The Project Gutenberg EBook of Stephen H. Branch's Alligator Vol. 1 no. 4, by 
Stephen H. Branch

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license


Title: Stephen H. Branch's Alligator Vol. 1 no. 4

Author: Stephen H. Branch

Release Date: May 11, 2015 [EBook #48932]

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STEPHEN H. BRANCH'S ALLIGATOR ***




Produced by Giovanni Fini and Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)






CONTENTS

  Page
Let Dad and Son Beware! 2
Advents and Public Plunderers. 3
The Mayor and Charley. 6
Life of Stephen H. Branch. 8

[1]

Volume I.—No. 4.]—— SATURDAY, MAY 15, 1858.—— [Price 2 Cents.

STEPHEN H. BRANCH’S
ALLIGATOR.


[2]

c2

Let Dad and Son Beware!

Peter Cooper and Mayor Tiemann are old and sacred friends of George W. Matsell, who are more familiar with each other than they are with the Bible, or morning and evening prayers. Mayor Tiemann was elected with the express condition that Matsell should be restored to his old position, and Peter Cooper and Mayor Tiemann, and James W. Gerard, and Ambrose C. Kingsland are at work for their lives to effect the restoration of Matsell, and all impends on the election of a Commissioner in place of the noble Perrit. Matsell was in the city at the last Mayoralty election, conspiring against Wood, who saved him from the scaffold, after we convicted him of alienage and perjury, and the dastard and sacrilegious abjuration of his country. And at the late election, he stabbed his benefactor down in the dust, in the assassin’s darkness, and did not play Brutus for the public virtue, but to consummate his restoration to an office (he had always degraded) which was in the contract between himself and Cooper, Tiemann, Gerard, and Kingsland, and other slavish friends. We know them all and the rendezvous of all their kindred Diavolos, whose names would fill the jaws of the Alligator. Matsell professed to enter the city from Iowa with flags and music on the day after Tiemann’s election, but he was in the city long before, and concealed in as dark a cavern as the odious Cataline, while conspiring to foil the patriotic Cicero, and consign the eternal city to a million thieves. And we now warn Cooper, Tiemann, Gerard, and Kingsland to beware. For if they foist Matsell on the city through the purchase of Nye or Bowen with Mayoralty, Street Commissioner, or the pap of the Mayor’s Executive vassals, we will make disclosures that will make them stare like affrighted cats, (Gerard a la he-cat, and the others a la she-cats,) and rock the city to its carbonic entrails. Talmadge must remain, although he annoyed his nurse and mother when a brat, and so did we; and in boyhood and early manhood we both had worms, and raised Sancho Panza,

And we rambled around the town,
And saw perhaps Miss Julia Brown,

as we may develop in the publication of our funny reminiscences; but we are both growing old, and told our experience at the recent revival, and asked admission as pious pilgrims, when the deacons said that we should both be put on five year’s trial, but we begged so hard they let us in. Talmadge joined the Presbyterians, and he looks pale and pensive, but we joined the noisy Methodists, and look[3] mighty cheerful, and sing and dance, and scream like the devil in delirium tremens, and nervous neighbors murmur at our thundering methodistic demonstrations. Talmadge as Recorder was too kind and lenient, but he erred on the side of humanity, which is preferable to err on the side of a pale and icy and bloodless liver, though we should steer between the heart and liver, and consign the culprits to the pits and gulches of the navel, where the voracious worms could soon devour them. The valor of Talmadge conquered the ruffians of Astor Place, and he has a Roman and Spartan nature, and is as generous and magnanimous as Clay or Webster, whom he loved as his own big heart. No man ever had a more genial or sympathising bosom, than Frederick A. Talmadge. And William Curtis Noyes married his favorite daughter, and while, the spotless Noyes walks the velvet earth, and his father-in-law is Chief of Police, all will go well. Wm. Curtis Noyes is one of the ablest jurists of our country, and Washington himself had no purer, nor warmer, nor more patriotic heart. We selected Mr. Noyes as our counsel against little Georgy Matsell, when arraigned before the Police Commissioners, and to his ability and fidelity are New Yorkers profoundly indebted for the downfall of Matsell, and the worst and most formidable banditti that ever scourged the Western Continent. Beware, then, Cooper Tiemann, Gerard and Kingsland, and other trembling conspirators, or we will make you howl, and open the gates of Tartarus, and set a million dogs and devils at your heels, and when they bite, may God have mercy on your poor old bones. Beware, or we will harrow your superannuated souls into the realms of Pluto, where Robert le Diable will grab and burn you in liquid brimstone, through exhaustless years. Beware of those forty pages yet behind. O, beware, we implore you, in the name of your wives and children, and your God! Beware of Matsell and his gang, as the big and little demons of these wicked times.

c3

Advents and Public Plunderers.

