therewith to such an extent as would 
 allow his voice to find its way out through 
 the opening, he proceeded to fire off his first 
 gun under the following caption. Thinking 
 thSt these shots might perhaps furnish some 
 of your readers with a little fun aud amuse- 
 ment during this sultry, sickly, dog-days 
 weather, I send you a pretty full and correct 
 report of them. I have just been reading 
 them to the young female Fifteenth Amend- 
 ment, and she says they are hidly, and most 
 excrutionatingly correct, to the best of her 
 knowledge and belief. 
 
 SHORT SHOTS FROM A LONG BOW- 
 
 No. 1. 
 
 Mr. CHAIKMA.N, Ladies and Gentle- 
 men, Brutes akd Reptiles : Well, here I 
 come with all my " blushing honors thick 
 upon my head," hale and hearty and sound 
 as a hardshell Democrat, and with gas enough 
 on board to inflate a forty-horse power bal- 
 loon. To witness such an audience as this 
 now before me is an honor I did not expect 
 and greatly fear that I do not deserve. Bu*;, 
 my beloved brethren of this gay and festive 
 old town — this classic old Massacker town — I 
 'spose you don't know me — so I shall put my 
 modesty under the bed while I inform you 
 who I am, and shall then unfold to you a few 
 of my wonderful and unheard off adventures 
 without any further ceremony. My name, 
 then, is Jehossaphat Moonshine Long Bow, 
 the " Great American Traveler," and, though 
 I say it myself, who should'nt say it, I claim 
 to be the most wonderful and extraoi'dinary 
 man of this or any other age or country. I 
 can sing a better song, preach a better sermon, 
 spout a more inflammatory oration and tell a 
 bigger story than any other lunatic outside 
 of Bedlam. I have also traveled some and 
 been a great sight-seer ; and whenever I tell 
 you a good story, no matter how strange or 
 improbable it may seem to be, I want you to 
 believe it, for I never stretch the truth for the 
 sake of effect. I have traveled from the 
 Black Hole of Calcutta to Capt. Syines' Hole 
 on the west bank of your own beautiful and 
 classic Rockaway, and from the coal .mines of 
 Canada to the gold mines of California. In 
 my various perigrinations up and down this 
 earthly vale of tears, and native home of 
 crab-apple trees, I have traveled from sun- 
 rise to sundown — yea, even from Long Branch 
 to Washington, and thence back to Long 
 Branch again. With a keen appetite and a 
 carpetbag full of spoils, I have traveled by 
 post, by stage coach, by wheelbarrow and by 
 jackass — no reference is here made to the aged 
 and infirm jackass now composing in part my 
 respected audience — by wind, by steam, by 
 balloon, and by telegraphs. I have wandered 
 over all parts of the unknown world, visited 
 
 nicBt of iLe uEditcovertd isks of the ocean 
 
75 
 
 iucludingr that .famous and fashionable place 
 of resort, Blackwell'ss Island, and climbed to 
 the topmost peak of most of the inaccessible 
 mountains on the g-lobe, not forgetting your 
 own cloud-capped Tourne. I am also a bully 
 boy on gymnastics and the holy art of self- 
 defence. I can out grin a hyena, out-hug a 
 grizzly bear, out-run a runaway tornado, and 
 whip a whole caravan of howling derrishes 
 before breakfast. When I am at home, which 
 is about once in a life time, I am Commander- 
 in-Chief of the King's English, Postmaster- 
 General of the Penny Express, Grand Master 
 of the Hot French Rolls, Drum Major of the 
 Galathumpian band, a Bashaw "with two tails, 
 and principal story-teller to the harem scarem 
 of his most sublime excellency ,Mu8tapha Rub- 
 a-Dub, "Kiss me quick and let me go," In 
 oneword,"! have seen the elephant !" — toJiat'll 
 you bet it's a lie ? 
 
 And now, my expectant hearers, if the gen- 
 tlemen will loosen their straps, and the ladies 
 their stay laces, so that they won't burst dur- 
 ing their recital, I will relate for your 
 editicatiou- a few of my most common-place 
 adventures ; as to the rest of the beasts and 
 reptiles, they may bust their bilers with envy, 
 for auqht I care. As is my usual custom, I 
 shall hold myself in readiness to fight the 
 first person, be he man, beast or reptile, who 
 doubts my veracity — a thing which has never 
 yet been attempted in any part of the world, 
 and I very much fear never will. Now, then, 
 here goes for the " truth, the whole truth, 
 and nothing but the truth "—just so sure as 
 my name is Long Boio ! 
 
 THE MAJOR TRAVELS ACllOSS THE GREAT 
 DESERT — STORMS AN IMPREGNABLE CASTLE 
 SITUATED THEREON, AND FRIGHTENS THE 
 OWNER THEREOF NEARLY OUT OF HIS 
 WITS. 
 
 Once ui*on a time — in relating my adven- 
 tures, I very seldom trouble myself about 
 dates, and am not over particular in selection 
 of my language— my chief object being to 
 tell .the truth, and keep up a strict and con- 
 sistent connection between the different 
 points of my subject. Some persons will ad- 
 dress you in the most polished and refined 
 language, but will so mix up and confound 
 the subjects which they are discussing, that 
 the devil himself could not tell what they 
 were driving at — but this is not my style of 
 enlightening an audience. Consistency-, my 
 
 *10 
 
 friends, is always looked upon as the bright- 
 est jewel in the crown of the intelligent trav- 
 eler aAd story-teller. 
 
 But, as I was saying, once upon a time, I 
 made a journey across the Great Desert, for 
 the purpose of attending an ice cream and 
 strawberry festival at the old brick church. 
 I had not traveled far before I found myself 
 lost in an impassable thicket ; but, casting 
 my eyes up into a large horse chestnut tree, 
 I espied two monkeys and a cross-looking 
 old baboon perched upon the liberty pole, 
 eating sauerkraut and watermelons. " Toss 
 down a piece of that plumb-pudding, you old 
 son of a gun, you," I said, addressing myself 
 to the old idiot-faced baboon. " Chee ! chee ! 
 chee ! ! " cried the monkeys — " Chaw ! chaw ■' 
 cJmw ! ! " shouted the old baboon — " I hope 
 you may get it." '• I'll try," said I ; and, 
 drawing my trusty broad sword, I made a / 
 pass at a huge alligator, whose head had just 
 at that moment made itself visible down 
 among the bullrushes. In an instant there- 
 after down came a large plate of roast lamb 
 and green peas — and now, having made a 
 good meal out of the figs and pomegranates, 
 that hung in clusters overhead, I sheathed 
 my sword and proceeded on my journey. 
 
 I had not proceeded above ten paces when 
 I was startled by a terrific scream from over, 
 head, and, turning to ascertain from whence 
 it came, I discovered an immense anaconda 
 making at me from a mill-pond hard by. 
 There was not a moment's time to lose, so 
 placing myself in an attitude of defence, I 
 bawled out at the top of my voice — " Come 
 on, old boy ! I am ready for you." " Ah, ha ! 
 my good fellow, don't yon fear me ?" growled 
 the huge monster — saying which he emit- 
 ted from his extended nostrils a stench sufli- 
 cient to sicken half a dozen Guinea niggers. 
 My young friend, the female Fifteenth 
 Amendment, icill jL>lease not take any offence 
 at this remark, for it 7ms no reference what- 
 ever to her. " Fear ? Mr. Fear f" I repeat- 
 ed — " who the devil is that' I am not ac- 
 quainted with the gentleman — I never heard 
 his name mentioned before. Sir, my name 
 is JehoBsaphat Moonshine Long Bow, the 
 ' Great American Traveler,' and if you don't 
 take your nasty, stinking carcass out of my 
 path in two seconds I'll make Dutch mince- 
 meat of you, I will." Saying which I gave 
 him a most withering glance from my red 
 
76 
 
 right eye, and liis snakeeliip was consumed 
 to a ciuder in a little less than no time. 
 
 Passing: on toward the Astor House, just 
 as I turned the corner of a high stone wall, 
 lo, and behold ! there stood a monstrous 
 great ferocious-looking hyena just on the 
 point of crouching to spring upon me. Hav- 
 iag dispatched my foaming mug of lager to 
 unknown regions, in my blandest tone of 
 voice I said — " Good morning, John — in pur- 
 suit of something nice for breakfast, I 'spose ?" 
 And lie began to grin, and / began to grin, 
 and the way we/poked it into each other for 
 about two seconds was a caution to the crowd 
 that surrounded us, I can tell you. Finally 
 he began to edge off, and /began to edge off^ — 
 but in about two seconds he stopped short, 
 and looking me right square in the face, be- 
 gan to smile and look as good-natured as a 
 basket of chips — if he didn't I wish I may 
 be shot ! " Why, Mr. Long Bow, is that 
 you 1" said the hypocritical old bummer — 
 ^' how do you do ? Really I did not know that 
 it was you — at any rate / was only in fun, 
 and I hope that you are not offended at my 
 impertinence — I did not intend you any 
 harm — upon my honor, I didn't. I give it 
 up, I do — I own beat, I do — Mr. Long Bow, 
 you have outgnnned me!" " Y«ssir-ee, old 
 boss !" I rejoined, " I have done a good deal 
 of this kind of business before, but I have 
 never yet been uutgri/med by anything that 
 wears whiskers." "Come, honor bright!" 
 continued the old hyena — " J have fairly lost 
 the bet— its my treat, it is — so, let us go into 
 Mynheer Knippyrhausen's gin-mill and take 
 a glass of his red-eye, which he will warrant 
 to kill at any distance." Our venerable chair- 
 man 'will x>lease keep cool — no allusion what- 
 ever is here made to his beautiful peepers. 
 " Well, sir, I will drink with you," said I, 
 " but you might as well have reserved your 
 sweet, soft soap palaver for the benefit of 
 » some one who has not yet seen the elephant." 
 
 Coming out of Florence's saloon, where we 
 had imbibed t® a reasonable extent at his ex- 
 pense, I bade the jolly old hyena good morn- 
 ing ; then, turning into the Fifth avenue I was 
 soon again lostia the midst of the Black For- 
 est. Strolling along on the enlarged Battery 
 I espied in the distant mountains a mon- 
 strous great tiger, making at me with the 
 speed of a race-horse — hut not, however, the mis- 
 erable nag now that stands before, composing 
 
 a portion of this my otherwise respected audi- 
 ence. In an instant I whipped out my trusty 
 broadsword, and placed myself in a position 
 to give him a hearty welcome. The lerocity 
 of my appearance had the desired effect, and 
 as he approached me lue began to slacken his 
 speed and greeted me with a pleasant, good- 
 natured smile. " Why, my dear Long Bow, 
 how are you ?" said he ; " you are about the 
 last man in the world that I should have ex- 
 pected to encounter in such an ouVof-the-way 
 place as this," and then he commenced to 
 laugh and titter in a manner that was well 
 calculated to deceive an ordinary man like 
 his Honor, your esteemed Ex Mayor, who sits 
 there stctring at vacancy as though he hadn't 
 an idea in his heo'd. " None of your non- 
 sense, you weazen-faced old blood sucker- 
 you," I exclaimed, " you can't come any of 
 your silly dodges on iiie. My name is Jehos- 
 saphat Moonshine Long Bow, the 'Great 
 American Traveler,' so down upon your mar- 
 row bones and beg for mercy, for your last 
 hour has come !" saying which, I seized the 
 old brute by his flowing tail, and taking out 
 my rawhide I fairly cowskiuued hiui out of 
 his worthless old hide. "There, take that!" 
 and I gave him a sharp cut over his raw 
 back that made him wince and squirm like a 
 stuck pig. " Now home with you, and show 
 your nakedness to your female friends, and 
 ask them if they don't think you are a model 
 of beauty" — but I wish to have it distinctly un- 
 derstood that no reference is here made to the 
 wdl-dressed youny lady with a hair lip di- 
 rectly in front of me — and the way the sand 
 flew as the nude old villain heeled and toed it 
 across the desert was good for sore eyes, I can 
 tell you — this is said without intending to 
 cast any unpleasant rejlections on tJie heredi- 
 tary sore eyes of the founders of this grand 
 old city. 
 
 Feeling somewhat fatigued from the lively 
 exercises of the evening, we then repaired to 
 the " Grand Central," where I at once order- 
 ed tripe and fish-balls for two — and, having 
 dispatched my leg of mutton, and washed it 
 down with a couple of kegs of red eye, one of 
 the " pretty waiter girls" took my arm, and 
 turning again into Broadway, we continued 
 our way up Pennsylvania avenue, until we 
 arrived at Hyde Park gate. Continuing on 
 my journey through the serpentine windings 
 of this grand old forest, I suddenlv came in 
 
77 
 
 sight of a great castle, situated on an island 
 in the midst of the great Roman see. I found 
 th(3 principal entrance to this old log shanty 
 guarded by some twenty fierce and sturdy 
 looking sentinels— and being quite faint and 
 weary from my prolonged travels, I thought 
 I would stop there for awhile, and dine with 
 the Lord of the mansion; "make way instant- 
 ly," I exclaimed to the fellows who stood guard 
 at the palace gate — " I have come here for the 
 purpose of honoring your master with my 
 presence at dinner to-day." " Our master is 
 not at home," replied the leader of the gang — 
 " and we have had strict orders from him to 
 not admit any one within the castle walls dur- 
 ing his absence." " Villains !" I voiciferat- 
 ed, '• if you don't open this gate instanter, and 
 permit me to pass quietly in, I'll soon make 
 the daylight shine through every one of your 
 black carcasses." "Hajee Bajee !" shouted the 
 old captain of the guard — "who the devil are 
 you, sir, that dare to thus brow-beat us on our 
 own dung-hill ? Depart thee now in peace, 
 or expect soon to feel the weightt>f our power 
 and resentment." "CatifT!" I thundered, 
 "you little know to whom you are bidding 
 defiance. My name, sir, is Jehossaphat 
 Moonshine Long Bow, the ' Great Aliierican 
 Traveler' — and if you do_ not instantly obey 
 my every command, I'll slay the whole gar- 
 rison of you in two seconds." " Make the at- 
 tempt, if you dare !" screamed the frantic old 
 ibully, " and we'll soon make dogs meat of 
 you." 
 
 Being now enraged beyond endurance I 
 drew my trusty broadsword, and in less than 
 two seconds the whole gang lay sprawling at 
 my feet. I then forced my way into the 
 ricketty old castle, and ordered the cook to 
 " hurry up the cakes," and get me some din- 
 ner. " Yes, Massa TiOng Bow," replied the 
 old Jezebel, almost frightened out of her wits, 
 " yes, M'issa, me git you some dinner rite 
 strate.'' And - she did; but, swords and 
 blunderbusses ! such a dinner as that to place 
 before a meek Christian gentleman and the 
 greatest traveler of the age. The blood still 
 curdles in my veins at the bare thought of it. 
 But whew ! if that hifjhly perfumed old skunk 
 don't remain a little more quiet, I shan't be 
 able to goon with my discourse. The first 
 course consisted of alligator soup and stewed 
 hyena, and the second of roast boa constrictor 
 and dragon steaks. " Why, you infernal old 
 hag, you !" said I, " how dare you place such 
 
 a cannibal's dinner as this before a man who 
 whas seen the elephant?" and I forthwith 
 drew my trusty broadsword and began to 
 prepare myself for battle. "Why, he berry 
 irojd dinner for de Prince, Mr. Long Bow," 
 replied the terrified old cook, " and me tink 
 you like him fuss rate arter you hab eat him." 
 " Take that for your impertinence," I shouted, 
 and the next moment her old crinkled heael 
 rolled under the table and her withered old 
 carcass into the dinner pot. I then went up 
 stairs, where 1 helped myself to such articles 
 of plate and jewelry as I stood most in need 
 of, kissed the handsome chambermaid — who 
 seemed to like it — and then ordering the 
 horses jind carriage to be brought into the 
 courtyard, 1 mounted my horse and proceeded 
 on my journey. 
 
 Having thus provisioned my ship for a 
 three years' cruise, I took my carpetbag in 
 my hand and continued my ride down the 
 Strand ; but when in the vicinity of the 
 Seven Dials, the Old Baih^y bearing east by 
 sou'east, I espied a great cloud of dust hover- 
 ing over the summit of Mount Washington. 
 I had not traveled far, however, when I met 
 the lord of the old Massaker mansion house, 
 accompanied by a large retinue of his retain- 
 ers, returning home to dinner. I greeted 
 the old Baron with : " The top of the 
 morning to you. Sir Knight ! Ori ■ your 
 way to di:-iner, I 'spose ; you will find your 
 gay and festive old cook in the dinner pot, 
 and much good may the picking of her old 
 bones do you." " Hoosa Boota," vociferated 
 the old Governor, " who in the name of Jum- 
 bojum are you, that thus dare insult lae with- 
 in sight of my own castle ?" " Maybe you 
 would -like to know who I am," I replied ; 
 "My name is Jehossaphat Moonshine Long 
 Bow, the ' Great American Traveler.' I 
 have just slain the old cook and the thirty 
 blackguards who stood sentinel over the en- 
 trance of yonder ancient castle, and if you 
 don't mark time, and move off out of this 
 beautiful park on the double-quick, I'll cleave 
 you and all your cowardly attendants in twain 
 in two seconds," saying which I drew my 
 trusty broadsword to make good my promise ; 
 but the old fellow put spurs to his steed, and 
 the whole cavalcade were out of sight in the 
 twiflkling of a jackknife. 
 
 But, whew ! Mr. Chairman, what stinking 
 smell is that ? Sir, I have traveled very ex- 
 tensively in my time through all parts of the 
 
V8 
 
 world, and have seen and smelt many strange 
 and curious things before. I have been in 
 Vandam, and Rotterdam, and Amsterdam, 
 and Scheidam, and Heidam, and U. B. Dam, 
 and a great many other Dams, including the 
 Boston mill dam, and the dam across the 
 Rockaway river above the Falls ; but of all 
 the dam places that I have ever been in in 
 all my life, I have never before been in such 
 a dam place as this, or ever before encoun- 
 tered such a damnable smell as that which 
 at this moment salutes my nasal • organs. 
 Wherefore, and in consideration thereof, 
 I, Jehossaphat Moonshine Long Bow, the 
 " Great American Traveler," have said it : — 
 That invisible skunk must either shut off 
 stearii, or pack up and leave, or I shall have 
 to close up my whiskers. 
 
 Speaking of jackknives reminds me of a 
 little adventure I once had with His Most 
 Serene Highness, the Emperor of China- 
 Ware ; but as I have promised to make short 
 shots I shall reserve that for my next shoot- 
 ing match. This congregation now stands 
 adjourned to 4 o'clock to-morrow afternoon — 
 at which time I shall expect to see the con- 
 gregation greatly augmented, for I there in- 
 tend to do my double best to hammer a little 
 correct information into your more than ordi- 
 nary thick heads. " Let us have peace !" 
 
 Music by the Massaker Town band. 
 
 "AVERY RESPECTABLE FAMILY. 
 
 The season was Summer — the time, about 
 eight o'clock P. M. — the location, Third ave- 
 nue, foot of Yorkville hill, city side. I had 
 been out to Throgg's Neck with a load, and 
 had arrived thus far on my way home. Just 
 ahead of me I noticed two pedestrian females 
 trudging along on a slow walk, their faces 
 turned cityward. The noise of the cart at- 
 tracted their attention, and they turned their 
 heads around to see what was coming. As I 
 approached them they came to a standstill, 
 and remained in that position until I came 
 up alongside. One of them beckoned me to 
 hold up, which I did, when she said : " Please, 
 Mr. Carman, won't you let my sister and my- 
 self ride with you down to the city ? We 
 
 have no money, and my sister is quite sick, 
 and on the point of giving out. Please let 
 us ride, and God will bless you for the deed." 
 The voice that uttered these words was 
 mild, modest and beseeching, with the least 
 tinge of the " rich Irish brogue," as Gen. 
 Scott used to term it. I hesitated for a mo- 
 ment ; but, pitying their forlorn condition; 
 I finally concluded to take them on, as I knew 
 that it would be quite dark before I could 
 reach the city. 
 
 The girl Avho had addressed me had a fresh, 
 plump, handsome face, and hair as black as 
 night — but her companion looked pale, lank 
 and consumptive. They were both thinly 
 and coarsely clad, and it was evident at the 
 first glance that they were discharged con- 
 victs from Blackwell's Island returning to 
 their old haunts. After having thus hastily 
 scrutinized their personal appearance I said, 
 interrogatively: "You have just been dis- 
 charged from the Island, I presume?" 
 
 " Yes, to be sure, there is no use in trying 
 to deny tl.at — ;but we are entirely innocent of 
 the crime charged against us. We were sent 
 up there, to that hated and disgraceful den 
 of human degradation and misery, by the 
 false oaths of two unprincipled and perjured. 
 ► witnesses — may the Holy Virgin curse them ! 
 The Lord only knows what we have suffered 
 since we have been there." 
 
 " It I may make so bold, for how long a 
 term were you sent up there V" 
 
 " We were sent up for six months, but 
 have been there for only three. Our brother, 
 who is a very respectable and influential man 
 in his ward, got us pardoned out on account 
 of our innocence, and we were honorably 
 discharged this afternoon at six o'clock, and 
 left to get home the best way we can. And, 
 oh ! how ashamed I do feel at the disgrace 
 that has thus been brought upon our family !" 
 " Well, yes— I suppose that it's all right ; 
 you can get on and ride as far as I go, if you 
 like— that is, provided you behaveyourselves 
 in a proper manner." 
 
 " No fear of that, sir ; we have both been 
 very highly educated aud very respectably 
 brought up, and- know how to behave our- 
 selves in the best company. You must not 
 judge us by our present appearance." 
 
 They then scrambled on the cart and took 
 seats, one on each side of me, and I drove on 
 with my highly-educated anii respectable 
 fellow-passengers toward the city. The sick 
 
79 
 
 sister said scarcely a word during tlie whole 
 ride, but the other one continued to chat on at 
 a furious rate, scarcely permitting me to get 
 in a word edgeways. She talked very sen- 
 sibly too, and in the most chaste and refined 
 language ; and she was so ladylike and win- 
 some in her manners, too, that I really began 
 to feel indignant that such a model of virtue 
 and purity should have been so persecuted 
 and disgraced, merely to gratify a spirit of 
 revenge iu the mind of, perhaps, a false 
 friend. 
 
 " And now, my unfortunate Miss/' I said, 
 " may I be permitted to inquire in whiat part 
 of the city you reside, when securely reposing 
 beneath your good old family roof?" 
 
 " Certainly, sir — I had forgotten to tell you 
 that. When at our city home we reside with 
 our dear and honored brother, Patrick Carri- 
 gan, Esq., at No. 16 Oak street. Ours is a 
 vej^ respectaUe family, and our brother is 
 very well known and greatly esteemed by the 
 people in his immediate neighborhood. Oak 
 street is a very res^iCctaUc street, at least that 
 part of it in which we reside. You must 
 come down and make us a visit, and my 
 brother will pay you very liberally for your 
 kind attentions to his poor, unfortunate and 
 persecuted sisters. He would, no doubt, have 
 come up for us with a carriage if he had 
 known the exact day upon which we were to 
 be discharged ; for he is one of the kindest 
 and most generous men alive." 
 
 " Oak street is a street I am not much ac- 
 quainted with, but I think that I have passed 
 through it once or twice in the way of busi- 
 ness — at any rate I will try to find it. But, by 
 the way, you have a very pretty surname 
 Miss Carrigan — I suppose that, as a matter of 
 course, your name is Bridget, seeing that 
 your brother's name is Patrick ? Bridget 
 Carrigan is a very pretty name, I can assure 
 you — and the owner of it has too pretty a 
 face to ever be sent to the Island for the com- 
 mittal of so small a crime as theft." 
 
 " No, thank you — my sister's given name, 
 is Bridget — mine is Judy-^how do you like 
 it ? 1 was named after my great-grand moth 
 er, Judy Carrigan, who used to reside with 
 her husband. Lord Carrigan, in one of those 
 grand old Irish castles on too banks of the 
 classic old river Lilly." 
 
 " Judy Carrigan, I think you said — it is a 
 very pretty name, indeed — yes, upon my soul, 
 Judy is a much prettier name tuan Bridget. 
 
 If it only had an in it, it would certainly 
 read splendidly as the name of the heroine in 
 a modern sensation novel. Carrigan is cer- 
 tainly a good name, as well as an ancient. 
 It's agood thing for the peace of mind ot your 
 royal grandame that she knows nothing 
 about her innocent descendant being sent to 
 Blackwell's Island for the small crime of pet- 
 ty larceny." 
 
 " Why, my good sir, you Hatter me so high- 
 ly that you almost make me blush — but let 
 that pass. Yes, sir, you may well say that — 
 the Carrigan family is a very ancient family, 
 and many of them have greatly distinguished 
 themselves in the past. One of our Carrigan 
 ancestors. Sir Teddy O'Carrigan, was once 
 Lord Mayor of Dublin, but I don't recollect 
 the exact date. Another, McCarrigan, Barney, 
 once won the champion's belt in a rough-and- 
 tumble fight with the renowned Hugh O'Eea- 
 gan, at Donnybrook Fair. Our family plume 
 themselves considerably on the antiquity and 
 respectability of our grand old ancestors, may 
 their souls rest in peace ! " 
 
 " And well you may, for they have proved 
 themselves an honor to their family. I hap- 
 pen, myself, to know a fine old Irishman of 
 the name of Carrigan, who has a magnificent 
 country seat out on the old Bloomingdale 
 road, near Manhattanville. I have been out 
 to his beautiful place several times on 
 business, and I find him one of the 
 most polite, liberal and gentlemanly 
 men that I ever had dealings with. I 
 think that I have heard him say 
 more than once that his nine hundred 
 and ninety-ninth ancestor, away back in the 
 shadowy past, was eleventh cousin to that 
 ancient, warlike king of Ireland, Brian 
 Borhoime, of blessed memory. No, I don't 
 blame you a bit for feeling i^roud that you 
 are a member of the grand old Carrigan fam- 
 ily — may its shadow never be less !" 
 
 " Why, my good sir, but for your kindness 
 in letting us ride with you, I should feel that 
 you were poking fun at us on account of our 
 present misfortunes." 
 
 " No I I don't (juestion your respectability 
 the least, whatever may be the character of 
 the rest of your family. But you have not 
 yet informed me as to the real character of 
 the crime for which j'ou were sent up." 
 
 " Merely and solely on the supposition that 
 I had picked the pockets of one of our gentle- 
 man lodgers — I say supposition, because there 
 
80 
 
 was no direct proof that I did it, and there 
 was not a farthing of the money found upon 
 nie. The testimony was all hatched up for 
 the purpose of trying to destroy the character 
 of a respectable young lady." 
 
 "But what was the charge against your 
 poor sick sister ? She seems to be a very 
 nice, quiet, modest kind of a girl." 
 
 " It was precisely the same kind of a charge 
 that was made against myself, only it had 
 reference to an entirely different gentleman. 
 My sister is a nice, honest, quiet and respect- 
 able girl, and the crime charged against her 
 was one of which she was no more guilty 
 than I was of the one charged against me. 
 But the respectability of our character is too 
 well established in our neighborhood to be 
 affected by any such false accusations as 
 these." 
 
 " Then your brother keeps a genteel board- 
 ing-house, does he?— that is for theaccommo 
 dation of a few select friends ?" 
 
 " No, not exactly a boarding-house, rather 
 a lodging house, into which we occasionally 
 admit a few of our seafaring friends of the 
 masculine gender. But, dear me ! how faint 
 I feel ; but I am more or less subject to these 
 fainting fits. Please, carman, let me rest my 
 head in your lap for a moment or two ; oh, I 
 am so dizzy ! but it will soon pass off." 
 
 I began to fear that I was going to wit- 
 ness a scene not set down in the 
 bills of the play under rehearsal. At 
 the first mention of the word faint, the 
 . sick sister uttered a sharp, shrill scream, and 
 appeared to act as though she too was going 
 to have a fit of some kind or other — she, how- 
 ever, soon regained her wonted composure, 
 and again became as mum and speechless as 
 a doorpost. But, before I had a chance to 
 say yes or no to her question, I found that 
 Judy had planked her head firmly into my 
 lap, and seemed to be enjoying herself hugely. 
 Having but a few blocks more to traverse be- 
 fore I arrived at my stable, I thought that I 
 would not disturb her, so I left her to enjoy 
 whatever comfort she could in her present 
 coveted position. 
 
 We soon arrived at the corner of Third 
 avenue and Nineteenth street, when I stopped 
 and told the girls that they would have to 
 unload themselves, as I was now arrived at 
 the end of my journey. They appeared to be 
 considerably rested and refreshed by their 
 ride, and soon succeeded in unloading them- 
 
 selves without any of my assistance. They 
 both thanked me again and again for my 
 kindness in letting them ride, and said they 
 thought that they could now manage to 
 reach home without any further difficulty. 
 
 " And now," said Judy, "you must be sure 
 and come down next Sunday, and spend the 
 afternoon, and take tea with us — remember 
 the place. No. 16 Oak street — we shall expect 
 you at 3 o'clock ; don't disappoint us. You 
 will find our's a very respectable family, and 
 my brother a very respectable and companion- 
 able man, and that part of the street in which 
 we reside a 'oery respectable location." 
 
