L % ■i''' I- ' 7mS m. lA t-f.; 3 -^8 Gr6 CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY . FROM Anoi]]inious PS 2129.J38G6""'""'"">' '■""''^ <'0«jam ambroh The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022014389 GOTHAM AMBROTYPES. GOTHAM AMBROTTPES, OE, SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. A SATIEICAL POEM, IN THREE CANTOS. BY W. W. JARVIS. NEW YOEK: FEINTED FOR THE AUTHOR, BY C. A. ALVOED. 15 VANDBWATBR STREET. 1860 ^.'^^1)^)^5 Entered, according to the Act of Congregs, in the year 1860, by W. W. JAEVIS. In the Clerk's Office of the District Coiirt for the Southern District of New York. PBEFACE. The following satire was written some time since, and intend- ed as a playful hit at the times. The names of many writers of real merit are introduced in its pages ; while actors, singers, music-publishers and piano-forte makers are not forgotten ; and singers, as a favored class, have a conspicuous place. Musicians are especially noticed, and, perhaps, not very ten- derly handled ; but the abuses that cluster round the profession require a corrective, and the pretenders who so unblushingly impose upon the public, should be driven back into the ranks where they legitimately belong. Quackery is a desperate disease, and requires a desperate remedy ; and homeopathy, with all its saccharine and aqueous * pretension, is but a sugar and water affair after all, and, left to common sense, must soon become obsolete. The aristocracy of wealth has received a passing notice, and if its gilded blazonry or tinseled mockery has, in the least possible manner, been stripped of its disguise, the aim of the writer has been answered. Of the merit of the satire as a poem, the author has nothing to offer, and he submits it to the public without a word of apology. w. w. J. New York, 1860. GOTHAM 4MBE0TYPES. IN THREE CANTOS. CANTO PEIMO. I DO not want a character that stands alone, TJnaided, unsupported by another; But I must have a dozen ere I've done, ' Pure as a snow-flake— I must have no other. Gotham is full of heroes, and not, one But swears he had a celebrated mother; And I shall serve them up in three short cantos, Perhaps a little colored, as mementos. Well, to begin: I've known a man* whose air Was vulgar, living in a vulgar way; His rooms were dirty; here and there a chair, Kickety and broken, falling to decay. I do not choose to be particular, Lest he might think some mischief was to pay. That so minutely I should dare describe him. And talk of facts to make the public jibe him. * A physician and apothecary, whoae residence was on 'the corner of S g and W r streets. b GOTHAM AMBEOTTPES. Sometimes he came out ragged ; then again, He would appear in quite a handsome dress ; An olive face, and of his person vain, A heart to sympathize with wild distress: Music he loved: and every flowing strain, If gay, elated — and if sad, did press His bosom sorely, until tears were flowing Down his bronzed cheeks so much his sorrow showing. 1 knew another* — and I felt his heart Was wreathed with serpents, only there t6 sting Him on to madness, and to make him part "With life as an intolerable thing ; To bear, through darkling years, a burning smart, That naught could heal — a dismal spring Round which no flower could ever bloom; Where all was blight, and woe, and gloom. And he was wild, and paler day by day His cheek grew, and his heart more sad; And fain he would have thrown his life away. For he felt his brain was turning mad; . He had made fellowship with swine — would lay His throbbing' brow where oft the friendless dead Had festering lain : it was a hearse,f old and neglected ; But what will want not drive us to, when unprotected ! Down in the centre of the city stands A labyrinthine dwelling;]: dark and low; Filled with besotted souls, whose needy hands Ask of the passer-by some charity to show. Ere the last glimmering ray of life demands Earth's latest oflBces ; — oh, who shall ever know The cares and sorrows of fond bosoms aching, Aifections crushed, hopes dead, and sad hearts breaking! * MacDonald Clarke, the mad poet. f This fact was related to the author by the poet himself, who declared tha^t, at the time, he was reduced almost to a state of starvation, if The notorious Old Brewery building of the Five Points. GOTHAM AMBBOTYPBS. 'Twas ^evening, and I sought a lonely room — Low, dark and desolate: a single lamp Gave but just light' enough^ to show the gloom That reigned within; dingy and damp — The walls were festering, and the fUme That rose, was noisome, leaving the stamp Of bloated infamy on every living thing. Blighting and Wasting with its desolating wing! And hai'k ! the sound of music : 'tis a song Breathed from the lips of sin and shame ; Eeveling and dancing, shouting and the long •Loud laugh of those who fain, would claim, By day, the gift of, pity; and aniong The vicious crowd I. heard the name Of one who once was the fond pride and pleasure Of doting parents — their, holiest, dearest treasure! And she was lost; and still that voice I knew. Though changed — long years and sad had flown Since we had. met — and' as I heard that voice, I flew To meet her — to recall that lost and erring one, And to restore her, and to build anew The altar of parental love, long since o'erthrown. I saw and spoke her name: she gazed and started. Then fell upon her face, repentant, broken-hearted. And such is life, and such 'twill ever be; 'Tis not all sunshine, neither is it cloud ; But each alternate; and we ever see The proudest, sternest hearts the soonest bowed. And what is pleasure, what is gayety. And what is all the grandeur of the proud ? Life may be bright, be pleasant in its morning, But