for me. Its intricacies are unconquerable to all save those who are inspired. I have heard of the extraordinary perseverance and severe pecuniary trials through which your father has passed, to impart to you, his only child, a musical education. And I deem the efforts of both father and son highly commendable, and truly worthy of encouragement. I therefore present you with five thousand dollars, which I trust will be consecrated to your intellectual, musical, and moral culture.—Sincerely,

Orison Blunt.

[Turn over for Paul’s response.]

New York, April 21, 1854.

My Dear Sir:—Mere words, though brightly glowing with affection, could not express my grateful emotions for your unexampled munificence. Nor could the most stirring strains I ever expect to conceive, reflect the chords you have touched in my heart. I can only assure you, that I will be very studious, and fondly cherish you next to my father and mother. I may soon return to France, and if you should ever visit me, I am sure that my friends would cordially receive you, for your substantial kindness to me during my sojourn in a far distant land. Affectionately,

Paul Julien.

Alderman Orison Blunt,

Warren street, New York.

We led Alderman Blunt into this, and we trust the public will not censure him, but lash us most unmercifully for such a vile imposture. Blunt never gave a cent to Paul Julien,—and when we asked him some time afterwards, to aid Paul, he declined; but Alderman Thomas Christy gave Paul $80, to relieve himself and father and mother. When we had our last sad interview with Madame Sontag, just prior to her fatal departure for Mexico, by way of the Lakes, (in a conversation of three hours at her room in the Mansion House in Albany) she assured us there never was such a talented youth as Paul Julien, and that she had adopted him, and warmly besought us never to desert him, not only as his private teacher, but as his pecuniary friend, and we most solemnly promised we would not. After Sontag died in Mexico, Paul became very poor, and as we were also indigent, we hatched this stratagem to deceive the public, and create excitement, and fill a concert room for Paul, and we asked Blunt to sign this sham letter, which he did. We have ever been disgusted with this wicked imposition, and have suffered the compunction of a penitent thief, and we now dash the odium from our conscience, as a midnight spider prowling round our nose. And as it is the only Barnum and Ullman operation in which we ever were enlisted, we trust and believe that the public will forgive us.

James Gordon Bennett knew nothing of our imposition, nor did Frederick Hudson, his Private Secretary, until the present week, when we disclosed the whole infamous proceeding to Mr. Hudson.

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Fun, and Sun, and Shade.

Frances Fauvel Gouraud, the mnemonic lecturer of 1843, gave gold pencils and other gilded trinkets to males, and reticules to females. John Innman was editor of the Commercial Advertiser, to whom he gave a massive gold pencil, and desired to give a reticule to his fair lady, who was sister of the once famous Clara Fisher, and now Mrs. Maeder. The day was warm, and the cholera diarrhœa was prevalent, and he loudly rings the bell, and dashes into the house with all the enthusiasm of a Frenchman, and screams: “Mrs. Innman: Have you got one necessaire?” She is dumb for seconds, and her lily cheeks are balls of fire, and indignant phrenzy glares in her eyes, when she proclaims: “I will call the servant,” and furiously retires. The servant darts in and balls out: “Come hither sir,” and on he tramps, behind the servant, into the basement and the yard, where he is politely escorted into the necessaire, when he savagely ejaculates: “The diable! You von tam skamp! Why for you take me in dis vile place? By gar! by dam! What is dat I smell? What you for eat so much unions in dis country? You one tam rascal! What for you bring me in dis nasty place”?

Servant—“Mrs. Innman directed mo to show you the necessaire.”

Gouraud—“Necessaire! Vat!—You call dis necessaire? By gar! You tell one tam lie. A necessaire is full of holes.”

Servant—“And is not this necessaire full of holes?”

Gouraud—“Yes—dat we admit for de argument—but they are such tam pig holes, dat de ladies’ perfume would all run out into de street. Why does for you laugh right in my face? Me will break your tam head if you laugh at me. A necessaire has very small holes in my superb French beautiful and sublime and very glorious country. Me did not mean to ask Mrs. Innman for dis kind of necessaire. Me mean one little box, or bag, or re-tickle-em, to put her sweet perfume handkerchief, and other pretty little things in. Whew! O, by gar! Me shall sneeze? How me nose do tickle! Git me out of dis one tam yard. Me be sick already. By dam—me are ruined. Ah che—Horatio! Dare—does you not see dat? Did not me say me should sneeze? By dam! How you does smell in dis nasty country. Where is Mrs. Innman? Me must explain to her that me mean de other necessaire, and not dis necessaire.”

Servant—“You perhaps had better see Mr. Innman, as it would not be proper to explain such a thing to Mrs. Innman.”

Gouraud—(Seizing the servant by the throat)—“You are one tam villain, and me tell you me must see Mrs. Innman, for to ask her pardon, or Mr. Innman will give me no more puffs of my astonishing System of Mnemotechny. Me must see Mrs. Innman. Dare—dare is one gold pencil, (it was copper plated) and now let me see Mrs. Innman.”

Servant—“Well, I will ask her if it be agreeable to see you.”

Gouraud—“Bury well—bury well—and me will wait domb stairs, until you come with Mrs. Innman.”

Servant—(returns) “I have explained everything to Mrs. Innman, who says that she hopes you will excuse her from an explanatory interview, and regrets that necessaire has been confounded with something less fragrant, and that she is very sorry she had you escorted into the yard.”

Gouraud—Seizes both hands of the servant, and dances, and runs him up and down the parlor like fury, and cuts half a dozen pigeons’ wings with his buoyant legs, and sings Marseilles, and darts out of the house, and down the street, as though a creditor was after him; and in the far perspective, with his elastic step and fancy and frantic gesticulation, evinces a wild delight that resembles the ecstacies of Elysium.

c12

Our Beloved Brethren of the Press.

The Reporters of the Common Council have received 200 dollars each for their laborious services, which is a happiness to us beyond expression. We know their generous emotions, and their evening toil in a sickly atmosphere, some of whom have the ability and genius to wield the destinies of a city or nation. Although Horace Greeley recently told us that he had never been in the Board of Aldermen, and would hardly know where to find it, yet James Gordon Bennett has told us that he served a terrible apprenticeship as a Reporter of the Common Council, more than a quarter of a century since, and we know that most of