Richard B. Connolly, the County Clerk, was born in Bandon, Ireland, and arrived in Philadelphia twenty-five years since, (as his glib, and slippery, and truthful tongue asseverates,) and thence immigrated to our metropolis. He became Simeon Draper’s Friday clerk, who taught him the politician’s creed of plunder, and has ever used him as a spy in the democratic legions. Draper got him in the Customs, and kept him there through several[4] Administrations. Draper and Connolly long controlled the Ten Governors, and do now. Draper has been in all camps, and Connolly has figured in democratic conventions, primary and legal, of all stripes and checks, through which he acquired the immortal name of Slippery. Dick is an alien, and offered us between the pillars of Plunder Hall a lucrative position in the office of County Clerk, and also proposed to play Judas against Matsell, if we would not expose his perjured alienage. We had three interviews, when we assured him that we despised both treason and traitor. He then got Alderman John Kelly to read a letter in the Board of Aldermen, declaring that he was naturalized in Independence Hall, Philadelphia, whither we repaired, and got certificates from the clerks, declaring that he was never naturalized in Philadelphia, which we published in the New York Daily Times. In his Aldermanic letter, he declared that his document of naturalization was framed, which he regarded as his most valuable piece of furniture, and cordially invited his friends and the incredulous to call and behold its graceful decoration of his parlor. The gallant Alderman John H. Briggs, (the Putnam of the Americans, who braved and defied all the thieves, and murderers, and demons of hell in the Matsell campaign,) called to see Dick’s valuable gem of furniture, but he could not find it on the wall, nor elsewhere. We then called, and Dick’s wife told us it was locked in a trunk, and her husband had the key. Others called, with similar success. On his election as County Clerk, Dick and Draper got a law enacted at Albany, giving the County Clerk $50,000 fees, which was just so much stolen from the people, whom the Municipal, State and National robbers will not let live, but strive to rob them of their last crumb, and drive them into the winter air. Public plunder is devoted to greasing the political wheels, and burnishing, and twitching the mysterious wires, through which the honest laborer is burdened with taxes, that mangle his back like the last feather of the expiring camel. Connolly, Busteed, Doane, Wetmore, Nathan, Nelson, Draper, and Weed, got the Record Commissioners appointed, through which $550,000 have been squandered for printing the useless County Clerk and Register’s Records, which is the boldest robbery of modern times. We never could induce Greeley, Bryant, Webb’s Secretary, the Halls, and others, to breathe a word against this Dev-lin-ish plunder. And Flagg, himself, through his old printing friends, Bowne & Hasbrouck, and others, is involved[5] in this record robbery up to his chin, who never uttered a syllable against it, until we goaded him through our crimson dissection in the Daily Times, and even then he only damned it with Iago praise. Since July last, Flagg has paid more than $300,000 for Record printing, for which, old as he is, he should be consigned to a sunless dungeon, and rot there, with spiders only for his nurses and mourners. Last summer Flagg told us there never was a more wicked band of robbers than the Record Commissioners, and yet he paid them from July to December the prodigious sum of over $300,000, and had paid them more than $200,000. And Flagg paid this enormous sum without a murmur, and has no possible facility to place the infamy on the scapegoat Smith, who seems to roam at large unmolested by Flagg, who yet fears Smith’s disclosures of his delinquency and superannuation. Flagg sputters a little in his reports, for show, against him, but he is not chasing Smith very hotly in the Courts, nor dare he, as we have good reason to believe. Through the Alms House, Navy Yard, County Clerks’ Office, Record Commissioners, metropolitan and suburban lots, and other plundering sources, Connolly has amassed a fortune of nearly a million of dollars, and now has the audacity to proclaim himself a candidate for Comptroller, at which the honorable citizens of New York should rise and paralyse his infamous effrontery. Not content with indolence all his days,—with robbing the laborer and mechanic, and merchant, and widow, and orphan, for whom he professes such boundless love, through his spurious and mercenary democracy,—with corrupting the ballot box, and packing juries, to imprison and hang us according to his caprice and public or private interest,—with the election of Mayors and other municipal and even State and National officers, through his fraudulent canvass of votes as County Clerk,—and with his awful perjury in connection with his alienage, he now appears with his stolen money bags, and proclaims himself a candidate for Comptroller, for which he should be lashed, and scourged, and probed to his marrow bones, through the streets of New York, beneath the glare of the meridian sun, and the gaze and withering scorn of every honorable and industrious citizen, whom he has robbed, through intolerable taxation. Connolly has not voted since we exposed his perjured alienage in 1855, when he strove to bribe us to shield him from the odium arising from his alienage. A public thief, and perjurer, and alien, this man or devil announces himself for Comptroller of this mighty metropolis, with a prospect of nomination and election, unless his throat is cut by George H. Purser, a deeper and more dangerous public villain than Connolly. Purser has robbed this city for a quarter of a century, and is also an unnaturalised alien, and we have positive evidence of the fact, and he knows it. His corrupt lobby operations in the Common Council and at Albany would make a large volume. And both Connolly and Purser are nauseous scabs of the Democratic party, and grossly pollute the glorious principles of Jefferson and Jackson. And now, where, in the name of God, are the people, or is there no spirit and integrity, and patriotism, and courage, to resist the infernal public thieves of this vandal age? Should the people slumber when a gang of robbers, and devils, and assassins, and fiends of rapine, are thundering at the gates of the commercial emporium, and even at the very doors and firesides of our sacred domestic castles, and daily and hourly rob our coffers, and ravish our daughters, and cut our throats, in open day, and through their hellish robbery, and taxation, drive the mechanic and laborer, and their dear little ones, to hunger, and rags, and madness, and crime, and to the dungeon, or scaffold,[6] or suicide? Where is the concert of action of Boston and Providence, and throughout New England? And where are the pomatum villains of our aristocratic avenues, in this solemn hour? They are in league with your Greeleys, and Bryants, and Webbs, and Wetmores, and Drapers, and Connollys, and Pursers, and Devlins, and Smiths, and Erbens, devising schemes to plunder the people here, at Albany and Washington, for gilded means to support themselves in idleness and extravagance, and to carry the elections against the gallant Southrons, whose throats they would cut from ear to ear, and deluge this whole land with human blood, ere they would toil a solitary day like the honest laborer or mechanic, or surrender a farthing of their ungodly plunder, or breathe a syllable in favor of the eternal glory of the Union of Washington.