it may close in sorrow and in mourning! Across the way I saw a tent,* and throngs were rushing Onward in eager bands — a ghastly brotherhood; - * The tent of the Rev. Mr. Pease. GOTHAM AMBKOTYPES. A man of God was there trampling and crushing Sin beneath his feet ; and as the flood Of human souls was urging on, and pushing Its way to learn liis precepts pure and good, I felt that man was sent, the instrument of kindness. To cleanse the heart of moral death and blindness. And I heard music* there : in songs of praise The old and young were joining, led by one Who feels and sympathizes with the ways Of sorrow, and strives to win the lost and lone From evil ; and as their voices they did raise In sweetest harmony, their souls seemed just begun To feel the worth of virtue and of gladness. Dispelling all of infamy and sadness ! I left this gloomy place, and soon I saw An alderman — fat, portly, lazy, jolly ; I knew he cared for no one, not e'en the law. For he was full of brandy, froth and folly; He stopped, and laid his hand upon his maw, And shouted out: "Away with melancholy!" What little sense he had was drowned in liquor — J^ot homeopathic doses — d la Mac Vickarif These aldermen are very curious creatures. They know the price of mutton, calves and beeves; They have no very fair redeeming features. And they are called as they deserve : " The Forty Thieves." They certainly possess the grossest natures. With consciences like cheap-made sieves. Through whose coarse meshes truth is ever flowing. But catch all bribes that may perchance be going. * Mr. Geo. H. C — s, of the musical profession, in connection with Mr. Pease, endeavored to. enlighten the miserable creatures in this locaUty; and while. one used music as a means, the other preached faith and good works; and it is gratifying to know that many who had sunk into the lowest depths of infamy and shame, were by then: efforts, reclaimed and made useful members of society. f A New York physician of the homeopathic school. r GOTHAM AMBKOTVPKS. \) But all professions are somewhat alike,. All preacli, but practice nothing; why, I know nor; Unless, like poor old toper, Paddy Mike, Complaining that his early precepts are forgot. Ti-ne, we all like to make a good ten-sfrike. Where money is the object — so does Parson Scott ; All, all pretend for good of souls they're working. But in their eye the Prince of Evil's lurking. The Shyster,* hungry, sinister and lean, Dressed out in garments, seedy, black and old ; Stealing along with cat-like tread and mien. His bosom false, his heart to Satan sold ; His brow shows where the mark of Cain has been, His bony fingers hook'd for catching gold; He prowls for prey like night-marauding Bruin, Trust him, and round your ears come wreck and ruin. The Homeopathists talk of minute doses, 'Tis very well when we are not much sick ; They think of guineas, caring less than Moses, How long we lie trimming life's wasting wick ; .Nor care as long as they can give Conserve of Roses, How sure and deeply they -our pockets pick ; O, ye Sangrados, stupid coxcombs, never Pretend to honesty, but shut your mouths forever. How Quackery gloats o'er sickness and decay. In league with death, the mattock and the pall ; On brainless subjects these vile vampires prey, And hold their feasts in- Mammon's gilded hall ; Shunned by the wise, they swagger on Broadway, "While nonsense awed before pretence will fall ; But have a care ; there's many a sad fiasco, Milesian Doyle, and Baron O'SpoIasco.f < * A class of lawyers who hang about the Tombs, preying on the unfortunates who have chanced to fall into the clutches of the law. f The two famous representatives of New York quackery, and they have, in all prob- ability, been the most successful charlatans in the city for many years. The last, said to be originally an Irish footman, has become an inhabitant of il inondo spirito. 2 10 GOTHAM AMBKOTYPEB. Though crowds unnumbered have already sped To worlds of bliss, perhaps to Pluto's realm ; Still hosts of ghastly victims onward tread, To meet the fate that soon must them o'erwhelm ; Such is the teeble mind by Folly led, A ship at sea, no pilot at the helm; But Charon, with his boat and friendly oar, Takes them in pity to the Stygian shore. GOTHAM AMBKOTYPES. 11 CANTO SECUNDO. I SING the past, the scenes of other years — Of artists that I knew in life's young day ; Though many now have left this " vale of tears," Still some remain to swell the tuneful lay : Ask me why Galen here, perchance, appears? He worships Bach, Eossini and Duprez :* Apollo leads the song and wields the pestle, So round tlie god the nightingales all nestle. My theme is Humbug; who could wisli a better, In this wise age of telegraph and steam ; When mind is suffering with a moral tetter. Itching and burning like a madman's dream ; When air-balloons and Morse'sf mystic letter. Make men e'en madder than they fain would seem ? The world is running on at railroad pace. And Humbug reigns triumphant in the race. Men are no longer sound in mind and reason. And Truth no longer dare his maxims tell ; Mounted on broomsticks, witches are in season. Driving their "whim-whams":]: through the world pell- mell; * An interesting anecdote is told of this celebrated singer. Twenty years ago, three young men were walking on the Boulevards, Paris, and quite out of pocket. All most emphatically desired a breakfast ; and being a literary and musical trio, they proposed the sale of a song, to a, French music-publisher, which they had in their possession. It was sung to the' publisher, and they received twenty-five francs for it. The song was L'Andaloase, and the publisher made a hundred thousand francs by his bargain. The author of the words was Alfred de Musset, the author of the music was Monpou, and the singer was Duprez. f The inventor of the telegraph. if For the coinage of this word, vide Salmagundi. 