 I bade the girls good-night, and turning 
 round the corner of Nineteenth street I put 
 my horse into the stable, and then started for 
 home to get my supper. I had got a shilling 
 bundle of hay out of the feed-store over the 
 stable, and thrown it into the manger for the 
 horse to nibble at until he cooled off suffig 
 ciently to receive his customary feed. ■ On 
 my way home I called into the grocery on 
 the corner for the purpose of paying for the 
 bundle of hay. I felt into this pocket and in- 
 to that, until I had thoroughly examined 
 every pocket about me, but there was notli- 
 ing that even looked like a pocketbook to be 
 found in any of them — so I gave up the 
 search, not caring much about the loss, as I 
 knew very well that the book contained only 
 one miserable, tattered old twenty-five cent 
 Newark shinplaster. So, turning to the 
 groceryman, I carelessly said : — " Hans, I find 
 that I have left my pocketbook in my other 
 pantaloons pocket — just remember that I owe 
 you a shilling for that bundle of hay till to- 
 morrow morning." 
 
 Now, the loss of that old pocketbook ratlier 
 confounded me. I had stepped out at York- 
 ville to take a little something, and I knew 
 that everything was all right then ; but what 
 had become of it since was a mystery not 
 quite so easily solved. I had not been in any 
 kind of a crowd, and was quite certain that 
 no person had been near enough to me to 
 l^ick my pockets, except those two chaste and 
 immaculate Carrigan girls. What, then, in 
 the name of wonder, could have become of 
 that pocketbook ? It was hardly worih steal- 
 ing, anyhow. . 
 
 Did I not suspect Judy of being the person 
 who stole it ? What ! suspect the beautiful 
 and accomplished, the amiable and respecta- 
 ble Miss Judy Carrigan of stealing my pocket- 
 
81 
 
 book? Ball! the tliiug was impossiblt;. 
 
 'lAlVhat! tuspeet a member of the jrrand old 
 Carrigan family — a lady who bad justbeeu 
 pardoned out of the penitentiary on account 
 of lier innocence, and who was theix journey- 
 injj: toward her respectable home in Oak 
 street — yea, a lady who had even invited me 
 to come and take a social cup of tea with her, 
 and enjoy the hospitality of her quiet and 
 happy family — smpcct such an angel of light 
 and purity of stealing a miserable old pocket- 
 book, containing only oue poor, worthless 
 twenty-five cent sldnjilaster ! No ! perish the 
 base thought! Judy Carrigan, oue of the 
 living descendants of an ancient Dublin 
 Mayor, and a blood relation of the champion 
 fighter of Doncybrook Fair, was altogether 
 too respectable to be charged with the com- 
 mittal of such a low and vulgar crime as 
 that. . . 
 
 But, after all that's said and done, this is a 
 curious world, and a deceitful. Driving down 
 Centre street about a week after, when in the 
 vicinity of the Tombs I noticed a couple of 
 policemen hustling along " a fashionably- 
 dressed female toward that famous and well- 
 known receptacle of the city's vile and crim- 
 inal. The trio were closely followed by a 
 crowd of dirty, ragged loafers, who were 
 shouting and screaming, and showering upon 
 the head of the poor, disconsolate creature 
 every vile and derisive epithet that their foul 
 and debased tongues could command. The 
 poor creature was struggling hard to disen- 
 gage herself from the iron grasp of the offi- 
 cers, but all in vain. 
 
 " Come, hurry along, you disreputable 
 jade!" vociferated the most ferocious-looking 
 of the two officers ; " there's no use your 
 putting on any of your old airs, for they 
 won't amount to anything ; your career is too 
 well known to command the least sympathy 
 iv'.nn any quarter. This, I believe, makes 
 just the baker's dozen times that I have ar- 
 rested you within the past year for a similar 
 offence ; but you have made an extraordinary 
 big haul this time, and tiie difference is that 
 you will have to go to Sing Sing instead of 
 Blackwell's Island." 
 
 The prisoner was still protesting in the 
 
 ' IBiost vehement manner tha*; she was entirely 
 innocent of the crime charged against her, 
 and say whatever they might against her 
 character, she belonged to a very old and re- 
 f>pectable family. 
 
 It grieves me to be compelled to say it, but, 
 alas ! for the hitherto unsullied honor of the 
 gmnd old Carrigan iamily, the prisoner 
 proved to be no other than the identical Judy 
 Carrigan who had been pardoned out of the 
 penitentiary only the week before, and the 
 very self-same person who had invited me to 
 tea with her old and respectable family at 
 their grand old family mansion. No. 10 Oak 
 street, only the Sunday before. 
 
 " Alas ! human frailty, thy name is woraarj!" 
 And, alas! the poor deluded fool who puts 
 his faith in the word of a benighted female, 
 when she tells him that she belongs to a very 
 old and respectahle family. 
 
 Short Shots from a Lonff 'Bow.— No. 2. 
 
 Ml?. Editor : — Major Long Bow has prov- 
 en himself one of the most successful marks- 
 men that has ever hunted for fame and for- 
 tune in this section of country. The excite- 
 ment is very perceptibly on the increase, and 
 it is feared by some that the grand old 
 "toune" — which is supposed to.be nearly as 
 ancient as the old Massaker family — will be 
 shaken from its base long before the laat shot 
 has been fired. Blackberry Hall was crowd- 
 ed again this afternoon to an extent never 
 witnessed before, and the jam and enthusiasm' 
 was tremendous ! All the wit, beauty, wealth 
 and intelligence of Massaker town were again 
 present. At 4 o'clock precisely the battering 
 rams stationed on Sheep Hill thundered forth 
 a grand national salute, which was followed 
 by compound music by both sections of the 
 famous Massaker Town Band. The moment 
 the music ceased the gallant Major rose, and 
 after again parting his whiskers with a curry- 
 comb, proceeded to address the vast concourse 
 of men, beasts and reptiles as follows : 
 
 Mr. Chairman — Fellow-men, beasts and 
 reptiles! I, Jehossaphat Moonshine Long 
 Bow, the " Great American Traveler," conde- 
 scend once more to appear before you. I 
 think that, judging from the vast increase in 
 the rabble now before me, my last effort to 
 instruct and enlighten you has been fully un- 
 derstood and appreciated. The following 
 text, taken from my field book of travels, 
 
82 
 
 will-constitute the subjects upon whicli I shall 
 preach on the present occasion, and I wish 
 you all to listen attentively to what I say, 
 and not interrupt lue by asking foolish ques- 
 tions. 
 
 I VISIT THE CENTIIAL FLOWEliY LAND — AM 
 CHALLENGED BY A MANDAIUN, AND HAVE 
 A BIT OF A now WITH THE EMPEKOK. 
 Having arrived at the St. Nicholas just as 
 the bell was ringing for tea, I put my horse 
 in the stable, and then, having embarked on 
 board one of those magnificent North river 
 steamboats, proceeded down to Coney Island 
 to dine and have a chat with my old-time 
 friend, Hip Vandam, one of the ancient Gov- 
 ernors of Prince's Bay Alms House. The 
 next morning I rose early and took a short 
 sail down the bay on the back of that ancient 
 old navigator,- the Newport Sea Serpent — but 
 not much fancying that mode of traveling, J 
 returned again to my old lodgings at the 
 Pewter Mug, by one of the Boston steamers. 
 Passing thence into Sweeny's dining saloon, 
 I dispatched a " hasty plate of soup," consist- 
 ing of three bottles of vinegar bitters and a 
 small pot pie — and then hailing a Blooming- 
 dale stage, I hired a two-forty horse power 
 balloon and started off that same niglit for the 
 distant " Central Flowery Land," vulgarly 
 called the Chinese Empire. My principal 
 object in visiting those ice-bound regions of 
 the " Heathen Chinee " was to procure a gen- 
 eral supply of tropical fruits for the adorn- 
 ment of the tables of mine ancient host, Jim 
 Davenport, of the Green Pond Hotel, and, if 
 possible, to elope with the beautiful and 
 fascinating Miss Hey ho, the great Russian 
 heiress. 
 
 And now, I am very sorry to be compelled 
 to say it, but if the Misses Massaker, the be- 
 loved daughters of our venerable chairman, 
 don't cease casting their simpering, sheep's 
 eye glances at me, bad as I know it will 
 make them feel, 1 shall have to turn my back 
 upon them and expose their wily and se- , 
 ductivo arts before this otherwise highly-re- 
 spected aud fashionable audience. If I have 
 been correctly informed, the young ladies 
 now under discussion have long since turned 
 their two hundredth year. Now, in most 
 countries through which I have traveled, 
 young girls of moderate fortune, who have 
 reached the age of two hundred and upward, 
 are generally looked upon as having arrived 
 at years of discretion ; but here everything 
 
 in nature appears to be reversed. But for 
 the especial benefit and protection of all the 
 handsome young ladies here present (includ- 
 ing the not bad-looking female Fifteenth 
 Amendment and the matronly-looking old no- 
 horn cow), and to settle this question of love ' 
 affairs for all time to come, I will now state, 
 once for all, that I, Jehossaphat Moonshine 
 Long Bow, the " Great American Traveler," 
 am not at present, and never was, what is 
 termed a marrying man ! 
 
 Having arrived in good condition within 
 the walls of that blast-furnace of a city called 
 Canton, I hired a one-horse cab aud drove up, 
 four-in-hand, to the Gipsy House, having been 
 quite intimate with Peter, the landlord, when 
 he used to sell tioo of the best American se- 
 gars for a cent apiece; thence turning into 
 the bar-room of the Fifth Avenue Hotel, I 
 ordered a half dozen bottles of Wolfe's Schie- 
 dam- Schnapps, aud then sat down at one of 
 the tables for the purpose of enjoying a cup 
 or two of good strong old bohea. While I 
 sat sipping my delicious mint-julep I heard a 
 great noise and commotion out in the street 
 among the Bowery boys, and jumping up I 
 hurried out into the Third avenue to see 
 what had occasioned the row, I there found 
 the famous Chinese juggler, Fu-Fu, busily 
 engaged in the performance of all manner of 
 curious and unheard-of monkey tricks. The 
 moment that he discovered me among the 
 crowd he ceased his conj urations aud began 
 to smile ; then, tendering me his hand, he 
 joyfully exclaimed : " Why, Mr. Long Bow, 
 how are you? I hope, my old friend, that 
 you have been having a pleasant time of it 
 since I last saw you." Perfectly thunder- 
 struck at his familiarity, I gave him a squint 
 through my night-glass, and who the dick- 
 ens do you guess it was ? Why, it was that 
 same old baboon who had treated me to crack- 
 ers and cheese in the midst of the Great Des- 
 ert ; if it wasn't, I wish I may he shot. 
 
 My hearers, it is not my wish at any time 
 to interfere in the private amusement of any 
 one of my audience, but if our good friend, 
 the surly old mastiff up there in the gallery, 
 don't stop barking, I shall most certainly stop 
 talking. If he Hatters himself that he can 
 entertain this intelligent audience better than 
 I am doing, my place here on the rostrum is 
 entirely at his service ; but this much I have 
 made up my mind to, that but one of us can 
 talk at the same time. 
 
S3 
 
 When I returned to the Ocean House next 
 morning to finish drinking my egg-nogg, I 
 found an old fellow, with a Yankee pigtail 
 about three yards long, engaged in drinking 
 the balance of my bohea, which I looked upon 
 as rather a forward movement. " See here, 
 old fellow, that milk punch belongs to me, 
 and if you don't tote yourself out of my pres- 
 ence in about two seconds, you may expect 
 to be struck by a clap of home-made thunder ! 
 ISir, does your ancient pigtail understand me ?" 
 No reference is here made to my respected 
 auditors, the gentlemanly biacksnakes, of 
 about the same size and color, and who, as I 
 understand from my book-keeper, have taken 
 tickets for the full course — and' paid for 
 them. 
 
 " 'Old fellow !' Thunder !' 'Pigtail !' mutter- 
 ed the old fullow between his clenched teeth, 
 and he looked at me as savage as a meat-ax. 
 " Sir," he continued, rising upon his feet, "my 
 name is Hi-te-ti-ho, one of the Emperor's chief 
 mandarins, and a man of more than ordinary 
 substance. You have insulted me ! I am a 
 man of very few words. No outside barbarian 
 has ever yet insulted me and lived. I now 
 challenge you to mortal combat ! / have said 
 it. Meet me an h^ur hence at the Bamboo 
 Walk, and — die !" 
 
 " Sir," I reiterated, " you have said it, and I 
 have heard it," and I saluted him with one of 
 my most sardonic grins. "Yes, sir, I am your 
 man, sir ; you hav« made a most excellent 
 choice, sir ; you will find me at the Bamboo 
 Walk at the time appointed, sir." Saying 
 which, I turned on my heel and walked off 
 with an air and dignity becoming my stand- 
 ing as the greatest traveler of the age. 
 
 Still continuing my walk up the avenue, I 
 called in at the hardware store of my old 
 friend Conover, and purchased a pick and 
 spade; and — but, speaking of Conover's store 
 reminds me of a little story. 
 
 Old Dan stood about six feet four out side of 
 his bools, and used to keep a hardware store 
 at No. 326 Broadway. He was one of the 
 most square and independent men that I ever 
 knew. Being somewhat old-fashioned himself, 
 the " new departure" of pride and humbug 
 met with but little mercy at his hands. One 
 day a very dashy little lady came into his 
 store and inquired for a pair of small scissors. 
 The clerk showed her everything of the kind 
 in the store, and after having tumbled them 
 over for half an hour, she selected a pair, price 
 *11 
 
 twenty-five cents, and paid for them. Then, 
 with a haughty toss of the head, shn ordered 
 them sent to Mrs. Pemberton's.corner of Fifth 
 avenue and Forty-second street. Old Dan, 
 overhearing the order, jumped up from his 
 desk, and straightening himself up to the 
 height of about fifteen feet, approached the 
 diminutive young lady and said : 
 
 ; " Madame, I pay my errand boy fifty cents 
 a day for his services ; of course I can't send 
 him — it would require more of his time 
 to deliver your order than your whole pur- 
 chase amounts to. But," he continued, " my 
 own time is of less consequence ; the lady's 
 command must be obeyed. Thomas, please 
 hand me my hat and overcoat — the lady's 
 command must be obeyed ; I'll take the lady's 
 purchase home myself." 
 
 " Oh, ah, never mind, Mr. Conover," stam- 
 mered the little lady, shrinking herself up so 
 that there was only a faint, sickly blush visi- 
 ble ; " never mind, Mr. Conover, rather than 
 put you to all that trouble I will try and man- 
 age them myself. Yes, Mr. Conover, let your 
 clerk put them up neatly in an unsullied 
 sheet of gilt-edged, scented, white note paper, 
 and I will put them into my satchel and tote 
 them along myself." 
 
 As I was saying, I dropped into Conover's 
 and purchased a crowbar and shovel, and 
 then repairing to the Dutch grocery on the 
 corner, I procured a half bushel of salt, when, 
 hailing a public porter, I said to him : — "Here 
 you copper-colored, pug-nosed son of a pig- 
 tailed donkey, do you hear me ? Take these 
 tools upon'your back and follow me quickly 
 to the Bamboo Walk. Having arrived at the 
 appointed place of meeting, I found Hi-te ti-ho 
 and a host of his friends already on the 
 ground, impatiently awaiting my appearance. 
 Casting a hasty glance at my opponent, for 
 the purpose of taking his correct measure, I 
 marked out the size of his portly dimensions 
 on the ground, and then, turning to my at- 
 tendant, I ordered him to dig on the lines 
 marked out a hole five feet deep. Then di- 
 recting my attention toward the trembling 
 Chinaman, I exclaimed : — " Most potent and 
 renowned Hi-te-ti-ho, and Chief Mandarin of 
 his Serene Highness, the Emperor, are you 
 ready "? — hast thou kissed thy wife, and made 
 thy last will and testament ?" " Most de- 
 spised of all out-side barbarians !" vociferat- 
 ed the old mandarin — " for what unconceived 
 purpose hast thou commanded thy slave to 
 
84 
 
 I 
 
 dig a hole in the ground five feet ^eeip, and 
 of a size corresponding with the outward di- 
 I mensions of my noble self?" " Most unmit- 
 igated fool !" I replied, " dost thou not yet 
 understand me ? I have had this hole made 
 for the purpose of giving thy worthless and 
 unbelieving carcass Christian burial. Had you 
 condescended to study a little into my past 
 record, you would never have challenged me 
 to meet you in mortal combat at the Bamboo 
 Walk. But the die is now cast, and your last 
 hour has come — / Jiave said it ! My 
 name, sir, is Jehossaphat Moonshine Long 
 Bow, the ' Great American Traveler.' I am 
 a man of few words-^1 never strike my vic- 
 tim but once, and when I dispatch him, I 
 always salt Mm doion and Imrp 7dm upon 
 the sjwt where he falls ! And now, sir," I 
 continued, " if you will oblige me by stepping 
 a little forward into this open space, I will 
 dispatch you in about two seconds." Saying 
 which, I drew my trusty broadsword, and 
 shouted to him to come on and he crucified. 
 "My dear, good Mr. Long Bow," groaned the 
 old mandarin — and his teeth rattled in his jaws 
 like a shower of hailstones against a tin roof 
 — " I did not know that it was you, indeed I 
 didn't. Please excuse me, 'just this once,' 
 won't you? — I was only in fun, and did not 
 intend to oflfend you in the least — upon my 
 honor I didn't. Spare me! oh, spare me! 
 good Mr. Long Bow, please spare me ! — do, 
 please, and I'll never insult you again. 
 Please, remember my poor, lone, weeping 
 widow, and her thirty-seven poor, forlorn, cry- 
 ing, half-starved and thinly clad orphan chil- 
 dren ! Have mercy upon me ! my dear, good, 
 Mr. Long Bow — have mercy upon me, your 
 trembling slave ! and I will freely pay for all 
 the tea that you can drink during the next 
 thousand years, and for all the expenses 
 which you have incurred for my intended 
 funeral. But, at any rate, spare me, for the 
 love I bear toward the good old Emperor, 
 whose right-hand man I am." 
 
 " See here, old Pig-tail !" I replied, " I shall 
 spare your life, 'just this once,' on account of 
 the helpless condition of your widowed wife 
 and orphan children — but at the same time I 
 shall not let you pass through my hands 
 imdishonored. So, down upon your marrow- 
 bones and humbly ask my forgiveness, or I'll 
 have you skinned and salted and under the 
 sod in about two seconds." Saying which I 
 seized hold of his long, glossy black pigtai 
 
 and with one blow of my trusty broadsword 
 I severed it from his bobbing head and ca^t 
 it into the dirty gutter. 
 
 Just here a magnificent, fullblown sun- 
 flower was thrown upon the stage by one of 
 •the ex-Mayor's lovely and bewitching servant 
 girls. The vast audience gave three tre- 
 mendous howls, and the compound band car- 
 olled forth the very appropriate song, begin- 
 ning with " See ! the conquering Long Bow 
 has come !" The Major picked up the beau- 
 tiful flower, and, after carefully examining it, 
 said : " Yes, that's right, my dear, send on 
 your presents — on the subject of gift enter- 
 prises you will find that all great men are 
 nearly alike. I always accept all the pres- 
 ents that are sent me, save and except it be a 
 skunk's smelling bottle — no matter whether 
 it be a brown-stone front, fast horse, bull-pup, 
 or a beatitiful fullblown sunflowsr; But, I 
 wish to have it distinctly understood by this 
 liberal and enlightened audience that, al- 
 though I accept anything and everything 
 that is tendered me, I nev€r make any pres- 
 ents myself." 
 
 On my way back to the Pagoda I chanced 
 to meet my old bully-boy friend, Tom Hyer, 
 with whom I had a setto, and having 
 knocked him quite out of time, I proceeded 
 on up the avenue, and calling in at an ancient 
 Spanish fandango, I ordered an oyster stew ; 
 and after having eaten a Welch rarebit and 
 dispatched five large merry cobblers, I con- 
 tinued my ride through the park, scattering 
 everything before me, I Lad not proceeded 
 far down the lane, when I encountered a 
 most beautiful and scantily -dressed young 
 lady, accompanied by herself and two other 
 female slaves, the central figure of which 
 came very aear capturiog me. " Central 
 rosebud in the nosegay of a thousand flow- 
 ers, be the same more or less, how are you ?" 
 I exclaimed — " does your anxious mother 
 know are out ?" ." Why, my dear Mr. Long 
 Bow, is that you?" simpered the litte beauty 
 — " dear me, how you did frighten me ! 1 
 wish you a very a good morning, sir — but 
 you don't appear to know me, Mr. Long 
 Bow," continued the sweet little charmer. 
 " My name is Hey-ho, the great Chinee heir- 
 ess, and these colored girls constitute part of 
 my retinue." "My dearest little Hey-ho!" 
 I rapturously exclaimed, seizing the cunning 
 little jade by her delicate, cunning little lily- 
 white hand, " how do you do ? — jou good- 
 
85 
 
 for notbing, sugar coated little minx you — 
 Jtow I do love you !" 
 
 At this she poked out her pretty, pout- 
 ing, olive-colored little lips, and if I didn't 
 walk right straight up to her and kiss them, 
 I wish I may be shot ! " Why, Mr. Long 
 Bow," said she, blushing like a faded rose leaf, 
 " if I didn't love you so muchee, I should 
 really feel ashamed of your conduct toward 
 me here in this public and unfrequented 
 mountain pass." " My dearest little witch of 
 a Heyho," I passionately ejaculated ; " yea, 
 thou little Peri from the flower garden of the 
 beautiful, is it really true ? dost thou really 
 love me, and wilt thou really consent to be 
 mine ?" " My dearest Mr. Longbow," replied 
 the fascinating little charmer, " there is no 
 use in any longer denying the fact, your 
 c6urage and daring bravery, to say nothing 
 about your frightful whisker.?, have won my 
 foolish little heart. Here is my hand and 
 there is my purse — they are both thine !" 
 "And now, Miss Hey-ho," I replied, I thank 
 you a thousand times for this generous 
 tender to me of both your hand and 
 purse, particularly of your well-filled purse." 
 " And now, my dearest Long Bow, my love, 
 my affianced husband !" continued the expect 
 ant Mrs. Long Bow, " I want you to accompa- 
 ny myself and colored companions down into 
 the dew-bespangled meadows, and join with 
 us in celebrating the grand Feast of Lan- 
 terns." "Grand Feast of Lanterns!" I vocif- 
 erated, " and has it so soon come to this ? The 
 greatest heiress in all China wishes to feed 
 her newly affianced husband on la7Uerns ! 
 Miss Hey-ho, or high low, or whatever else 
 your name may be, permit me to inform you 
 that you have entirely mistaken the character 
 of your intended husband. Madam, my name 
 is Jehossaphat Moonshine Long Bow, the 
 ' Great American Traveler.' I once stormed 
 a great castle in Sherwood forest, and slew the 
 whole fifty blackguards that guarded its en- 
 trance, and if you expect to feed me on lan- 
 terns, all I have to say about it is that you 
 will find yourself grandly mistaken. Retain- 
 ing yo\ir purse as a small compensation for the 
 trouble you have given me, I herewith return 
 your great splatter hand again to its former 
 owner, hoping that neither it or its owner will 
 ever darken my path again." Saying which, 
 I drew my trusty broadsword, for the purpose 
 of defending myself against the sea-horses, 
 which are said to abound in these uninhabited 
 mountains. 
 
 It is very unpleasant, indeed, for me to be 
 so often compelled to remonstrate against the 
 highly improper conduct of a certain portiou 
 of my otherwise respected audience ; but, 1 
 now say it, once for all, that unless His Honor 
 the ex-Mayor at once ceases kissing and hug- 
 ging that handsomest servant girl of his, I 
 shall most certainly feel offended. Under- 
 standing that the young lady in questioH has 
 hoarded up quite a large fortune, I have pret- 
 ty nearly made up my mind to fall in love 
 with her — bank book — myself. 
 
 On my arrival at the St. Nicholas, 1 found 
 letters awaiting me from all parts ol the 
 world ; so, after having dispatched a large 
 rice-pudding and a couple of dozen bottles of 
 Scotch ale, I packed up my traps and started 
 off at once by Adams' Lightning Express for 
 the great city of Pekin, the grand old capi 
 tal of the Chinaware Empire. I had not been 
 in Pekin above two seconds when I was 
 waited upon by one Mr. Slam-Bang, the Em- 
 peror's chief cook and bottle-washer, who had 
 an important message for me, which he 
 wished to communicate to me by telegraph. 
 Now, speaking about Captain Cook's bottle, 
 reminds me that I am getting quite thirsty 
 myself. I would therefore most respectfully 
 inform mine host of the " Spread Eagle " 
 that he must either pass that little black bot- 
 tle of his up this way occasionally or else 
 keep it entirely out of my sight in future. 
 " My dear Long Bow," continued the King's 
 messenger, who delivered his own telegraph 
 dispatches, "my master, His Serene High- 
 ness, Gin-Sling-Twang, the Emperor, sends 
 greeting his best respects, and begs the honor 
 of your company at dinner to-day." " Thank 
 you, Mr. Slam-Bang," I said ; " tell the au- 
 gust Emperor, your supreme master, that I 
 shall condescend to accept his invitation, and 
 that I shall honor myself by dining with him 
 an hour hence;' and mind you, Mr. Slam- 
 Bang, I shall expect you to prepare some- 
 thing a little extra nice for dinner, andpleniy 
 of it." 
 
 Well, I fixed myself up mighty slick, I can 
 tell you, ,and then proceeded along up Regent 
 street to the Washington Monument. The 
 " Light of the World " was standing on the 
 front stoop of his palace ready to receive and 
 welcome me, and then conducted me into his 
 immense dining-room. On approaching his 
 august presence I pulled my hat a little down 
 over my eyes, and assuming a very stern and 
 commanding air, I said ; 
 
86 
 
 " Good morning, Mr. Twang. How is Mrs. 
 Twang and all tbe little Gin-Sling Twangs?" 
 
 " Pretty well, tliankyou," replied the Em- 
 peror, and be bowed almost to tbe floor ; 
 " bow does Mr. Long Bow do tbis morning 1" 
 
 " Only about so-so." I rejoined ; " but I live 
 in bopestbat I sball feel a little better after 
 dinner." 
 
 " Come, come !" said tbe old Emperor, lead- 
 ing tbe way, " walk rigbt in tbe dining-room, 
 Mr. Long Bow, and let us dine before tbe 
 dinner all gets stone cold." Tben calling to 
 tbe bead waiter, be continued, "Here, you 
 Slam-Bang, you ! wbere are you, you laziest 
 of all lazy rascals, you ! don't you bear me ? 
 snap round and see if you can't sbake off tbe 
 dead lice for once. Quick ! I say, you miser- 
 able dog, you ; bring in tbe rat-tail soup, and 
 tben burry up tbe mews and bow-wows ! 
 Lively, now, stir lively, you old scarecrow 
 you, for Mr. Long Bow is nearly famisbing 
 for tbe want of sometbing to eat." 
 
 " Rat tail soup! Mews and bow-wows ! " I 
 sbouted, " and lias it really come to tbis '? 
 Wby, you old tatterdemalion you '? And do 
 you really expect to feed me, Jebossapbat 
 Moonsbine Long Baw, tbe ' Great American 
 Traveler,' on cats and dogs?" 
 
 " You will find tbem nice and tender, and 
 very delicious eating, Mr. Long Bow — and I 
 am quite sure tbat you will be more tban dc- 
 ligbted witb flavor of tbe crocodile gravy 
 witb wbicb tbey are garnisbed." 
 
 " Go to, you old brute you ! " I vociferated 
 — " and is tbis tbe way tbat you treaia Cbris- 
 tian man and gentleman, and tbe great trav- 
 eler of tbe age, wben be bonors your ricketty 
 old sbanty witb bis presence. Go to, I say, 
 you blasted old ' Heatben Cbinee ! ' you are 
 worse tban your common st7'eet walker, Hey- 
 bo ee, wbo wanted to feed me on lanterns/ " 
 
 " Old brute ! Ricketty old sbanty ! Hea- 
 tben Cbinee !" screamed the now enraged old 
 Emperor. " And bas it really come to tbis, 
 tbat I, Gin-Sling-Twang, tbe great Luminary 
 of tbe World, tbe Emperor of all tbe Cbina- 
 ware in creation, and tbe Grand Master of 
 over tbree bundred millions of pigtailed 
 subjects, sball be called an ' old brute ' in bis 
 own barroom ! By tbe flowing beard of tbe 
 great Confucius ! can I live and endure sucb 
 an outrage as tbis ? Wbo, bo ! I say — bere, 
 you Slam-Bang, you — wbere are you, you dog 
 you ? Slave ! I say, call in my body-guard, 
 and order tbem to put tbis impudent fellow, 
 
 tbis outside barbarian, out of my palace in- 
 stanter." 
 
 " Impudent old fellow ! Outside barbarian ! 
 Yes, I tbink I understand you/' I rejoined, 
 remaining as cool as an ice-bouse. •' Now, 
 see bere, old boss and buggy ,1 guess you don't 
 know wbo you are talking to. Sir, my name is 
 Jebossapbat Moonsbine Long Bow, the Great 
 American Traveler ; and wbat is still more 
 to tbe purpose, I bave seen tbe elepbant ; 1 
 once stormed an impregnable fortress, situ- 
 ated on tbe Boston Common, and slew tbe 
 wbole garrison — number not recollected — 
 and now, you old cat-anJ-dog eating repro- 
 bate, if you do not at once sbut up your 
 clack and act a little more like a gentleman, 
 I'll crucify you and your tbree bundred mil- 
 lion of pig-tailed, rat-eating slaves in two sec- 
 onds." Saying wbicb, I drew my trusty 
 broadsword and began to prepare for battle ; 
 but wbew ! sucb another scattering and clat- 
 tering among tbe pig-tails and wooden sboes ■ 
 bad not been witnessed before in a civilized 
 country since tbe confusion of tongues at tbe 
 building of tbe Tower of Babel. 
 
