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