12 GOTHAM AMBKOTYPES. Ev'n Mesmer, like a demon, all doth seize on, 'Till men seem governed by some wizard spell ; And, worse than all, they serve up public dishes, A putrid hash of Foxes and vile Fishes.!* But what is this that meets the public gaze. Staring in flaming capitals from every wall ? That makes the simple stare, and, all amaze, To read the promised gifts at Dod worth's hall? We sure are fallen upon glorious days. For music is a sun that shines for all : Lo, and behold — where wiser grows the fool, A mental mint — "The Normal Music School !"f Behold the great Apollo brings his lyre, Of grotesque fashion and of brazen strings; He gathers round him a strange motley choir,:]: As proudly as if they were lords and kings ; Their minds of lead with Promethean fire, He would inflate with visionary things ; But 'tis in vain, for teacher, pupils, all. Break forth in one most loud infernal squall. Is music but the science of a day. That needs attention but a passing hour? A shrine where any mind can homage par, ISTo matter whether intellectual or a boor? O Humbug! pray thy schemes at once display, And blind these puppies with thy magic shower; Give talent to the dolt if you are able, Eaise foolscap Field and the Atlantic Cable.§ Here lazy breves, fast crotchets, flying quavers, Attract the stupid and amaze the dolt ; * Spiritual worshipers of diahhrie. \ A school opened at Dodworth's Hall for the education of -would-be teachers of psalm-singing, their great prototype being tho wonderful Ichabod Crane. \ The class of 1853. § C. W. F d and the Atlantic Cable were two of the most consummate hum- bugs of, the day, and both, after a terriflo galvanic spasm, went off in a gaseous and grand pyrntechnie diaplRV. GOTHAM AMBEOTYPES. 13 While over all " Professor "* slieds his favors, And makes a fiery steed of every colt : On Humbug's wings immortal mind ne'er wavers, But lives, and grows, and thrives — a cackling poult. Hark, through the boundless west the sounding wire, Touched by these mighty mushrooms of the lyre. Here Pestalozzianf M n, crotchet king. Deals out his wondrous knowledge of the art ; And " Taste "ful H gs:j: sometimes dares to sing. Although he bores the ear and scores the heart; And W — lis,§ too, like daw on broken wing. Wiggles and waggles 'neath the critic's dart; While B — , C — , R — ,1 weak, senseless noodles, Make gloi'ious types of Boston Yankee Doodles. I never could opine why men of song, Should be so testy, quarrelsome and vain ; They sing of all that to the loves belong. Of broken hearts and sorrows o'er again ; And then they'll tell of infamy and wrong. And plead with fervent and impassioned strain ; 'Tis all a mockery, and the work of passion. Artful, deceptive, — but 'tis all the fashion. It is not 60 with all, I must confess, Some there may be \yho virtuous are and pure ; Who raise the heart from utter loneliness. To noble aspirations morally secure; While others, base and vile, invite distress. And leave the heart of goodness very poor. But music, heavenly maid, 'tis thine to teach us. The virtues where dark passions never reach us. I have known families who lived in love, And each saw nothing in the other's breast * A self-appointed title, unknown out of the " Normal Music School." ■j- Author of Dissertation on Taste, etc. I The teacher of the Pestalozzian method. § "W s the Younger." Characteristic of the Willisian vocabulary. 1 The Boston Trio— T! r. C n .ind R 1. 14 GOTHAM AMBEOTYPES. Bnt pure and fond affection ; all above, Around, below, was happiness and zest; And not one selfish, wanton thought could move The bosom from its sweet, domestic rest. Such should be life from morn till dewy even, The happy foretaste of a blissful heaven. But some I've seen, contentious and severe,* Haughty and cruel, and yet stiU more vain ; Whose eyelids never felt one penitential tear. That passion would not quickly dry again; Made up of ostentation, pride and fear. The tortuous windings of a fiendish brain; Such I have seen, and yet no more would see; To virtue 'tis the moral Upas-tree. I have known many not quite free from scandal, English and Dutch, French and Italian, And here and tbere beside a boorish Vandal, A stray American, like a medallion That one may scarcely look at, much less handle. But far above each foreign, low rascalion. Perhaps they left their country as a blessing; To see their apish pranks is quite distressing. Hair they have much, mustachios, and all that, Perhaps a wardrobe — ask the tailor why; A wondrous knot, forsooth, of the cravat, Much like the one the hangman ought to tie ; . His bed of Irish feathers or a mat. And well for him if he could never die, Or not at once to death presume to yield. For then he'd sleep within the Potter's Field. I do not like pretension — 'tis a weed That foully blooms above its fellows, and Well I know 'twill gather strength and spread, * For the truth of this it is only necessary to refer to some families of Scotch - Irish extraction, who are continually wrangling and abusing each otlier. They appear almost like the vultures of the human race. GOTHAM AMBKOTTPES. 