happen to have got into a scrapeespecially if you are an Irish patriot, or an Italian martyr-you will find the growl of sympathy with which your demands are met indicate a heart "open as day to melting charity," and two hands no less open than the heart. Indeed, the almost verdant simplicity with which his purse-strings are relaxed in aid of vagabond wretches, who are loudest in their abuse after they have exhausted his kindness, is a matter of common notoriety. In his manners and costume, he certainly is no stickler for fashionable etiquette. His bearing in the street never betrays the instruction of a Parisian dancing-master. Near-sighted, long-limbed, with head and members that seem to be on ill terms with the main body to which they belong, his shambling gait does no justice to the philosopher, whose wealth of wisdom is buried beneath the ample folds of "that inevitable white great coat." But who knows how far the dress is the fault of the tailor, or of the man? His apparel, it must be owned, is seldom not the worse for wear-his hat, which once warmed a veritable beaver, now has a forlorn look, as if battered in a street fight-and the precise boundary between his boots and trowsers, like some other boundary qustions, is in a state of litigation. It is not, perhaps, an extravagant degree of tolerance to suggest that Horace Greeley is too much of a traveler to attend minutely to the graces of the toilette -that he is too profusely powdered with the dust of frequent journeys to allow an extensive patronage of the "Golden Bell"-and that a more quiet life might have permitted a more anxious cultivation of the outer man -but still, we apprehend, that on this point, his eccentricity must be conceded, and that we must accept him, as he is, without demanding of the country-bred editor the smooth refinements of a Brummell or a D'Orsay.

In general society, Horace Greeley, as might be inferred from his personal antecedents, does not appear perfectly at home. His neglect of the etiquettes of polite life has an air of innocent unconsciousness that is almost pathetic. You would take him for a genuine specimen of the primitive man; but do not presume too much on his fancied simplicity; you will soon be met by a sudden turn that brings the laugh you

intended for him unexpectedly upon yourself. His dry humor never forsakes him. He has a joke always ready, and often so opportune that it seems cut and dried for the occasion. His fund of anecdote is rich, indeed quite exhaustless. He tells a short story with infinite glee, and laughs as hearty as any one at its point. A long story he seldom indulges in. With all his apparent impracticableness, he never loses his presence of mind. He is too sure of himself to be easily disconcerted. His memory is excellent, and you rarely find him at a loss for a fact. With such stores of knowledge in his mind, and so admirably under his control, his conversation is singularly instructive, whenever he meets with a congenial listener. For the mere froth and scum of fashionable talk, he shows a blank indifference. His bluntness is sometimes offensive to delicate ears. He is incapable of flattery, even to that part of creation which often claims it as a prescriptive right. "Have you read my last poem, Mr. Greeley?" asked a young and beautiful authoress, naming the production. "Madam," replied he, "do you call that a poem?" On another occasion, addressing one of Dr. Griswold's most celebrated "female poets of America," in a room full of company, he remarks, "Mrs. X. Y. Z., I have just read a criticism on your writings, in which you are greatly overrated." Such uncomplimentary frankness, however, is generally taken in good part. Horace Greeley has few enemies among the fair sex. His rude sincerity is not without a charm. Margaret Fuller is not the only highly intellectual woman who has been proud to number him among her friends.

The interest of Horace Greeley in the reform movements of the day, is founded on a sentiment of justice and humanity, but receives a sharper edge from the intensely practical cast of his intellect. His nature is one that delights in the application of ideas to tangible relations. Hence, almost every project for human improvement challenges his sympathy. His tastes, in this respect, are absolutely universal. He is ready to listen to any plan that promises to promote the material or spiritual welfare of society, from the construction of a plow to the establishment of a phalanstery. His methods,

doubtless, partake of the dominant character of his mind. They grow out of his special idiosyncrasy. Often in advance of the current opinions of his contemporaries, they betray the sanguine, impetuous temperament in which they had their origin. On the other hand, they are condemned by the more ardent radicals of the extreme left, as timid and inconsequent; but this is the fruit of the innate caution which is blended in his composition with a passion for improvement. That his principles of reform are open to criticism-that, on many points, they are partial and incomplete-that, in certain aspects, they betray the enthusiasm of the visionary, while in others they may be regarded as frigid and superficial, cannot be denied by his warmest admirers; this is the lot of frail humanity; but that they are adopted from earnest conviction, and applied with a sincerely beneficent intent, will probably not be gainsayed by his most decided adversaries.