c6


Stephen H. Branch’s Alligator.


NEW YORK, SATURDAY, MAY 15, 1858.


The Mayor and Charley.

Charley—That you have wronged me doth appear in this: You have condemned and noted the devil for taking bribes of the office holders and contractors, wherein my letters praying on his side, because I knew the man, were slighted off.

Mayor—You knew better than to pray for the devil.

Charley—I can get no fat meat nor oyster stews, if every devil is condemned.

Mayor—Let mo tell you, Charley, that you, yourself, should be condemned for itching to sell your offices and contracts for gold to a gang of devils.

Charley—I got the itch! You know that you are great Peter’s son, or, by golly, you would not say so twice.

Mayor—The name of Itch or Scratch honor this corruption, and by the Eternal, if Hickory dont hide his head at the Hermitage.

Charley—Hickory!

Mayor—Remember November,—the hides of November, O remember. Did not great Fernando bleed for me and Peter and Edward’s sake? Who touched his carcase, and did stab, and not for me and Peter and young Edward? What! Shall they who struck the foremost man of all this city, but for supporting robbers,—shall we now use our fingers, save to grab the Mayor’s and all the Executive Departments? By all the bellonas and doughnuts of the world, I’d rather be a hog and grow as fat as Matsell, than to be a cadaverous crow, and live on vultures, and the shadows of the moon.

Charley—Daniel: I’ll slap your chops. I’ll not stand it. You forget yourself to pen me in. I’m a contractor, I, older in practice, and sharper than yourself to make contracts.

Mayor—Go to: You are not, Charley.

Charley—Dam if I aint.

Mayor—I say you are not.

Charley—How dare you so excite my dander? Look out for your dimes. I had a father, and I was a baker.

Mayor—Away spare man.

Charley—Toads and frogs! Am I Charley, or am I not. Where’s the looking glass?

Mayor—Hear me, for I’m dam’d if I dont belch. Must my bowels yield to your cholera? Shall I be frightened because the diarrhœa looks knives and scorpions through the windows of your liver?

Charley—O, me. Must I stand this? O that I had a dough knife, to let out my honest blood.

Mayor—This? ay, and a dam lot more. Growl till your liver bursts. Go and tell your contractors and office-holders, how hard you have got the diarrhœa, and make them tremble,[7] lest you kick the bucket, and they get fleeced. Must I gouge? Must I lick you. Or must I get between your duck legs? By all the mush and Graham bread in the coat and boots and belly of Horace, you shall digest all the grub and gin you have gulched to-day, though it do split your spleen and kidneys. And henceforth I’ll use you as a brush and ladder for Peter and Edward and myself, to sweep the streets, and scale the gilded heights of Record Hall, at whose prolific and teeming hive we will suck your honey like bumble bees.