 Speaking about tbat glorious, old " Round 
 Table" reminds me tbat tbe tea-time, hour is 
 drawing nigh, and tbat tbe numerous black- 
 berry girls wbo compose a large portion of 
 tbis respectable audience will be required at 
 home witb their berries in time for tea. But 
 before coming to a final close I would like to 
 say to my worthy old friend, the growling 
 old mastiff" up there in tbe gallery, be need 
 bave no fear wbatever tbat tbe " Heatben 
 Chinee " will ever catch hi m and eat bim up. 
 However mucb tbey may relisb a young and 
 tender bull-pup as a dainty disb, tbey bave 
 no bankering at all for sucb a tougb and 
 noisy old growler as our respected auditor 
 bereinbefore mentioned. All tbe use tbat be 
 is good for is to bark and growl bis disappro- 
 bation at great historical trutbs because be 
 lacks tbe brains to comprehend tbem. 
 
 , Tbis congregation now stands adjourned 
 to 4 o'clock to-morrow alternoon. 
 
 A REMARKABLE LADY ARTIST. 
 
 ARTICLE No. 15. 
 
 Miss Emma Pillington was tbe daugbter 
 of a poor country clergyman, away out among 
 
87 
 
 the bleak and barren bills of New Hampsbire. 
 Sbe was one of a very numerous family of 
 children, all of whom bad to do eometbing 
 toward making a living as soon as they were 
 able to work. She bad a brother who came 
 to New York with only about five dollars in 
 bia pocket, expecting to make a fortune in 
 about three months. He was a curious young 
 man — kind and good-natured to a fault, per- 
 fectly green in bis knowledge of the world, 
 but full of all kinds ot schemes and specula- 
 tions, and wild and visionary as an unchained 
 lunatic. He plunged headlong into various 
 kinds of speculations, but succeeded in noth- 
 ing — with a head full of moonshine he con- 
 structed grand castles in the air, only to be 
 toppled over by tbe first rays of the approach- 
 ing sunlight. Believing himself to be a lit- 
 tle smarter than ordinary young men, he got 
 his mind fully impressed with the belief that 
 it was possible to make a whistle out of a 
 pig's tail. Among other of his wonderful and 
 startling inventions he invented a patent 
 " lightning express pill " that would clear 
 out the whole contents of a man's body in 
 about three seconds. He tried their effects 
 on his own breadbasket, and as a consequence 
 he lay gasping under the doctor's hands for 
 the next three months. Although active, am- 
 bitious and willing to work, be lacked to a 
 great extent that grand essential to human 
 success, practical common aense. He finally 
 settled down for a short time to an active 
 mechanical employmaut with an old gentle- 
 man, a widower of tbe name of Morton, who 
 was engaged in tbe manufacture of sash and 
 blinds. The last that I ever heard of him he 
 was out in " bleeding Kansas," armed with a 
 " Sharpe's rifle," just at tbe breaking out of 
 our late unpleasantness. 
 
 It was through the intercession of this 
 brother of hers that Miss Pillington came to 
 New York to act in the capacity of house- 
 keeper for Mr. Morton. This was about thir- 
 ty years ago, as near as I can recollect. At 
 the time ol her first arrival in the city she 
 was about twenty-two years of age, and ver- 
 dant as tbe emerald grass on tbe hillsides of 
 her native village in the vernal season of tbe 
 year. She was possessed of a good common 
 school education, bad a mild and agreeable 
 temper, and was quiet and domestic in her hab- 
 its. Although not handsome,she badacbeerfal 
 and winsome countenance, soft, dreamy and 
 lauguisbing blue eyes, and a pleasant, honest, 
 
 winning smile for every body that approached 
 her in a respectful manner. She had not, 
 in all human probability, ever seen anything 
 in the line of tbe fiue arts of a character 
 higher than a homely old family portrait, 
 painted by a second or third class traveling 
 artist Such was Emma Pillington on her 
 first arrival in the city. 
 
 Mr. Morton was a clever, kind hearted old 
 gentleman of fifty-five, but very notional and 
 speculative in bis , views of matters and 
 things in general and of his Quixotic plans of 
 money-making in particular. He bad made 
 considerable money at his regular business ; 
 but having been in constant pursuit of the 
 philosopher's stone all his life, be bad ex- 
 pended all bis surplus capital in trying to 
 transmute iron into gold ; or, in other words, 
 he had been for many years investing all bis 
 spare cash in visionary and fruitless specula- 
 tions of one kind or another, hoping that at 
 some future day he would find a large for- 
 tune piled up at the end of some one of them. 
 In consequence of his being continually in- 
 volved in these wild and unprofitable specu- 
 lations, be never succeeded in amassing much 
 of a fortune ; but the arrival of the modest 
 and unassuming Miss Pilkington seemed to 
 inspire him with renewed hopes and youth- 
 ful vigor. The fact is, Mr. Morton took a de- 
 cided liking to Miss P. the moment she en- 
 tered his bouse, probably from the fact that 
 be discovered in her the long-sought philoso- 
 pher's stone, which bad been tbe dream of his 
 life. At any rate, he took her to his home, 
 and treated her as one of his own family from 
 tbe start. She proved to be the very identi- 
 cal person who bad so often appeared to him 
 in his dreams, greeting bira with a smile and 
 — a kiss. ^ 
 
 And thus they jogged along happily to- 
 gether for some time, she looking sharp after 
 his interests, and he looking still sharper 
 after what be supposed to be hers. Mr. Mor- 
 ton bad a few very choice paintings in bis 
 parlors, and Miss Pillington spent a great 
 deal of her spare time in examining and ad- 
 miring them ; and above all things else, she 
 loved tbe grand old pictures, and wished 
 again and again that she bad' been bred an 
 artist. Day after day they roamed through 
 the city, viewing all tbe pictures that came in 
 their way, both in tbe public galleries and in 
 tbe shop windows. Mr. Morton obtained for 
 her the " Lives " of the great painters, and 
 
88 
 
 also books of instruction on the art of paint- 
 ing ; and she read and studied both with a 
 perception of their intent and meaning that 
 was perfectly astonishing. The new divinity 
 at once began to swell and expand within her 
 bosom, and a something (she could not name 
 it) whispered gently in her ear and bade her 
 strike for fame and fortune. Having read all 
 about the straggles and triumphs of the old 
 painters, she then set herself assiduously to 
 work, fully determined in Ijer own mind that 
 she would become an artist. She first in- 
 structed herself in the art of outlining, per- 
 spective and mixing colors, after which she 
 commenced sketching and copying. She 
 soon succeeded in making very excellent 
 copies of all the pictures in the house, and 
 also of herself and Mr. Morton. This last 
 brilliant effort of her inspired pencil clinched 
 the barbed arrow which the littlfe god Cupid 
 had long since shot into the heart of Mr. 
 Morton, and caused him to " cry aloud and 
 spare not." He thereupon made a propo- 
 sition of marriage, which was graciously ac- 
 cepted, and the gentle and timid Miss Pil- 
 lington was soon thereafter transformed into 
 the dignified and matronly Mrs. Morton. 
 Whether love had any thing to do in bring- 
 ing about this important change or not is 
 none of my particular business or of the more 
 inquisitive reader's ; but, my own private 
 opinion of the question is, that a sense of 
 gratitude on the part of Miss Pillington had 
 more influence in obtaining her consent to this 
 copartnership tor life than love or anything 
 else. And now, after a wandering in search for 
 more than half a century, Mr. Morton had at 
 last found the long sought philosopher's stone 
 — and that, too, in a much more desirable form 
 than any of the crazy -headed old alchemists 
 bad ever dreamed of. 
 
 And now Mrs. Morton set herself to work 
 in earnest, for in all her life she had never 
 known the meaning of such a word as fail. 
 She now stood before the world in the form of 
 what might very properly be termed a full- 
 fledged artist— yes! better than that, a self- 
 tauglit ar^is^— and one of more than ordinary 
 merit. But her towering ambition to excel 
 as an artist had not yet been fully gratifled. 
 She now commenced her newly married life 
 by painting portraits of the whole of the 
 Morton family, and they were all extremely 
 well painted. These were seen and admired 
 . by their friends and acquaintances, and scores 
 
 of them came to have their pictures taken by 
 the new artist. She worked hard and dili- 
 gently—early and late, she stood before her 
 easel, brush in hand, copying the life features 
 of the •' human face divine," to live again a 
 life of immortality upon her breathing can- 
 vas. She had an active and impulsive mind, 
 and a much more brilliant imagination than 
 any one had, as yet, given her credit for — it 
 was not long, therefore, before she produced 
 a number of strikingly original pictures, as 
 well as splendid copies of several very rare 
 and celebrated ones. Some of her best pro- 
 ductions were placed on exhibition in the 
 public picture galleries of the city — and very 
 soon her company was sought and courted by 
 most of the eminent artists of that day. Her 
 name and fame were trumpeted from house to 
 house, until the whole city became filled with 
 her praises and renown, and consequently she 
 had more work tendered her than she could 
 possibly perform. She had an eye for the 
 comic and ridiculous as well as the grand and 
 beautiful, and thus by the versatility of her 
 subjects, she established a claim upon the 
 public as an original genius of a high ord6r. 
 Mrs. Morton once painted a wild, fantastic, 
 imaginative witch scene on a large scale, 
 which was the most laughter-provoking pic- 
 ture that I ever saw in my life. And there 
 was another curious and striking peculiarity 
 about most of her pictures, which it would 
 be hard to account for — her copies, whether 
 the subject copied was a person or a picture, 
 almost uniformly surpassed thfioi'iginals. To- 
 be-sure, this sounds like nonsense, but para 
 doxical as it may seem, still it is nevertheless 
 true to a certain extent. All her portraits 
 were so animated and life-like in their ap- 
 pearance that, when standing side by side, 
 you could scarcely distinguish the living per- 
 son from the counterfeit resemblance. But I 
 will illustrate this point by relating a little 
 incident to which I was an eye and ear wit- 
 ness. 
 
 A New York gentleman of wealth and 
 taste, and, according to his own belief, a most 
 excellent judge of paintings, had just then 
 returned from Italy with a large number of 
 choice and valuable pictures for his own pri- 
 vate gallery. They consisted in part ofcopie/i 
 8f rare and renowned pictures by the old 
 Italian masters, and oiic/inal ones by the 
 greatest of modern artists. They were all 
 sent to Mr; Brown's store for the purpose of 
 
89 
 
 being framed, Mrs. Morton was in the habit 
 of having most of her pictures framed at the 
 same establishment, and as a consequence 
 she was in the Iiabit of making frequent 
 visits to the store. Among the imported 
 pictures there was a splendid copy of Raph- 
 ael's' celebrated and world- renowned picture of 
 I'-ornarina, then, and I presume still, in the 
 Vatican at Rome. It was copied by special 
 permission of His Holiness the Pope/ by a" 
 celebrated Italian artist, at the special request 
 of the New York gentleman for himself, and 
 was the only copy of that famous picture in 
 this country at that time. One day the ever- 
 watchful eye of Mrs. Morton accidentally 
 caught sight of it in the store, and she at 
 once expressed a strong desire to copy it. Mr. 
 Brown informed her that the owner of it was 
 a particular friend of his, and that he 
 thought that he could obtain the desired per- 
 mission for her to copy it — and he then in- 
 quired of her how long a time she would re- 
 quire it, as he knew that his friend was im- 
 patient to have it placed in his gallery ? 
 
 " About a fortnight," replied Mrs. Morton. 
 " Yes, I think that I can make a good copy of 
 it in about a fortnight." 
 
 The next time the gentleman came into 
 the store — it was on a Saturday alternoon — 
 Mr. Brown solicited and obtained permission 
 for Mrs. Morton to make a copy. 
 
 "But, mind you, Brown," continued the 
 gentleman, " this picture must be returned 
 again to your store, uninjured, in precisely 
 two weeks from to day, or I shall feel highly 
 offended at both of you — and I wish you to 
 tell Mrs. Morton that, as a small return for 
 the favor granted, I shall not only expect, but 
 insist on having the privilege of seeing and 
 examining her copy." 
 
 " All right, sir," replied Mr. Brown — ''I will 
 myself guarantee that your request shall be 
 complied with." 
 
 Mr. Brown immediately dispatched a trusty 
 messenger with the picture to Mrs. Morton's 
 studio, and also a written notice to her, that 
 she must have both the picture and the copy 
 returned to his store on that day two weeks 
 hence, or she need never expect to receive 
 another favor at his hands. He then set to 
 work and had another frame made, exactly 
 after the pattern of the one he was making for 
 the in^orted picture. 
 
 On the morning of the second Saturday fol- 
 lowing, the twin frames were brought into 
 
 the store looking as near alike as the two 
 Dromios in the play, and in a few minutes 
 more the two pictures also made their ap- 
 pearance and looking so near alike that it 
 was no easy matter to distinguish one from 
 the other. They were both placed in their 
 respective frames, and after being carefully 
 dusted stood against the side wall of the 
 store in a good light near the street door. 
 Mrs. Morton had sent a short note with the 
 pictures notifying Mr. Brown that should the 
 gentleman happen to take a fancy to her 
 copy, he could have it for $G0, provided he 
 would allow her to make another copy for 
 herself. 
 
 About four o'clock in the afternoon the gen- 
 tleman came bustling into the store, and the 
 first thing that attracted his attention was 
 the twin pictures standing near the door. 
 
 " Well, Brown," said he, " I see that you 
 have been as good as your word for once — 
 and Mrs. Morton, too, deserves credit for her 
 dispatch in making her copy. Punctuality 
 in business is always commendable." 
 
 " Yes," replied Mr. Brown, " I always like 
 to fulfill my promises as near as possible. 
 But what do you think of the pictures ? Mrs. 
 Morton's copy in particular? Do you be- 
 lieve that you can distinguish which of the 
 two is yours ?" 
 
 " Most certainly I can ; there's no difficulty 
 at all in that. That is my picture," pointing 
 his cane toward Mrs. Morton's copy; "I 
 should know it at a glance among a thousand 
 copies, the same as I would know the differ- 
 ence between an Arabian horse and a South 
 American jackass. Why, Brown, you must 
 think that I am very dull, indeed, not to 
 know my own picture !" 
 
 "Well, then, what do you think of Mrs. 
 Morton's copy '? How does it compare with 
 its original ? —that's what I wish to get at." 
 " Why, to tell you the plain truth, I think 
 it's only tolerable, barely tolerable, so to 
 speak." Then putting on his gold eye-glass- 
 es and stooping down to examine Ms own pic- 
 tui'e a little more closely, he continued : 
 " W^ell, yes, on a closer examination I think I 
 may venture to say that it is even passable — 
 yes, I may say it is rather creditable, that is, 
 for a female and a new beginner. It is very 
 fairly and correctly outlined, but it is sadly 
 lacking in those fine and delicate touches 
 that are so distinctly visible upon my own 
 ■picture." 
 
90 
 
 " Now, suppose that I should inform you 
 that the picture which you claim as yours is 
 nothing more nor less than Mrs. Morton's 
 copy ? How would you relish that f 
 
 " Belish that ? Nonsense ! I hope that 
 you don't think me so stupid as not to know 
 my own property. Why, sir" — pointing to- 
 wards Mrs. Morton's copy — " why, sir, tiMt 
 picture was copied expressly for me, from the 
 grand old original, by one of the most cele- 
 brated artists in Eome ; and I paid him the 
 round sum of $150 for copying it. No, no. 
 Brown, you can't humbug me; I am quite 
 too familiar with the old masters for that. 
 Only look for one moment at that beautiful 
 and splendid drapery, at those delicate and 
 almost imperceptible lines, and at the rich- 
 ness and brilliancy of the coloring. These, 
 sir, are the unmistakable evidences of high 
 art.' No, no, Brown, you can't cheat me. 
 None but a skillful and practical Italian ar- 
 tist can put the finishing touches on a picture 
 
 like that." 
 
 " I am very sorry to be compelled to unde- 
 ceive you, sir ; but I shall have to do it." 
 Saying which Mr. Brown turned round the 
 back of the picture the gentleman had 
 claimed to be his own, and there stood, in 
 glaring capitals, the evidence that was to un- 
 deceive him — " Copied by Mrs. Emma Mor- 
 ton, Nov., 1844." 
 
 "By heavens!" ejaculated the now crest- 
 fallen gentleman. " I can no longer believe 
 my own eyes if this thing is. possible. But, 
 sir, I now see that I have been deceived, 
 basely deceived. Yes, Brown, I have been 
 deceived by that vagabond Italian artist. 
 Curse Mm ! Yes, sir, I have seen the orig- 
 inal of these pictures in the Vatican at Rome, 
 and I make no hesitation in declaring it as 
 my candid belief that Mrs. Morton's is much 
 the most correct copy of the two, although it 
 is quite evident that she has never seen the 
 original. That picture" — pointing towards 
 his own — " that picture, sir, has cost me — let 
 me see — for copying, boxing, freight and du- 
 ties — yes, altogether it has cost me not a cent 
 less than two hundred dollars. Damn the 
 scoundrel that coined it !" 
 
 " Having traveled extensively in Italy, you 
 must, sir, be aware, or at least you ought to 
 be, that there are a large number of second- 
 rate artists in all the principal Italian cities, 
 who make it their business to copy pictures 
 by the old masters, almost exclusively for the 
 
 American market. I don't know exactly how 
 it is, but by some means or other they have 
 long since found out that our countrymen are 
 the most gullible and easily duped of any 
 other people in the wide world." 
 
 " Yes, by thunder, Brown ! I believe that 
 you are more than half right. A superabund- 
 ance of wealth, and the foolish belief that 
 nothing is of any value unless it has been 
 impoHed, has made a fool of me as well as of 
 many others who possess more than common 
 sense. I should not te the least bit surprised 
 if one -half the pictures that I have brought 
 home with me are of this character — but I 
 am done spending my money for these sham 
 pictures by celebrated Italian- artists — damn 
 them ! But I say. Brown, what do you think 
 about it ? Do you think Mrs. Morton would 
 be willing to sell this splendid picture of 
 hers ■?" 
 
 ' Well, yes, I think she would ; at any rate 
 she notified me this morning that should you 
 happen to take a fancy to her picture, you 
 could have it for $60, provided you would 
 allow her to make another copy." 
 
 " It's a bargain ; I'll take it, and send her 
 a check for the amount early on Monday 
 morning. Send it up to me this very after- 
 noon, if you can, and then, by Jove ! I 
 shall be able to boast that I have at least 
 one good picture in my collection. And, by- 
 the-by, you can tell her that she can take 
 that miserable old Italian dauh and keep it 
 and copy it till the crack of doom, for aught 
 I care, and then hum it if she likes." » 
 
 That gentleman afterward crowded out 
 quite a number ot Italian daubs, as he called 
 them, to make room for some of Mrs. Morton's 
 best and most celebrated original pictures. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Morton still continued to 
 work on at their respective vocations until 
 money poured in upon them greatly beyond 
 their immediate wants. This made Mr. Mor- 
 ton feel more or less uneasy, and induced him 
 to venture again into one of his old moon 
 shine speculations. He conceived a scheme 
 by which he expected to acquire any amount 
 of fame and fortune in a trifle less than no 
 time ; and what does the reader suppose it 
 was? Nothing more or less than this — to 
 construct a portable picture gallery in which 
 to [exhibit his collection of pictures to the 
 people throughout the country. The idea 
 vfAS po sooner conceived than he set himself 
 
91 
 
 to work to carry it into execution. He spent 
 several thousand dollars and two years of his 
 precious life in its construction. He called it 
 V' Morton's Unique Picture Gallery," and he 
 could not have given it a more appropriate 
 narne had he tried. I have a small cut of it 
 now before me, as printed on one of his show- 
 bills. It was the most novel and curiously 
 constructed edifice that this world* or any 
 other, ever saw. It was Gothic all over, both 
 outside and inside. The building itself was 
 an exhibition well wotth twenty-five cents to 
 see at any time. It was circular in form, 25 
 feet in diameter, with a spire 55 feet in height, 
 and composed of 330,000 separate pieces of 
 wood, put together by means of nails 
 and screws. In the evening it was 
 lighted by an immense chandelier, four- 
 teen and one-half feet in diameter. It was so 
 constructed that it could be put up and taken 
 down in a few hours. When fitted up for ex- 
 hibition it contained nearly a hundred pic- 
 *^ tures, about forty of which were painted by 
 Mrs. Morton. Take it all in all the like was 
 never seen before or since, and probably nev 
 er will be in all the time to come. 
 
 Having at last completed what he termed 
 his " Unique Picture Gallery," Mr. Morton 
 was in very much the same predicament as 
 the man who won the elephant — he didn't 
 know wJiat to do with it. Bu^, after beating 
 round the city for a week or two, he finally 
 obtained the loan of a vacant lot in the upper 
 part of Broadway upon which he erected his 
 nondescript edifice. The building attracted 
 the attention of the curious, and for awhile 
 his exhibition was quite a success ; but the 
 novelty soon lost its power to charm and the 
 incomes no longer paid the expenses. A new 
 move had to be made. The building was 
 taken down and it and its contents boxed up 
 and started off for exhibition among the wise 
 men of the East. New Haven, tha " City of 
 Elms," was to be first stopping place. Mr. 
 Morton was quite sure that his unique exhi- 
 bition would be liberally patronized by the 
 intelligent people of that ancient city — but 
 the intelligent people of that ancient city 
 greatly preferred a stroll beneath the shade 
 0f their venerable " elms" to looking at the 
 pictures. He next removed to Boston ; and 
 when he arrived there he found that his treas- 
 ury was nearly- empty, his traveling expen- 
 ses having been enormous. He, however, still 
 
 *12 
 
 lived in hopes that the intelligent people 
 of .Boston would liberally patronize his 
 intellectual exhibition— but the intelligent 
 people of Boston were too full of " notions" 
 of their own to pay much attention to the 
 notions of others. Mr. Morton was etill big 
 with the hope of ultimate success. He had 
 once read that, when General Jackson visited 
 Lowell, a short time before, seven miles of 
 factory girls had turned out to welcome him. 
 So, he again packed up, and started off, bag 
 and baggage, to Lowell— but the thin attend- 
 ance at his exhibitions, soon convinced him 
 that, however much they might wish to see 
 Old Hickory, the factory girls had but little 
 taste for the fine arts. A few toothless old 
 dames came to see his pictures, but that 
 (iomical old witch scene, which made every- 
 body else laugh till they were ready to split 
 their sides, so frightened these ancient dames 
 that they could not sleep nights without a 
 light burning in their rooms. Mr. Morton 
 had somewhere read that 
 " The King of France, with forty thousand men, 
 Marched up the hill, and then— marched down 
 again." 
 So, taking a lesson from that kingly old 
 blower, he again packed up his unique edi- 
 fice, and, with some considerable number of 
 dollars less in his pocket than when he first 
 set out, marched back to New York again. 
 And thus it was with the ever hopeful Mr. 
 Morton. Like the gallant old Christian Cru- 
 saders, who went out to rescue the Ploly Land 
 from the hands of the turbaned infidels, he 
 went out fuU and came back empty. All the 
 gold that had been collecting in the bottom 
 of his crucible for years had, as it were, in one 
 short night turned into worthless dross. 
 But Mr. Morton was not the mari to cry 
 after spilt milk. He had too much good 
 sense left to let these losses break his heart. 
 During his absence on his pilgrimage to the 
 East Mrs. Morton had remained at home, 
 making money faster than he had spent it ; 
 and now, having drummed all his ancient 
 whim-whams out of his head, he again com- 
 menced his old business of sash and blind 
 making on a grander scale than ever. Mrs. 
 Morton continued to ply her magic brush, 
 making all her copies surpass their originals, 
 as heretofore ; and they soon again became 
 more prosperous and happy than ever before. 
 I knew both Mr. and Mrs. Morton well, and 
 for a long term of years. I loved and re- 
 
92 
 
 gpected Mr. Morton for his good, noble and 
 manly qualities. A more genial, social- and 
 kind-hearted man never lived, but he has 
 long since passed hence to that better and 
 brighter world "over there." Setting aside 
 his peculiar whims and oddities, he was a good 
 man, and lived and died ' a gentleman — and 
 ■what more than this can be said in honor of 
 the greatest names ? Peace io his ashes ! and 
 a pyramid of evergreens to his memory ! 
 
 Mrs. Morton was &lady in the best sense 
 of the word, and the embodiment of genius of 
 a high order. Her pictures will go down to 
 posterity side by side with the best American 
 paintings of the first half of the nineteenth 
 century.' All that need further be said in 
 her honor is, that she was a remarkable lady 
 artist. 
 
 A CLERICAL DEAD-BEAT- 
 
 ARTICLE No. 16. 
 
 In my variegated intercourse as a catch cart- 
 man, with the people of the great rpetropolis, 
 I have often observed what appeared to me 
 as very curious and remarkable traits of 
 character in some of them. Why it is so I 
 cannot clearly understand, but it is neverthe- 
 less a stubborn fact that most of those who 
 are termed JiigJi professional men, such as 
 clergymen, lawyers and doctors, as. a general 
 thing are the meanest and most niggardly 
 men in the world to work for. This is not a 
 secret, but a fact well known to most of the 
 New York cartmen — but why it is so, is a 
 secret that I have never yet been able to un- 
 veil. I am very sorry to be compelled to say 
 it, but the classes that I have named are the 
 very smallest of all the small potatoes in the 
 pot — that is as far as my own information and 
 experience go upon the subject. I have 
 been cheated, jewed and insulted more by 
 this class of people, than by all others com- 
 bined. This is neither a " fleetiug show " nor 
 a " delusion," but a sober truth ; and one that 
 ought to make these 7iig7i professionals blush 
 with shame, or immediately mend their ways. 
 
 But how is it on the other hand ? Clergy- 
 men, as a general thing, are fond of large 
 
 salaries — but not content with this, should 
 you happen to be troubled with matrimony 
 on the brain, and employ one of them to mar- 
 ry you, there is not one in a hundred of thepi 
 but would think you a mean man unless you 
 allowed him to kiss your bride, and then 
 made him a present of twenty dollars or up- 
 ward. But, if he should happen to employ a 
 strange cartman to remove his household 
 goods on the first of May, and he should 
 charge him the usual price for so doing, he 
 would look upon him as the meanest man 
 alive. Should you happen to fall down and 
 break your leg, in your haste to escape the 
 pursuit of an unrelenting creditor, your fami- 
 ly doctor would have the cheek to charge you 
 a couple of hundred dollars for resetting it, 
 or for sawing it oflF, as the case might de- 
 mand — but when he employs you to remove 
 his costly piano, should you have the cheek 
 to charge him more than fifty cents therefor, 
 ten to one if he don't accuse you of being ex- 
 tortionate in your charge. And so again 
 with the heartless lawyer. Should you hap- 
 pen to become a little absent-minded, and un- 
 thinkingly appropriate a portion • of your 
 neighbor's goods to your own use, your law- 
 yer would probably charge you from $100 to 
 $500 for lying you out of your " little unpleas- 
 antness " — but should he happen to employ 
 you to take his family baggage down to the 
 Long Branch steamer, and you should have 
 the audacity to charge him a single dollar for 
 the job, he would probably denounce you as 
 a stoindler, and threaten you with a suit at 
 law for overcharging him. Or, what would 
 be still more in character, offer you a quarter 
 for the job, with the additioual professional 
 aavice that, if you want anything more, to 
 go to the devil and get it — meaning, as I take 
 it, that you shall employ a brother lawyer, 
 and pay him $50 for crying to obtain an im- 
 possible verdict in your favor for the other 
 seventy-five cents. 
 
 And now, perhaps, the reader may inquire 
 if these grand representatives of the party of 
 " great moral ideas " are the worst, who in 
 the name of human progress are the best 
 classes to work iox 1 I feel almost ashamed 
 of myself when I make the reply, but the 
 truth may as well be told now as at any other 
 time. Many of the large merchants and bro- 
 kers are gentlemanly in their treatment and 
 liberal in their payment of all those in their 
 employ ; but, taken as a whole, the so-called 
 
93 
 
 sportinpr men and class No. 1 girls of the 
 town — and industrious and intelligent me- 
 chanics — are much the best and most liberal 
 parties to compensate the working man for 
 his labor of any in the city. I am exceeding- 
 ly sorry to be compelled to class the noble 
 American mechanic in the same list with oth- 
 er characters, in every other respect so disrep- 
 utable, but there is no help for it — for in his 
 generdas liberality the American mechanic 
 stands high above the professional man, no 
 matter what may be his calling. But let us 
 to our story. 
 
 I commenced my cartman's life in New 
 York as a wood cartman in 1S3.5, my stand 
 being at the foot of Spring street, N. R. All 
 cartmen in those benighted days had to first 
 graduate from the wharves before they could 
 obtain their diploma to practice their pro- 
 fession on Broadway and other fashionable 
 streets. I think I may truthfully say that I 
 was a trifle greener then than 1 was some ten 
 years later ; but I am afraid that I have been 
 gradually growing greener ever since ; other- 
 wise I should not, at my time of life, be 
 found racking my brains over these half-for- 
 gotten incidents of the past, which probably 
 ' are not read or understood by one in ten of 
 the readers of the Journal. But let that 
 pass. They are, I believe, the ^7's^ series of 
 articles ever written upon this subject, and I 
 think it more than probable that they will be 
 the last. 
 