Allusion has already been made to Horace Greeley's position as a journalist. A few words, however, are demanded on his more general characteristics as a conductor of the press. His professional enthusiasm is worthy of unmingled commendation. Everything pertaining to a printing-office is the object of his deepest interest, it might almost be said, of his impassioned affection. In his view, the consummate editor does not emerge from classic groves, but from the dusky domains of the disciples of Faust. He has not sought his diet with "the immortal gods," but has been fed with printer's ink. Instead of " 'out-watching the Bear, to unsphere the spirit of Plato,” he has slept on a pile of old newspapers, awaiting the latest telegraphic dispatches. The transition from the composing-case to the editor's chair, according to Horace Greeley, is as natural as from the forecastle to the cabin. The attainment of this eminence is the highest prize of a man's ambition. It is in this spirit that Horace Greeley has devoted himself to journalism. His career in the profession marks a new epoch of its progress in this country. Without claiming for his influence an undue share in giving the American press the elevation which it has attained, in common with others he has largely contributed to ennobling

its aim and widening its sphere of action. With strenuous and persistent labor, he has helped to make it the vehicle for conveying prompt and accurate information to the remotest borders of the land. His reputation for the correctness and the rapidity of the election returns announced in his journal, is the fruit of industry the most indomitable, and of attention the most vigilant. The arrangements for this purpose, matured under his eye, and applied for a long time by his personal efforts, have been the admiration of all classes of politicians. No party has undertaken to question their efficiency. They have been relied on equally by political opponents and by personal friends. Nor is his energy less remarkable in the other news' departments belonging to a daily journal. No leader of the press is more solicitous to present a full and exact compendium of passing events. His mind, naturally so eager for facts, is stimulated to a perpetual alertness in regard to current intelligence. His hawk-like vision takes in every point of the horizon, and no significant occurrence in either hemisphere escapes his notice. But he is, by no means, a mere collector of facts. He combines a keen perception of principles with a wonderful memory for events. Hence, his comments on the topics of the day form an important element in his ability as a journalist. In the course of his professional labors, he has written an immense amount of original matter. His productions of this kind would fill many volumes. They embrace every variety of subjectpolitical discussion and controversy, essays on points of social and industrial interest, reform papers, literary criticisms, and sketches of travel and personal incidents. More, probably, than any editor in the United States, he has supplied the columns of his journal with his own compositions. His pen has been always active, and has never lost its sharp point. Since the great impulse which American journal

ism has received within even the last five years, it is true that the duties which he once discharged almost single-handed, are now shared among numerous collaborators. The newspaper-press has taken a more extensive scope, called into its service a greater variety of talent, entrusted its leading specialities to men peculiarly qualified to do them

justice; the great journals are now rather corporate institutions than individual organs; and, hence, the former autocratic influence of men like Horace Greeley is on the decline; and the powerful action of the press on public sentiment is determined by its general ability, rather than by personal considerations. Still, the position of Horace Greeley, as an American journalist, must always command a weighty influence on political affairs and popular opinion. People have been accustomed to quote him as an authority; to watch his course, as involving the secrets of vaticination, and to attribute to his personal convictions the importance which attaches only to a collective mass of wisdom and experience.

We have thus briefly sketched the characteristics of Horace Greeley, in the most prominent aspects, in which his reputation may be regarded as the property of the public. It has been no part of our plan to dwell on the moral and intellectual traits, which are revealed on a more intimate acquaintance, and which delicacy to the living precludes from discussion beyond the circle of familiar friends. The faults of Horace Greeley are exposed to the public gaze -they are constantly the theme of explicit criticism-and in spite of their

alleged enormity, his influence has never been deprecated by those who have had the greatest experience of its power. His private virtues, of course, are less frequently the subject of general observation. But they are said to awaken unmingled admiration, in those who are most fully in the enjoyment of his confidence. We believe there are few, even among his most strenuous opponents, who will venture to call in question the essential integrity of his character, the versatile activity of his intellect, or the purity and benevolence of his life.

It

The biography, on which this article is founded, is the production of a young and enthusiastic admirer of Horace Greeley. It is unequal in its execution, but is, probably, correct in its general details. A greater degree of compression in the narrative would have increased the interest of the reader. contains several lively and picturesque descriptions incidental to the main subject of the work, some of which leave a highly favorable impression of the author's skill in word-painting. With his evident quickness of perception and frequent beauty and energy of style, we may look for still more valuable productions from his pen, in fulfillment of the promise of which this first venture is an

earnest.

CHAPTER VI.