Charley—O, where am I?

Mayor—In a dam tight place. You say you are a better contractor. Prove it. Make your braggadocio true, and I’ll not grumble. There may be better contractors than me, but dam if I believe you are, though.

Charley—O gingerbread! You gouge me every second, Daniel. I said an older contractor, not a better. I know you can make better contracts than me, in paint and oil and glass and putty, but I’m some on ginger-nuts and doughnuts, and affy-davy’s, and street openings. Did I say better?

Mayor—I dont care a dam if you did.

Charley—If the devil were here, you would not dare talk thus.

Mayor—The devil is hard by, and you fear his claws, and dare not oppose his will.

Charley—Dare not?

Mayor—No.

Charley—What! dare not oppose the devil?

Mayor—What I have said, I have said.

Charley—If you trifle too much with my liver, dam me if I don’t kick you, and give you a black eye.

Mayor—I dare you to try it. I scout your threats, Charley, for I’m fortified so strongly through my supposed integrity, that they pass by me like incarcerated wind, which I can resist with a penny fan, or potato popgun. I did send to you for the legitimate keys of the Street Commissioner, which you refused me, for I despise false keys. By Juno, I would sell all the paint, and oil, and glass, and putty in my factory to the city, at a good price, before I would use false keys, or bamboozle the dear people, who think me so honest, and love me so intensely. I sent to you for the keys of Peter and Edward, which you denied me. Did not Charley err in that? Would I have treated Charley so? When Daniel is so mean as to refuse the keys of Blackwell’s Island to his Charley, be ready, Branch, with all your bombs, and dash out his honest and tender brains.

Charley—I denied you not. It’s a dam lie.

Mayor—I swear you did.

Charley—I did not. I gave the keys to the Turn-key, and told him to bring them to you. O! Daniel hath rent my liver, who should overlook my trivial faults, and not magnify them so hugely.

Mayor—I do, until you exaggerate my little peccadillos.

Charley—Daniel hates me.

Mayor—I dislike your didos.

Charley—None but an owl could discern my tricks.

Mayor—An alligator would not, unless he were hungry, and Charley was in a tree.

Charley—Come, Whiting, and young Conover, come, and revenge yourselves on Charley, who is weary of this wicked world. Hooted by the people, and braved by a Mayor, and checked like a forger, and all his thefts detected, and found in a note-book, and recited and sung by rote, and thrown into my very jaws—O! I could cry like a crocodile, until my eyes were balls of blood and fire. There’s my keys, and razor, and scissors, and here’s my yearning belly. Within, a liver, and bladder, and frogs, and kidneys, and tripe, and sausages, tenderer than my heart, itself, which nought but worms can ever conquer. If thou[8] are not a bogus Mayor, or cunning spoilsman, apply thy scissors, and pluck them out, and appease thy insatiate palate. I, that denied thee keys, will yield my entrails. Strike, as thou didst at poor Branch’s claim, for I do know, that when thou didst hate him worst, thou lov’dst him better than ever thou didst Charley.

Mayor—Sheathe your scissors. Be waspish when you please,—you shall have sea-room. Be tricky when you will,—I’ll call it fun. O Charley! You are like Father Peter, who carries lightning as a withered limb bears fire,—who, tightly squeezed, shows a hasty flash, and straight is coal again.

Charley—Hath Charley toiled, and sweat, and groaned, and grunted all his days, to be the scoff and derision of his Daniel, when clouds and sorrows fret him?

Mayor—When I derided the honest Charley, I had the dyspepsia most horribly, with a touch of Peter’s chronic piles.

Charley—O ginger-snaps! Do you acknowledge so much corn? Give me your fist.

Mayor—Take it, with its nails and knuckles.

Charley—O, Daniel!

Mayor—What’s the matter, Charley?

Charley—I hear the echo clank of a culprit’s chains, and I almost feel the hangman’s halter round my neck. And have you not gizzard enough to forgive me, when that rash humor which the people gave me, makes me savage and forgetful?

Mayor—Yes, Charley, and henceforth, when you are over-savage with your Daniel, and refuse the keys to gilded treasure, and strive to rob his brother Edward, and Father Peter of a million spoils, he’ll say that only

Horace can deride,
And black people chide,
And he’ll let you slide
Down the rapid tide
Into the grassy dell,
Near the borders of——
Where the first sinners fell,
And where contractors dwell,
And all who truth do sell,
So, Charley, fare thee well.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by
STEPHEN H. BRANCH,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United
States for the Southern District of New York.

c8

Life of Stephen H. Branch.