 As I was saying — or, as I should have said 
 —I was standing on the corner of Spring and 
 West streets, patiently waiting for some one 
 to tender me a job. It was about the middle 
 of November, 1836, just about one year after 
 I had entered the wood-carting college. All 
 of a sudden I felt a gentle tap on my shoul- 
 der, and, turning round to see from whence 
 it came, I discovered a comical looking little 
 old man standing by my side. The stranger 
 was short and pussy in his person, had a very 
 jovial and pleasant looking countenance, 
 sported a pair of gold spectacles and a gold- 
 headed ebony cane, was clothed in a fine suit 
 of faded black broadcloth, and looked a man 
 of about sixty years of age. Addressing 
 himself to me in a. soft, clear, silvery tone of 
 voice, the stranger said : 
 
 "Good-morning, carman. Is there i^y 
 first-class hickory wood on sale on any of the 
 wharves along here to-day ?" 
 
 " About how much would you like to have, 
 sir ?" 
 
 " Oh, I only want a single load to-day. I 
 am not yet quite ready to lay in my Winter's 
 stock." 
 
 " All right, then. Please, sir, follow me 
 down on the dock and I will show you a 
 small lot of about the nicest hickory you ever 
 saw." 
 
 He followed me, was pleased with the wood, 
 and ordered a load. 
 
 " Bring me one load of it up to my house. 
 No. 450 Mulberry street ; and, mind you, oar- 
 man, you put me on a good load, please. 
 You will see my name, Rev. Herman Stag- 
 man, on the door plate. I will be there when 
 you come up, and will settle with you for it." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Stagman ; I'll bring it 
 up to you immediately." 
 
 I took up the wood, and found everything 
 as represented. The old gentleman was very 
 talkative indeed, and seemed greatly pleased 
 wiih the compact manner in which I had 
 loaded the wood. He paid me and thanked 
 me kindly for the honest load of wood I had 
 brought him ; and then, just I was about 
 leaving, he stepped up in front of me and 
 said : 
 
 " Mr. Carman, will you oblige me with 
 your name and number ? I think I shall 
 want to employ you again in the course of a 
 few days." 
 
 I handed hfm my card, and, after giving 
 it a hasty glance, he jocularly remarked : 
 
 "Rather a strong name, Mr. Carman ; but, 
 joking aside, I shall most likely want to 
 engage you to lay in my Winter's wood for 
 me in the course of a few days. The trusty 
 old carman who had been doing my work for 
 me during the last ten years has already ac- 
 cumulated a nice little fortune and has re- 
 moved into the country for the purpose of en- 
 joying it, consequently I am at present with- 
 out a family carman. And now, friend Lyon, 
 if you would like to take his place you can 
 have it. I am very highly pleased, both 
 with yourself personally and with the very 
 compact manner in which you load wood." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Stagman, lor your kind 
 offer. I very kindly accept the position which 
 you "have so generously tendered me as yoJir 
 family cartman. I have been in the city but 
 a short time and have as yet obtained but a 
 tew regular customers. About how soon, air, 
 
94 
 
 wou^d you like to have me brinff your Win- 
 ter's wood ? I should like to know in time, 
 so that I need not disappoint you." 
 
 " Well, I am not very particular as to the 
 time, say the middle of next week or the be- 
 ginning of the week after. Any time in fact 
 when you can obtain the right kind of wood. 
 I am a eash man, and your money will be 
 ready for you whenever you deliver the wood. 
 I shall want five loads." 
 
 I then left, highly elated at my sudden suc- 
 cess in obtaining such a good cash customer 
 and the unsolicited patronage of such a socia- 
 ble and jolly old clergyman. 
 
 On Thursday morning of the following 
 week, when I went down to the wharf, I 
 found a large sloop load of very choice young 
 hickory wood that had arrived during the 
 preceding night. I at once stepped up to the 
 captain and inquired the price. 
 
 " The pric ^ is three dollars and a half a 
 load," he replied, "but the larger portion of it 
 is already engaged. How much of it would 
 you like to have ?" 
 
 "I have an order for just five loads," I re- 
 plied ; "can you spare me that much ?" 
 
 " Yes, but you are an entire stranger to 
 me," said the captain with a good-natured 
 smile. You can have the wood but you will 
 have to pay for it as you take it away or pro- 
 duce a good reference. At any rate I shall 
 want the money before sunset to-morrow aft- 
 ernoon, as I intend to sail for home with the 
 early evening tide." 
 
 " I am wanting this wood for a good old 
 clergyman who always pays cash on delive- 
 ry, so I guess that you have no cause for be- 
 ing alarmed about the pay." 
 
 " Well, you look like an honest man and I 
 will trust you on that recommendation. You 
 can commence loading as soon as you like, 
 the sooner the better, for I want to get un- 
 loaded to-day if possible, so that I can take 
 on board my return cargo to-morrow." 
 
 I brought down my cart and put on a load 
 and took it up to the old dominie's. He was 
 delighted with the wood and told me to hur- 
 ry up with the rest of it before it was all goae. 
 I arrived with the last load about 4 o'clock in 
 the afternoon. 
 
 " That's all right," said the iolly old domi- 
 nie as I dumped the last load. " I have nev- 
 er had a finer lot of wood dumped in front of 
 my door since I have been keeping house. 
 
 and that's quite a long while. Let me see, 
 three and a-half a load for the wood and fifty 
 cents for cartage, that amounts to just an 
 even twenty dollars I believe. Call around 
 on Saturday evening and I will settle with 
 you. I shall draw my quarterly salary in 
 the afternoon of that day and you may con- 
 sider the money just as safe as though you 
 had it in your pocket. " Pay as you go," has 
 always been my motto, and I pride myself on 
 being a cash man." 
 
 Net wishing to offend so good a new cus- 
 tomer, and a cash man, too, I very submis- 
 sively replied : " All right, Mr. Stagman, 
 your Saturday evening proposition is entire- 
 ly satisfactory. The captain of the sloop has 
 been promised his money tomorrow after- 
 noon, but I will try and borrow it of some 
 one. Being but a new beginner in the wood 
 business, my future credit wholly depends on 
 my making good my. promise." 
 
 " Why, gracious me, how funny you talk , 
 friend Lyon ! You really don't suppose that 
 it makes any great difference in the character 
 and standing of a man, whether he pays his 
 bills on the instant or a few days, or even a 
 few weeks hence? Do not all our wholesale 
 merchants sell cash bills at thirty days' credit ? 
 It strikes me that it would be very unreason- 
 able indeed for a man to expect to receive his 
 pay the very moment his work was done. 
 My old carman always used to wait content- 
 edly until it was convenient for me to pay 
 him, and I frequently have to do the same 
 with those who are indebted to me. You will 
 certainly get your pay on Saturday even- 
 ing." 
 
 " I beg you, Mr. Stagman, don't give your- 
 self any further trouble about this business. 
 A day or two one vpay or the other is of no 
 consequence whatever. I don't think that I 
 shall have the least bit of difficulty in bor- 
 rowing the money to pay for the wood." 
 
 It used to be quite as damaging to the fu- 
 ture credit of the cartman to allow his wood 
 bills to remain unpaid after they became due 
 as it would for the merchant to suffer his 
 note at the bank to be protested. So the next 
 morning I borrowed the money of a friend, 
 and paid the captain for the wood. 
 
 " I thought that I was not" deceived in the 
 appearance of my man," said the captain when 
 I handed him the money. 
 
 " Perhaps not," I replied, " but I have been 
 a little bit deceived in my cash-paying old 
 
95 
 
 dominie; but I guess that, it will come out 
 all right." 
 
 Early on Saturday evening I rigged myself 
 up in my Sunday best, and hurried over to 
 Mr. Stagman's after my money. Arriving at 
 the house I rang the bell, which was pres- 
 ently answered by the good old dominie in 
 person. 
 
 " Ah, is that you, Brother Lyon V Good 
 evening. Let me take your hat and overcoat. 
 Yes, of course, you are going to remain and 
 spend the evening with us ? We are entirely 
 without company this evening — nobody here 
 but my own happy little family, consisting 
 of my. three unmarried daughters and my- 
 . self." 
 
 " Well, really, Mr. Stagman, I did not 
 come over for the purpose of making a pro- 
 longed visit, but if agreeable it would afford 
 me unalloyed pleasure to spend a social hour 
 ■with yourself and interesting family." 
 
 " Yes, yes, that's right — this way, Brother 
 Lyon, and I will at once introduce you to my 
 three unmarried daughters (he always sharp- 
 ly emphasized the word unmarried), and I 
 doubt not but that we shall be able to enter- 
 tain you in a very agreeable and becoming 
 manner." 
 
 Saying which he opened the rear side door 
 of the hall, and 1 was ushered into the back 
 parlor. 
 
 "Girls, this is Mr. Lyon, our new family 
 cafman — Mr. Lyon, allow me to introduce 
 you to my three unmarried daughters. Pa- 
 tience, Jerusha and Jemima, all good old 
 Scriptural names. Pleaae take a chair, Broth- 
 er Lyon, and move yourself up to a comfort- 
 able position in front of the grate. Patience, 
 my dear, please get the skuttle and put a lit- 
 tle more coal on the fire, that's a good daugh- 
 ter." 
 
 I am naturally very bashful and diffident 
 in the presence of strangers, but so friendly 
 and winsome were the ways of this united, 
 happy family, that I felt perfectly at home in 
 their presence in less than five minutes. . The 
 old dominie was clad in his best ministerial 
 suit, and the ladies (I cannot call them either 
 young OT Jiandsome) -were a.M *dTessei\ in the 
 most fashionable manner— silks, laces, rib- 
 bons, ruffles and silvery curls in tangled pro- 
 fusion. Dear me, how grand their appear- 
 ance ! and yet how social and agreeable in 
 their demeanor. 
 
 After half an hour's brilliant and rattling 
 conversation cards were produced, and the 
 sprightly and magnificent Patience was as- 
 signed me as a partner. I never before in my 
 life played with such a streak of luck ; and as 
 a consequence Jerusha and her pa were badly 
 beaten every game. Card-playing ended at 
 eight o'clock, when 1 attempted to leave, but 
 the time of my departure had not yet arrived. 
 Refreshments of various kinds were now pro- 
 duced — two kinds of wine (one of which tasted 
 very much like prime cognac brandy), cakes 
 in great variety, sandwiches, pies, nuts and 
 fruit — the feast of dainties and the flow of 
 wine continuing till nine o'clock. The wine 
 was drank in about the same proportions as 
 though it had been tea or coffee ; and 1 now 
 found that I had about as much of it on 
 board as I could conveniently carry. Taking 
 a hint from my feelings on this point, I was 
 just about bidding the ladies good evening, 
 when the festive old domine remarked : 
 
 " Brother Lyon, you have never yet heard 
 me preach, I presume. I have a very nice 
 little church, just round the corner in Hous- 
 ton street, and a very respectable little con- 
 gregation to hear me preach. Suppose that 
 you bring your wife over with you in the 
 morning, and come and hear me preach. You 
 can call at my house and go to church with 
 my unmarried daughters, and sit with them 
 in my family pew. What say you ? I should 
 very much like to have yourself and wife hear 
 me preach. Only say that you will come, 
 and the girls will wait for you." 
 
 " I should very much like to hear you 
 preach, Brother Stagman, and so would my 
 wife ; but we already have an engagement 
 out for to-morrow. We will accept your kind 
 invitation at some other time, good Brother 
 Stagman." 
 
 Finding that I was beginning to both see 
 and talk double, I bade the ladies good-night 
 with the best grace I could command, and re- 
 treated into the hall in quest of tny hat and 
 overcoat. I had entirely forgotten all about 
 the business that had brought me there, and 
 only cared to get once more safely into open 
 air in the street. The old dominie followed 
 me into the hall, and while helping me on 
 with my overcoat casually remarked : 
 
 "Brother Lyon, in regard to that little 
 wood bill, I shall not be able to settle with 
 you to-night. Our treasurer has gone into 
 
96 
 
 tlie country to remaia over tlie Sabbath, 
 and consequently I did not obtain my quar- 
 ter's salary as I anticipated. If you can make 
 it convenient to call over on Monday evening 
 I will then settle with you." 
 
 " You need not give yourself any uneasi- 
 ness at all about that little bill, Brother Stag- 
 man. You can pay it whenever it suits your 
 convenieace. I shall probably not call for it 
 before next Saturday night ; so you need 
 have no fears that I shall call upon you when 
 you are unprepared to meet it. Thanking 
 you for the kind and princely manner in 
 which yourself and three unmarried daugh- 
 ters have entertained me on this ever memo- 
 rable Saturday evening, I now, Brother Stag- 
 man, bid you an affectionate good-night." 
 
 On my return home my wife said to me 
 pretty sharply, " Where in the world have 
 you been until this time of night ? Why, it's 
 nearly ten o'clock !" 
 
 " Well, I have been over to old Dominie 
 Stagman's, I have, and a high old time we've 
 had, too, I can tell you. I do verily believe 
 that, if there is such a thing as a Christian in 
 this wicked world, old Dominie Stagman is 
 the man. Why, he called me Brother Lyon 
 ever so many times, and treated me just the 
 same as he did the rest of his family. 
 And more'n that, he invited me to bring you 
 over with me to-morrow morning to hear him 
 preach — he did." 
 
 " You had a high old time, did you ? It 
 strikes me that the he use of a Christian min- 
 ister is a queer place to have a high old time 
 in. Bat, did you get your pay ? That's the 
 most important question to talk about at the 
 present time." 
 
 "Oh,.no, I forgot to ask him for it, but he 
 reminded me of it himself just as I was leav- 
 ing the house, he did. He's going to pay me 
 next week, sure, he is — but, crackee ! didn't 
 we have a high old time, though ?" 
 
 " What do you mean by your high old time, 
 I should like to know ? Were there any 
 ladies present?" 
 
 " Ladies T Yes, you may bet your life on 
 that— angels, I guess they were, in human 
 form and ball room costume. The old Ao- 
 minie has three M/M/ian'icfZ daughters living at 
 home with him — all splendid girls, I can tell 
 you, and just as clever and sociable as can be. 
 I shouldn't wonder a bit if they were all first 
 class angels in disguise, they looked so radi- 
 
 ant and dazzlingly beautiful. They were all 
 dressed to kill, I can tell you — such grand 
 silks, laces, ribbons and flounces — and, oh, 
 hide your small diminished heads, ye painted 
 theatrical beauties ! Such witching smiles 
 and silvery curls! And, bless me ! didn't we 
 have a high old time !" 
 
 " Why, shame on you ! a body would sup- 
 pose that you had lost your wits, in case yoii 
 ever had any. Pretty goings on in the house 
 of a Christian minister, I must declare I Have 
 you had anything to drink since you have 
 been gone ! Judging from the rambling 
 manner in which you talk, I should think that 
 you were a little boozy." 
 
 " Drink ! boozy ! Oh, yes, I forgot to tell 
 you — we had a magnificent entertainment — 
 every thing good to eat and drink, and plenty 
 of it, too — pies, cakes, oranges, nuts, and the 
 Lord knows what all ! — and two kinds of wine, 
 one of which smelt and tasted for all the world 
 just like French brandy. I tell you, the old 
 dominie must be as rich as Croesus, to be able 
 to furnish such aprincely entertainment. And 
 you better believe it ! — didn't we have a Jdgh 
 old time !" 
 
 " How many glasses did you drink ? Are 
 you sober enough to answer that question ?" 
 
 '■ Well, we had a high old time, we did, and 
 that's about all that I know about it. But, 
 blow me ! if I did not forget to mention it be- 
 fore. Yes, the old dominie — Brother Stag- 
 man, I mean — said we must come over to his 
 house early some Sunday morning, and ac- 
 company his three unmarried daughters to 
 his little church, and sit with them in his 
 snug little family pew, and hear him preach 
 one of his dear little sermons. And you'd 
 better believe me — we shall have a high" 
 
 "Yes, but that don't answer my question, , 
 as regards the quantity of wine you have been . 
 drinking — thaVs what I want to know. I have 
 no great curiousity myself to listen to the 
 preaching of a minister who indulges in such 
 high old times as you are blowing about." 
 
 " Well, Patience and myself played a few 
 games of cards with Jerusha and her pa, and 
 beat them nearly out of their boots — but I 
 didn't drink any more than the rest of them 
 — say a half a dozen glasses each, be the same 
 more or less, I am not certain as to the e:Vact 
 number. But this much I do remember quite 
 distinctly, that we had a high old time gen- 
 erally, and that the bully boy old dominie, as 
 
97 
 
 head of the family, was honored with the 
 largest glass ia the party." 
 
 " And now I think the best thing you can 
 do is to go to bed and sleep this Mrjlb old thne 
 out of your head if possible — and try and keep 
 out of the company of these nJumi old saints 
 and angels in future — tJiat's my advice to you, 
 it is." 
 
 " Thinking that this advice had the ring of 
 the true metal, I adopted it ^ind retired to rest 
 accordingly, ad referendum, as the lawyers 
 say." 
 
 On the following Saturday evening I again 
 went over for my money, but what '-'a change 
 had come over the spirit of my dream !" The 
 old dominie came to the door, and after the 
 customary " good evening,'.' ,again escorted 
 me into his cosy little back parlor. He was 
 not, however, clad in his Sunday regimentals, 
 as on my first visit, but in the faded suit of 
 black he wore when I first saw him ; and his 
 three unmarried daughters had likewise 
 doflfed their angelic costumes and now made 
 their appearance in plain, unpretentious cali- 
 co dresses — no silks, ribbons or furbelows of 
 any kind — no paint, no curls, and but very 
 few cheery smiles, but looking and acting for 
 all the world just like ordinary mortals. 
 What could all this mean V They all looked 
 and acted just as though they had not ex- 
 pected me, or, in other words, just as though 
 they did not care to see me. There were but 
 a few games of cards played, but one small 
 piece of cake was produced, and but one glass 
 of wine was offered. I began to wonder what 
 unpardonable sin I had committed that 
 things should be thusly razeed down almost- 
 to the little end of nothing ; but let the 
 cause be what it might, I was fully deter- 
 mined in my own mind that 1 would not va- 
 cate the premises this time without asking 
 for my money. So j ust after the clock on the 
 mantel had tolled the hour of eight, I hastily 
 rose from my seat and said — 
 
 " Well, Brother Stagman, if you can now 
 let me have the money for that little wood 
 bill, you would greatly oblige me ? The eve- 
 ning is already far advanced and I promised 
 my wife that I would return home early to- 
 night." 
 
 " Yes, yes, all right ! but it seems to me 
 that you are getting rather impatient about 
 that little aifair. I should like very much to 
 settle with you to-night, Brother Lyon, but 
 the thing is utterly Impossible. I have just 
 
 received a note from our treasurer, who in- 
 forms me ' that his aged mother departed this 
 life early yesterday morning, and that in con- 
 sequence of his having to attend her funeral 
 tomorrow,hewill not be able to return to the 
 city before the middle of the coming week ;' 
 so, you see, you will have to bear with me un- 
 til his return. Come over again on next Sat- 
 urday night, and I thinh that I shall be able 
 to make it all right with you ; however, my 
 old carman always used to wait for his 
 money until I notified him that his money 
 was ready for him. I am very sorry to be 
 compelled to disappoint you, sir, but, as a 
 small recompense for the disappointment, I 
 now invite you to come over and hear me 
 preach to-morrow." 
 
 " Thank you) Brother Statrman, Til thirikof 
 it; but I am quite put out in not getting my 
 money to-night ; but seeing that there has 
 been a death in the family of your treasurer, 
 and no help for it, I suppose that I shall have 
 to wait. There will be no disappointment 
 next Saturday night, I trust, for 1 must have 
 the money them." 
 
 " Oh, no, I think there will be no mistake 
 then. But bless me. Brother Lyoa! how 
 very particular you are growing — it can't be 
 expected that a body can always have his 
 pockets full of money. My old carman al- 
 ways used to wait for his money until it was 
 convenient for me to pay him — and if you 
 can't do the same I don't know but I shall 
 have to engage some one else to do my cart- 
 ing. Patience, my dear, will you be kind 
 enough to show Mr. Lyon to the street door ? 
 Good-night, sir." 
 
 On my return home the first salute I re- 
 ceived from my wife was — 
 
 " Well, did you get your pay tonight ? or 
 have you been having another high old time 
 with the old saint and his \hv^Q unmarried 
 angels 'I" 
 
 " A high old time over the left," I replied ; 
 "and as to the old saint and his trio of unmar- 
 ried angels, they are all non est inventus, 
 having dwindled down to the level of ordi - 
 nary mortals. But say no more about it ; I 
 am to have my pay next Saturday night, cer- 
 tain sure." 
 
 The next Saturday night found me again 
 at the old dominie's street door. Thinking 
 that I might perhaps be denied admittance, 
 I gave the bell what I intended should be a 
 very lordly and aristocratic ring. The old 
 
98 
 
 dominie was at the door in an instant, but 
 when he opened it he seemed to look a little 
 disappointed. 
 
 "What! carman, is that you ?" he queried. 
 '• We are not any of us deaf yet, that you 
 lehould alarm the whole neii^hborhood with 
 your furious ringing. What is the trouble 
 with you now ? We certainly did not antici- 
 pate the honor of a visit from you here this 
 evening ; but, since you are here, come with 
 me into the library for a moment, and I will 
 listen to your petition." 
 
 Leading the way, he escorted me into a 
 small rooi-n at the rear end of the hall, which 
 looked much more like a pantry than a li- 
 brary. There was a small lamp burning up- 
 on a table, but there were no signs of any 
 fire in the room. Helping myself to a vacant 
 seat, and looking pretty sternly at the old 
 dominie, 1 said : 
 
 " Well, Mr. Stagman, I intend that my 
 visit here this evening shall be a short one. 
 Has your treasurer returned to the city yet ? 
 I have come over again for my money, and I 
 should like to have it at once, as I have other 
 business to attend to on my return home." 
 
 " Yes, I shall not deny the fact. Our treas- 
 urer has returned ; but he informs me that 
 our treasury is entirely empty ; and — worse 
 still — that I have already overdrawn my last 
 quarter's salary ; consequently I cannot settle 
 with you to night." 
 
 " Mr. Stagman, I do not at all like the man- 
 ner in which you have treated me. I have 
 been waiting upon your empty promises un- 
 til patience has ceased to be a virtue." 
 
 "Why, how's this? Have I not always 
 treated you like a gentleman ? — for I believe 
 it is possible for a carman to be a gentleman 
 —yes, even as though you were one of my 
 own family, and to the best of everything. 
 And yet, how ungrateful and unrele'nting 
 you are toward me in my tribulations !" 
 
 " Mr. Stagman, I am not finding any fault 
 with the manner in which yourself and three 
 unmarried daughters have entertained me ; 
 but I did not expect that you were going lo 
 charge me more than Astor House prices for 
 private hoard.'" 
 
 " Why, what do you mean, sir, by accusing 
 TO6 with charging you for board 1 I wish 
 you to understand, once for all, that I do not 
 keep a hoarding Jiouse." 
 
 " I mean, sir, just exactly this : that as the 
 matter between us now stands you hold twen- 
 ty dollars of ray money in pawn for the one 
 and a half meals of which I have partaken at 
 your private table. That, sir, is what I mean, 
 and I shall so consider it until I have been 
 paid." 
 
 " This last insinuation of yours grieves me 
 almost imto death. I am not, as you impute, 
 either a boarding house keeper or a pawn- 
 broker, but a Christian minister, with a heart 
 filled with love and charity toward all my 
 fellow mortals, who are journeying with me 
 through this world of sighs and tears. And 
 now, will you listen to me, sir? My salary is 
 small and my expenses are unusually heavy ; 
 and the fact is, sir, I have just about as much 
 as I can do to make both ends meet. I have 
 a little loaned money now due me, and if I 
 can manage to collect it during the coming 
 week I will try and settle with you on next 
 Saturday evening. Situated as I am at pres- 
 ent, this is the best promise I can make 
 you." 
 
 " Well, sir, I shall come over again on next 
 Saturday evening- — and for the last time, let 
 me tell you^and I trust that you will be 
 prepared to pay me, tor I shall expect it." 
 
 " I will do the best I can for you, although 
 it appears to me that you are rather hard 
 upon me. But I have not yet seen you at my 
 little church around the corner. I have been 
 preparing a very interesting sermon on the 
 vanity of human riches and the wickedness 
 of the world in general, which I intend 
 to preach to-morrow. You had better come 
 over and hear it, and perhaps it may mollify 
 your bad feelings toward me a little." 
 
 " I'll think of it," I replied, as the old domi 
 nie closed the street door upon me. 
 
 " All right — got your pay of the old domi- 
 nie to-night, I suppose ?" my wife sneeringly 
 inquired the moment I entered the door. 
 
 " No, not to-night ; but I think I now have 
 it in a pretty good shape for collection. He 
 has faithfully promised to do the best he can 
 for me next Saturday night, and I think he 
 will doit." 
 
 " Oh, yes — he has promised you, of course ; 
 but what are his promises worth ? He's en- 
 tirely too smart for you, and you will, no 
 doubt, find him as big & dead-beat as the rich 
 old Jew who diddled you out of two loads of 
 wood less than three months ago." 
 
99 
 
 " I have informed the old dead heat, as you 
 call him, that I am coming over next Satur- 
 day night for the last time, and shall expect 
 to be paid then, without any if's or and's 
 about it. And by the ' great Eternal !' as 
 General Jackson says, if he don't pay me then, 
 there will be a higher old time on his premises 
 than he has ever before witnessed there. / 
 have said it, and I mean it too." 
 
 On the Saturday morning in question a 
 very gentlemanly-looking old cartman came 
 up to me on the stand, and said : 
 
 " Friend carman, I think I saw you dump- 
 ing some wood in front of old Dominie Stag- 
 man's, in Mulberry street, a few weeks ago. 
 It is not any particular business of mine, I 
 know, and then again it is ; but did you get 
 your pay for it ? Curiosity as well as self-in- 
 terest prompts me to inquire ?" 
 
 " Well, yes, I took him Sve loads of wood 
 about four weeks ago, but have not yet been 
 paid for it — why do you inquire 1" 
 
 " Do you ever expect to be paid for it ? If 
 you do I fear that you will find yourself sad- 
 ly mistaken. That old reprobate owes me 
 for five loads of wood that I furnished him 
 more than two years ago, and I know several 
 other carmen who are in the same predica- 
 ment. The fact is, he never pays anybody, 
 and I would not give five cents for all he 
 owes you. I do not like to prosecute myself, 
 on account of his being a clergyman, and he 
 knows it — but I wish somebody else would." 
 " Well, he has promised to pay me to-night, 
 and if he don't do it I'll push him into a 
 court of justice on Monday morning— this I 
 am determined upon. His cloth shan't save 
 him from a prosecution on my part at any 
 rate, whether I get my money or not." 
 
 " His promise is not worth a straw, and 
 you'll find it so. I hope that you may get 
 your money, but I don't believe it— if you do 
 it will be pomething worth bragging about." 
 " But he told me that his old carman- 
 meaning you, I suppose — never pushed him 
 for your pay, but always waited patiently un- 
 til it was convenient for him to settle with 
 you, and also that you had accumulated a 
 nice little fortune, and had moved into the 
 country to enjoy it." 
 
 " The lying old hypocrite will promise you 
 everything, but he never performs anything, 
 unless it is a repetition of his barefaced lies. 
 As I said before, I would not give you five 
 
 *13 
 
 cents for your claim, unless I intended to go 
 there and boai'd it out. He is always very 
 liberal in entertaining his creditors so long 
 as they don't dun him. My prediction is that 
 you will never get a cent of money out of 
 him." 
 
 No. 450 Mulberry was the point that mostly 
 attracted my attention that night. Arriving 
 at the door I gave the bell a gentle ring, in- 
 tending to convey the impression that there 
 was a lady at the entrance. 
 
 The old dominie soon made his appearance, 
 and, on opening the door, rather tartly ex- 
 claimed : — 
 
 " What ! you here again, sir ? I really was 
 in hopes that you would relieve me of your 
 presence for to-night at least. I shall not, 
 however, ask you to come in, for I have no 
 money (or you." 
 
 " Yes, sir, I am here again, and for the last 
 time, and I don't intend to leave your premis- 
 es until I have been paid." 
 
 " Why, bless me, sir ! you are getting to be 
 mighty independent. My old carman never 
 talked to me in this manner — but kind, gentle 
 old soul that he was ! he always used to wait 
 for his money until it was convenient for me 
 to pay him, and if you can't do the same, I 
 shall feel it my duty to discharge you." 
 
 " By the way, I had a short interview with 
 your old carman this morning, and he inform- 
 ed me that you are still owing him for five 
 loads of wood which he furnished you two 
 years ago ; and he also informed me that 
 he has not, and never had, any thoughts of 
 removing into the country. He sayR that you 
 are an old dead-heat!" 
 
 " Dead-beat 1 What does he mean by that ? 
 The truth is, carman, I should like to pay 
 you, but I solemnly declare on the word and 
 honor of a clergyman, that I have not at pres- 
 ent a single dollar at my command. If you 
 will be kind enough to bear with me a little 
 longer, until I can collect some money, the 
 moment I get it I will bring it over to you." 
 " Sir, I have heard quite enough of this 
 kind of talk, and I now fully believe you to 
 be just what your old carman declared you to 
 be— a dead-heat. The next time that you 
 hear from me will be through the medium 
 of an officer of the law— do you understand 
 that 1 " 
 
 " What do you mean, sir ?— how's this ?— 
 you don't intend to sue me, do you? I 
 
100 
 
 sbouldn't like that a bit, Oh, no, you would 
 not sue a clergyman ? " 
 
 " I cannot help whether you like it or not 
 — that's your business, not mine — but, if com- 
 pelled to leave this house without my money, 
 yon may expect to have a summoua served 
 upon you within twenty minutes after the 
 courts open on Monday morning." 
 
