Denman, who was a pupil of mine, I first heard that Tiemann and Cooper were corrupt men. The Recorder—Mr. Branch, I must stop you. You cannot be allowed to use such language In this Court. Mr. Ashmead—Will your Honor remember the case of Lord Norbury, to which I drew your attention this morning? Recorder—I remember Lord Norbury, and every other lord, but I cannot permit such language. Branch—I will spare your feelings. Peter Cooper and his daughter I taught in his own house. He does not deny it; but, if I had taught my father, and was satisfied he was corrupt, I would trample him down. I have attacked the Mayoralty, and for that I am on my way to a prison. _Send me there._ I will walk with a firm step to my dungeon. Before God—before God, I declare with my hand on my heart, that this is the happiest moment of my life. What have I stolen? Whom have I murdered? What crime have I committed? I have pursued the plunderers of the masses, and for that you send me to a dungeon. You can desert me—the prosecution can oppress me, but God—but God will not desert me. Your prisoner is ready. ---------------------------------------------------------------- Stephen H. Branch’s Alligator. ------------------------------------------------------ New York, Saturday, August 14, 1858. ---------------------------------------------------------------- IN MY CELL. On either side of me are three murderers, and my cell has a murderer’s lock. My bed is straw, with a blanket. I slept well last night, and had a good breakfast this morning, which my keeper kindly procured for me, and who has extended the kindness of a brother towards me, in obtaining every thing I desired for my comfort, and in permitting my friends to visit me. I have read all the daily papers; and to Horace Greeley, Doctor Frank Tuthill of the _Times_, and to James and Erastus Brooks, for their genial sympathy, I express my cordial gratitude. The _Courier & Enquirer_ is silent, and that is preferable to denunciation, in my shackles and dungeon gloom. Bennett lashes me with the stings of a scorpion, who has fattened on libel and obscenity, and blasphemy, and black mail, from the dawn of his infamous editorial career. In his aged visions he often beholds the poor creatures whom his defamation hurled into premature graves. Halleck, of the _Journal of Commerce_, is brief but bitter in his comments on my alleged lunacy. The _Daily News_ I have not seen, but I learn that its anathema of me is terrible, and has a bulletin against me written in letters of blood. Its former editor, Mr. Auld, is the Mayor’s Clerk, which accounts for the severe comments of the _News_. But the article in the _Sun_ grieved me more than all the phillippics of my editorial adversaries. The _Sun_ has clung to me for a dozen years, and to have it desert me now, is like the fatal stab of Brutus at Caesar. But I will forgive Moses S.