15 When modest flowers will wither through the laud : But poor the heart, and very poor iudeed, That has no fostering, fond, protecting hand. Te foreign upstarts, seek some distant dwelling, Where honest worth your crimes cannot be smelling. I have known many — some were very fair, While others scarcely knew the A, B, C Of music, yet with a knowing sort of air. All brass and impudence, would babble free Of Paer, Eossini, Weber and Auber, And others of the greatest notoriety ; And yet they knew no more of rhythmic numbers Than darkey Tom who cries his "fresh cucumbers." Of famed pianists there are plenty here. They flash across the mind like Chinese fire ; A rain of blue-lights, very bright and clear, ' A moment blaze, then quick as thought expire; Oh, execution! bought so very dear. Why not to intellectual wealth aspire? Content to finger out a light quadrille, And leave your minds uneducated still. Some there may be who learn the deeper art. The mystic science, noble, grand, sublime; The head will think, and feel the throbbing heart, The child of genius lives iu every clime; To other souls their language will impart. And mind shall live through all-enduring- time. Such Handel, Mozart, Beethoven, are thine. The laurelled heroes of the sacred Nine. O Germany, Germany, land of fiddlers. Of mad musicians, cabbages and " sour-krout ;" Filled with base Barons and with Jewish peddlers, Where vulgar dirt at real worth will scout ; A country turning out a host of meddlers. Like locusts on their first destroying route; 16 GOrilAM AMBKOTYl'KS. See, how they come! a smoking, tiddling choir, Witli grand pianos bang'd by Smash de Meyer.* Oh, they are nnlike any otlier nation, A dreamy, low, and garlic-eating race ; At least sneh they appear, and such their station. On fair Columbia's rich and fertile face. Give me Italian raatmers, French creation, And Herr may nurse his national disgrace ; Wedded to lager-bier, a meerschaum and a fiddle, He'll live and die, victim to niddle-diddle. There's now and then a magazinef of art, Springs up and lives a short, ephemeral life ; Nor liealth, nor vigor doth its power impart To such crude pages — all is craft and strife ; Reviews are false, and show the hollow heart, A soul with all the envious passions rife; From such weak bantlings, oh, ye powers excuse us, They may for one short hour, perhaps, amuse us. Some are made great, and some are born to fame. Titles and garters are but things of chance ; And what can make the value of a name, When thrust upon us in life's marriage-dance? 'Tis a mere gift — an ignis fatuus flame. That fades when modest merit dare advan-ce ; Vile bunglers in the literary corps. Their dazzling role but lasts a petit jour. One night they go to Niblo's gay saloon, To see famed Soto:]: in a seguadille ; Enraptured, frantic as a mad baboon, They puff and praise and get a magic hill;% * A celebrated German pianist, who "bewildered Gotham by hia execution and ttmrs de force. He, however, soon sunk into insignificance, and is now reported to be leading a petty band of strolhng musicians in or near Naples or Vienna. \ Although an occasional musical paper appears, it soon dies for^ the want of .sup- port, as it is based on ignorance, and conducted on the most illiberal principles. \ A celebrated Spanish dansmse. § Black-mail. GOTHAM AMBEOTYPES. 17 Then will this cringing, critical dragoon, Ellsler, Pougeaud, Drouet,* b6 praising still, No matter who, all that is neoessaire, Is gold, black mail, a little sdvoir fairet To cringe and fawn, and live by false report, To publish lies, deceiving all for gold. Is Judas-like, when found in Yirtue's court. Flattering with falsehood, heart and body sold — Such make of honesty the jibe and sport, While their own villainy remains untold. Far better it would be to leave off libel. And like Duganne, pipe " Ballads of the Bible." f Enough! there's pleasure to be found elsewhere. Than writing stanzas of so vile a pack ; At "Wallack's all is gout and debonrlawe, At Burton's, of broad fun there is no lack ; While at Broadway, 'tis all indeed quite fair. Though Marshall is sometimes a little slack. But all goes well, upon the whole, and never Is Blake or Placide any thing but clever. I used to hear my favorite, Tyrone Power,;]: Of all Milesian actors he was king ; Of Irish bulls he'd rain a perfect shower Into our ears 'till the old Park w^ould ring ; It surely was the very merriest hour. When he the " Groves of Blarney" 'd sit and sing. But ah ! he's gone to chase " the little fishes," Heaven rest his soul ! divinest of our wishes. Old Drury's gone, and where, oh, where are all The names we used of yore so oft to meet? Simpson and Price,§ scarce any name we call. Is known along our crowded, dusty §treet. * Dancing Bayaderes. f For these specimens of sacred lyrics see the New 'York Weekly of 1859 and 1860. X The celebrated Irish comedian, who was a great favorite throughout the United States.- He was a passenger on the iH-fated steamship "President." § ^Canagers of the' old Park Theatre. 3 18 GOTHAM AMBK0TYPE8. Sucli is ouu fate; the winding-sheet and pall Close life's short hour — the drama's then complete. Barnes, Hilson, Fisher, all of merit's making. They sleep the dreamless sleep that knows no waking. Greatorix and Loder, W n and Bill K g Are self-styled nabobs of the minstrel throng ; And transcendental D 1, a pnny thing, Scarce knows a fiddle from a Chinese gong ; And F — s — r, least of all who dare to sing, "Will pen a plagiaristic, silly song — They'd hardly take the rank of young beginners ; Oh ! spare us, spare us from these humdrum sinners. And B y, W y, B s and N h, And hosts of others that I now forget : A harmless brotherhood — a nauseous hash, Black spirits and gray, strangest that ever met, Still shrewdly manage oft to make a dash Among a certain population, and beget • A sort of wonder at their flashy deeds, That fills their own, while Folly's pocket bleeds. I've seen an Irish dance, and felt that it Was any thing but graceful, but as deft As any Crapeau could desire ; 'twas pirouette, Shuflle and plunge, then, right and left. Cross over, down the middle, dos-d-dos, then let The hands and legs play nimbly, 'till bereft Of sense and reason, they will fall to fighting, Swinging shillelahs, and each other biting. 