 " Well, well, sir, if it has come to this, I 
 will settle with you now and have done with 
 you. I will not keep a man in my employ 
 who cannot wait for his pay until it suits my 
 convenience to pay him." 
 
 Saying which the old dominie rushed off 
 int0 the back parlor, and in, a moment re- 
 turned with a well filled pocket book in his 
 hand. 
 
 " There, sir, is your money," said he, count- 
 ing out four five dollar bills — " take it, and 
 with it take your discharge from my employ- 
 ment forever." 
 
 " Yes, sir, all right sir, that's the right way 
 to diacharge a bill as well as a carman ; this 
 suits me exactly. But, sir, on the word and 
 honor of a carman, you have a nice pile of 
 money there for a man who hadn't a dollar 
 at his command a moment ago." 
 
 " None of your insolence, sir ; you have now 
 got your money, and there sir, is my outer 
 door, and the sooner you place yourself on 
 the other side of it the better I shall like 
 
 ", Yes, sir, I think I ought to know pretty 
 well where your street door is by this time, for 
 I have been through it often enough. But be- 
 fore leaving your hospitable mansion forever, 
 permit me to say that you are a very bad 
 man, a wolf in sheep's clothing, and a very 
 black sheep in the clerical flock. Yes, sir, 
 you have disgraced your cloth as a clergy- 
 man, you are not a person fit to wear the 
 gown and surplice ; you are, sir — no sir, you 
 are not a gentleman, but a clerical dead-heat." 
 
 "Out of my house this minute, you inso- 
 lent fellow you, or I will cane you out. Pa- 
 tience, my dear ! Jemima ! Jerusha ! Zounds ! 
 Patience ! who re are you ? Here, quick ! you 
 jade, you ! hand me my cane, or the poker, or 
 anything else you can lay your hands upon 
 — quick ! I want to pound the insolence out 
 of this i mpudent vagabond if he don't vacate 
 my premises this instant. Go to, villain 
 Begone, I say !" 
 
 " Yes ,sir, I am now ready to leave ; but le 
 toe repeat it for your benefit, you have proved 
 
 yourself a very bad man, and are not fit to 
 preach the Gospel of Christ — no, not even 
 to the most benighted heathen," 
 
 " What, sir, you doubt my Christianity, do 
 you 1 me,, who have been a preacher of the 
 Gospel and a shining light in the Church for 
 forty years ? On what grounds do you doubt 
 my Christianity? you who never yet heard 
 me preach, I believe, have you ? Go to, I 
 say, you're a bad man yourself." 
 
 " I am now ready to leave, sir, but had we 
 not better part in peace and friendship ? I 
 now wish you a very good evening, Mr. Stag- 
 man ; and, permit me to add, may your fu- 
 ture life and conduct be an improvement on 
 your past and present. But, Brother Stag- 
 man, shall I not come over and hear you 
 preach to morrow morning ?" 
 
 "Don't brother me, you wicked wretch, 
 you ! Begone, I say, and let me hear no 
 more of your provoking insolence. But, bad- 
 ly as you have treated me, I now tender you 
 my parting blessing." 
 
 As I trotted down the front steps the street 
 door came to with a bang that startled up the 
 slumbering echoes for blocks around, but I no 
 longer heeded or dreaded the old dominie's 
 fury. 
 
 On my arrival home my wife rather sarcas- 
 ticly exclaimed—" Returned again the same 
 as you went, I suppose, with empty pockets ?" 
 
 "Eureka!" I shouted. "And now whatdo 
 you think about the old deadbeat? I have 
 received my pay in full — but didn't we have a 
 JiigJi old time though !" 
 
 " Never mind about your 7dg7i old time — I 
 have heard quite enough of that — but, if you 
 have got your pay, hurry out and get a nice 
 piece of beef for dinner tomorrow, before all 
 the best pieces are engaged." 
 
 The shop was quite crowded, and wishing 
 to play big, as almost every person does who 
 has twenty dollars in his pockt t, T offered the 
 butcher one of my five dollar bilh in pay- 
 ment for the meat. The butchi r g ive the 
 bill a hasty glance, and then handing it back 
 to me, said : " Can't take that bill, sir ; Can- 
 adian money is away down below par*, at 
 present not worth over eighty Jim cents on the 
 dollar." " ' '■ 
 
 " Why, it ought to be good," I replied, " I 
 got it of a minister of the Gospel of 40 years' 
 standing." 
 
 "No matter if you got it of a minister of 
 the Gospel of a hundred years' standing, it is 
 
101 
 
 worth ouly eighty-live cents on the dollar 
 anyhow, and I don't care to take it at that." 
 I Jooked over the rest of my money, but it 
 was all on the same bank. I said nothiug, 
 but inwardly wished that it had been coun- 
 terfeit money, so that I could have had the 
 old dead heat arrested for passing it on me. 
 Happening to be down in Wall street the 
 next Monday afternoon, I thought I would 
 call into the office of a young friend who had 
 just engaged in the brokerage business, and 
 sell my money for what I could get for it." 
 
 " Here, Charley," I said, throwing the bills 
 down upon the counter, " what is the true 
 value of that money '?" 
 
 " Those Canadian banks are all rather 
 nhaky just now, and their bills sell for all 
 all kinds of prices. We are at present pay- 
 ing from 85 to 87 cents on the dollar for this 
 kind of money — the highest we can gei fur it 
 is 90 cents." 
 
 " Well, I took this money as good for the 
 face of it — what is the highest figure you can 
 allow me for it ?" 
 
 " Seeing that is you, friend Lyon, I will al- 
 low you the full value ol it this time — 90 
 cents on the dollar." 
 
 " Well, seeing it's you, Charley, I guess 
 you may as well take it — but may the devil 
 choke the rascally old dominie who passed it 
 to me for good money." 
 
 Such are the kind of customers that the 
 New York cartmen have to contend with — 
 and such were my unprofitable adventures 
 with that miserable old clerical dead-beat. 
 
 Nota bene. — In justice to the high character 
 and standing of ths New York clergy of those 
 days, I will here state the startling fact 
 (which I ascertained about a year after- 
 wards) that my whilom brother, the Bev. 
 Herman Stagman, was not then, and 
 never had been, a preacher of the gos- 
 pel — but that, on the other hand, he 
 was one of the biggest unhung villains in 
 the city,he having been guilty of nearly every 
 crime in the Decalogue except murder. At 
 the time of which I am writing he kept a 
 " policy office " on the very spot upjn which 
 he represented his " little church " to stand, 
 and was reputed to be worth over a hundred 
 thousand dollars. It was also currently re- 
 ported that his three charming, unmarried 
 daughters were among the most expert fe- 
 male shop-lifters in the city at that time. 
 
 Verily, verily, as a whole, they were one of 
 the " fleeting shows" of the metropolis, and 
 for the delectable amusement of such green- 
 horns as myself, a " delusion given." But 1 
 learned a lesson that was of service to me in 
 after years — " Let us have peace." 
 
 BOOKS, AUCTIONS AND AUCTION" 
 EERS-First Part. 
 
 ARTICLE No. 17. 
 
 It is even so — a New York book auction 
 room is one of the modern " curiosities of 
 American literature," and a New York book 
 auctioneer, if he understands his business, is 
 a man of sterling wit and boundless intelli- 
 gence. There are, however, very few such 
 now-a days. During my residence in the 
 city I spent many hundreds of my evenihgs 
 in the different book auction rooms located 
 there — and I can therefore, as I think, speak of 
 their many faults and attractions, from my per- 
 sonal knowledge thereof. To a person of liter- 
 ary turn of mind a book auction room possess- 
 es quite as many attractions as a theatre ; for, 
 in the former, you enjoy fun and information 
 combined, while in the latter you enjoy but 
 a " fleeting show for man's delusion given ! " 
 There is always some satisfaction in seeing 
 and handling a rare and valuable book, and 
 hearing its secret history descanted upon, 
 even if you are not able to become the owner 
 of it. , 
 
 There is also another very singular circum- 
 stance connected with books and those who 
 sell them, that may very justly be denomina- 
 ted another of the modern " curiosities of 
 American literature," and it is this. In my 
 day and generation I have been a great deal 
 among books and booksellers, both public 
 and private, but I have rarely met with a 
 bookseller who knew anything about the 
 character of the books that passed through 
 his hands, beyond the prioe fixed upon them 
 by the publishers. The exceptions to this 
 rule are generally to be found among the 
 dealers in old second-hand books — such as 
 John Doyle and Talbot Watts in Nassau 
 
 street, and William Gowans and Burns 
 
 in Fulton street. 
 
102 
 
 All these men used to deal largely in old 
 books, and always knew what they were 
 about. They all had bibliomania on the 
 brain to a greater or less extent ; but it was 
 more a love of books for the dollars and cents 
 which they brought into their coflfers, than 
 for any desire they had to read them them- 
 selves, although they were all well-read men. 
 Old Johnny Doyle, as his friends used to call 
 him, was an Irishman, and commenced life 
 by peddling books through the streets in a 
 market-basket fifty years ago. He styled his 
 book palace in Nassau street " The Grand 
 Centre of Life and Knowledge." Having ac- 
 cumulated quite a fortune, he sold out his 
 entire stock at auction about twenty five years 
 ago. Old Talbot Watts (husband of Mrs. 
 Watts, the actress) was an Englishman by 
 birth, and was once secretary to the British 
 Embassy at Japan. He was decidedly smart 
 — had a sinister eye, that gave him a fright- 
 ful appearance, and was nearly as big a hum- 
 bug as our modern hero with the evil eye. 
 He was the inventor of " Watts' Nervous 
 Antidote," which had a large sale throughout 
 this country twenty-five years ago. It was 
 about as great a humbug as a modern " gift 
 enterprise," but he reaped a fortune out of its 
 sale before our cute Yankees discovered the 
 cheat. He was also the author of a very 
 curious and entertaining book on the " Man- 
 ners and Customs of the Japanese." Wil- 
 liam Gowans was a Scotchman by birth, but 
 came to this country while quite a young 
 man. He was a man well-read in both an- 
 cient and modern literature, and could readi- 
 ly discern the value of an old book at a 
 glance. His store used to be in Fulton street, 
 opposite St. Paul's churchyard — a large three- 
 story brick building, filled with books from 
 basement to attic. He was the republisher 
 of a number of scarce American books on his 
 own account. Burns was also a Scotchman 
 by birth, and kept his store on the corner of 
 Fulton and Nassau streets. He, too, was 
 well posted in his knowledge of books, both 
 old and new, and always bid with j udgment. 
 Of course it was the object of all these old 
 sharpers to buy cheap and sell dear, for it 
 was their business to make money — if they 
 could. You might go into the store of any 
 one of the four here named, and inquire for 
 any book you could think of, and if they had 
 it they would tell you so at once ; and if they 
 had not the book you wanted themselves, 
 
 they would inform you where was the most 
 likely place to find it, also the price of it, and 
 whether it was worth buying. But I have 
 olten called at the large and fashionable 
 bookstores on Broadway and inquired for a 
 book published some ten or fifteen years be- 
 fore, and the reply has almost invariably 
 been : — " We do not know anything at all 
 about the book you inquire for, its price or 
 character, but if it is to be had we can ob- 
 tain it for you in the course of a few days. 
 You can leave a small deposit, if you like, 
 and if the book is to be found, we will pro- 
 cure it fer you at the lowest market price." 
 To which my reply has generally been : 
 — " No, thank you ; I don't do business in 
 that way." But if you ask any of these fash- 
 ionably-clad, empty-headed ignoramuses the 
 name and price of the latest sensation novel, 
 they can tell it you in an instant — almost as 
 quick as your groceryman can tell you the 
 name and price of a kit of No. 3 mackerel. 
 
 Twenty years ago there were three promi- 
 nent book auction rooms in New York, all 
 located within musket shot of each other. 
 Bangs, Merwin & Co., in Park Row ; Jordan 
 & Morton, in Broadway, near Franklin street ; 
 and Rawdon & Lyman, corner of Broadway 
 and White street. They all used to do a large 
 business in the sale of boeks, engravings, au- 
 tographs and other literary property, there 
 being ten sales then where there ie one now. 
 I used to be a nightly attendant at the sales 
 of one or the other of these establishments 
 about six months of each year, and as a mat- 
 ter of course I have witnessed the sale of sev- 
 eral hundred thousand volumes of books un- 
 der the auctioneer's hammer. During the 
 intervening years from 1850 to 1855 1 pur- 
 chased a great many valuable books on my 
 own account, most of which I bought on spec- 
 ulation, and resold again at a profit. I only 
 bought when they were sold cheap, and being 
 always on the spot I had a chance to secure 
 many good bargains. 
 
 I frequently attended the sales at Park 
 Row, but very seldom made any purchases 
 there. Merwin was the auctioneer, but I 
 never thought him fitted for the position. He 
 had but little knowledge of books himself, 
 and knew but little of their value, except 
 what he obtained from the bidders in front 
 of him, and consequently he never dwelt 
 lipon them a moment after the bidding 
 ceased. If they happened to bring a good 
 
103 
 
 price, well and good ; and if they were 
 knocked down for a quarter of tiaeir value, 
 all the same. I have often known him to ob- 
 tain good prices for his books, but it was on 
 account of a lively competition among the 
 buyers, who would run them up to a high 
 price in spite of him. Occasionally he would 
 allow his dander to get up a little, when he 
 would knock down a valuable book for little 
 or nothing before his buyers were half done 
 bidding on it. He was also great on massing 
 his books, so that he might rush through a 
 catalogue with as little talking as possible. 
 I once knew him to set up, all in one lot, the 
 whole stock of a retail bookseller, consisting 
 of some 500 or 600 volumes, and knock them 
 down at, I think, five cents a volume. They 
 were all bound books, and many of them bore 
 the retail mark of ten and twelve shillings. 
 This might have been fun for him and joy to 
 the purchaser, but it must have been disap- 
 pointment nigh unto death to the owner of 
 the books. 
 
 At another time there was sent to Bangs, 
 Merwin & Co. for sale a large collection of 
 very rare and curious old books, among 
 which was a file of the Pennsylvania Gazette, 
 48 numbers in ail, printed by Benjamin 
 Franklin in 1730-'31. They were all cata- 
 logued in one lot, which was a bad arrange- 
 ment for their owner and very distasteful to 
 the audience. They were all in splendid con- 
 dition, bright, clean and unwrinkled as when 
 they first came from the press. On the night 
 of their sale a large and select audience was 
 present, many of whom had come there hop- 
 ing to secure a single copy of that rare old 
 newspaper as a keepsake. Some twenty gen- 
 tlemen present manifested their willingness 
 to pay from $3 to $5 for a single copy, but 
 none of them appeared to be ambitious to 
 purchase the whole lot. But Merwin would 
 not deviate a hair from the catalogue, and 
 when they came up for sale he put them all 
 up in one lot. I wanted one or two of them 
 myself, but did not feel able to buy the whole 
 of them except on speculation. I had never 
 seen any of them sold before and consequent- 
 ly I did not know how much it would be safe 
 to bid for them. I had about $40 in my pock- 
 et and made up my mind that there would be 
 money in them if I could secure them for that 
 amount. They <vere finally offered for sale4io 
 the highest bidder without a single word in 
 reference to their rarity or value. It was 
 
 some moments before there was a bid on 
 them, and Merwin threatened to pass them 
 unless he had a hid instantly. This brought 
 out a bid of $5, and he was just on the point 
 of knocking them down for that price when 
 $6 was bid. The bidding now became very 
 spirited, and they soon run up to $33. Just 
 as the hammer was coming down I made mv 
 first bid, $34. I was not long in ascertaining 
 that my opponent was determined to ha,VB 
 them at any price, so I gave up the chase at 
 $41. They were then knocked down to old 
 Tad Pratt's agent for $41.50 — thus demon- 
 strating the fact that the ex-tanner's purse 
 was longer than the ex-cartman's. Old Tad 
 never attended the sales himself, but he al- 
 ways had his agent present fully empowered 
 to purchase any book on the catalogue that 
 he had marked, no matter what the price. 
 
 Jordon & Norton had the largest and best 
 room for showing off books of any in the 
 city. It was about two hundred feet in depth, 
 and contained sufficient table room to place 
 10,000 volumes on exhibition at the same time. 
 During their first year they did an immense 
 amount of business, but it was done very 
 loosely, ttey being most of the time in a 
 wrangle with some one of their customers. 
 Jordon was the auctioneer, and a pretty mess 
 he often made of it. He knew about as much 
 about the character and value of the books 
 that he sold as a Hindoo idol does about the 
 Christian religion. I doubt if he had ever 
 read a book through in his life. Having had 
 no previous experience in the business, as a 
 matter of course he knew nothing about the 
 tricks of an old auctioneer, and consequently 
 there was no sliam bidding at any of his sales. 
 He was honest, but ignorant, and always 
 knocked down a book to the highest bidder. 
 
 The first of their sales that 1 ever attended 
 was what is termed a lot sale — that is, the 
 books offered for sale were small lots sent 
 there by different parties. After his cata- 
 logue had been made up and printed, some 
 one sent him a bag of books, represented as 
 containing one hundred and fifty volumes. 
 They were evidently put into the bag for con- 
 venience of transportation, with the expecta- 
 tion that they would be taken out, classified 
 and entered on the catalogue, either singly 
 or in lots corresponding to their value. But 
 Jordon thought differently. Being sent to 
 him in a bag he at once concluded that it was 
 the intention of their owner that he should 
 
104 
 
 sell tliem in the bag and by the bag. So, 
 wlien the hour for commencing the sale ar- 
 rived Jordon took his place at the desk and 
 said : 
 
 " Gentlemen, here's a bag of books, said to 
 contain one hundred and fifty volumes, sent 
 here for sale after the present catalogue had 
 been printed. They will be sold veithout re- 
 serve to the highest bidder. How much shall 
 I have for them ? I have not opened the bag 
 to see what kind of books they are — shall sell 
 them to you, bag and all, just as we received 
 them — ' unsight, unseen/ as the boys say, 
 when swapping knives. How much shall I 
 have bid for the lot and take the chances ? 
 Can have them at your own price — how much 
 shall I have for the lot ? Thank you, sir ; I 
 have a dollar and a halt bid for the bag and 
 contents, and that by a stranger, tco. Are 
 you all done at a dollar and a half? Can't 
 dwell on these small lots — bid quick or you 
 will lose them — all done ? Then, down they 
 go at a dollar and half for the lot. What's 
 the name, sir ?" 
 
 "Lyon." 
 
 " All right, Mr. Lyon ; you have a bargain 
 there worth roarinc/ over. I doubt not but 
 that you will find some very readable books 
 in your collection. We will now proceed with 
 the catalogue." 
 
 Well, I did find some of them verv' reada- 
 ble indeed, so much so that I retained five of 
 them for my own private library, and for 
 which I would not accept a $10 greenback 
 today. I catalogued the remainder, and 
 took them back for Jordan to resell a few 
 weeks after — and despite his bungling man- 
 ner of selling, they netted m.'* a trifle over 
 $17. Bat, didn't the former owner of the 
 books give Jordan particular jessie, for sel- 
 ling his valuable collection of books by the 
 hag fall ! 
 
 During the next three years I was a fre- 
 quent attendant at the salesroom of Jordon 
 & Morton. One day I noticed among the 
 books upon the table for sale that evening a 
 venerable old English folio volume, sand- 
 wiched in among a lot of second-hand 
 American books of rather commonplace 
 character. Inscribed upon its back in large 
 letters was the plain, simple word, "Tryals." 
 Curiosity prompted me to take it up and ex- 
 amine it. The volume was wholly composed 
 of original pamphlet reports of the trials of 
 
 the so-called Popish conspirators during the 
 reign of Charles IL of England, in the years 
 1678-9 and '80— instigated, as all the world 
 knows, by that God-forsaken villain, Titua 
 Oates. They were some fifteen in number, 
 all full, complete and in perfect order, having 
 been carefully collected and preserved by 
 some curious old bookworm of that day, for 
 the enlightenment of future generations. I 
 had not seen anything like them before, and 
 have not since — and it is a question in my 
 mind, whether there is another full collection 
 of them in this form in existence to-day, 
 certainly not outside the British Maseum. I 
 at once made up my mind that 1 would be 
 the owner of that volume within the next 
 twenty-four hours, or compel somebody else 
 to pay a big price for it. 
 
 I went down early to the sale, not expect- 
 ing that there would be much of a turnout, 
 as the old " Tryals " was the only volume on 
 the catalogue of any value in my eyes ; but 
 what was my chagrin when I found the room 
 filled by the whole army of old book buyers 
 and their agents. I now felt and believed 
 that the whole crowd was after the same cov- 
 eted old volume, and well knowing that the 
 purses of most of them were longer than 
 mine, 1 had about made up mind that I should 
 lose my prize. The volume in question stood 
 No. 40 on the catalogue, and would soon be 
 reached. The sale commenced, and th«? bfd- 
 ding was unusually spirited for such a col- 
 lection. Finally the book that I supposed 
 everybody was waiting for was reached. Jor- 
 don took it up and said, " Here's an old vol- 
 ume of trials of some kind ; please give me 
 a bid for it ; you can have it at your own 
 price." No bid was oflfered, and he continued, 
 " I say, Lyon, this is something in your line, 
 I believe ; give me a bid for it; it's worth 
 something to strap your razor on ; you can 
 have it at your own price." " Well," I said, 
 " I guess it's worth twenty-five cents, any- 
 how." " Thank you ; 1 have twenty -five cents 
 bid for the old trials ; there is certainly enough 
 of them in hulk to be worth more money, but 
 they go t'j Lyon for twenty-five cents." "Hold 
 on!" shouted a dozen voices, "we are not 
 dona bidding yet ; one dollar is bid — t wo ! 
 three ! four ! five !" " Can't take your bids 
 now, gentlemen," coolly replied Jordon ; "you 
 arft 'all too late ; the book has been fairly pur- 
 chased by Mr. Lyon. Next book, if you please, 
 Mr. Morton." The secret waa now out of the 
 
105 
 
 bag, and it appeared that about half the au 
 dience were there for the express purpose of 
 buying the old " Tryals '^ at almost any 
 price ; but by being too overcautious at the 
 start they allowed the person whom they least 
 expected to bid on it at all to carry off the 
 prize at the twentieth part of its value. I 
 was offered $10 for my purchase in ten min- 
 utes after I bought it, but I thought that I 
 had obtained it cheap enough to afford to 
 keep it myself. It requires some judgment 
 and a little strategy, as well as a general 
 knowledge of the character of the auctioneer, 
 to buy books cheap at auction. Jordon was 
 an honest auctioneer, but not a smart one. 
 
 There was an old gentleman of the name 
 of Hall, who had been largely in the book- 
 trade in New York during the last forty years. 
 He was then about 70 years of age, and was 
 quite wealthy. He was fair and square in all 
 his dealings with his fellow men, which is a 
 circumstance worth remembering in these de- 
 generate days of gift enterprises /or a consid- 
 eration. He introduced into New York more 
 rare and valuable old English books than all 
 other importers combined. He accepted or- 
 ders from and purchased scarce and valuable 
 books for half the public and private libraries 
 in the United States, on which he charged a 
 moderate commission. It was his custom to 
 make two trips t® England each year, and 
 while there he made it his business to pur- 
 chase all the books that came in his way — al- 
 ways at his own price — which he immediate- 
 ly shipped -to New York. Whenever he ar- 
 rived in England his first movement was to 
 make himself acquainted with the names of 
 all the notabilities who possessed large and 
 valuable libraries who had died during his 
 absence. As a general thing the younger 
 members of the families of these defunct old 
 dignitaries into whose hands these old libra- 
 ries had passed, were anxious to get rid of 
 these old worm-eaten books at almost any 
 price, so that they could replace them witla 
 large, handsome, grandly gilt and varnished 
 new wooden volumes of the more modern and 
 fashionable authors, whose wofks were but 
 a " fleeting shew for man's delusion given." 
 Mr. Hall would sometimes buy these old 
 libraries in bulk, sometimes at so much a 
 volume for the whole, and at other times at so 
 much a ton — but always without any refer- 
 ence to the difference ia the value of the 
 books. It would be safe to say that he al- 
 
 ways bought them cheap. Ou the arrival of 
 his books in New York, his first business 
 would be to sort them over carefully, select 
 out such of them as had been ordered, and 
 dispatch them to the persons who had ordered 
 them. Having thus disposed of all the books 
 that had been ordered, he would then cata- 
 logue the remainder and send them to an 
 auction room to be sold to the highest bid- 
 der, without reserve. 
 
 Early in September, 1853, Mr. Hall arrived 
 in the city with his last semi annual impor- 
 tation of books, amounting in number to 
 twenty odd thousand volumes in all. As it 
 was the last, so it was the largest and most 
 valuable collection that he had ever imported 
 at one time, consisting of all the old books 
 embraced in the combined libraries of five 
 defunct old noblemen, two of which he had 
 purchased in hulk, and the other three by 
 the ton. Many of tliese books — but few of 
 which had been ordered — were of the rarest 
 and most valuable kind to be found in Eng- 
 land, having been hoarded and preserved 
 with the greatest care by the ancestors of 
 these noble old families for unknown genera- 
 tions. The very thought of thus fooling 
 with books of such priceless value is enough 
 to make an old^antiquary butt his brains out 
 with grief and shame at such wliolesale des- 
 ecration. 
 
 Mr. Hall carefully catalogued this magnifi- 
 cent collection, and sent them to Jordon & 
 Morton for sale. The catalogue contained 
 nearly 5,000 lots, and was arranged to oc- 
 cupy twelve evenings in their sale. Many of 
 the most valuable books in the collection 
 were placed early in the catalogue for the 
 first evening's sale, so as to draw a large 
 audience, and give the catalogue a good 
 start. Heretofore Mr. Hall had sent his 
 books to the salesroom of Rawdon & Lymau ; 
 but having had some little difiiculty with 
 them over the proceeds of his last sale, he 
 concluded that he would send this his last 
 importation to Jordon & Morton. 
 
 The sale commenced on Monday evening. 
 An extra number of catalogues had been 
 printed and distributed broadcast all over the 
 country. I went down to the sale, but not 
 with the most distant expectation of buying a 
 single volume. There were lots of books on the 
 catalogue that I should like to have had, but I 
 knew very well that the price at which they 
 would most likely sell would be entirely be- 
 
lOG 
 
 yond my limited reacTi. When I arrived at 
 the salesroom I found that every seat was al- 
 ready filled, and not much more than half 
 the audience seated at that. Among those 
 who had obtained the best seats I noticed a 
 large number of the most plucky old book 
 buyers from all parts of the country ; and it 
 was quite evident from the manner in which 
 each one was scanning his catalogue that 
 there would be some pretty lively competi- 
 tion among them when the sale commenced. 
 When Jordan came forward for the pur- 
 pose of opening the sale, I was standing close 
 along side of his desk, noticing which he 
 passed an old stool over the railing, and in a 
 low tone of voice said : " Mr. Lyon, you have 
 doubtless been hard at work all day — will 
 you accept this stool for the evening — it is 
 the best seat I have at hand to offer you — it 
 will be better than no seat at all." Thank- 
 ing him for his politeness, I gladly accepted 
 the stool, and at once seated myself thereon. 
 As will be seen hereafter, this little unpre- 
 meditated act of kindness on the part of Mr. 
 Jordan caused the discontinuance of the sale 
 of that splendid catalogue of books in less 
 than an hour thereafter, which resulted in a 
 loss of several thousand dollars to their own- 
 er. 
 
 Mr. Jordan having taken his place at the 
 desk, briefly said : — " Gentleman, the sale of 
 this vast collection of old English books will 
 now commence. They belong to our old 
 friend, Mr. Hall, now at my side. They are 
 his last importation, and he informs me that 
 some of them are very valuable ; of this you 
 will be your own jufiges. I shall sell them 
 without reserve to the highest bidder, for 
 cash on delivery. Bid lively and I will give 
 you all good bargains. I shall sell every 
 book offered if I get a bid on it. As on all 
 former occasions, the sale will be a fair and 
 square one. Mr. Hall will warrant every 
 book as described in the catalogue, but re- 
 serves to himself the right to discontinue the 
 sale at his option." 
 
