his employ to such low wages, that he barely permits them to subsist, although their employment of skinning diseased cows feet and making glue is the most offensive labor under Heaven. For his cruelty towards an inoffensive apple-woman, (whom he seized by the throat, and dragged from his store, and threw into the gutter,) he should be horsewhipped from the Battery to Harlem. And through his artifice and eternal excuse, (to the poor starving wretches who have solicited aid since he began his bogus intellectual edifice,) that he could not contribute a dollar to any charity except his building, he has saved thousands that other equally affluent citizens have contributed to relieve the sick and hungry and naked during the several winters of famine through which we have passed, since Peter Cooper began the construction of his sham literary institution. And these reprobates now strive to starve the sick old fathers and mothers and grandmothers and dear little brothers and sisters of the noble newsboys who sell their papers amid the rain and sleet and freezing cold, while these leprous and chronic-pile old scamps are sweetly reposing in feather beds they stole from the tax-payers, under the garb of City Reform. Peter Cooper must soon meet his plundered aunt in the realms of shadows, whose contemplation makes him tremble like a murderer going to execution. The Early Penury of the Three Napoleons of the American Press—Bennett, Greeley, and Raymond. The Hon. John Kelly (now Member of Congress from the city of New York) told me that he was the first boy whom James Gordon Bennett employed, when he issued the first number of the _Herald_,—that he (honest Johnny Kelly) was then a poor, barefooted boy, with scarcely means to live,—that his duties consisted in sweeping out the office, running errands, folding and selling the _Herald_, and in doing every thing required in and out of the office,—that Bennett then had an office in the basement of a dilapidated building in Wall street, near William, which was in constant danger of falling, and for which he paid no rent,—that Anderson & Ward then published the _Herald_, whose printing office was in Ann street, in a building subsequently destroyed by fire, and which occupied the lot of the present _Sunday Atlas_ edifice,—that Anderson & Ward would not let Bennett have a solitary copy of the _Herald_ until he paid for it,—that he (John) used to go every day with Bennett to Anderson & Ward’s to get the _Herald_ papers, and that Bennett often had no money, and would appeal in vain for the _Herald_,—that in tears he often pawned his watch to Anderson & Ward for the _Herald_ newspapers,—that on one occasion, he had no money, and Anderson & Ward held his watch as security for the preceding day’s _Heralds_, and Ward was drunk, and Anderson was absent, and Bennett cried so long and hard that Ward finally let him have the newspapers,—that nothing but Ward’s generosity, arising