With John, James, and Wesley Harper’s permission, I returned to Providence, and went with Smith & Parmenter, who published the “Literary Cadet and Rhode Island Statesman,” whose editor was the handsome and talented Sylvester S. Southworth, now editor of the “New York Mercury.” Samuel J. Smith courted Miss McBride, a beautiful actress, who extended her hand behind her for sewing silk, when her sister penetrated and broke a needle in the palm or rear of her hand, and she died in two days of lockjaw. I attended her funeral, and so piercing were her lover’s cries, and so mournful was the general scene, that I had to join the mighty throng in the universal lamentation. After the coffin was lowered, and the first spade of earth imparted its thrilling reverberation, he became frantic, and leaped into the grave, and strove to remove the lid, amid the horror of the vast assemblage. In those early years, as now, I was extremely susceptible, and as nature’s evening mantle was closing its sombre folds around us,—and, as the extraordinary spectacle of the enthusiastic lover had thrilled and chilled me to the soul, I departed for my abode, amid the overwhelming cries of a desolate man, who soon sold his interest in the “Statesman,” and published the “News,” which was the first Sunday journal established in New York. I went with John Miller, of the Providence Journal, with Hugh Brown, who printed the Providence Directory—with Mr. Congdon, of New Bedford,—with Beales & Homer, of the Boston[9] Gazette,—with Mr. Eldridge, of the Hamden Whig, of Springfield,—with John Russell, of the Hartford Times,—with Charles King, of the New York American, whose publisher was D. K. Minor,—- with Michael Burnham, of the New York Evening Post, whose editors were William Cullen Bryant and William Leggett, whose fervent nature and jovial risibles I can never forget,—with Thomas Kite, a stingy Quaker, of Philadelphia, who would not pay me for the fat matter, and when he became so bold as to plunder the title and two blank pages, I pulled off his wig, and run for my life, with Tommy after me, but my fleetness vanquished, and I kept his wig,—with Francis Preston Blair, of the Washington Globe, whose publisher was Wm. Greer. I now learned of the sudden death of Charles Manton, of Providence, whom I had most fondly loved since rosy childhood, whose demise cast a gloom over my heart which has never been effaced. I left Washington for Philadelphia in 1830, and took a room with Edward Dodge, with whom I had been a schoolmate in Providence, and who is now a distinguished banker of Wall street, with whose recent misfortunes I strongly sympathize. I now receive a letter from father, requesting my immediate return to Providence, and on my arrival, he introduced me to James Fenner, the Governor of Rhode Island, and to Gen. Edward J. Mallett, the Postmaster of Providence, who married Gov. Fenner’s daughter. I became a clerk in the Post-office, at $400 per annum. [Gen. Mallett’s second wife was a widow of the affluent Haight family, of this city, and he was the President of the St. Nicholas Bank.—He has just been appointed by President Buchanan, Commercial Agent to Florence, where he will probably die, as he is tottering in the bleak evening of life.] I had borrowed money from Israel Post, of New York, before I went to Washington, and when he learned that I was a clerk in the Post-office, he demanded payment, and threatened to write to Gen. Mallett, if I did not immediately cancel his claim. I wrote him that I would pay him from my salary. He replied, that he would not wait. His letters were exciting, and fearing he would write an extravagant letter to Gen. Mallett, and perhaps effect my dismissal, I took the money from the till, and inclosed it in a letter, and as I was about to seal and mail it, Captain Bunker’s admonitions, and my father’s kindness in procuring my clerkship, and my horror of a thief, caused me to forbear, amid tears of joy at my victory over the demon of dishonor. Although this transpired in the Post-office at midnight, and although I boarded near the Post-office, which was a mile from father’s, yet I went home, against a winter’s tempest, and aroused him from his slumber, and told him of the horrors of my position. He stood before me in robes of whiteness, like a Roman statue, and when I told him that I had taken and instantly restored the money to the till, big drops rolled from his cavern eyes in exhaustless profusion, and after pacing the room in utter silence, he halted and said:—“Stephen, my dear son, in early years, you were dishonest, and I feared you were so now. But your firmness and integrity on this occasion, gladden my heart more than I can evince in language. It is midnight, and a storm rages with terrific fury, and I hope you will remain at home to-night, and in the morning you shall have the means to cancel the claim of Mr. Post. Take the lamp and retire, Stephen, and you will go to your repose with my most fervent blessing.” And as I was about to go, with his hand upon the latch, he gazed, and lingered, and hesitated, and advanced and embraced me as never before, and while he kissed my forehead, his copious and burning tears rolled down my pallid cheeks. We parted in silence, as neither[10] could speak. I arose early, and went to the Post-office, and before meridian, father gave me the money, which I sent to Mr. Post, which made me the happiest being in Providence. The students of Brown University daily came for letters, with some of whom I formed the warmest friendship, and I soon discovered my superficiality through their superior intelligence, and I resolved to emerge from the ignorance and superstition that beclouded my intellect, and made me unhappy. I studied Greek and Latin very hard during my leisure hours, and recited to Hartshorn, Farnsworth, and Gay, and made rapid advances. The clerks became jealous soon after I embarked in my intellectual enterprise, and strove to prejudice Gen. Mallett against me, assuring him that I did not come to the office early in the morning, and let them go to breakfast, although I hastened to the office immediately after I closed my morning meal, and sometimes without it, to please the clerks. They also told him that I studied during office hours, and neglected those who called for letters. Gen. Mallett believed their fallacious accusations, and often