 The sale then commenced, and the first ten 
 lots being of but little value, were knocked 
 down rapidly at a few cents each. Lot No. 
 11 was two old quarto volumes of travels, 
 profusely illi strat d, " How much shall I 
 have a volume for the old travels ?" said Jor- 
 dan. " Give me a bid and I'll sell them ; 
 anything you please." No bid was offered. 
 '* Come, Lyon ; this old work is in your line 
 
 — give me a bid." " Well, twenty-five cents, 
 if you want a bid badly," I replied. " The 
 king of the forest bids twenty-five cents ; shall 
 I have any more? Only twenty-five cents. Are 
 you all done ? Down they go to Lyon at 
 twenty-five cents a volume. Next." The 
 next was an immense old folio volume ; title 
 not recollected. " How much shall I have 
 bid for this brave old folio volume ? Any- 
 thing you please, gentleman ; start it, if you 
 please ; how much 1 Come, Lyon, give me a 
 bid ; anything you please, and I will sell it ; 
 only bid quick." " You can start it at fifty 
 cents, if you like, Mr. Jordan." '•' Thank 
 you ; I have fifty cents bid to start this grand 
 old folio — warranted perfect and in good or- 
 der ; can't dwell on these books ; are you all 
 done at fifty cents? Third and last call ; put 
 it down to Lyon at fifty cents ? Next. Well, 
 here's something that you will all want— a 
 fine old history of Russia, in three large 
 quarto volumes, and full of quaint old pic- 
 tures ; how much shall I have for them ? 
 Don't all speak at once. What! nobody 
 wants tham at any price ? Why, old books 
 are getting to be a drug in the market. Coiae. 
 Lyon, I shall have to look to you to start 
 them. How much are you willing to bid ? 
 Shall I say twenty-five cents?" " Yes ; all 
 right ; go on," I replied ; " you have my 
 standing bids of twenty-five cents for all 
 quarto volumes, and fifty cents for all folio 
 volumes ; and the more of them the better, to 
 the end of the catalogue. I rather like this 
 style of buying books, although I did not 
 come here to-night expecting to purchase a 
 single volume." " Yes, no doubt you like it," 
 rejoined Mr. Jordan ; " but what in the world 
 is the matter with all you old book -folks this 
 evening? Why don't you bid on these valu- 
 able books ? They are selling for less than a 
 quarter of their value, and yet you don't bid 
 on them. But you will wish you had when 
 it is too late. But I can't dwell on them ; 
 are you all done at twenty-five cents ? Lyon 
 has them at 25 cents a volume. l;Jext." 
 And thus it went on until the first sixty lots 
 had been sold — all to Lyon at 25 and 50 cents 
 a volume. Mr. Hall himself stood behind 
 the desk all this time handing up the books 
 and calling off their names. It was evident 
 enough from his looks and actions that he 
 was not over pleased at the manner in which 
 his books were being sacrificed, but he said 
 nothing. There had been considerablei whis- 
 
107 
 
 pering goiag on atnoug tlie audieace and 
 many significant glances bad been exchanged, 
 but up to this time there had not a word been 
 uttered aloud by any one present except what 
 had passed between Jordan and myself. The 
 knowledge of the fact that I was buying 
 books at a shilling on the dollar of their real 
 value, made me look upon the transaction 
 more as a dream than a reality, but still Mr. 
 Hall had no cause to complain, for in every 
 case I had been the highest Udder as well as 
 the only one. At this point in the sale Mr. 
 Jordan paused for a moment and said : •' Gen- 
 tlemen, if you don't bid on these books I 
 can't go on ; you are doing great inj ustice not 
 only to Mr. Hall, but also to yourselves in al- 
 lowing these valuable books to be thrown 
 away in the manner in which they have been. 
 Yon have probably got the false impression 
 in your head that Mr. Lyon is an under bid- 
 der, but such is not the case. Every book 
 that has been knocked down to .him will be 
 delivered to him on his payment of the price 
 which he has bid for them, but we can't sell 
 him many more at such prices. With this 
 explanation, which I trust will be satisfactory 
 to you, I will continue the sale, provided you 
 will bid on the books." 
 
 Ten lots more were put up and 6old, all ex- 
 cept two were knocked down to Lyon at 50 
 cents a volume. Lots 61 and 63 were two ex- 
 ceedingly rare and valuable volumes and pro- 
 duced some little competition. Lot 61 was a 
 full and complete original edition of Ben. 
 Johnson's works, in splendid condition, bound s 
 in fine old English calf and printed in 1616, 
 for which I had to pay |1.95. I bought it be- 
 cause I thought it was cheap, and sold it un- 
 der the hammer a few weeks after for $9.50. 
 Lot 63 was a copy of the original edition of 
 " Purchas, His Pilgrims," containing the his- 
 tory of Asia, Africa and America, printed in 
 1617 ; the work itself being perfect but the 
 binding was in a somewhat dilapidated con- 
 dition — lively bidding made it cost me $4.75, 
 I bought this because I wanted it for my own 
 library. I had the "Pilgrims" rebound in 
 good substantial library binding, and have 
 since had a standing offer of $35 for it. The 
 second edition of " Purchas," including the 
 history of Europe, wai* published in 1619, in 
 five octavo volumes, and was, I believe, the 
 last edition ever published. A year or two 
 later I saw a copy of this edition, bound in 
 coarse brown pasteboard, leaves uncut, sell 
 
 under the hammer for $t0.35 a volume. It 
 was bought by John H. Moore, their librari- 
 an, for the New York Historical Society's li- 
 brary. There are very few copies of " Pur- 
 chas" in private hands in this country. 
 
 Lot 70 was a fine folio volume, translated 
 into English and printed in 1614, of the Me- 
 moirs, written by himself, of Philip de Co- 
 mines, a celebrated French diplomat, in the 
 time of Charles the Bold — knocked down to 
 Lyon for 50 cents. I afterwards sold it for 
 $11. When this last named volume was 
 sold, Mr. Hall took Jordan's place at the desk 
 and said : 
 
 " Gentlemen, this is downright murder ; 
 the slaughter of the innocents was nothing 
 compared with it. We certainly cannot be 
 expected to go on any longer at this rate. I 
 have been engaged in the book trade for over 
 forty years, but never before have I witnessed 
 such a scene of infatuation as has transpired 
 in this room to-night. What in Heaven's 
 name does it all mean ? It must appear self- 
 evident to every impartial looker-on here 
 that gentlemen have got the delusion into 
 their heads that Mr. Lyon has been acting 
 the part of an under Udder in my interest all 
 the evening, but they never labored under a 
 greater delusion in their lives." 
 
 " I don't know about that," shouted a very 
 literary-looking gentleman who sported a 
 pair of gold spectacles. " If not acting the 
 part of a Peter Funk, why was Mr. Lyon, 
 who has had every book knocked down to 
 him at his own price, furnished with a com- 
 fortable seat and posted right under the nose 
 of the auctioneer, while much older gentle- 
 men have been compelled to remain standing 
 during the whole evening ? Will Mr. Jor- 
 dan please answer me that question ?" 
 
 " Most certainly I will," replied Mr. Jordon. 
 " Seeing Mr. Lyon, who is one of our oldest 
 customers, standing in front of me, after all 
 the seats were occupied, and knowing that 
 he had been hard at work all day, I passed to 
 him a stool from the office, as a simple act of 
 humanity— nothing more, nothing less." 
 
 " Yes, under a prearrangement with him 
 to that effect, I doubt not," replied this watch- 
 ful guardian of the common welfare, who 
 saw rank treason in every flicker of the gas- 
 light." 
 
 Mr. Hall continued : " I see gentlemen now 
 before me whom I have known, and who have 
 known me for thirty years or more, and I ap- 
 
108 
 
 peal to them to do me common j ustice. Have 
 any of yoa ever known me to do a mean or 
 dishonest act ? If so, charge it home against 
 me now. Notwithstanding this senseless 
 fizzle has depleted my pocket to the tune of 
 many hundred dollars, I say in all truthful- 
 ness, and to his credit, that Mr. Lyon has 
 honestly and squarely bought every volume 
 that has been knocked down to him just as 
 fairly, according to the conditions of the sale, 
 as though he had bought them at their full 
 value. He has shown himself to be the only 
 sensible person in this room to-night — and 
 seeing that the books have had to be given 
 away, it is some consolation for me to know 
 that they have fallen into so worthy hands. 
 He shall be j ust as welcome to them, when 
 he pays for them' and takes them away, as 
 though he had paid $10 a volume for them." 
 
 " If that is a j ust and true statement of the 
 case, then go on with the sale," chimed in 
 old gold spectacles ; " there are many books 
 ou this catalogue that I should like to have, 
 and am willing to bid a fair price for them, 
 but 1 do not like to compete with under 
 bidders." 
 
 "■ Sir !" rejoined Mr. Hall, pretty ^arply — 
 
 " 'A mule couviBced against his will. 
 Will remain mulish in his oiJinlons still. ' 
 
 " The last\>ook. that I shall ever offer at auc- 
 tion has already been sold. Having a perfect 
 right to do it, and feeling that, in j ustice to 
 myself, it is my duty to do it, I now 'adjourn 
 this sale sine die. In about three weeks I 
 shall have a new catalogue of these books 
 printed, with the lowest price of each affixed 
 thereto, which you will find on exhibition and 
 for sale at the prices therein given in the, 
 rear part of this room. The prices will be 
 placed low enough to satisfy the desire of all 
 those who wish to purchase them. For the' 
 present I bid you, one and all, good night." 
 
 I have never yet regretted my attendance 
 at Mr. Hall's sale on that mysterious night, 
 when the gentleman with the gold specs suc- 
 ceeded in mesmerizing all the rest of the au- 
 dience except myself. 
 
 BOOKS, AUCTIONS AND AUCTION" 
 EERS-Second Part. 
 
 ARTICLE No. 18. 
 
 On my way down after my books next 
 morning I called in at Kawdon & Lyman's 
 to see what they had on their catalogue for 
 sale that evening. The first person I met 
 on entering the room was John Keese, their 
 auctioneer. I was quite intimate with Mr. 
 Keese at that time, and as I approached him 
 he began to smile, and said : 
 
 " Why, Lyon, how's this ? What have 
 you been doing? I understand that you 
 were raising the very devil among the books 
 across the street last night." 
 
 " No ; not exactly raising the devil," I re- 
 plied, " but a fine lot of rare old quartos and 
 folios, at 35 and 50 cents a volume. The 
 general impression is that somobody has been 
 hurt." 
 
 " Yes, so I have been informed, and most 
 of them worth from $5 to $10 a volume. I 
 should think that Mr. Hall must feel consid- 
 erably hurt. But how did it happen ? 
 Where were all the wide-awake old book 
 buyers?" 
 
 " They were all there, but they seemed to 
 have lost the power of speech, as well as 
 their wits. There was an old gent in gold 
 specs present, who appeared to control the 
 minds and movements of the Vhole audience 
 and made them believe that the whole thing 
 was a sham ; or, in other words, that I was 
 acting the part of a Peter Funk in the inter- 
 est of Mr. Hall. I never saw such a room 
 full of dunces before in my life." 
 
 " Bah ! they must have been madder than 
 so many March hares. There were plenty of 
 old book dealers present, who have known 
 Mr. Hall all their lives, and who knew that 
 he never had and never would be guilty of 
 such a dishonorable act." 
 
 " I know all that ; tut then old gold specs 
 apparently mesmerized them into the belief 
 that I was an underMdder , and it was im- 
 possible to drum that belief out of their stu- 
 pid heads." 
 
 " Well, it is a laughable affair, to say the 
 least of it. But what are you going to do 
 with so many of these valuable old books? 
 
109 
 
 If you wish to sell them, send them over 
 here and I will guarantee to sell them for 
 you for four times the price you paid for 
 them." 
 
 '' I am now going over to get my books, 
 and when I have selected out such as I wish 
 to reserve for my own use, I will bring you 
 the remainder, which you may sell to the 
 highest bidder, and I will take my chances as 
 to the result." 
 
 " You may well say that, for I could not 
 • sell them at the price that you paid for them, 
 even should I offer them to the lowest 
 Udder." 
 
 I then crossed over to Jordon & Norton's 
 and called for my bill. It amounted to thir- 
 ty-five dollars and fifty cents, for which I had 
 laid out, subject to my order over one hun- 
 dred volumes of choice old English litera- 
 ture. 
 
 " Shall I receipt your bin and deliver you 
 the books?" inquired Mr. Jordon, with a 
 smile. 
 
 " I believe that is the usual way of doing 
 business, Mr. Jordon," I replied. 
 
 " If you like, Mr. Lyon, you can leave the 
 books — that is, if you think you have been 
 cheated, and Mr. Jordon will pay you the 
 amount of your bill," groaned Mr. Hall. " 1 
 don't expect that you are foolish enough to 
 accept my proposition, but I thought I would 
 make you an offer for them." 
 
 " No, thank you, Mr. Hall ; I thiuk I can 
 do a little better than that with them. Be- 
 sides there are some half-dozen volumes in 
 the lot that I do not care to sell at any 
 price," 
 
 " I don't think anything about it," replied 
 Mr. Hall. " I hnow that you can do four 
 times better than that with them ; but it 
 grieves me to the heart to know that my 
 honorable dealing has been questioned by my 
 old friends. It is bad enough for me to stand 
 by and see my books thrown away, without 
 being charged with fraud and deception." 
 
 " But," chimed in Mr. Jordon, " you need 
 never expect to sit on that fated stool again 
 — luchy to you, but unlurjcy to me, as all the 
 town knows by this time." 
 
 " Never mind, Mr. Jordon," I replied ; "the 
 scene at the sale last night presented one of 
 the most singular and remarkable cases of 
 mnntal delusion that I ever witnessed ; but 
 it only goes to prove that the ' fools are not 
 all dead yet.' " 
 
 Having now read all my old "Tryals," 1 
 came to the conclusiotf that such villains as 
 Gates, Dangerfield, Bedloe and Praurue 
 would swear away a'man's life for a single 
 groat, and then fight among themselves which 
 should have it. The conspirators were all 
 tried for treason in the Court of Kings' Bench, 
 and as a matter of course all were convict- 
 ed, hung and drawn and quartered, not ex- 
 cepting the good old Lord Staiford, a man 
 then over eighty years of age. Death was 
 always sure to follow the charge of treason in 
 those days, no matter whether the person so 
 charged was guilty or not. These trials are 
 all full and complete within themselves, but 
 still there are frequent references made in 
 them to other documents — such as narrati ves, 
 informations, &c., upon which the indicr- 
 ments were based, and which should he read 
 before you can fiilly understand the drift of 
 much of the evidence introduced into thesn 
 trials. It is quite evident from tlie develop- 
 ments made public at the time that all Eng- 
 land was greatly excited by the fear of a for- 
 eign Papist invasion, although English his- 
 torians pass it over very lightly. 
 
 When Mr. Ilall got out his new catalogue, 
 and had his books on exhibition, I dropped in 
 one day to have a look at them. Passing 
 along, hastily glancing at their titles, I no- 
 ticed a large folio volume inscribed " Histori- . 
 cal Tracts, 1G79-1680." Thinking that, per- 
 haps, I might find something a little rare or 
 curiovis therein, I took up the volume and 
 ran my eye carefully over its contents, when 
 lo ! what should they be but the very " Nar- 
 ratives, &c.," that I have been longing for. 
 " Eureka! " I shouted so loud that Mr. Hall 
 overheard mc at his desk, some rods off. 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," shouted Mr. Hall in 
 reply, "but what have you found, Mr, Lyon, 
 that pleases you so ? " 
 
 " I have found the Alpha to my Omega on 
 the so-called " Plorrid Popish Plots." I al- 
 ready have a complete set of the trials of all 
 those terrible old conspirators, and now here 
 comes a full set of the Narratives, Informa- 
 tions, &c., upon which the indictments against 
 them were founded. I see that you have 
 marked the price of this volume $3 — here's 
 your money, Mr. Hall," 
 
 " You say that you already have the trials 
 that originated from these narratives and in- 
 formations, or from indictments based- there- 
 on. Then you possess one of the rarest col- 
 
HO 
 
 lections of original pamplilels upon an im- 
 portant subject whicli is little known and un- 
 derstood by any person in this country. The 
 fact is, I do not believe that there is another 
 full and complete set of these pamphlets in 
 their original form in existence. I congratu- 
 late you on your good fortune in obtaining 
 them. And now, Mr, Lyon, you will find a 
 large collection of very rare old English 
 Plays lying on a table down in the rear end 
 of this room. They are not on the catalogue, 
 but you can go down there and select as many 
 of them as you please at 10 cents each. There 
 is money in them at that price ; you will nev- 
 er have such a chance again, I have placed 
 them on sale this morning for the first time." 
 
 I went down to the end of the room as di- 
 rected, and took a look at the old Plays. 
 They were in splendid condition and were 
 from 150 to 175 years old.* I selected out 100 
 of the choicest of them and left. I returned a 
 day or two after' for the rest of them but they 
 had all been gobbled up. I afterward sold 
 some of these old Plays in the same room for 
 11.50 each. 
 
 I know of nothing in the world of so un- 
 certain value as books in an auction room. I 
 have known the price of a book to vary three 
 hundred per cent, within the space of five 
 minutes. The last sale I attended at Jordan 
 & Norton's was one composed entirely of fine 
 new books. Among the collection there was 
 a large number of Lossing's Lives of the 
 Signers of the Declaration of Independence 
 and Miss Sedgwick's novels. These were all 
 ten shilling books at retail. They had been 
 selling for some time under the hammer to 
 private buyers, at from 75 to 90 cents the 
 single volume. On this occasion Jordan put 
 up five copies of the " Signers," with the priv- 
 ilege of twenty-five. They were knocked 
 down to a young man of the name of Leggett 
 at five shillings a volume. He took twenty- 
 five copies at that price. The next lot was 
 five copies, same work, with privilege of the 
 other twenty-five. There was but one bid on 
 them, and they were knocked down to Lyon 
 at two shillings a volume, and my impression 
 is that he took the whole twenty-five. The 
 next lot was fifty copies of Sedgewick's nov- 
 els, five copies, with the privilege of twenty- 
 five. Leggett took the first twenty-five at 
 fifty-five cents, and Lyon the other' twenty- 
 five, at twenty-five cents a volume. 
 
 Leggett and his brother — two young men 
 just then startirfg into business with a few 
 hundred dollars that had been left them by a 
 relative — selected the book business as their 
 future venture in life. Neither of them knew 
 anything about the character of books or their 
 value, and consequently they were veil fitted 
 for the business. If you wish to make money 
 rapidly strike out into any kind' of business 
 that you know nothing about. Leggett & 
 Brother now own the largest old book store 
 in the city, situated in Nassau street, between 
 John and Pulton street. It takes a real 
 know-nothing of books to succeed in the busi- 
 ness. 
 
 Rawdon & Lyman had their sales-room on 
 the corner .of Broadway and White street. 
 John Keese was their auctioneer, and if he 
 could not sell a book then there was no use of 
 any one else trying. Everybody knew 
 Keese, and he was justly styled the prince of 
 auctioneers. If a book had any special points 
 about it — smutty or otherwise — he knew 
 where to find them ; and if it bad none he 
 could very easily make some. " Gentlemen," 
 said he one night, " you all know how to 
 make water, but here's a book that tells you 
 how to maUe ice — how much shall I have for 
 it ?" John was smart, and required a little 
 watching— jzisi a little. He was full of fun, 
 and always made his sales lively. 
 
 Keese, and Burton, the actor, were great 
 friends, as the. world goes. Burton bought 
 largely at Keese's sales, but I never saw him 
 inside of an auction room in my life. Barton 
 was always after everything old, rare and cu- 
 rious, and this is the way it was done. Keese 
 knew his wants exactly, and whenever he had 
 a catalogue containing anything of this char- 
 acter, he would send him a copy. Burton 
 would!.' append his initials to whatever he 
 wanted, and return it to Keese — and it was 
 fully understood between them that whatever 
 was marked was to be bought for him with- 
 out regard to price! As a general thing, 
 Keese would start all such marked lots at 
 their full value — or a little more — and, if 
 there ypas no advance bid by any one else, 
 down they would go to " W. E. B," at his 
 own price, which was never a very low one. 
 During the sale of the late Bishop Elliet's 
 library, a very rare and curious old pamphlet 
 came up for competition, and I suppose that, 
 as a matter of course. Burton would have it. 
 
Ill 
 
 It was a small 4to volume, paper cover, con- 
 taining 126 pages, and this was the title of it : 
 " The Unloveliness of Love-Lockes — Or a 
 Suramarie Discourse, prooning : The wearing 
 and nourishing of a Locke, or Love-Locke, to 
 be altogether Unseemely, and Unlawful unto 
 Christians. In which there are likewise some 
 passages collected out of Fathers, Councells, 
 and sundry Authors and Historians, against 
 Face-painting ; the wearing of Suppositions, 
 Poudred,Frizzled or extraordinary long Haire ; 
 the inordinate affectation of corporall Beautie ; 
 and Women's Mannish, Unnaturall, Impudent, 
 and Unchristian cutting of their Haire ; the 
 Epidemicall Vanities and Vices of our Age. 
 — By William Prynne, Gent. — London, print- 
 ed Anno 1628." 
 
 Keese puffed up this old pamphlet, and de- 
 clare it a uniqns — at any rate there was not a 
 person present who had ever seen a copy of it 
 before. It was started at 50 cent^ and finally 
 knocked down to Lyon at 80 cents. It was a 
 prize I had not expected- to obtain at that 
 price, and I knew tbat there was a screw 
 loose somewhere. When I called for my 
 books next morning, Keese,looking grave and 
 thoughtful, said to me : 
 
 " Lyon, do you particularly care about hav- 
 ing that old pamphlet of Prynne's ? I will al- 
 low yon a handsome advance on it if you will 
 spare it me. I Ijiad it marked for Burton, but 
 having mislaid my catalogue, I find that I 
 have entirely overlooked it. Burton wanted 
 it badly, and charged me to be particular and 
 secure it for»him. What am I to do about it ? 
 Will you accept a dollar for your bargain ?" 
 
 " No, I think not, Mr. Keese. I should like 
 to oblige you, but Burton has bluffed me off 
 so many times that I don't feel much like ac- 
 commodating 711171, Let him know for once 
 how it feels to be disappointed. At any rate, 
 I cannot part with it until I hare read it." 
 
 Going down Broadway a few days after- 
 ward I met Keese near Reade street. I never 
 before saw him so much excited. Stopping 
 me short as I was about passing him, he ex- 
 claimed : " Good God ! Lyon, you must let 
 me have that old Prynne pamphlet at some 
 price or other, or Burton will certainly kill 
 me. I have just been down at his theatre to 
 see him, and a madder man I never saw in 
 my life. Have you yet made up your mind 
 whether you will let him have that old pam- 
 phlet or not? He has just authorized me to 
 offer you $3 in cash and a family ticket to his 
 
 theatre on any evening you may wish to at- 
 tend if you will let him have it ; but, in view 
 of the manner in which he abused me, I don't 
 care two coppers whether you let him have it 
 or not. But, dam me ! if it wasn't fearful to 
 hear hiin rave and swear. " 
 
 " Mr. Keese," I replied, " I can't spare Bur- 
 ton the old pamphlet you alluded to on any 
 terms — it is a rare literary curiosity, and I in- 
 tend to keep it. If it is worth $3 to him it 
 certainly is worth ^80 cents to me, and I can 
 afford to keep it at that price." 
 
 I never heard the magic initials " W. E. B." 
 called again by Keese after that night. Bur- 
 ton was a terrible enemy when once you got 
 his bad passions aroused ; and take him all 
 in all, he was a mean man. 
 
 I bought quite a number of other very rare 
 and curious old theological pamphlets at the 
 Bishop's sale, among which were the follow- 
 ing : " Saint Avstin's Svmmes ; By William 
 Compton, Mr. of Arts," London, 1625 — price, 
 fifty cents; "Fisher's Folly Unfolded; or 
 the Vannting lesvite's Vanity, discovered in 
 a challenge by his (by him) proudly made, 
 but on his part poorely performed," by George 
 Walker, London, 1624 — price, sixty cents. 
 (This was a very sharp and racy controversy.) 
 " The Unmasking of a Mass-Monger," Lon- 
 don, 1626 — price, seventy five cents.; "A 
 Gagge for the Pope and the lesvits," London, 
 1624— price, ninety cents ; " Beade All : or 
 Reade Nothing— Robert Crowley's reply to 
 Fryer John Fravncis of Nigeon in France," 
 London, 1586 — price, one dollar and twenty- 
 five cents ; " The Life of the Blessed Virgin, 
 Sainct Catharine of Siena, with Permission of 
 Superiors," Anno, 1609 — price, two dollars 
 and fifty cents (bound book of 450 pages). 
 
 The last two named are extremely rare and 
 curious — the latter too strange and curious to 
 be believed by the skeptics of the present 
 day. I have never yet seen a second copy of 
 any of the above named, and consequently 
 value them very highly. 
 
 I once witnessed at Rawdon & Lyman's a 
 scene that, in its mysterious movements, out- 
 rivalled the affair of Jordan & Morton's, a 
 few months before — the only difference being 
 that Jiigh prices ruled instead of low. The 
 sale was composed of a fine private library, 
 consisting of about 800 volumes, mostly by 
 modern authors, and all uniformly bound in 
 the best library binding. The room was 
 well filled by the best class of buyers, and it 
 
112 
 
 Certainly looked as though the bidding 
 would be lively. I obtained a good seat on 
 the sixth bench in front of the auctioneer's 
 desk ; and directly in front of me sat a mid- 
 dle-aged, country-looking gentleman, and a 
 young lad about sixteen years old. Keese 
 took his place at the desk, and briefly an- 
 nounced the sale of a valuable private li- 
 brary, which would be sold without reserve 
 to the highest Udder. 
 
 The first book that was put up — one of' the 
 poorest lot^was started at 35 cents, its full 
 auction value. The lad in front of me looked up 
 inquiringly into the face of the old gentleman 
 at his side, the old gent nodded his head ap- 
 provingly, the lad bid 50 cents, and it was 
 knocked down to him at that price. " What's 
 the name ? " inquired Keese. The lad hesi- 
 tated for a moment, and then in a subdued, 
 boyish tone of voice replied, " Bolton." This 
 was an entirely new name to the old 
 book buyers, but nothing was said. And 
 thus the gale went on to the end of the 
 catalogue. There were only three soli- 
 tary bidders on the books during the 
 whole evening — two strange gentlemen and 
 the boy. Every book on the catalogue was 
 started by either one or the other of the 
 strange gentlemen at nearly its full retail 
 price, and every one of them were knocked 
 down to the boy, " Bolton," as the highest bid- 
 der. All the rest of the audiwnce remained 
 quietly in their seats, looked on, wondered and 
 laughed at the sport, but never made a bid. 
 
 " What the devil does all this mean 1" 
 whispered, one to another — " the old man 
 must be either a fool or crazy if he is not 
 willing to sell his books at the price others 
 are bidding for them." 
 
 It appeared plain to every one present that 
 the old gent was the owner of the books, and 
 that the boy, his son, was bidding them in 
 for him ; but if he wanted to sell them, why 
 bid them in at more than their retail value? 
 That was the mystery which no one present 
 could unriddle. 
 
 " Keese," said I next morning when I called 
 in to examine the books for sale that evening, 
 " can you inform me who that crazy-headed 
 old fool is who bought in all his own books 
 last night and at such enormous prices, too ?" 
 " Hold on a moment if you have the time to 
 spare," said Keese, " and I will explain it to 
 you," and he laughed heartily. "Our last 
 night's performance was almost as good and 
 
 quite as great a mystery as your affair across 
 the street a short time ago. That crazy- 
 headed old fool, as you call him, was the 
 great la^wyer, Charles O'Conor (I thought yon 
 knew him), and the lad at his side was his 
 step-son, one of the young McCrackens. The 
 boy's father died insolvent a year or two ago, 
 and Charley married his widow. McCrack- 
 en's creditors seized upon his library and sent 
 it here for sale. The boy manifested a strong 
 desire to become the owner of his father's li- 
 brary, and Charley promised him that he 
 would buy it for him. The creditors having 
 ascertained this fact deputized a couple of 
 their friends to come here and run the books 
 away up beyond their value, and it has 
 worked like a charm without any collusion 
 on my part. But Charley has been as good 
 as his word, although he has paid devilish 
 dear for his whistle. It was a good joke on 
 myself as well as on the rest of the audience, 
 but it was my duty as well as my interest to 
 sell the backs to the highest bidder, no mat- 
 ter who that might happen to be." 
 
 " Well," I replied, " Mr. O'Conor has the 
 reputation of bein,g the greatest constitutional 
 lawyer in the country, and I think that here- 
 after he will be looked upon as the highest 
 j)riced book-buyer in the city. But he has 
 plenty of money and can stand it." 
 
 The Mr. McCracken here alluded to was 
 once wealthy and one of the owners of the 
 Havre line of steamships. He failed both in 
 health and business at about the same time. 
 Slowly dying with consumption, Jie went 
 abroad hoping to regain his health, but he 
 never returned to this country. He died 
 while journeying across one of the African 
 deserts. I recollect that 1 took down his bag- 
 gage and put it on board the Ville de Paris 
 the last time he sailed from the port of New 
 York. I think it was his son, the young lad 
 for whom Mr. O'Conor bought the books, 
 who, as Secretary of Legation to one of our 
 American Ministers, kicked up quite a breeze 
 a few years since among our diplomats in 
 Europe by divulging important state se- 
 crets. 
 
 There was a general stagnation in the 
 book trade in this country in 1854. Several 
 large publishing houses had failed, and hun- 
 dreds of thousands of volumes were forced 
 upon the market, to be sold at any price that 
 could be obtained for them, many of which 
 did not net their oAvners above fifteen per 
 
113 
 
 cent, ou their retail value. During the Fall 
 of 1854 Partridge & Oakey, of London, 
 shipped to Rawdcn & Lyman about 10,000 
 volumes of their choice publications for them 
 to sell. They were mostly books of a useful 
 character, intended for the working classes, 
 and published at th^ extremely low price of 
 Is. 6d. and 2s. 6d. sterling per volume. Keese 
 sold them at first for from thirty to fifty cents 
 a volume, by the single volume; then at 
 twenty to thirty cents to the trade, by the ten 
 volumes, until the price declined from fifteen 
 to twenty cents by the twenty volumes, when 
 the sale was discontinued. Finally, in March, 
 1855, an order calne from the owners to close 
 out the remainder of the invoice at any price 
 they could get for them, and remit the pro- 
 ceeds. Keese packed them all into one cata- 
 logue. The night on which they were sold 
 was very stormy. I was in there in the after- 
 noon preceding the sale, examining the books 
 on the tables, when Keese came up to me and 
 said : 
 
 " See here, Lyon, it is so stormy that I don't 
 suppose that you will be down here to-night. 
 Here's a catalogue of the sale— if there is 
 anything on it that you want, mark them, 
 and I will buy them for you. This is the 
 last chance that you will have at those Eng- 
 lish books. They will be put up in lots of 
 five, with the privilege of the whole of each 
 kind, and will no doubt go off at very low 
 figures." 
 