'T was unlike any other nation, France or Spain, Where all is elegance and debonnaire ; Cotillion, waltz, bolero, danse Americaine, Are out of place within an Irish fair — Yet, what has this to do with music? again, Ye mighty mushrooms, wave your handiere ; Forgive the critics all your cruel bastings. From Father Billings down to Tommy H s ! GOTHAM AMBEOTYPES. X^^ I have not said a word, of publishers. They Thrive and prosper by the toiling muse ; They fill their coffers in a most surprising way, While to the artist will reward refuse.* Their name is Legion, and along Broadway They show their wares as Barnumf does his views. Saint Crispin,:]: too, who saw that art was rising. Threw down his awl for minstrel merchandising. Along Broadway are Atwill and Millet, And Firth and Pond, who trade in Frankliq Square, "Where all the haut ton and egalite Are waited on to music rich and rare; The place though old seems challenging decay — The home of W"ashington,§ still kept with care ; And as in years gone by no charm it loses, Unchanged by time, the home of all the muses. Along Broadway, too, you can see arrayed Piano-fortes by quite different makers : Dubois, and Nunns, and Stodart are displayed Along the street, like new brooms sold by Shakers ; All are the best, and still of every grade From Chickering down to Pirsson and Wanmachers. But opposite the. Club House stop and wonder. You'll see the angels bending over Bassford's thunder. | They're sandwiched in among French milliners, and Are helping one another — song and bobbinet * Not true, perhaps, with all, but in many instances the charge is not without foundation. f The proprietor of the American Museum. X A case or two may be found among the music publishers, where they belonged originally to the ranks of this patron saint. § The late music store of Messrs. Krth & Pond, at No. 1 Franklin Square, was the first Presidential mansion, and it was in that building that the levees of our first American ruler were held. The old Walton House just below, blackened and almost destroyed by fire, was a still older building, and, in many respects, quite as noted. For the interesting incidents in regard to these two dwelhngs, see Valentine's History of New York. II Alluding to the sign orer Bassford's Pianoforte rooms, dpposite the first Club House, 606 Broadway. 20 GOTHAM AMBEOTYPES. Are all triumphant, and eacla loving band Of gossips chant their sweetest chansonnetts. Here are Le Fevre, Mai Herbe and Le Grande, Where can be found full many a lyrusque grisette, Now working on French hats, then dancing a bolero, Led off by that spruce dame, Madame Ferrero. But on the opposite two-shilling side. Are Wood and Christy, black with fun and frolic They sing gross melodies, the country's pride, Enoijigh to make e'en Laughter melancholic ; They tint the skin, the darker it is dyed The more successful is this band bucolic; A fortune gained, they cease their vulgar funning. Pretend to rank, old friends and habits shunning. "&• I've often listened to Ky — e's magic flute, And I could love to listen, were he not Such an unmitigated coxcomb ; his repute In music is extremely good, but. Laid aside his warbling, amorous lute. He'll amble 'mong the ladies, and will put On silly airs — a mincing, simpering poltroon. The languishing Narcissus of the gay saloon. I have not mentioned singers — my delight ; Full many I've heard, whose sweet, bewitching song Filled my young heart, but they have ta'en their flight, Or mostly so, like comets that ne'er linger long; Their melodies were varied, grand and light. And back on memory's wing they often throng. There's Jenny Lind, a musical chamelion. Like other planets had her perihelion. And why should all run mad about the Swede, When Grisi, Bosio and Sontag appear? She's really but a sort of Ganymede To those that move in a far brighter sphere: It may be false, but still it is my creed, And time will make the truth by far more clear. GOTHAM AMBKOTTPES. 21 I've heard also Laborde and Steffanone, And that plump angel, Mariette Alboni. Where are the minstrels of my younger days, . The Woods, Miss Shireff, Cinti Damoreau? Withered and faded all their proudest bays, And present fame must to oblivion go ; To make parade, to puff, and pay, and praise. Is all that self and folly have to do ; It is the bait that money-loving anglers Throw out to hook the editorial wranglers. ^ And where art thou, DeBegnis?* where are all The gems that thou didst make of life a part? Figaro, ah Figaro ! we frequently recall Thy voice, thy song that so entranced the heart : Light, graceful, pleasing, dignified withal. The great perfection of dramatic art; While other artists used to vex and fright us, 'T was thine, De Begnis, ever to delight us. And Heinrich,f too, whom genius doth inspire, An exiled minstrel from a foreign strand ; Like some old troubadour, with lyric iire. Tunes his wild harp here in our western land ; Though other fingei's sweep the sounding lyre, Thou art the "father" of the tuneful band; And though no pompous pile to thee uprears. Thy name shall live along the flight of years. * A celebrated huffo cantante ; the original Figaro, in Eossini's opera of "II Barbi- ere di Siviglia." He married the accomplished Eonzi, who was called the most beau- tiful woman on the lyric stage. He died in this city, of cholera, August 1st, 1849, and was buried by the "Sylvan Water," in Greenwood; while his wife, who survived him but two or three years, died in Naples, and was buried in her own beloved Italy. Cotemporary with De Begnis, and living in New York at the same time, were Lo- renzo Da Ponte, the author of the libretto to Mozart's Don Giovanni ; the exiled Ma- • roneeUi, also Signer Felix Foresti, both friends and fellow prisoners with the Italian patriot, Sylvio Pellico — all scholars and statesmen. Maroncelli came to New York and taught music, while Signer Foresti was teacher of the Itahan language. ■)■ Anthony Phihp Heinrioh, an old Bohemian musician of superior artistic ability, and who has been known and spoken of throughout the country as " Father Heinrich." 