school, and terrified the farmers for miles around, who petitioned father to come after me, who visited the unsophisticated countrymen, and strove to tranquilise their nerves with the assurance that I would not contaminate their children, nor desolate their fields and orchards, and that it was the crows and not me that pilfered their early crops of fruits and vegetation. But they shook their heads, and besought him to restore the wonted quiet and confidence of the parish, by my immediate departure for some distant region. Father succumbed, and we left for Providence, where I became the very youthful clerk of Norman White, who is now an extensive type and paper merchant in Beekman street, with whom I remained until I left for New York with Jim Baker in the steamer Washington, Captain Bunker, concealing ourselves in the water closets until the boat passed Newport, when we appeared on deck, and strutted as boldly and proudly as Robert Macaire and his companion. But the Captain soon discovered us to be impostors, and made us pass pine wood to the firemen for our passage. Jim was older and stronger than me, and the Captain and first mate made him work like a slave; but I was seasick, and vomited dreadfully all over the deck, and the firemen, and passengers; and as the Captain slowly passed me, I belched a copious volley of the most bitter bile plumply in his face, for which he severely shook me, and made me express my sorrow for the dire calamity and apparent insult, and drove me down below, where I implored the Cook to throw me overboard, and relieve me from my deathly sickness. The nigger Cook laughed uproariously over my misfortunes, and declined my request, and brought me a stew composed of pork, molasses, and onions, for my dinner; and, as I smelt, and inhaled, and gazed upon the nauseous dish, I let fly a torrent of bile into the darkey’s face, who run for his life, and molested me no more during the voyage, and I never saw Sambo again. We arrived in New York, at Fulton market, and went to Holts’ Eating House, and ate heartily, and Jim Baker went in pursuit of work as a segar maker, and I tagged on behind. He got employment, and we boarded in Fulton street, near Broadway. I soon got a situation as bar keeper, with Mr. Saunders, in Laurens street, next to the theatre, and soon afterwards went a few doors above, in the basement, as bartender for Mr. Gilman. I then became a waiter in a New York and Albany steamboat, and afterwards in a Hartford steamer. I then went to an Intelligence office (whoso proprietor strove to cheat me), and for 50 cents got a situation with Wm. Chapman, No. 60 Pine street, at $2 a week, and boarded in Water street, near Beekman. Wm. H. Stansbury was Mr. Chapman’s book-keeper, who left soon after I came, and went with James Brooks, of the “New York Express,” as book-keeper, where he is now. This was in 1826. My duties consisted in helping William Chapman softly draw his coat over his rheumatic shoulders, and going to the Post Office, and copying letters. I told Mr. Chapman that I had to pay two dollars a week for board, and that he must increase my salary, or I could not remain. He said that he could get a boy for less than two dollars a week, and I left him, and got a place with two brothers, named Morton, in Front street, for two dollars and twenty-five cents a week. While passing the sailor hat store of Mr. Leary, Mr. Leary’s mother called me into the store, and said: “Little boy, if you will take this bottle, and go to the grocery and get me some gin, I will give you some pennies.” When I returned with the gin, she asked me if I would like to be a clerk for Mr. Leary. I said that I would come for my board and clothes. She told me to call in the evening and arrange the compensation with Mr. Leary, who would then be in the store. I did so, and on the following day I told the Messrs. Morton that I must leave them, as two dollars and twenty-five cents a week could not buy my food and clothes, and pay for washing my two shirts and two pairs of stockings. Mr. Leary, his wife, mother, children, and myself, were packed like pork in two small rooms in the rear of the store, which were used as kitchens, bed-rooms, parlors, wash-rooms and everything else, which rendered the atmosphere slightly dense and foggy, and perhaps impure, and in the night we often had skull collisions, and tumbled over each other, which strongly resembled a rough and tumble cabin scene in a terrific storm. I might have endured all this, but to make fires, open store, sell hats to drunken sailors, run errands, and take care of squalling children, so taxed my patience, and wasted my pale and naturally delicate form, that I resolved to leave instanter, and, with the Pilgrim’s heavy burden, away I flew in pursuit of employment. Mr. Leary now keeps a hat store in the Astor House, whose boys are wealthy merchants in Exchange Place, whom I often remind of the days when I bore them in my arms, and spanked them when they squalled. From Leary’s I went to the Harpers in Cliff street, and was placed in the pressing and folding room, in the upper story. I boarded with Fletcher (the youngest of the Harpers) in Batavia street, between James and Roosevelt. The firm then consisted of John, James, and Wesley Harper. Fletcher was the foreman of the composing room, (where I was ultimately placed), who corrected my earliest errors in the printer’s stick—and a precious job he had of it—consuming more of his valuable time than my composition was worth. Fletcher was a fireman, and recently married, and rather wild, and had two children, one of whom was the partner of Raymond, Wesley and Jones, of the “New York Daily Times,” at the origin of that Journal, whom I often fondled in my arms in his infancy, who was a very pretty child, though rather lively for one so extremely young, whose extraordinary vivacity I attributed to worms. Wesley Harper was incomparably modest and susceptible in those days, and visited and married a lady residing with Fletcher, who was connected with his wife. While they were courting up stairs, the servant girl, myself, and other apprentices often annoyed them with our funny tricks; but Wesley and Fletcher did not dare complain of us to John and James Harper, as the courtship of Wesley was without the knowledge of the elder Harpers. The servant of Fletcher imparted to us this precious secret, and we long teased the timid lovers with impunity, in which the mischievous servant participated with great hilarity.

(To be continued to the mournful eve of our last gasp)

c6

Stephen H. Branch’s Alligator.

NEW YORK, SATURDAY, MAY 1, 1858.

Listen!—On Saturday last we arose with the glorious sun, and went to our printing office, and found the printer’s devil asleep in his dingy bunk. We applied a bodkin, and he sprang at us like a tiger. We grappled, and discovering that he had an Editorial Alligator by the throat, he released his grasp. We then banged the gong, and the printers appeared, like the imps in Robert the Devil, from the infernal regions. We then placed our leviathan form on the press, and lit the faggots, and puff, puff, went the machinery, like the drums and trumpets in Musard’s Express Train Gallop. We filled our carpet bag with Alligators, and flew like a whirlwind to the wholesale newspaper merchants in Beekman, Nassau, and Ann streets, where we found a plumed battalion awaiting the advent of the Alligator. The wholesalers, and retailers, and newsboys approached us in platoons, and clasped our fervent hands until they squeezed them into icicles, and we cried for quarter, and returned to our printing office, for another carpet bag of Alligators, which we sold on our way to Ann street, and returned again, and again, and yet again, for Alligators, until the weary sun retired to his