vement.

"And you really think well of him? But, then, he is an editor, and
authors always have a sort of affinity for gentlemen of the press," says
a pert young creature, twisting her head on one side, and coming up to
me.

"I think well of him," says I, "because he is a man that has worked his
way up in the world by the hardest; studied wisdom from the type he was
setting, when he had no time for books; worked like a Trojan to support
himself days, then sat up half the night to improve his mind. Mr.
Greeley is in all respects a self-made man. This nomination is but the
proper and natural crown of a busy life like his, of integrity like his,
and of wisdom like his."

"You talk earnestly," says a gentleman, coming up into the little crowd
that grew thick around me.

"Because I feel earnestly," says I, a-doubling up my fan, and laying
down the law with it. "I don't pretend to know a great deal about
politics, but I do know something about the history of my country, and
it has never been better governed than when self-made men have ruled
over it; but here is something more--the editor of a great daily journal
is gathering up knowledge and wisdom every day of his life. He has
opportunities for watching events and judging of actions that prepare
his own mind for the exercise of power when it comes. "Why," says I,
warming up, "the greatest statesmen that you have are editors and
self-made men. The fact is, men who have worked their own way in the
world, haven't time to be rogues, and very seldom are even grasping. It
is your lazy fellow, who lives by the cunning that he calls wits, who is
not to be trusted. For my part, as two candidates have to be in the
field to have a good run, I am glad that those Cincinnati folks had the
sense to take a man right out of the bosom of the people to govern the
people. Brought up so close to the public heart, he'll know how it
beats. Having been a working man, he'll know how to feel for toilers
like himself, just as General Grant now feels for the soldiers."

"You talk like a book," says the young lady, a-twisting her head the
other way.

"I didn't know till you told me, miss, that books did talk," says I,
opening my fan again.

"Oh, yes, they do," says she, giggling.

"Bound to talk, I suppose," says I, a-smiling in my usual bland way.

They all laughed at this, but the girl looked around as if she wondered
what it was all about.

I just made a little inclination of the head,