severely denounced me, and I left the Post-office, with the approbation of my father, and began the study of law with Gen. Thomas F. Carpenter, one of the most eminent lawyers of Rhode Island, and a man of noble nature. Gen. Mallett soon requested me to return, by direction of Gov. Fenner, who was the constant personal and political friend of my father more than forty years. I returned, but the clerks again conspired, and apparently gave Mallett no peace—although I learned that Mallett himself, if not their instigator, was, at least, their fellow conspirator, which aroused a hundred tigers in my breast. The clerks adduced another batch of colored charges, and Mallett belched a scathing phillippic, when I sprang like a panther at his throat, and gently squeezed and hugged him like a bear, until he showed his lying and vituperating tongue, and rolled his phrenzied eyes, when he made a superhuman effort, and eluded my nails and fingers, and fled into his private office, whither I pursued him. My father was in the printing office of Wm. Simons on the floor above, and hearing my blows and awful anathema of Mallett, and scratches, and gouges, and wild cat screeches and echos, he rushed down stairs, and into the private office of Mallett, and locked the door, and put the key in his pocket, to conceal us from the public gaze; and after a desperate conflict, he dragged me from Mallett, who then seized the poker, and run behind the stove and wood and coal box. While father held, and strove to calm me, Mallett feared I would get loose, and suspended one leg from the window, and asked father if he had not better leap to the ground. Father told him that he might break his neck or legs, and that he would strive to hold me until my anger was allayed. My eyes glared like Forrest’s in one of his terrible revenges, and my tongue projected, and mouth foamed, and my cheeks and lips were of deathly pallor, and I had the strength of a small panther, and father exclaimed: “Why, Stephen, don’t you know me? I am your father,—and won’t you recognise me, and heed my friendly counsel? It is the familiar voice of your father that appeals for your restoration to serenity. Do, I implore you, tranquilise your nerves, and appease your fearful wrath, and allay your deadly fury, and gratify your aged father, who always loved you.” I faltered and gazed around, and as my wild and fatal eye balls rested on Mallett, he again cries out: “Judge Branch: Don’t you really think I had better jump out of the window?” Father said: “No, I guess not. Stephen will soon abjure his dreadful anger, and be himself again.” He then bathed my temples, and stroked my curly[11] hair and fanned my fevered cheeks, and I slowly emerged from my protracted aberration, and took a seat, and father unlocked the door, and Mallett darted out like a cat from a dark closet, and scaled the stairs with a solitary stride, and I returned home with father. Gov. Fenner truly loved me, and deeply regretted the sad intelligence of the quarrel, and on the following day insisted on my immediate return to the Post Office, and threatened to kick Mallett and all the clerks into the street, because they had long plotted such infamous mischief to get me out of the office, and to effect, if possible, my earthly ruin. I sincerely thanked the Governor for his friendly feelings, and assured him that I could not return and dwell with happiness among such a gang of miserable wretches, when he honored me with an elegant donation, and expressed the warmest desire for my future welfare. Gov. Fenner told me, in the presence of my father, that he would request Gen. Jackson to remove his son-in-law as Post Master, if he did not instantly hurl every clerk into the street, who had conspired against me. But my father and myself besought the noble Governor to commit no rashness, as it would be impossible to conduct the affairs of the Post Office, in the sudden absence of all the experienced clerks. I then shook the Governor’s throbbing hands, and, as we parted, I am quite sure I saw a tear fall from his venerable and intellectual eyes, and I know that grateful and hallowed waters fell like equator rain from my pensive vision. I left for Andover, and entered Phillips’ Academy, in the Greek and Latin classes, where I formed a devoted friendship with Win. Augustus White, who was a poor youth, and a beneficiary of the Education Society, and who is now an Episcopal minister in Maryland. I left Andover for Boston, and caught the itch from a filthy bed at a hotel in Washington street. I went to Cambridge, and entered the law school of Judge Story and Professor Greenleaf. A law student from Providence asked me to gamble, and I won about $20 in cash, and he denounced me, because I would not gamble with him after he had lost all he had, and owed me $50. I told him that persons seldom paid gambling debts, and I could not stake cash against credit in a game of cards. I also told him that I would return the $20 I had won, and give him the $50 he owed me, if he would never ask me to gamble, when he flew into a fearful passion, and said I grossly insulted him. He strove to irritate me to blows, and I anticipated a scuffle, but he did not dare strike me, as he doubtless saw fatality and a pale sepulchre in my eyes. We had known each other nearly all our days, but dice and cards separated us for ever, and he is in the grave. News arrived at Cambridge of the great fire of 1835, and I went to New York, to see my brothers, and the desolation, and proceeded to Philadelphia, but my itch increased, and I returned with forced cars to Cambridge, and consulted Dr. Plympton, who gave me ointment, which I applied, and the itch suddenly disappeared, and commingled with my blood, and raised Beelzebub with my emotions. I felt cold, and made a rousing fire, and went to bed, and had a violent perspiration, and out popped the itch again like a porpoise, and made me scratch so hard and incessantly, that I could not sleep of nights, and I was in a horrible predicament, and I got alarmed, and went to Providence, and immediately to bed, as my physical energies were utterly exhausted, from loss of rest, and from my eternal scratching, and off I went into a thundering snore. My brother William arrived from New York during the night, and got into my bed, and I slept so soundly that he vainly strove to awake me. I told