22 GOTHAM AMBKOTTPES. I would not even another name record, Were't not that Badiali claims my muse ; And to Belletti I can well afford To give a line while others I refuse ; Of Ben'ventano I'll not say a word, For Justice drops his scales when Pity sues, — A sort of minstrel-monster, bone and muscle. Like that arch Shylock, braying Henry Eussell ! I never dreamed that I should ever hear So sweet a song as famous Salvi* pours ; It falls as pleasantly upon the ear, As moonlight music to Yenetian oars ; It comes so soft, so thrilling and so clear. It seems like echo breathed from Eden's shores. 'Tis plaintive too, for in each strain of gladness, Some note is heard that tills the heart witli sadness. Ah, famed Italia ! land of love and song. Where rows on stormless seas the gondolier. Here fondest memories of old poets throng. Of Dante, Ariosto, Laura's sonneteer ;f Still Tasso's magic numbers float along The Adriatic wave to charm the ear; While Metastasio's sweet, enchanting lay Wakes tlie rapt echoes of a by-gone day. I am no psalmist, though I love to sing, And think of those I loved long, long ago ; Back to my memory they delighted bring Songs of the Past, with their sweet, pensive flow ; It seems some sprite on Fancy's fairy wing. Whose song steals o'er the senses soft and low. Oh, music! it is thine to cheer the heart. And gild the Present with thy magic art. Ye lady artists, though my Canto seems To find a sudden and au early close, * Lorenzo Salvi, tho celebrated Italian tenor of the Marti-Havana troupe, f Francesco Petrarca. GOTHAM AMBKOTYPES. 23 You may be sure I have you in my dreams, And think you all as blooming as the rose; . But though of paper, if I scribbled reams, It might, perhaps, but make me female foes; And as IVe sung from Milon* to Mirate, Ladies, your friend, from Malibranf to Patti.ij: * A French musioian,-who consented to take the rdle of Hasetto, in Don Giovanni, when that opera was performed by the Garcia troupe at the Bowery, under Charles Gilfort. f The immortal Signorina Garcia, but who died as Madame Malibran. J The charming cantairice who made her most successful debut the last year (1859). 24 GOTHAM AMBKOTYPES. CANTO TEKZO. One subject more, and then my rhyming's done, It is a subject spicy, graceful and devout ; And still, I'm almost sorry that I e'er begun. For I shall bring a host of enemies about. But never mind if some may writhe; still on I'll make my way, and mayhap put to rout Some of these poetasters, weak and hazy. With brain befogged, perhaps a little crazy. The subject has been mooted, whether they Have brains at all — 'tis needless to inquire; I only shall their humble names array. And range in order like a country choir. And show them as the potter does his clay. Then come, ye heroes of the sounding lyre ! Immortalizers of each Bet and Phillis ! From Father Trumbull down to Nat. P. W s. I don't intend to be at all severe, 'Twere -better to be flattering, by far ; I would not wring from Venus e'en a tear, Nor leave on one poetic Mars a scar; Life's morning must be bright and very clear. Its evening cloudless, lit by many a star, The loves and graces round them must be dancing, And satyrs in the background nudely prancing. They are a lisping throng, in flattery quite au fait, They simper round each blooming, blushing Miss, And laud each feature in a dear couplet. Enough to fill Ma'mselle with love's excess; * GOTHAM AMBEOTYPES. 25 Oh, liow exquisite ! raised by Poet Pr — y In two famed stanzas to a heaven of bliss; But such their way, philandering and praising, 'Till every little flirt they're almost crazing. They are as numerous as the hallet girls That hither come to flood the gaping town ; Trick'd out in paint, with false and flowing curls. Enough to bring all thought of virtue down ; But when her flashy banner vice unfurls, 'Tis useless, then, for fathers e'er to frown On reckless sons, and heedless, wanton daughters : A cyprian warrior comes to make her slaughters. And where are all those sentimental lines. That Misses love so tenderly to mark, And read, and languish o'er, as such sure signs Of love and madness, a la Donald Clarke ?* I knew Mac well, and now my heart inclines To treat him kindly,, a neglected lark. Who sung and soared, and told his sorrows over, A poor, heart-stricken, disappointed lover. Longfellow, and Halleck, Bryant oft I've read. Prentice, and Holmes with pleasure o'er again ; Morris the path to Helicon doth tread, And strikes his lyre to love's impassioned strain ; Brainard, and Coflin,t Woodworth, Drake,:]: are dead. Yet others live, of kindred heart and brain. The bardlings, though, all lisp their daily prosing. While real bards seem positively dozing. Suppose we take the actors, poets, and Musicians too, and mix them up together. And treat them as a gambler would a hand Of cards, shuffling and cutting; then see whether * TheautKorof a volume of poama, entitled, the "Elixir of Moonshine," etc., etc. f The Boston Bard. X The author of "'The Culprit Fay." 4 26 GOTHAM AMBKOTYPKS. A