This will do pretty well for a man whose father is a Holland Dutchman, and cannot now speak the American language so as to be easily understood,—who is appointing the ejected garroters of European Capitals, to the most lucrative and honorable positions, while poor and honest and intelligent Americans (for whom he professed such boundless love in 1843,) are haughtily denied the humblest appointments in his gift,—who has toiled with sleepless vigilance,—since his recent election as Mayor by the Americans,—to reinstate the odious George W. Matsell, and who has, after an arduous struggle, succeeded in effecting the reappointment of Captain Leonard, a Canadian, and of Captain Dowling, an Irishman, (both of whose naturalization papers I would like to see, or the man who has seen them,) who were smuggled back to their old quarters by Cooper, Gerard, Tiemann, Bowen, and Stranaham, to cut the throat of Seward, and to diffuse poison through the Police Department, and to re-create the perjured carcase of Matsell on the ruins of Tallmadge and Wm. Curtis Noyes, his noble son-in-law. Tiemann aspires to the honors of a Governor, and himself and his brother Edward Cooper, (the Street Commissioner, and the own son of Peter Cooper,) are appointing all the ruffians of both hemispheres to office, to effect the nomination and election of Tiemann as Governor of the Empire State. But Peter, and Daniel, and Edward will be foiled. No man can attain the distinguished honors of America, who prostitutes his own integrity and that of his fellow citizens, to effect his ungodly designs. Aaron Burr and other ambitious rogues tried that experiment, and they were resisted and foiled by the God who loves and protects our beloved America, and they went down to ignominious graves, whose ashes will be loathed and trampled by a thousand generations. Mayor Tiemann is a ninny and a hypocrite—has basely disowned his native Holland skies—has never been naturalized—bamboozled the Americans in 1843 and 1857—loves neither American nor foreigner, nor his God—but adores himself and Peter Cooper, and fears George W. Matsell and his Matron Mistress on Randall’s Island, whom he forced and nearly strangled, while he committed a deed of hell, in the violation of her person, for which, in any city of Europe, he would be dragged to a dungeon or the block, and perhaps torn to pieces in the market place, by the indignant and phrensied populace.
Editorial Career of James Gordon Bennett.
JOHN KELLY’S HOME.
Enter John in tears.
John’s Mother—Well, dear Johnny, why do you cry so hard? Where on earth did you come from? Have you been fighting, and did you act the coward, and get whipped, and run home? Speak, my darling boy, and speak quickly, so that your dear mother can sympathise with you.
John—(still crying)—Dear mother, my heart is so full of woe, that I cannot speak.
Mother—(begins to cry)—O, God! I fear something awful has happened to my adored son, and that he is injured internally, and will soon die. (Falls on her knees, and clasps her hands, and wails in piteous tones, and implores God to spare her son.)
John—(seizing her)—Don’t cry, dear mother, my heart, not my form, is bruised.
Mother—And who bruised your big heart? Did a ruffian throw a stone, or kick you, or strike your heart with his fist? O tell me quickly, so that I can fell him to the earth.