him in the morning that I had the itch, and he laughed heartily, and I tried to join[12] him, but I could not. He soon returned to New York, and I to Cambridge, and in about a month, he wrote me that he had got the itch, and asked me what he should do to cure it. I told him to apply itch ointment externally, and to gently scratch the developments, or they would increase like fury, or a snow ball. He then wrote me that itch pimples had appeared between his fingers, and on the back of his hands, and desired to know what to do to screen them, or cure them quickly, and spare the mortification. I told him to wear gloves or mittens constantly as I did, and to pretend that he was learning the art of self-defence, and went to a boxing school so often that it began to seem natural to wear gloves or mittens without cessation, or through absence of mind. Brother Bill never troubled me again about his itch, and I was glad, as I did not like to commune of itch, even through correspondence with a brother, as my own itch required my unremitting attention. The students often asked me why I scratched my legs and back so much, and why I always had pimples in the rear of my hands, and between my fingers, and on my knuckles, and why I wore boxing gloves so much. I told them that I had the salt rheum that my dear mother gave me. I went to Andover, in a sleigh, with a student named Terry, who had a sweetheart in the suburbs of the town, with whom he lingered until late in the evening. On our return to Cambridge, we got lost in the woods, at midnight, and came near freezing. In our emergence from the forest, and while sharply turning a corner of the country road, we upset, and both were thrown with great violence, on the uneven snow and ice. Terry fell on his prominent, though handsome nose. The night was dark, and his hands were numb, and on applying his fingers to his nose, he could not feel it, and thought it had frozen, and broken, and gone, as blood flowed freely from where his nose ought to be, and once was, and in abject despair, (for Terry dearly loved his nose,) he exclaimed: “Branch! where are you?” “I am here.” “Well, do come here, for the Lord’s sake.” “What’s the matter, Terry?” “Branch, can you see my nose?” “No. It is so dark, I cannot see you. Where are you, Terry?” “Here.” We then found each other, and he besought me, in touching accents, to feel for his nose, and I did, and told him that I feared his nose was gone, as I could not feel it, nor could I, because my arms and fingers were so numb. Poor Terry wept bitterly, while I laughed into smothered hysterics. We got into the sleigh, and off we went towards Cambridge, with Terry moaning over the loss of his nose, and I laughing through the disguise of a cough or sneeze. On our arrival at his College room, I struck a match, and Terry rushed for the glass, and lo! his mangled nose was there, gleaming and streaming with icicles of blood, and the pale liquid of nature. He made a fire, and bathed his wounds, and melted his nosy icicles, and jumped and hopped and leaped with unwonted ecstacy. The previous cold and sudden heat of Terry’s fire irritated my itch, and I wanted to scratch my pimples, but dared not in Terry’s presence, and I put on my coat to go to my college apartment, to bathe my body with itch ointment. But Terry wanted me to sleep with him. He had a large feather bed, and the fire was blazing, and I was sure I would get into a perspiration, and give him the itch if I slept with him. So I declined. But he insisted, and locked the room, and hid the key. What to do I did not know. I dared not tell him I had the itch, but told him that I must go to my room, and get my lessons for the morrow, to which he would not listen. I had not applied ointment for fifteen hours, and I was anxious to do so that night, and[13] made a warm appeal to Terry to unlock the door, but he would not. He then made some warm punch, and displayed his crackers, cheese, apples, cake, and segars, and firmly declared that if I did not sleep with him, he would never speak to me again. So I had to stop, and we went to bed, when he proposed to snuggle up a little before we went to sleep, and I had to let him do it. But the cold had made him sleepy, and he soon turned over, and away he departed in a roaring sleep, to my infinite delight, as the punch and crackling fire had caused my pimples to itch horribly for two hours, and I could only slyly and gently scratch them while he was awake. So I went at them with my long nails, which I had cultivated for scratching, and I soon made the pimples smart and bleed instead of itch, which afforded me the same relief that an eel obtains in his desperate leap from the pan into the lurid coals. The college bell aroused Terry early, but not me, as I was already aroused, not having closed my eyes, though I pretended (out of compliment to Terry’s nice punch and feather bed,) to have had the most delightful repose. So we arose, and clad ourselves, and combed our hair, and brushed our teeth, and Terry let me out, and I departed for a two hour’s communion with itch ointment. In about three weeks, while Terry was telling a most comical story to myself and some students in his room, he suddenly stopped, and made a desperate grab at the calf of his left leg, which he scratched like a cross and sick hen, in pursuit of food for her hungry chickens, until I thought he would tear his pantaloons. Terry scratched so hard and long that he excited one of the students, who begun to scratch his head, and asked him if he ever discovered fleas in his room. Terry looked indignant, and ceased scratching, and continued his story. Presently he made a lunge for the other leg, higher up. The students stared at Terry, and looked extremely solicitous towards each other, and two left very suddenly. Terry closed his story, and the other students left, leaving myself and Terry, who hauled up his pantaloons, and exclaimed: “Why, Branch, I think I must have fleas, for, good God, just look at my legs, they are covered with pimples, and they itch most awfully.” I inquired if a dog had been in his room recently, to which he negatively responded. I then said: “Perhaps you have not got fleas, but the itch.” He instantly straightened himself, and looking me dead in the eye, said: “Branch: If I had the itch, I think I would commit suicide.” I replied: “That would be