single honor we could e'en command, A king or queen — we could cut neither, Not e'en the knave, perhaps a paltry deuce, Or some low card of no import or use. It is not so with Irving, or with Cooper,* 'Not Paulding, hero of the comic page; They, unlike James, call up no fancied trooper, A lonely horsemanf to the mind engage. That -Centaur is a sort of interloper. The constant theme, the everlasting rage. Unhorse your rider, O immortal James, Yours now is scratched among illustrious names. A party in New York I once attended, 'Twas at the time considered recherche ; The blue-eyed blondes and dreamy brunettes blended. Like garden flowers, gaudy, drooping, gay — 'Twas fun and. frolic till the ball was ended. When every beauty took her homeward way; By daylight they were nothing like so pretty, So gentle, amiable, mild and witty. But to the party — swift the moments flew, And swifter flew the merry, twinkling feet ; There waltzed the charming, languishing Miss Prue, Ogling the amorous, ambling Mr. Street; While from his quiver roguish Cupid threw His darts at all that sought a tete-d-tete. Oh, there was dancing, waltzing, simpering, sighing, Love in a frenzy — every thing but dying. The fiddles sounded, and the trumpets brayed, The bassoons groaned, the horns were out of tune ; The viol di gamha shockingly was played. And flutes and oboes sang like frogs in June. * Though Cooper has been, and is still a favorite among American readers, it is to be lamented that he made his pen so frequently the instrument of vilifying his country and its institutions. f Any one who has ever read this prolific novelist has met this ubiquitous gentle- man. GOTHAM AMBEOTYPES. 27 I left prestissimo, for had I stayed Another hour, I'd sure been Vhomme de lune. And had my quarters in some room, perdu, Perhaps at Bloomingdale, perhaps Bellevuc. Their conversation was on varied themes, On those I do not now remember well ; One talked of laces, others talked of dreams, Another of the Arawonda's* wondrous knell. Pleasure around them shed his golden beams, While Love ecstatic tuned his silver shell ; But bliss soon fades. Time's wing is never staying, Life''s roses fall before they seem decaying. Sculptors and painters had a passing word — A critique brief, now pleasant, now severe ; Many their censure strangely had incurred. Because, forsooth, "they were so very dear." Jarvisf and Stout they certainly preferred. Bright planets in this Western Hemisphere; One "loved" a portrait, others chose a bust, As more akin to life or living dust. Some talked of Palmo's operatic reign, CaUed Pico and Borghese queens of song; Some wished the days of Oontoit back again, Whose " creams" delicious cooled the lip and tongue. Vauxhall, and Eichmond Hill, then on the wane. Were voted charming by the chattering throng. * Among the highest woods and. deepest glens of Brazil, a sound is sometimes heard, so singular that th% noise seems quite unnatural ; it is like the distant and solemn tolling of a church-bell struck at Intervals. This extraordinary noise proceeds from the Arawonda. The bird sits at the top of the highest trees in the deepest forests, and though constantly heard in the most desert places, it is very rarely seen. It is impossible to conceive any thing of more solitary character than the profound si- lence of the woods, broken only by the metallic and almost supernatural sound of the invisible bird, coming from the air and seeming to follow wherever you go. The Ara- wonda is white, with a circle of red around its eyes ; its size is about that of a small pigeon, and is called the bird of the tolling bell. f A calebrated painter, of New York ; of whom McDonald Clarke writes : " Why don't they get Jarvis to copy the sun." 28 GdTIlAlt AMIJHOTYPl'S. All are departed, aU those scenes of yore Are swept away to glad the heart no more! Some talked of Byron — thought he was inspired ; Adored Ciiilde Harold, idolized Jnan ; Some sneered at Dudu, some her dream admired, While tender Clara blushed behind her fan. Are dreams e'er true? Don Quizzico inquired; Are men e'er modest? questioned Lady Ann ; "While Signor Quaver warbled out this strain . To laughing, romping, dashing, Kate O'Shane: Sweet Katie, you're a darling. And I never shall forget The happy, golden moments. The first bright hour we met ; There was music, there was dancing, Love's bells did gayly chime. Every feeling added ileetness To the wings of Father Time! Your eye was burning brightly, Your cheek was all aglow. Your dark curls on your shoulder Looked like plumage smoothed on snow ; Your lip so ripe and ruddy, It was maddening to behold ; And your voice in silver cadence. Its bewitching music told ! Your song, 'twas like the breathing From love's enchanted shell — Like a rain of pearls iipon ray heart. It ravishingly fell : My peace of mind is vanished — What antidote to pain Can still this bosom's fluttering? — Only darling Kate O'Shane ! GOTHAM AMBKOTl-PK.S. 29 Some sighed o'er hearts they'd shivered lonp; au;o, Still young, though thirty, cheeks like blushing rose ; Brnw, neck and arm as white as virgin snow, And why, Bonfanti* evidently knows. 