THE HE last great wain-load of red-top and clover had long since been hauled home from the most distant outland meadow, and with much clamor and rejoicing had been safely garnered upon the lofty summit of the fragrant mow. Where, erewhile, had waved fields of stout timothy, and golden oats and barley, now herds of cattle roamed at will, gleaning after the reapers, unchecked by gates and bars, and safe from molestation and pursuit, as trespassers, by angry men and dogs. The pipe of the quail was heard among the patches of yellow stubble that checkered the yet

green hill-sides. The maize stalks, bending with the weight of lusty ears, had been despoiled of their nodding plumes; and between their long rows hosts of round, yellow pumpkins lay ripening in the sun, among the withered vines. In the orchards, beneath the trees, the fallen fruit reddened the ground. Great heaps of rosy apples were piled beside the sheds, where all day long the creaking cider-mills uttered loud complaints, while from the press hard by the rich must trickled from the pummice, with a pleasant, tinkling sound, into the brimming vats. The foliage of the woods upon the western cliffs was mottled with gaudy hues of

red and yellow. Even the crowns of the hardy elms were no longer green, and each rude breath of wind shook from aloft a shower of rustling leaves. In the chilly mornings, beneath the oaks and chestnuts, the frosty sward was bestrewn with mast, where provident squirrels, mindful of the coming winter, filled their capacious cheeks, and then scampered nimbly homewards with their spoil along the tops of walls and fences. The berries of the mountain ash and asparagus, and the capsules on the rose bushes had grown to ruddy maturity. By the roadside the withered milk-weeds displayed the glossy, silken contents of their bursting pods, and the hazy air was full of thistle-down and floating gossamer. The frowzy pastures were bright with the yellow blossoms of the golden-rod and mullen. The measured, mufffed thump of flails, and the clatter of fanning-mills all day resounded through the valley. At night the pensive crickets chirped the requiem of departed summer, and petulant katydids joined in the melancholy chorus with harsh, dissonant cries. October, the month of plenty, had arrived, with its bright but dwindling days and hale and frosty nights.

It was a warm and sunny Sunday afternoon, and the staid and pious population of Walbury had assembled, for the second service, within the walls of their ancient meeting-house. The scripture had been read, the first hymn sung, the long prayer devoutly uttered, to the final amen, and the weary-footed congregation, once more seated at their ease, had listened admiringly to the singers in the gallery, while, with various rates of speed, each had followed, as best he might, in the wake of Joab, bravely leading them through the intricate windings, turnings, and doublings of that famous old fugue melody of "Majesty." The parson had put on his spectacles and risen to his feet, and Deacon Sweeny, as was his custom of a Sunday afternoon, had thrown over his bald crown a red bandanna handkerchief, and, leaning his reverend head against a post that stood handily in the corner of his pew, had comfortably disposed himself for a quiet nap. But when, instead of opening at once the well-worn covers of his sermon-book, and giving out the text, Parson Graves slowly spread out before him on the desk a broad stiff sheet of crackling

paper, and began to read, with an unusual inflation of tone and pomposity of manner, "By His Excellency, the Governor of the State of ConnecticutA Proclamation;" the deacon quickly roused himself, snatched the covering from his head, and sat upright beside his rigid spouse. Every eye was fixed upon the aged minister, and every ear was strained to catch the mangled syllables as they fell from his sunken lips. Even the mischievous boys, in the high. fastnesses of the side galleries, shut their jack-knives and peered over the tops of the pews, where, secure from observation, they were wont to disport themselves during the tedious sermon time, and gave strict heed, for once, to what was proclaimed from the pulpit. Straightway, in the excited imaginations of these ingenious youth, rose appetizing visions of broad pewter platters, whereon lay sprawling on their backs huge turkeys, which as yet stalked monarchs of the noisy poultry-yard; of mighty pasties, hot from the oven, with crisp and melting crusts bulging upwards like a dome, and pregnant with tender delectable morsels of dismembered chickens; of other pies, skillfully compounded of pumpkins, mince-meat, or apples; of round-bellied puddings, speckled with plums and unctuous with suet, and of numerous other spicy dainties that are wont to load the groaning tables at Thanksgiving-time. Nay, I fear not to aver that even the mouth of Parson Graves himself watered as he enunciated, with sonorous emphasis, the concluding words" By His Excellency's command: Thomas Day, Secretary;" and folding up the document laid it carefully between the leaves of the big Bible; for, albeit he was nearly toothless, he was, nevertheless, a stout and famous trencherman, a quality that had greatly enhanced his popularity among two generations of notable Walbury housewives.

But, though in like manner, the minds of nearly all the congregation, thus suddenly diverted from things spiritual, were busy with thoughts and anticipations relating to the household cares and carnal delights which pertain to the annual feast-day of New England, there were a few among the hearers of the proclamation, to whom it was suggestive of ideas of a different kind. Thus, while Deacon Sweeny was going through with a mental calculation of