“  it of him for twenty dollars, and it was the best coat I ever had. They do work well, in the old countries; not in such a hurry as we do.” The door closed, and I was alone with the lamp-post. In another hour, Horace Greeley, after such a day of hunger and fatigue, was speaking to an audience of three thousand people in the Tabernacle.These narratives, with other glimpses previously afforded, will perhaps give the reader a sufficient insight into Horace Greeley's hurried, tumultuous way of life. Not every day, however, is as hurried and tumultuous as this. Usually, he rises at seven o'clock, having returned from the office about midnight. He takes but two meals a day, breakfast at eight, dinner when he can get it, generally about four. Tea and coffee he drinks never; cocoa is his usual beverage. To depart from his usual routine of diet, or to partake of any viand which experience has shown to be injurious, he justly denominates a “sin,” and groans' over it with very sincere repentance. A public dinner is one of his peculiar aversions; and, indeed, it may be questioned whether human nature ever presents itself in a light more despicable than at a public dinner, particularly towards the close of the entertainment. Mr. Greeley is a regular subscriber to the New York Tribune, and pays for it at the usual rate of one shilling a week. As soon as it arrives in the morning, he begins the perusal of that interesting paper, and examines every department of it with great care, bestowing upon each typographical error a heart-felt anathema. His letters arrive. They vary in number from twenty to fifty a day; every letter requiring an answer, is answered forthwith; and, not unfrequently, twenty replies are written and dispatched by him in one morning. In the intervals of work, there is much romping with the children. But two are left to him out of six. Toward noon, or soon after, the editor is on his way to his office. Mr. Greeley has few intimate friends and no cronies. He gives no parties, attends few; has no pleasures, so called; and suffers little pain. In some respects, he is exceedingly frank; in others, no man is more reserved. For example—his pecuniary affairs, around which most men throw an awful mystery, he has no scruples about revealing to any passing stranger, or even to the public; and that
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