'Round plumpless shoulders raven curls did flow, Painted to order at Monsieur De Beaux. Ah ! Love's a gambler, trickster, artful fellow, Lauda la rrioglie tienti un donzello. But such is life, Time will not stay his wing, To sport with Beauty on his rapid way ; Even though beguiling Hope and Fancy sing Their sweetest, most enchanting roundelay. As cold December follows flowery spring. So budding charms suggest betimes decay; Then waste not hours, ye frail, coquetting dames. For soon to ashes burn your lovers' flames. Hearts there were throbbing that ne'er throbbed before, And seemed by burning passion onward driven ; And twining hands felt pressure o'er and o'er, And melting kisses there were slyly given ; Until each sound that echoed from the floor Seemed telegraphic rappings from love's heaven. Oh, there was feeling, almost kin to madness, Yirtue refined, 'twas transcendental gladness. And then each gathering is so very queer. Made up of every nation, color, sex ; They come from every corner, far and near, And of their station they're a sure reflex. Some are quite stupid, some more smart appear, And still a Spurzheim they'd indeed perplex, To find one grain of common sense among them, Or sparkling wit — ^I'm sure I do not wrong them. * The Italian vender of fancy articles, and all kinds of "knick-knacks" and hijoviterie. 30 GOTHAM AMBBOTYl'KS. I have DO sympathy for the parvenu, Who saunters lazily along Broadway; 'Twere better that he kept his airs from view, Or cast his affectation far away ; The coat of arms* that marks Fifth Avenue, Is vegetable or porcine, choose whiche'er you may, Division Street, or Bowery, Grand or Hudson, Are all the same to Bedford or to Judson. But money is the mighty power that wields, And governs all ; it makes the grand elite, And unassuming 'merit ever yields To guilt and guineas; not a smile will greet The honest artisan — the tiller of the fields. Who holds no princely, proud ancestral seat. 'Tis gold alone that makes up mind and reason, King Mammon reigns in every clime and season. But, what are riches? riches! every thing, Fame, grandeur, glory — they make bosoms tingle ; And heads will bow, and pens be made to sing. Of merit borrowed from the guineas' jingle. And Beauty feels that she must garlands fling At Dives' feet, if he perchance is single. Shame on such weakness, money kills and slaughters ; But what is virtue to gold-loving daughters ! And what is liberty ! fair Columbia, Land of great Washington — home of the free? Thy glorious eagle soars in light away ; Thy banner waves o'er every land and sea. On thy escutcheon is not marked decay. Unlike the past thy history shall be; Time has a lesson taught long, long ago, As rolling ages to the world will show. * The rise of property in and about the city, has given a certain class of individuala a sort of vegetable notoriety, and makes one readily recall Sheridan's celebrated motto, which ho intended for the armorial bearings on the panel of the coach of the vulgar but aspiring London tobacconist, Quid rides ! GOTHAM AMBEOTYPKS. 31 An Irish poet, many years ago, Sneered ^at our land of liberty and Jaw ; In every well turned line he sought to show That almost savage was the life he saw. "We've often read and felt that all must know That tender love-scenes he could better draw. The heart indignant throbs to hear his songs, Whene'er he tells old Ireland's woes and wrongs. Chanteur d^amour, thy witching song now stay, A sort of stepstone to the Cyprian hall ; A wanton satyr in the lap of May,' A flower that creeps round passion's capital. Tune, tune thy harp to a far loftier lay, ■ To themes that ne'er will on the senses pall ; Sing noble deeds of lands where heroes bled, Of Greece and ancient Home's historic dead. Has famed Columbia no illustrious page, No deeds of arms to swell the trump of fame ? Where are the patriots, of a by-gone age, Immortal names we hail with loud acclaim? And Franklin, loved philosopher and sage, A star that shines forever and the same? Logan and Philip, all that forest band, The painted warriors of this "Western Land ?* We love to ponder o'er the chequei'ed past, And gather signs of coming good or ill ; Howe'er portentous may our lot be cast. Ourselves are safe while we no blood must spill ; But, like the sailor on the burning mast. Though flames curl higher, we hope for safety still. 'Tis a siesta on volcanic earth. Each moment threatening still the cause of mirth. * Historical incidents, scenes connected with our border warfare, Indian life, early revolutionary events and colonial legends, are a mine of untold wealth. Our prairies, our forests, our hiUs, mountains, valleys and rivers, are asspciated with the most stir- ring deeds of a people, who have in vain battled against opposing circumstances, and who are now perhaps hopelessly passing away. ^ 32 GOTHAH AMBROTYPKS. And what is life to those who travel o'er Long years of sorrow, pain and woe and care; A stormy ocean with no beckoning shore, Or haven where the soul some peace can share ; Many there are who dream of joy no more, 'But settle down in anguish and despair. Such is the past, and such time still may be, A wild, tempestuous, dark and shoreless sea. Tonth is a sunny season quickly passed, The hours fly swift on golden pinions borne; So bright, so beauteous, long they cannot last, When fades forever life's gay, smiling morn. Thongh other scenes may win ns, still we haste To our paternal home with fond return ; We feel that time on pleasure's bed reposes — A downy pillow filled with summer's roses. 'Tis true our days below are very few. But full of incident and strange mischance ; Alternate they take almost every hue. Like frequent changes in a grotesque dance. Self is the object — motto, '■'■ sauve que peut^'' As we to death in columns deep advance ; All our fond hopes that we so dearly cherish, Like blasted fruit, are sure to fade and perish. Time fades, and in its swift and silent lapse. We scarcely note the brief departing day ; Its varying change insidiously saps The pedestal of Being, when decay Ensues ; inexorable Fate then snaps The brittle thread of life ; thus shall my lay Find its Jmale, and without review. To one and all I've noticed bid adieu !