(To be continued to our last groan.)


The following meritorious gentlemen are wholesale agents for the Alligator.

Ross & Tousey, 121 Nassau street.
Hamilton & Johnson, 22 Ann street.
Samuel Yates, 22 Beekman street.
Mike Madden, 21 Ann street.
Cauldwell & Long, 23 Ann street.
Boyle &, Whalen, 32 Ann street and
Bell & Hendrickson, 25 Ann street.


Advertisements—One Dollar a line
IN ADVANCE.

THERE IS SOMETHING MYSTERIOUS
IN THE
PICAYUNE.
You are sincerely warned not to look at THE PICAYUNE.

AVOID THE PICAYUNE!

SHUN THE PICAYUNE!

Or if you must have it, STEAL it.


P. C. GODFREY, STATIONER, BOOKSELLER and General Newsdealer, 834 Broadway,

New York, near 13th street.

At Godfrey’s—Novels, Books, &c., all the new ones cheap.
At Godfrey’s—Magazines, Fancy Articles, &c., cheap.
At Godfrey’s—Stationery of all kinds cheap.
At Godfrey’s—All the Daily and Weekly Papers.
At Godfrey’s—Visiting Cards Printed at 75 cents per pack.
At Godfrey’s—Ladies Fashion Books of latest date.

EXCELSIOR PRINT, 211 CENTRE-ST., N. Y.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.

—A Table of Contents was not in the original work; one has been produced and added by Transcriber.

—The cover image has been created by transcriber and placed in public domain.






End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Stephen H. Branch's Alligator Vol. 1
no. 4, by Stephen H. Branch

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STEPHEN H. BRANCH'S ALLIGATOR ***

***** This file should be named 48932-h.htm or 48932-h.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
        http://www.gutenberg.org/4/8/9/3/48932/

Produced by Giovanni Fini and Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)


Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
will be renamed.

Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
redistribution.



*** START: FULL LICENSE ***

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
http://gutenberg.org/license).


Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works

1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.  See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
States.

1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license

1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
1.E.9.

1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.

1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.

1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
that

- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."

- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
     License.  You must require such a user to return or
     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
     Project Gutenberg-tm works.

- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
     of receipt of the work.

- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.

1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
your equipment.

1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.

1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.


Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm

Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.


Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
http://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.

The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
page at http://pglaf.org

For additional contact information:
     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
     Chief Executive and Director
     gbnewby@pglaf.org


Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
particular state visit http://pglaf.org

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate


Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.

Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.


Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.


Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:

     http://www.gutenberg.org

This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.