these letters bear the impress, on the seal, of “Happiness,” “Pain,” “Eye,” &c; that Mr. Dressel has your daughter’s daguerreotype, which has been open on the piano, in the parlor of Mrs. Mitchell, or on the piano or bed in Mr. Dressel’s apartment. Now, my dear Sir, if all this be fallacious, Miss Mitchell deserves a severe retribution. Time will show as to its truth. I am equally the friend of Mr. Dressel, and of the family of Mrs. Mitchell, and of your own family, all of whom are strangers to me in the light of consanguinity, and nearly by association, save as the boarder of Mrs. Mitchell now and hitherto. But if I can save your daughter from the dreadful calamity of elopement, and her parents from the deep mortification and anguish that would arise therefrom, I assure you that I will do so, come what may. The pride and glory of your family, and of a large circle of acquaintance and friends, shall not be suddenly and surreptitiously sacrificed forever, if I can avert it. So, my dear Sir, you can command my services as you please, in a rational way, in all this business. I repeat what I said at our interview, (in reply to your assertion of implicit confidence in your daughter,) that you must not lose sight of the frailties of our nature, with its unreliable and treacherous impulsions, nor of the power of genius, nor the extraordinary fascinations of music (in the hands of a great master), over the delicate, unsophisticated, and enthusiastic mind of a female, with kindred musical genius; and that even opposing natures often form alliances of friendship and matrimony.

From your friend,

Stephen H. Branch.

To Rev. Dr. George Potts.

N. B.—I trust you will excuse the haste with which this letter was written, owing to the arrival of friends from California, on yesterday.

S. H. B.

Time rolls! Mr. Perkins, a young lawyer, (formerly of Natchez, but who had removed to New Orleans,) comes North, and marries the daughter of the Rev. Dr. Potts, and they sail for Paris, where he discovers in her trunk the very letters that Dressel wrote her while at Mrs. Mitchell’s, in response to her “drop notes,” and also letters from Dressel that she had just received in Paris, which were enclosed in her mother’s letters from New York. Terrible scenes transpire, resembling those between Othello and Desdemona, and she flies from him in terror, and conceals herself in Paris, and writes to her father, who goes to Paris and accompanies her to America, when he immediately sends for us, and weeps in our presence, and deeply regrets that he had not adopted our advice, and driven Dressel into the street, who, with the imprudence of his own wife, in inclosing Dressel’s letters to his daughter in Paris, had plunged his family into irremediable ruin. Perkins returns and goes to the Irving House, at the corner of Chambers street and Broadway, where we had frequent interviews, when he cries like a little child, and denounces Mr. and Mrs. Potts, but defends the chastity of his wife, and regrets his passion and his furious anathema of her in Paris. The matter is thrown into the Courts, and Perkins employs Daniel Lord, William Kent, and Benjamin F. Butler, and Potts engages Wm. Curtis Noyes, Ogden Hoffman, and —— Staples, and both Perkins and Potts strive to induce us to testify in their favor, and because we peremptorily refused, and assured them we should disclose the truth on the stand, they dared not call the case for trial, lest our testimony would overwhelm both parties, and consign them to eternal odium and misery. Perkins obtained a divorce, and was elected to Congress, and married a Southern lady. Miss Potts remains single, and is a noble ornament of society. One of Mrs. Mitchell’s nieces was seduced by a monster, and had a child, and she soon became a prostitute, and her mother a lunatic. Julia Mitchell married a Southron, who professed great wealth, but proved to be a pauper, and a villain of the deepest calibre. Julia obtained a divorce, and married a Mr. Moffat, who was also supposed to be immensely affluent. Mrs. Mitchell died, and her other niece resides with Mrs. Julia Moffat. And thus ends the first Chapter of this mournful narrative.

O whence have we come?
And where shall we go?
And why are we here
To combat woe?
O come fair spirit
Through the air,
And tell us more
Of this affair.

c7

Stephen H. Branch’s Alligator.

NEW YORK, SATURDAY, MAY 8, 1858.

c7

Ice Cream.

The toiling million starved by the heartless Politicians, and the Fifth Avenue Robbers of the Public Treasure, who are the source of Oppressive Taxation, and Exorbitant Rents, and Fuel, and Food, and Raiment, and Prostitution, and Suicide, and of Theft, Rape, Arson, and Assassination.

Reclining on the velvet banks of the Hudson, were Mayor Kingsland and little Georgy, with steamers, and mariners, and forests, and the full round moon, and radiant stars reflected in the placid waters. With segars, and wine, and luscious cream before them, Georgy said: “Kingsland: I came from Brandon in the ship Perseus, in 1817, and was a valiant youth. Patrick Dickey was a passenger, with 400 others. We exchanged vessels at Halifax, and tarried several months at Perth Amboy, and resided in Banker street, (the Fifth Avenue of those days,) and at Niblo’s Garden, where my father was a fashionable Broadway dandy tailor, on whose big sign was ‘George Matsell, Tailor, from London.’ Our residence was the first brownstone mansion erected on Broadway. My father was of the Paine, Wright, and Owen creed, which I early imbibed. My brother Augustus was the Secretary of Fanny Wright, and I was her enthusiastic disciple, and sold her books, and pretty pictures, which were not obscene, and for which I was not indicted; nor were my associates imprisoned thirty days in the Tombs, whom I induced to visit America. Through Fanny Wright and George II. Purser, (who was the favorite of Fanny,) and Robert Dale Owen, I became a Custom House officer, under Martin Van Buren, and a Police Justice under Mayor Varian, and Chief of Police under Mayor Havemeyer, with whom and all his successors I had great influence. I pulled the nose of every Mayor save Havemeyer, whom I found extremely mulish; and yet I made him fear me when I chose. Although my salary was small, yet I realized a stupendous fortune like yourself, since you began your political career in the First Ward, as a shoulder-hitter, and a candidate for Assistant Alderman, and successful municipal oil contractor. We understand these political ropes and wires, Kingsland, and it is unnecessary to linger on them. You are on the Fifth Avenue, in a Persian Palace, while I adhere to Stanton street, in a humble dwelling, lest I be suspected by my enemies of acquiring vast treasures through my office of Chief. I think you commit a fatal error in your display of magnificence, but I’ll not murmur, as all are responsible for their own sins and imprudence. You may have a boisterous career, and a gust may arise, like that of Astor Place, when you may require my services. My coolness and intrepidity on that occasion, saved the city from universal massacre and conflagration. I judiciously remained in the Opera House, and commanded Woodhull, Talmadge, Westervelt and Sandford, to fire at the mob in the street, or all would have been lost, and the city instantly demolished, and its inhabitants butchered and burned to bleeding fragments and Kansas cinders. I was in the stage-box throughout the frightful spectacle, lest from my immense fat, I might be as palpable a target for the foe, as Daniel Lambert, my remotest