 I had no particular inclination for any of 
 the books, but by way of a joke I marked six 
 cents opposite each line of the English books, 
 and returned the catalogue to Keese. He ran 
 his eye over the list, and with a smile on his 
 countenance, remarked : 
 
 " How many of each do you want at those 
 prices ?" 
 
 " All there is on the catalogue," I replied. 
 
 " Yes, I should think so," rejoined Keese ;' 
 " but I don't think that you will get many of 
 them. However, I will start them at your 
 bid, and if there is no advance on them you 
 shall have them." 
 
 The next afternoon, while I stood examin- 
 ing the books for sale that evening, Keese 
 came out of the office, and tapping me on the 
 shoulder, said : 
 
 " Lyon, here's the bill of your last night's 
 purchase, and the sooner you take away your 
 books the better I shall like it." 
 
 I glanced over the bill and found that I 
 had bought every book that I had marked, 
 amounting in the aggregate to between 500 
 and 600 volumes. "Why, Keese, how's 
 this ?" said I, " it looks as though you had 
 me charged with, every book on the cata- 
 logue." " Yes," rejoined Keese, " with every 
 book that you marked, yours being the only 
 bid I had on them. But you need not take 
 any more of them than you want, at that 
 price," •' 1 never go back on my own bid," I 
 replied — "you can duplicate them at that price, 
 if you like, and 1 will stand it." That was 
 about the best hit 1 ever made in an auction 
 room. 
 
 A brief account of a few of the other old 
 books that I have purchased at different 
 times, and I shall bring this long, rambling 
 discourse to a close. Any person at all famil- 
 iar with the modern prices of old books, will 
 see at a glance that 1 have bought them 
 cheap enough in all conscience. Whenever 
 an old book brings the fabulous price that we 
 sometimes read of, more than one person is 
 present who wants it. 
 
 " Mirabilis Annos, or The Years of Prodi- 
 gies and Wonders," 1661-16G3-1663— 3 vols. 
 4to. ; " British Museum Sale Duplicate, 1787." 
 This is a very scarce and curious work, and 
 could hardly be duplicated in this country. 
 The owner of it told Keese that he must get 
 |3 a volume for it, or bid it in. It was put 
 up five times before it was sold. The first 
 time $3^ was bid, and after that it continued 
 to decline, and at the fifth sale was knocked 
 down to Lyon at 75 cents a volume. " The 
 Doubtful Heir, a tragi-comedie, as it was act- 
 ed at the private house in , Black Friars, and 
 ye other plays — written by James Shirley, 
 never printed before. London, 1653." Shir- 
 ley was the last of the Elizabethan drama- 
 tists ; his style is very coarse and smutty. 
 " Three Years Travels from Moscow Overland 
 to China. Written by his Excellency E. Ys- 
 brants Ides, Ambassador from the Czar of 
 Muscovy to the Empeior of China, with many 
 curious cuts, London, 1706." There is a 
 great deal in this book to admire and wonder 
 at. White Knight's copy sold in London, a 
 few years since, for 4Z. 5s. Ttis copy cost me 
 $1.35. " The Historie of the Holie Warre," 
 by Thomas Fuller, 1647. Fine copy, price 
 $1.75. This book is full of quaint humor and 
 sharp, biting sarcasm. I doubt if there is a 
 man living to-day who could write such a 
 
114 
 
 work." " TLb Wondera of tlie Little World ; 
 or, a General History of Man." By Nathan- 
 iel Wanley, large folio. London, 1678. This 
 book contains the most remarkable collection 
 of curious things ever placed between the 
 covers of a single volume. It cost me $2|, 
 and it is the only copy I ever saw. Baker's 
 " Chronicle of the Kings'of England," large 
 folio. London, 1679. Very excellent book of 
 reference ; cost, $1 ,75. " Travels of Monsieur 
 de Thevenot into the Levant," large folio. 
 London, 1686 ; cost |2.25. Thevenot has the 
 reputation of being an honest traveler, and of 
 giving correct and lucid descriptions of the 
 countries through which he traveled. But I 
 think I hear the reader say, " Hold ! enough 
 of this twaddle about'feld books." 
 
 The last time Keese sold books he was 
 dying with the consumption. For three and 
 a half mortal hours he stood at his desk and 
 cracked his jokes for the entertainment of his 
 audience over a long catalogue of worthless 
 trash that did not amount to $100, all told. 
 During the last half hour of that miserable 
 performance his mind began to wander, and 
 he could only articulate his broken and dis- 
 connected sentences in a whisper. He 
 coughed hard, and had bad choking spells 
 during the whole evening, and when the last 
 book was sold he retired completely exhaust- 
 ed. When I called in for my books next 
 morning I noticed that the spittoon behind 
 the desk was full to overflowing with fresh 
 blood and corruption, which he had dis- 
 charged from his lungs the night before. 
 The last time I saw poor Keese was a few 
 days after, trudging down the lower part of 
 Broadway, with a small carpetbag in his 
 hand. " Which way now, Mr. Keese 1" I in- 
 quired. " 1 am going," he replied, " down 
 to Charleston as a last resort to spend a few 
 weeks in the hope of restoring my health — 
 but I don't expect that it will amount to any- 
 thing." He returned again to New York in 
 about three weeks, and died shortly after. 
 Poor Keese ! he was a man of erudition as 
 well as wit, and the Napoleon of book auc- 
 tioneers. 
 
 Mr. Keese liad a favorite son named John 
 Lawrence Keese. He was casliier for Raw- 
 don & Lyman for a number of years, and 
 everybody loved him for his good nature and 
 the promptness with which he attended to 
 their wants. All the old book-buyers knew 
 
 him, and used to call him Larry for short. 
 He-was a member of the famous New York 
 Seventh Regiment, and at the outbreak of 
 the late rebellion he started with his regiment 
 for the defence of Washington, He was ac- 
 cidentally killed by one of his comrades soon 
 after their arrival in Baltimore. 
 
 I do not suppose that this long talk about 
 books will interest many of the readers of the 
 JOXJKNAL — but of all things in the world, I 
 lovB to gossip about old books and their au- 
 thors. Old books are my weakness, and I 
 don't care two pins who knows it. Give me 
 a good clean pipe, charged to the brim with 
 genuine " Yacht Club," a flowing bowl of 
 whisky-punch, and a quaint and racy old 
 book, by some fun-provoking old dead and 
 gone author, and I don't care a U B Dam 
 who is King or President. 
 
 
 SHORT STORIEJ3-NO 1. 
 
 ARTICLE NO. 19. 
 
 UP TODAY— DOWN TO MORKOW. 
 
 It was a bitter cold day in the latter part of 
 November, 1836. A sharp, cutting hail storm, 
 accompanied by a driving northeast wind,wa8 
 just stetting in, warning everything that had 
 life in it to^hasten under cover. 
 
 I had been down town with a load, and was 
 hurrying up Centre street, in face of the 
 storm, on my way home. Just as I arrived 
 opposite the gas-house, a man on the the 
 sidewalk hailed me, and said he had a job 
 for me. 
 
 " I can't do it," I replied ; " I am already 
 nearly frozen, and am hastening home to get 
 out of the storm." 
 
 " But you must do it," he rejoined with em- 
 phasis. " There is a poor old man lying on 
 the sidewalk just around the corner in Hes- 
 ter street, who must be cared for immediate- 
 ly. He is apparently in a dying condition, 
 and you must go with me and take him to 
 the police court, on the corner of the Bowery 
 and Third street." 
 
 " 1 don't like such jobs, anyhow — you had 
 much better employ a hack for that purpose. 
 I beg that you will excuse me this time, for 
 
Ji; 
 
 I am anxious to get in oat of the storm." 
 
 " I can't accept any exetises on this occa- 
 sion. I am an officer and must do my duty 
 — you are a public cartman and must do your 
 duty. Follow me round the corner, and we 
 will make short work of it." 
 
 I followed, as a matter of course, and we 
 there found, lying on the sidewalk, hard up 
 against an old board fence, one of the most 
 wretched and folorn-looking specimens of 
 humanity I had ever seen in my life, up to 
 that time. The commencement of that tear- 
 iaspiring old ballad, " Pity the sorrows of a 
 poor old man," never came to my mind with 
 such force before. The miserable object be- 
 fore us presented but the, mere outlines of 
 what had once been a man, formed in the 
 image of his Maker — for naught save the 
 skeleton of the former man now remained, 
 He was coarsely and thinly clad — in fact, al- 
 most in a state of nudity — coatless, hatiess 
 and shoeless — with pallid cheeks and sunken 
 eyes, and a few straggling locks of tangled 
 gray hsor, he looked like a man who had al- 
 ready passed the threescere and ten years 
 allotted to human life. He was, to all ap- 
 pearance, senseless, speechless and nearly 
 breathless — looking more like a human 
 corpse than a living human being. But 
 although apparently gasping his last breath, 
 he still lived and breathed, but seemed in a 
 dying condition. Our best judgment was, 
 that his present prostration had been brought 
 about, more from the effects of exposure and 
 starvation, than from intemperance. Despite 
 his present wretched appearance, there was a 
 marked expression of intelligence about his 
 countenance, that plainly denoted that the 
 poor man had seen better days. 
 
 " Come, now, carman," said the officer, who 
 appeared to be a kind, tender-hearted man, 
 " let us hasten the removal of the poor old 
 man to a place of shelter before he dies upon 
 our hands, an event I should not like to have 
 happen. He is in a very feeble and prostrate 
 condition, and we must handle him accord- 
 ingly." 
 
 We then gathered up the scattered straw, 
 and having pished it upon the bottom of the 
 cart, we carefully raised up the old man and 
 gently placed him thereon. Then taking the 
 thick canvas cover from my horse's back, I 
 spread it over him ; and the officer sitting 
 down by his side and carefully holding up his 
 head, we started off" slowly amid the scoffs 
 *15 
 
 and jeers of the unfeeling rabble that had 
 congregated in the immediate vicinity. Tlie 
 jolting motion of the cart 8oon set the old 
 man's bleed in circulation, and when we ar- 
 rived at the police station Ms eyes were open 
 and he had partially regained the use of his 
 limbs. When we stopped he stared and 
 gazed around him for a moment like a person 
 suddenly awakened from a deep sleep, but ut- 
 tered not a word. One of the assistants at 
 the station came out and helped the officer 
 conduct him into the court-room, and prompt- 
 ed by curiosity, coupled with a desire to warm 
 my fingers, I followed them in. The Justice 
 — Lownds, I think it was — was sitting at his 
 desk, ready for business. 
 
 "Well, officer," said he, rather sternly, 
 " who have you got there — a drunken man, 
 or a sick one ?" 
 
 " May it please your Honor," replied the 
 officer, " I think the poor old man is dying 
 from exposure and starvation. We took him 
 up from the sidewalk in Hester street ; but he 
 presents no indications of having been drink- 
 ing ; the fact is, he is not drunk, sir." 
 
 " Well, well," continued the justice, soften- 
 ing down a little ; "all right, officer — drunk 
 or sober, sick or well, the sidewalk is no place 
 for a man to make his bed in such a storm as 
 is now raging without. Bring him np here 
 in front of the desk, and let us hear what he 
 has to say for himself." 
 
 The officers did as they were directed, one 
 of them supporting him on either side. 
 
 " Now, my good man, hold up your head 
 and answer my questions correctly. What is 
 your name, sir ? No aliases, if you please." 
 
 After considerable effort the poor man 
 feebly articulated the simple words : " John 
 Maspon." 
 
 The old justice shrugged his shoulders, 
 raised his glasses, and keenly eyeing the 
 stranger for a moment, continued : " What 
 countryman are you, sir ?" 
 
 " South American,'' he promptly, answered, 
 in a subdued tone of voice. 
 
 The old justice seemed greatly agitated at 
 the reply, and giving him another scrutiniz- 
 ing glance of recognition, for which all po- 
 lice magistrates are more or less famous, he 
 continued his examination : " One more 
 question, if you please, sir. Mr. Mascon, did 
 you keep an exchange office in Wall street, 
 say some twenty years ago V" 
 
IIG 
 
 The poor man now began to tremble in 
 every limb, his eyes rolled wildly in their 
 8UT>.ken sockets, large drops of perspiration 
 oozed from evejy pore, and coursed their way 
 down his shrunken and palid cheeks. But 
 after a momentary hesitation, in a clear, dis- 
 tinct, silvery tone of voice, he replied : " 1 
 did," and immediately sank exhausted into 
 the arms of his attendants. These were the 
 last words he ever spoke on earth. 
 
 " Good God ! is it possible," exclaimed the 
 old justice, in a manner that was fearful to 
 behold — " I thought as much from the be- 
 ginning. Officer, take Mr. Mascon and place 
 him in the best bed in the hospital, give him 
 a little warm brandy and water immediately 
 and send for the doctor ! — quick ! his life 
 must be saved if possible." 
 
 After the officer left with his charge, the 
 old justice removed his glasses, and with a 
 tremulous voice, thus briefly addressed the 
 half-dozen persons who were present : " Gen- 
 tlemen : — I have sat on this bench as a police 
 magistrate for over ten years, but never be- 
 fore during all that time have I witnessed a 
 scene that has harrowed up my better feel- 
 ings like the one which has just past in re- 
 view before us. Twenty years ago that man, 
 John Mascon, was Consul General from the 
 Republic of Colombia to the port of New 
 York, and I knew him well at that time. He 
 also kept an exchange office in Wall street, 
 was always considered wealthy, and was 
 looked upon as one of the best business men 
 in the city. He then lived in the grandest 
 style, sported the most magnificent tvirnout 
 on Broadway — an open barouche, drawn by 
 four splendid black horses — and was one of 
 the most genial and accomplished gentlemen 
 I ever knew in the' whole course of my 
 life. About fifteen years ago he sud- 
 denly and mysteriously disappeared from the 
 city, and I have lost all traces of him from 
 that day until this, when he appeared before 
 me this day, the poor shattered wreck of a 
 man that you have all witnessed. Great 
 God ! how wonderful and mysterious are Thy 
 ways ! Poor as I am. I would willingly gi'<'^e 
 a thousand dollars to-day to know the causes 
 that have reduced my old-time friend to his 
 present deplorable condition ; but as this can- 
 not be, it behooves us all to take timely warn- 
 ing from his sad fall. It ill becomes any 
 man, no matter what may be the amount of 
 his wealth, or how high his social position in 
 
 the world, to sneer at and ridicule those be- 
 low him, for the wheel of fortune is contin- 
 ually on the revolve, and it is up to-day and 
 down tomorrow.^' 
 
 As I afterward learned, the poor old ex- 
 millionaire died at eleven o'clock that same 
 evening, but made no mark ; and to this day 
 the curious public remain in entire ignorance 
 as to what caused his downfall. But were I 
 permitted to make a guess, I should say din- 
 af pointed ambition. No friend appearing to 
 claim his body, his remains were the next 
 day placed in a rough pine coffin and hurried 
 off to Potter's Field. Sic transit (jloria 
 mundi. 
 
 The next morning when I called at the 
 Herald office for my morning paper, I in- 
 formed Mr. Bennett of what I knew concern- 
 ing Mr. Mascon's history. He made a note 
 of it, and the next morning the " spicy little 
 Herald" contained a characteristic article on 
 the subject. It was the only obituary notice 
 that the poor, friendless old maa ever re- 
 ceived in any of the city papers. The Herald 
 office was then located in a small, dingy old 
 basement at No. 148 Nassau street. At that 
 time Mr. Bennett was his own editor, reporter 
 and salesman, and boasted that he was not 
 worth $500 in the wide world. Now he can 
 count his dollars by the million. I have now 
 in my possession a file of the first numbers of 
 the Herald, nearly every one of which I pur- 
 chased of Mr. Bennett in person. I remem- 
 ber his " beautiful squint eye" distinctly, but 
 I do not recollect ever seeing any great beauty 
 in it. The Herald was much more spicy and 
 entertaining then than it has ever been since. 
 
 A FIRST-CLASS SLOVEN-No. 2. 
 
 One morning tbo boss and I were engaged 
 plating a looking-glass frame in the back part 
 of the store. Presently we noticed a rough 
 looking old fellow enter the door and com- 
 mence working his way up toward us, and 
 this is a brief description of his appearance : 
 His outward clothing, consi^ing of coat and 
 pants only, was of a lightish brown color, ' 
 soiled and seedy ; on his left foot he wore an 
 old rusty shoe without strings, and on his 
 right an old boot ripped half-way down in 
 front, with the bottom of liis crumpled pants 
 resting on the top thereof ; a shirt minus' its 
 
117 
 
 collar, considerably soiled ami opeu in front, 
 an uusliorn beard, matted and tangled bair, 
 and a coarae crumpled old wbit% felt bat, 
 tbrown back on bis bead a la Greeley. Sucb 
 is a correct description of tbe ai)pearance of 
 our new customer as near as I can now recol 
 lect it. As a matter of course, we tbougbt be 
 was a beggar seeking alms — indeed, wbat else 
 could we tbink? Tbe stranger walked uj) 
 witb a swaggering gait to tbe p^ace wbere 
 we were at work, took ofl" bis bat, and ad- 
 dressing Mr. Brown in a clear, dignified and 
 commanding tone of voice, said : " Qood 
 morning, sir ; are you tbe proprietor of tbis 
 establisbment f 
 
 " Qood morning, sir," replied tbe boss, in 
 bis usually bland and polite manner ; " yes, 
 sir, I count myself as about tbe bead of tbis 
 establisbment wben I am bere — can I do any 
 tbing for you tbis morning, sir ?" 
 
 " Tbank ycu, sir," rejoined tbe stranger. " I 
 am a man of considerable leisure, and bave 
 called bere tbis morning to solicit permission 
 to take a basty glance at your picture gallery. 
 I bave traveled quite extensively in Italy [tbe 
 devil you bave, muttered tbe boss in an un- 
 dertone of voice], and bave spent a great deal 
 of my idle time in roaming tbrougb tbe re- 
 nowned picture galleries of Florence and 
 Naples [yes, you look like it, remarked tbe 
 boss, sotto voiGe, witb a sneer], viewing and ad- 
 miring tbe famous productions of tbe grand 
 old masters deposited tbere. Tbe fact is, sir, 
 I bave an undying passion for tbe Fine Arts, 
 and love to gaze upon a good picture wberev- 
 er 1 find it." 
 
 " Ob, yes — all rigbt, sir — you can look at 
 my pictures as mucb as you like, but you will 
 not find anytbing of a very extraordinary 
 cbaracter in my collection at present." 
 
 " Tbank you, sir," replied tbe stranger witb 
 a courtly bow, and oflF be started to bave a 
 look at tbe pictures, sucb as tbey were. 
 
 " Well, Lyon, wbat do you tbick of our 
 Italian traveler V" queried tbe boss, witb a 
 comical grin. " So it seems tbat be is not a 
 beggr>r after all, and I guess tbat bis looking 
 at tbe picture will not impair its value. He 
 certainly appears to be a man of education 
 and refinement, slovenly as is bis outward 
 appearance, and wbo knows but tbat we may 
 be barboring an angel in disguise ?" 
 
 " Angel or beggar, I tbink be is a curious 
 old tramp anybow," I replied. " His con- 
 versation and address certainly denotes bim 
 
 to be a man of culture, and one wbo bas seen 
 better days — but it is bard to tell wbo or 
 wnat be is." 
 
 " Well, I am sure I don't care a fig wbo or 
 wbat be is,, if be will only make a sbort visit, 
 and disappear before tbe customers begin to 
 come in." 
 
 Tbe stranger moved leisurely along, gaz- 
 ing at tbis picture and glancing at tbat, until 
 be arrived in front of a large painting por- 
 traying a comical New England witcb scene. 
 [Tbis was tbe same picture mentioned in No. 
 15, it baving been sent bere by Mrs. Morton 
 to be framed, and not yet sent bome.] Stop- 
 ping sbort in front of tbis superb picture be 
 gave it a scrutinizing glance, smiled a joyous 
 smile, sbrugged bis sboulders, and tben, tak- 
 ing oflF bis bat, be bowed to it in tbe most 
 graceful manner possible. Tben tbrowing 
 bimself into tbe attitude of a stage orator, be 
 took a gold-rimmed eye-glass from tbe side 
 pocket of bis coat, placed it before bis eye, 
 and commenced examining tbe picture from 
 every point of view imaginable. It was evi- 
 dent at a glance tbat be was bigbiy deligbted 
 witb tbe scene before bim, for tbe longer be 
 gazed tbe more pleased and interested be ap- 
 peared to be. Occasionally be looked grave 
 and melancboly, anon bis sides would sbake 
 witb uncontrollable laugbter. Finally be 
 be again took off bis bat, bowed once more 
 to tbe picture, and, witb bis bat under bis 
 arm, be gave it a parting look and retired. 
 Walking up again to tbe place wbere we 
 were at work, directing bis discourse to tbe 
 boss, be said : " Sir, permit me to return you 
 my tbank s for your kind condescension in al- 
 lowing me to examine your pictures." 
 
 "No condescension at all," replied tbe 
 boss, '' my pictures are always on free exbi- 
 bition to tbe public ; but, sir, bave you seen 
 anytbing tbat you particularly admire, or 
 anytbing wortby of special notice ?" 
 
 " Well, sir, to be bonest witb you, witb one 
 exception, I would not give a damn for your 
 wbole collection — tbat exception is a gem of 
 a bigb order — all tbe rest are mere wortbless 
 daubs, and not worth a respectable damn, sir. 
 Tbat New England witcb scene is one of the 
 best tbings of tbe kind tbat I have ever seen ; 
 tbere is but one solitary imperfection about it 
 that I can discern — tbe waist of the old 
 witch's dress is just one-eighth -of an imh too 
 short! Correctly outlined, and artistically 
 painted, everything else is perfection — it's a 
 
118 
 
 great pity that the artist had not painted that 
 old hag's waist just one-ei<]hih of an inch 
 longer. I presume that it is an original pic- 
 ture ; do you know, sir, who painted it ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, it is an original, and the produc- 
 tion of a self-taught lady artist — Mrs. Mor- 
 ton." 
 
 " Do you know if it is for sale, sir ? 
 Damme ! but I should like to be the owner of 
 it. I should not mind a bit paying the lady 
 a couple of hundred dollars for it. I should 
 then have something to drive " dull care 
 away," but not a shilling for any one of your 
 daubs." 
 
 " It is not for sale, I believe, ^r. It was 
 painted expressly for the purpose of being 
 placed in an exhibition — but will you favor 
 me with your name and address, in case the 
 lady should take a notion to sell it ?" 
 
 " My name and address is of no account, 
 sir, as I espect to leave the city this after- 
 noon, and may, perhaps, never return here 
 again. But please do me the favor of pre- 
 senting the compliments of an admirer of her 
 picture to Mrs. Morton. She possesses origi- 
 nal genius of a high order, and will yet write 
 her name upon the highest star that shines in 
 the firmament of high art. Benigno numine, 
 Mrs. Morton will yet become a great and dis- 
 tinguished artist ; and now, having an im- 
 portant engagement at ten o'clock, permit me 
 to bid you good morning, sir." 
 
 Saying which, ftie stranger assumed a de- 
 cidedly erect posture, and moved off toward 
 the street door with an air and gait of a Ches- 
 terfield. Just as he reached the door he met 
 Mr. Haight, one of the boss's customers, com- 
 ing it. They at once recognized each other, 
 and had a high old time in shaking hands 
 and cracking jokes on each other. 
 
 " Why, how's this, Haight ? " inquired the 
 boss ; " what the dickens does all this mean ? 
 Are you acquainted with that old codger you 
 met at the door ? '' 
 
 " Old codger ! " exclaimed Mr. Haight, " of 
 course I know him ; don't you ? Why, 
 Brown, that was Booth, the great tragedian 
 — he's an old acquaintance of mine ; I thought 
 you knew him." 
 
 " By thunder, that's too bad ! I wish I had 
 known it a little sooner, I should have no- 
 ticed him more particularly. I thought ho 
 was a lunatic, just escaped Irom some one of 
 our insane asylums.' 
 
 " No, he's not exactly insane., only a little 
 eccentric, that's all." 
 
 The bdfes and I ran out on the sidewalk in 
 front of the store, and watched him for half 
 a block, as he went swaggering down the 
 street, looking in at the shop windows- 
 When we returned into the store, the boss 
 straightening himself up,with a comical squint 
 in his right eye, exclaimed : " Well, Lyon, 
 we can now say that we have seen the great 
 Lucius Junius Brutus Booth, in a character 
 that few other persons have ever seen him in 
 — that of & first-class sloven. That is worth a 
 drink anyhow — let us go and take a little 
 sormtJiing " — and we did. 
 
 -] 
 
 TOO MUCH RED TAPE-No- 3- 
 
 Being on my way home one Summer's after- 
 noon, about half-past five o'clock, on turning 
 out of Broadway into East Twenty-third 
 street, I was hailed by a policeman, who de- 
 manded my immediate assistance in helping 
 him take a badly injured man to the Bellevue 
 Hospital. I did not crave the job, but know- 
 ing full well that the commands of a police- 
 man were not to be trifled with, I did not at- 
 tempt to evade the order. 
 
 '■ Come, carman, hurry up," he continued ; 
 "a dirt bank has just caved in and smashed 
 a poor Irishman's leg all into a jelly. Be 
 quick — right down there where you see those 
 dirt carts standing in the street — for we must 
 have him inside the gate before 6 o'clock, or 
 we shall have to take him away down town 
 to the Broadway Hospital." 
 
 I drove down to the place indicated, and 
 there, sure enough, I found a poor Irishman 
 whom they had just dug out of the dirt bank, 
 with his right leg from the middle of his 
 thigh downward smashed into a perfect jelly. 
 Just as I arrived there the celebrated Doctor 
 Cox drove up, and seeing an excited crowd 
 collected, dismounted from his gig and hast- 
 ened into the excavation to see vyhat was the 
 matter. He hurriedly examined the man's 
 log as well as the blood and dirt would ad- 
 mit, and then turning round to me, excitedly 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " For God's sake, carman, hurry up and get 
 this poor man to the hospital as quick as pos- 
 sible. If his leg is not taken oil within the 
 next hour, Jic's a dead man." 
 
119 
 
 We then placed the disabled man, who was 
 almost in a fainting condition, as gently as 
 we could upon the cart, and started immedi- 
 ately for Bellevue Hospital, as fast as we dare 
 drive. The policeman kept hurrying me up 
 all the way, saying that if I did not make 
 more haste the gate would be closed for the 
 night, and we should then have to take him 
 down to the Broadway Hospital. The poor 
 man groaned awfully, but there was no help 
 for it. We arrived in sight of the gate just 
 as the 6 o'clock bell was ringing ; but when 
 we came up abreast of the gate it was closed, 
 and the gate-keeper was j ust putting the key 
 into his pocket. 
 
 " I say, gate-keeper, open that gate — 
 quick !" shouted the policeman ; " we have a 
 man here who is dying, and whose case will 
 admit of no delay." 
 
 " Can't help it ; just two minutes too late," 
 replied the gate-keeper, as coolly as though 
 he had never known trouble. " It's contrary 
 to regulations to open this gate after six 
 ©'clocR, without a special permit. There's no 
 help for it ; you'll have to take him down to 
 the Broadway Hospital." 
 
 '• Make way here, you heartless wretch !" 
 screamed the maddened policeman ; and he 
 rushed through the small foot-gate, nearly; 
 knocking the surly old gate-keeper off his 
 feet in his haste to pass through. 
 
 " A very impudent policeman you have 
 with you, carman," whined the discomfitted 
 gate-keeper. " I'm not goin' to stand such 
 work as that from no one — damn me, if I do 
 and I'll let him know it, too." 
 
 In about ten minutes the policeman re- 
 turned, having succeeded in obtaining a 
 special permit. In the meantime the poor 
 Irishman lay on the cart groaning as though 
 oveiy one would be his last. 
 
 " There !" said the policeman in an angry 
 tone of voice, handing the permit to the gate- 
 keeper, " take that and open the gate pretty 
 damn quick or I'll arrest you and lock you up 
 in the station-house." 
 
 " You'd better try it," rejoined the snarlish 
 old gate-keeper, " and maybe you'll repent it. 
 You make your laws to suit yourselves, and 
 so does we — and if you don't like our style of 
 doin' business, you can carry your grist to 
 some other mill, and be damned to you." 
 
 The gate was then opened, and we drove 
 in and stopped in front of the main entrance 
 to the hospital building. In about ten min- 
 
 utes more a young M. D. (a« I took him to be) 
 came out with a note-book and pencil in his 
 hand, and placed himself alongside the cart 
 in a position for asking questions and taking 
 notes. Addressing himself to a disabled mass 
 of humanity that lay writhing in mortal 
 agony on the hard floor of the cart, he said : 
 " Ccme, my man, look up now, and answer 
 me correctly, to the best of your knowledge 
 and belief, such questions as I shall ask you. 
 
 " What is yorur name, sir ?" 
 
 " Hugh Malone, sir," responded the poor 
 man, in a feeble and tremulous voice. 
 
 "And now, what is your age, sir V" con- 
 tinued the unfeeling M. D. 
 
 " Forty -nine, sir," groaned the poor stricken 
 atom of humanity — " but doctor, what mat- 
 ters it about my name or age, as I expect to 
 die in less than an hour ?" 
 
 Humanity alone prompted me to interfere 
 and ask a question. " Doctor," I said, "would 
 it not be an act of Christian humanity to dis- 
 pense with all further questioning until the 
 poor man's injuries are cared for ?" 
 
 " Carman," tartly responded the young M. 
 D., " when I require your advice I will apply 
 for it ; but at present I think I know my own 
 business. And now, Malone, what country- 
 man are you ?" 
 
 The M. D,'s polite rejoinder to my well 
 meant question closed my mouth at once, but 
 did not prevent me from thinMng that he was 
 a heartless and inhuman wretch. And thus 
 it went on until ; some dozen questions of a 
 similar character had been asked and an- 
 swered, and all of them carefully and deliber- 
 ately recorded. At the close of this examina- 
 tion, which occupied from fifteen to twenty 
 minutes, the M. D. made his exit, saying to 
 the policeman as he was about leaving that 
 he would presently send him a couple 
 of men to assist in getting the iuj ured man 
 into the hospital. 
 
 In about ten minutes more the men made 
 their appearance, and wishing to see with my 
 own eyes the manner in which the unfortun- 
 ate man was disposed of, I followed them into 
 the building. After numerous turnings and 
 windings, we finally came to a halt in a large 
 room, in which some fifty or sixty suffering 
 human beings had already been deposited. 
 Seeking out an empty cot, they laid the poor 
 sufferer carefully thereon, and covered him 
 over with a coarse bl anket. J ust then another 
 M. D. — more advanced in years than the for- 
 
120 
 
 mer — made liis appesirance on the stage of 
 action. Raising the covering, lie glanced at 
 the Irishman's shattered limb for a moment, 
 and then turning to one of the attendants, he 
 said : 
 
 " Thomas, that leg will have to come oif. 
 I am now going to my tea, and shall be here 
 again in the course of an hour ; have the am- 
 putating table in readiness on my return." 
 
 As I afterwards learned, when they returned 
 to their patient at 9 o'clock for ihe purpose of 
 taking oli"his leg, they found him dead. The 
 immortal spirit of Hugh Malone had taken its 
 flight to that far otf country where M. D.'s 
 are unknown, where every man receives his 
 just deserts regardless of name, age, or na- 
 tive laud, and where the magic healing prop- 
 erties of 7-ed tape are not practiced. 
 
 May God forgive me if I am Wrong, but my 
 candid belief is, that the amputation of that 
 poor man's leg was delayed in tlie hope and 
 expectation that he would die before the time 
 appointed for the performance of the opera- 
 tion should arrive, and thus relieve them 
 from the execution of an unpleasant and dis- 
 agi-eeable duty. I hope that I am mistaken 
 in this belief, but everything that I witnessed 
 strongly pointed to such a conclusion. 
 
 As we passed through the gate on our re- 
 turn the policeman said : " Carman, here is a 
 ticket entitling you to 31 cents for your cart- 
 age. Call at the office of the Chief of Po- 
 lice, in the basement of the City Hall, any 
 time when you are down town, and the clerk 
 will pay you. I know very well that it is but 
 a pitiful recompense for an hour and ahalf s 
 services, but it is all that the Department al- 
 lows for such jobs." Is it any wonder that 
 cartmen sliy such jobs whenever they can? 
 
 Relating the case to one of our prominent 
 doctors a few days ago, he said that the hos- 
 pital doctors were right — that if they had taken 
 olf the man's leg immediately it would certainly 
 have killed him. Doctor Cos said that unless 
 his leg was taken off immediately he would 
 die — and the result proved that lit was right. 
 A^nd thus it goes ; when doctors disagree, 
 what are we to believe? Echo answers — 
 '' 'what V 
 
 SHORT STORIES-No. 4. 
 
 Launitz, the Sculptor. 
 
 Robert E. Lauuitz was a man very general 
 ly known in and around New York. Aside 
 from his regular profession he was adj utaut 
 of the New York Seventh regiment for sev- 
 eral years, and had the reputation of being 
 one of the best civil engineers in the United 
 States. He was one of the most social and 
 cosmopolitan men I ever knew in my life. I 
 first became acquainted with him about thirty 
 years ago. His place of business used to be 
 at No. 591 Broadway. Forty years ago he 
 was doing business in company with John 
 Frazee, the then renowned American sculptor 
 — the firm being Frazee & Launitz. They 
 did a large business at that time in their line. 
 When the New York Custom House — now 
 United States Sub-Treasury — was building, 
 Mr. Frazee was appointed by the Government 
 chief superintendent thereof, at a salary of 
 f 10 a day. They then dissolved partnership, 
 and Mr. Launitz thereafter conducted the 
 business in his own name and on his own ac- 
 count. I had but a slight acquaintance with 
 Mr. Frazee, but I knew Mr. Launitz intimate- 
 ly. One day, slxortly before the Custom 
 House was completed, Mr. Frazee was sud- 
 denly stricken down with an apoplectic fit, 
 and expired in a few minutes thereafter. , 
 
 Mr. Launitz was what might very properly 
 be termed a monumental sculptor — monu- 
 ments and tombstones being his grand spe- 
 cialty. As a getter-up of cemetery adorn- 
 ments of a high order his name was favor- 
 ably known all over the American continent, 
 but his largest and most expensive orders 
 came from South America and the West 
 Indies. He generally attended to the ship- 
 ping of his goods himself, and he always 
 footed all the refreshment bills of the whole 
 party, whether for drinks, oysters or dinners. 
 Sometimes it would require two large trucks 
 and five carta to transport a single monument, 
 the cost of which (the mbnument) would fre- 
 quently amount to several thousand dollars. 
 A great number of his fine monuments may 
 be seen in Greenwood and other fashionable 
 cemeteries in the immediate vicinity of New 
 York. 
 
121 
 
 Mr. Launitz was as deaf as a block of mar- 
 ble ; and, like most otlier deaf persons, he 
 always talked very loud, thinking, perhaps, 
 that everybody else was as deaf as himself. 
 Naturally his voice was as soft and dulcet as 
 that of a female, but when angered it was 
 sharp and shrill, and fizzed and squeaked like 
 a cracked bugle. When he was himself, he 
 was as docile and tender-hearted as a child ; 
 but when he was in a passion, which hap- 
 pened frequently, an unchained devil was no 
 match for him. The fact is, he was the most 
 passionate man I ever knew, and when the 
 paroxysm was on him he was entirely beyond 
 human control ; but his fits were generally 
 of short duration. Being of a very nervous 
 temperament, whenever the least thing «(rent 
 wrong, his temper would be up as high as a 
 cat's back in an instant ; then the universal 
 cry among all those that knew him would 
 be " Stand from under !" for then he would 
 as soon kick his best friend as any other. But 
 with all his bad temper he and I used to al- 
 ways get along very quietly and pleasantly 
 together. It would be nothing strange to 
 those who knew him intimately, to see him 
 . kick a friend to-day and kiss him to-morrow. 
 The causes that had produced them were 
 soon forgotten. His workmen all understood 
 his temper like a book, and when they saw the 
 storm beginning to rise they would flee from 
 his presence as doth the frightened traveler flee 
 before the desolating simoom of the desert. 
 He was also a very profane man in his speech 
 when excited, and it was perfectly awful to 
 hear him swear and imprecate on those oc- 
 casions. 
 
 I will now, by way of illustration, relate a 
 little incident in which Mr. Launitz's pas- 
 sion was roused to its highest pitch. He was, 
 as I think he informed me, a Russian by 
 birth ; and, as a consequence, was somewhat 
 peculiar in his pronunciation of some of our 
 American names. He always called me 
 liy-on, strongly emphasizing the last two let- 
 ters of my name. One afternoon in the Sum- 
 mer of 184G, being on his way home, he 
 called at the stand and said to me :— " Ly-oft, 
 I want you to call up at my place at 9 o'clock 
 to-morrow morning and take a baptismal 
 font down to St. John's church. Can you 
 do it for me ?" 
 . - " Yes, sir ; life and health spared me, I will 
 be on hand at about that hour." 
 
 " Please don't disappoint me ; it is import 
 ant that you should be there on time." 
 
 I was on hand next morning at the time 
 designated, and found Mr. Launitz in his 
 studio on the second- floor. He was in high 
 glee and full of smiles and roses. The font 
 had just received its finishing touch and was 
 standing in the middle of the room ready for 
 removal. It was about three feet in height, 
 and when taken apart consisted of four pieces, 
 pedestal, column, entablature and basin, all 
 held in their respective places by a substan- 
 tial iron rod running through the centre of 
 the whole. It was a beautiful piece of work- 
 manship, much of it having been executed by 
 Mr. L.'s own hands. Some half-dozen men 
 were present in readiness to take it apart and 
 transfer it to the cart. 
 
 " Come, now, hj-on," said Launitz with a 
 pleasant smile on his countenance, " is your 
 cart in readiness for loading ?" 
 
 " It is," I replied, " and the sooner the job 
 is disposed off the better I shall like it, for I 
 have other work on hand." 
 , "Come, then, boys, to work now, and take 
 the font apart and put it on the cart. Take 
 your time now, and handle it carefully." 
 
 Four men then took hold of the large ba- 
 sin, and undertook to lift it off the top of the 
 rod, but it did not budge an inch. Bracing 
 themselves for a heavier lift, they again made 
 the attempt to separate the basin from the 
 rest of the font, when, whew ! up it went 
 like a feather, carrying the entablature with 
 it, and all toppled over into a confused heap 
 together. I stood by, looking on at the mo- 
 ment, and seeing everything crumbling to 
 pieces, as it appeared to me, I made a grab at 
 the entablature, and caught it just in time to 
 save it from falling on the-top of the pedestal. 
 In doing this the back of my left hand got 
 jammed among the falling fragments, and 
 bled profusely, 
 "Good God !" exclaimed Launitz, his passions 
 having been lashed into a frenzy in a moment. 
 " What have you been doing there ? You've 
 ruined me — you blunder-heads you, you have 
 broken the font all to pieces ! Clear ■put. I 
 gay — get out of my shop this minute, every 
 one of you, or I'll kill you ! You careless, 
 clumsy, bungling devils you !— Clear out, I 
 gay ! — leave my premises this instant, every 
 cursed one of you, and let me never see your 
 faces again ! " 
 
122 
 
 These outbursts of au»er were interspersed 
 with horrid oaths which now and then verged 
 into blasphemy. After delivering his angry 
 tirade he flew at the men like an uncaged 
 tiger, kicking at this one and striking at that 
 one, until they all disappeared, but hitting 
 none of them. The men had all encountered 
 such skirmishing before, and as usual, they 
 all succeeded in making their escape with 
 whole hides. I held up my bleeding hand as 
 a signal of distress, and I suppose this was 
 all that saved me from being tumbled head- 
 long down stairs with the rest of them. 
 
 Having «leared the room of all his work- 
 men, Launitz commenced pacing up and 
 down the floor, wringing his hands and ex- 
 claiming : 
 
 " I wish I was dead ! All my hopes and 
 expectations have been blasted in an instant]! 
 What is the use of working at all ? I wish 
 I had never been born. Always been my 
 luck to have a set of stupid, bungling fools 
 around me ; but a single one of them shall 
 never strike a blow for me again." 
 
 All of a sudden he stopped short, seized 
 hold of the office-bell, and rang it furiously as 
 though the building had been on fire. In 
 about five seconds the office-boy made his ap- 
 pearance with his hat under liis arm, trem- 
 bling like a convicted criminal, and with a 
 quivering voice exclaimed, " Here, sir!" 
 
 " 1 say, James," screamed the infuriated 
 maniac, " do you know Mr. Frazee V 
 
 " Yes, sir, I think I do," answered the boy, 
 promptly. 
 
 " Do yoti know where the new Custom 
 House is, you thick-headed scoundrel you ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, I think I do," responded the 
 trembling boy, with tears in bis eyes. 
 
 " Well, here's sixpence — take it and jump 
 into the first stage that comes along and go 
 down to the Custom House, and tell Mr. Fra- 
 zee to come up here immediately." 
 
 " Mr. wlio, did you say, sir f inquired the 
 terror-stricken boy. 
 
 " Frazee 1 Frazee ! Mr. M'azee ! Don't 
 you know Mr. Frazeeee-e ?" hissed the mad- 
 man from between his clenched teeth. 
 
 " Yes, sir — Mr. Frazee, who superintends 
 the Custom House," responded the boy with 
 a little more confidence. 
 
 " Yes, you rascal— Mr. Frazee, Superintend- 
 ent of the Custom House. Tell him to come 
 up here at once, as I want to see him on im- 
 bu siness ; and if you don't make haste 
 
 I'll kill you. I don't believe there is anoth- 
 er man in the world who has such a set of 
 fools around him as I have." 
 
 Then, becoming a little more calm, he con- 
 tinued : " It is too bad. The vestry were 
 going to send to Italy to have this font 
 made, and I only obtained the job through 
 the intercession of a particular friend, at 
 about half the price I ought to have had for 
 making it. I am to have only $400 for mak- 
 ing it, and took the job more for tbe name it 
 would give me than for any profit it was 
 possible to make on it, and now here it is all 
 dashed to pieces ! What am I to do ? And 
 worse than all else, there is to be a grand 
 gathering of distinguised clergymen at the 
 church this afternoon, and some great man is 
 to be baptized at 4 o'clock, and all doomed to 
 be disappointed ! Here I've been to work on 
 this beautiful font night and day for the last 
 two weeks, so as to have it done in time, and 
 now here it is, the Very moment it is finished, 
 all dashed to pieces ! There was at least $200 
 worth of work on that entablature alone, and 
 all the work of my own hands, and there it 
 all lays in ruins 1 What shall I do ? What 
 possible excuse can I make ?" 
 
 Then, wringing his hands and beating his 
 forehead with his fists, he became more furi- 
 ous than ever, raging and tearing up and 
 down the room like a madman, that lie was. 
 He tore the hair out of his head by the hand- 
 full, and cried and moaned like a lost child. 
 The man looked and acted more like a fiend 
 than a human being, and it was perfectly 
 fearful to hear him curse and blaspheme. 
 " D — n them !" he vociferated, his eyes flash- 
 ing fire, " I wish I had killed every one of 
 them. Such careless, blundering devils are 
 not fit to live. Oh I oh ! oh I what a life for 
 a man to live ! It's too bad, too bad, too bad I" 
 
 During all this raving and tearing I stood 
 there almost paralyzed with fear, gazing first 
 at tlie maniac and tlien at my bleeding hand, 
 but uttered I not a single word. All of a sud- 
 den the fit left him, and Launitz was himself 
 again. Coming up to the place where I was 
 ^tanding, with an angelic smile on his coun- 
 tenance, and in the tenderest tone of voice 
 imaginable, he said inquiringly : 
 
 " hj-on, if it hadn't been for you that font 
 would have been all smashed to pieces. Is 
 your hand much hurt '?" 
 
 '• I really don't know, Mr. Launitz ; it has 
 been bleeding profusely, but it don't pain me 
 much. " 
 
J 23 
 
 "I am glad to hear it ; come with me into 
 the office, and wash off the blood and let's see 
 how it looks." 
 
 I then went into the office and washed off 
 the blood, and found only a skin bruise. 
 Launitz tore a strip off one of his clean 
 white linen aprons, and hunting up a bit of 
 string, dressed and tied up my wound very 
 neatly. "And now," said he, giving me a 
 gentle dig in my side with his elbow, "let us 
 go and examine the demolished font, and 
 see what damage has been done." 
 
 '•Oh, ho !" said Launitz, alter examining it 
 carefully, "it's not much broken after all, 
 only one small piece knocked off the entabla- 
 ture, that's all ; had I known it was no worse 
 I need not have sent for Mr. Frazee at all ; 
 but we'll soon make things all right when he 
 comes. There's no use your waiting any 
 longer now, hy-on; come up again at one 
 o'clock, and we'll be all ready for you." ^ • 
 
 I had seen men a little singular before ; 
 bur. a queer man was Launitz. 
 
 When Twent up again at one o'clock, I 
 found everything going on as usual. The 
 men were all at their work, and Launitz 
 looked as calm and serene as a May-day 
 morning. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Launitz," I said, "is everything 
 all right and in good shape now ?" 
 
 •'Oh yes. Lycra, Mr. Frazee has been up 
 and made everything all right in about five 
 minutes. He thinks that the accident hap- 
 pened from the two top pieces sticking togeth- 
 er until they reached the top of the rod, when 
 they separated. I am pretty much of the 
 same opinion myself, and shall recommend 
 the men to be a little more careful in future. 
 Moist marble dusi is very adhesive in its 
 nature, and the joint between the basin and 
 the entablature should have been loosened 
 before they attempted to lift off the basin, 
 but it's all right now." 
 
 " Y«8, sir," I replied, " that's just my opin- 
 ion, too — the sticking was what caused the 
 accident." 
 
 The men then loaded the detached pieces 
 of the font upon the cart, and I drove down 
 to the church. It was there put together, 
 placed into its proper position, and gave uni- 
 versal satisfaction. The distinguished clergy- 
 men all assembled according to the pro- 
 gramme, the great man was baptized in due 
 form, and Launitz obtained the name and 
 reputation of having made the handsomest 
 
 *16 
 
 and cheapest baptismal font that had ever 
 been seen in the United States. 
 
 Mr. Launitz departed this life about a year 
 ago, at the good ripe old age of three score 
 years and ten ; but my impression is that he 
 died unincumbered with much of this world's 
 gear ; he was too liberal and generous- 
 hearted for that. H« was buried with mili- 
 tary honors by the Seventh regiment. Peace 
 to his ashes ! His memory deserves a grander 
 monument than any he ever made for others ; 
 but will it ever get it ? Doubtful. 
 
 WANTED-AN HONEST CARTMAN". 
 
 I was sitting on my cart on the corner of 
 Broadway and Canal street one fine autum- 
 nal morning, enjoying my second pipe and 
 intently engaged in reading Tristam Siiandy, 
 when I felt a light tap on my shoulder. On 
 looking up to ascertain the cause, I discov- 
 ered a tall, shabbily dressed, gentlemanly 
 looking man standing before me. 
 
 " Good morning, carman," said the stran- 
 ger in a drawling, nasal, Puritanical tone of 
 voice, " it's a very pleasant morning, sir." 
 
 The gentleman who thus accosted me was 
 tall and slender, with dull, heavy looking 
 gray eyes, a sallow and consumptive cast , of 
 countenance, and was apparently about sixty 
 years of age. He wore a suit of well worn 
 black broadcloth, a very shiny black fur hat 
 that looked as though it had undergone its 
 nine hundred and ninety-ninth ironing, stiff 
 high shirt collar and spotless white cravat, 
 f». pair of shabbv, half worn boots that shone 
 and glittered in the morning sun from the 
 effects of an extra coaling of Day & Martin's 
 beet, well laid on. Taken altogether he 
 looked the very picture of a poor country par- 
 son living on the stinted salary of $300 a 
 year, or like one of the " Pilgrim Fathers" as 
 they appeared when they first landed from 
 the Mayflower, upon New England's blar- 
 ney rock over two hundred years ago. I 
 took his measure at a glance and determined 
 to shape my discourse accordingly. 
 
 " I see, cartman," continued the stranger, 
 " that you indulge in the use of the pipe, 
 but not to an inj urioiis extent, I trust." 
 
 With a coolness of speech and gravity of 
 countenance that ill accorded with the risible 
 state of my feelings at the time, I promptly 
 
124 
 
 replied : " No, sir, I am not much given to 
 smoking, I freely admit, taking into consider- 
 ation the fact that I commenced smoking at 
 the tender age of five years old. This, sir, is 
 only my fifth pipe this morning, and I very 
 seldom as yet indulge to the extent of over 
 thirty or forty a day ; but having not 'yet ar- 
 rived at the middle age of scriptural life, I 
 yet hope to attain to the good old par number 
 of one hundred pipes a day before I die." 
 
 " Dear me ! I should call that rather heavy 
 .smoking for a man of any age. But you are 
 not a hard drinker I should judge from the 
 general complexion of your countenance." 
 
 " Oh, no sir, not at all ; only a drop or two 
 now and then, say five times in the forenoon 
 and seven in the afternoon, except on special 
 occasions, hut never to excess, sir." 
 
 " Gracious me ! a dozen or more drinks a 
 day ; why, I should call that pretty hard 
 arinking anyway, I should." 
 
 "' But, sir, bear in mind that I take only 
 half a pint at a drink, and moreover, that I 
 have been accustomed to taking this limited 
 amount daily ever since I was ten years old. 
 So you see that I am getting used to it and 
 don't mind it a bit — practice, they say, makes 
 perfect." 
 
 *' You will allow me to say that I do not 
 view it in that light. But I see, carman, that 
 you have a book in your hands, and I hope it 
 is a good one. I am extremely glad to see 
 you turning your attention to reading, and 
 devoting your spare time to useful studies. I 
 always look upon it as a good sign whenever 
 I find any of our people of the lower orders 
 with a book in hand. May I make so bold as 
 to ask the title of the book you are reading?" 
 
 " Certainly, sir ; I never read anything but 
 the best of books — none of your namby- 
 pamby literature for me. The title of the 
 book I am now reading is Tristatn Shandy, 
 ope of the most side-splitting books in the 
 English language. It always make.-* me 
 feel ten years younger whenever I read it." 
 • "Handy Andy? I havB never read the 
 wicked book myself : but I remember hear- 
 ing a friend who had read it say, that it was 
 a very dull and stupid kind of a book. Side 
 slitting, I think you said — I am afraid that 
 it is not a book of a very high devotional 
 character." 
 
 " Well, if it is not, it oaght to be at any 
 rate, judging from the title attached to the 
 aame of the author. It is, to say the least 
 
 of it, one of the most popular productions of 
 that great sensation preacher. Reverend 
 Lawrence Sterne, the great Beecher of his 
 day and generation." 
 
 " Ah, yes, that makes all the difference in 
 the world. I don't much like the title of the 
 book, 'tis true ; but surely if it was written 
 by a distinguished clergyman, I doubt not 
 but it's all right. But let us now talk busi- 
 ness for awhile. I am about changing my 
 residence, and should like to employ a good, 
 sober, steady, careful, honest -cartman to re- 
 move mj fur-ni-ture. How would you like 
 to undertake the job ?" 
 
 "Well, I shouldn't mind it, provided wie 
 could agree upon the terms. I have nothing 
 particular on hand at present." 
 
 " About how much do you charge a load 
 for such jobs ? I want you to do it as reason- 
 ably as possible, for money is not very 
 abundant with me at the present time." 
 
 " We always rate the price according to 
 the \r don of the furniture, and the distance 
 it is to be carted — say from 25 to 50 cents a 
 load." 
 
 " Well, then, I would state that \hefur-ni- 
 tureis on the second floor, to be delivered on 
 the second and third floors, and the distance 
 to be carted is about six blocks." 
 
 " That being the case, it would cost you 
 about 25 cents a load, you to pay for help — 
 or 30 cents a load, I to find my own help. If 
 you think you ean stand that, I am ready for 
 the job." 
 
 " Why, cartman, you are quite reasonable 
 in your charges, rather more so than I ex 
 pected. Indeed, I did not expect to have it 
 done much short of 50 cents a load, that be- 
 ing about the price that I have generaUy 
 paid. I think that we sljall be able to make 
 a bargain — but having been so often robbed 
 by dishonest cartmen, I have determined that 
 in the future I will not employ a cartman un- 
 til I have fully satisfied myself that he'uhon- 
 est. Will you, therefore, allow me to exam- 
 ine the palm of your left hand ? I thirik that 
 I am fortune-teller enough to determine from 
 the inside lines of a man's hand whether he 
 is honest or not." 
 
 " My good sir, I cannot allow you to make 
 the examination that you propose, for I know 
 that the evidence would be against me. I do 
 not wish to deceive yo«, sir — I am not an 
 honest man in any sense of the word, and do 
 not profess to be. I freely admit to you that 
 
125 
 
 5 am one of the greatest ecoundiels in the 
 city, and in this I am honest — I therefore beg 
 that you will not trust me. My invariable 
 practice is. to take all the jobs I can get at 
 about quarter the customary price, and then 
 steal enough to make it amount to double or 
 triple the ordinary cartage — and this is the 
 way I live and prosper by doing cheap work. 
 Yes, sir, if you wish to have your work done 
 by an JbOnest cartman, you had better dis- 
 pense at once with all thoughts of employing 
 me at any price, or upon any conditions, un- 
 less you expect to pay dear for the whistle." 
 
 " Thank you, my good man for your lion- 
 esty in so kindly informing me of your dis- 
 honesty," replied the astonished stranger. 
 " According to your own representations of 
 yourselt,'You would not answer my purpose 
 at all — no, sir, not even should you offer to 
 remove my fur-ni-ture for nothing. Permit 
 ine now to bid you good morning, sir." 
 
 The stranger then bowed politely and left. 
 My medicine, although administeis^ in 
 homeopathic doses, had produced the effect 
 intended — that of sending my nervous patient 
 to another doctor. Passing along the stand; 
 he closely scanned the countenances of the 
 several cartmen thereon, until he came to a 
 halt in front of a young man who had just 
 <;oLimenced driving cart. He soon made his 
 business known to the silly cartman, and 
 then asked permission to examine the palm 
 ot his left hand. The foolish cartman, who, 
 by the way, was as honest a man as ever lived, 
 cheerfully granted the stranger's request. 
 Having made the desired examination, he 
 pronounced the lines in the palm of the cart- 
 man's hand all O. K., and declared that the 
 owner of the hand was an honest man. The 
 poor greenhorn grinned a grin of satisfaction 
 thereat, and a bargain was soon struck be- 
 tween them. The overjoyed cartman was to 
 liave $1.25 a load, and furnish his own help. 
 He commenced at the job early next morning, 
 nnd by constant hard working, finished it at 
 about 9 o'clock of the evening of Uhe same 
 day. 
 
 And now comes the cream of the story. 
 When payment was talked about by the cart- 
 man he was told by the lady of the house 
 " that he would have to call for his pay in 
 the morning, as Mr. Prescott had not yet 
 come up from his office." The cartman called 
 again in the morning, and was told by the 
 lady thai "Mr. P. had just that moment 
 
 started for his office down town." The cart- 
 man inquired of the lady "at what point down 
 town could he find Mr. P.'s office ?" Lady 
 had entirely forgotten the number, " but it 
 was somewhere in Wall street, she believed — 
 would the carman please call again in the 
 evening ?" Carman called again in the even- 
 ing, but " unfortunately Mr. P. had just fin- 
 ished his tea, and gone up town on important 
 business — he would be pretty sure, however, 
 to find him at home in the morning." Cart- 
 man's eyes began to open, but he called again 
 early next morning, and was informed that 
 his gentleman '' had just left the city for 
 Washington." And thus it went, morning 
 after morning, for two whole weeks. Mr. 
 Prescott was here, there, and everywhere, but 
 there was no such thing as obtaining sight of 
 him. Finally cartman, losing all patience, 
 secreted himself in a grocery opposite, and 
 watched for Mr. P. until he saw him come 
 up from down town and enter his house. 
 Cartman rushed to the door immediately 
 thereafter, and, to his great astonishment, 
 was told by servant giri " that Mr. P. had not 
 yet come home." Cartman very politely in- 
 formed servant girl " that she was a d — d 
 liar, for he had just seen him enter the door." 
 This brought Mr. P. from his hiding place 
 to the door. Although in a furious passion 
 he coolly informed cartman that " when he 
 returned the marble-top bureau that he had 
 stolen he would pay him," Cartman retort- 
 ed '• that he had not stolen his bureau," and 
 " that if he did not settle with him on the 
 spot he would sue him." The gentlemanly 
 Mr, P., who would have none other than an 
 honest cartman to xexnovehis fur-ni-ture, told 
 him in his teeth to " sue and be d — d, and 
 see how much he would make out of it." 
 Cartman sued, obtained a j udgment, and or- 
 dered an execution — but when the constable 
 cam* to make a levy a strange gentleman came 
 forward and claimed the ownership of the 
 fur-ni ture by virtue of a chattel mortgage. 
 
 Cartman then dropped the suit, about $20 
 out of pocket, and swore that no over-con- 
 scientious, fortune-telling, strange gentleman 
 should ever be allowed to examine the palm 
 of his band again — and, for aught I know to 
 the coHtrary, he has been as good as his 
 word. 
 
 Sttch is the true and veritable history of 
 the dishonest gentleman, who wanted to em- 
 ploy an lionest cartman to remove his furni- 
 ture. 
 
 Very respectfully and truly yours, 
 I, S. Lyon, Ex-Cartman, No. 2,489. 
 
ERU^T^. 
 
 No, 3.— Latt word on paragraph 37, frcm the bettrm, for "cart" read card. 
 
 No. 7. — At commeDccinent of third paragraph from hcttcm, for a "a few days after," read a few years. 
 
 No. 10.— In middle of fonrth paragraph frcm hottom, for "with all the treasured record of Is ?;a«< great- 
 nees" &c., read^a«i greatness &c. \ 
 
 No. 17.— Third paragraph from top, for "Grand Centre oi Life and Knowledge," read Centre of Light, &c. 
 In same No., for "Old Tad Pratt twice," read Old Zadcc Pratt Also in same No., the name of Morton iB 
 several times used instead of Norton. ., 
 

 Z^l 
 
 
 >- 
 
 CP* 
 
 ^9 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS