ar. Nobody, of course, supposes
it was written by him whose name is subscribed to it. But whoever shall
prove to be the author has raised to himself an imperishable monument of
glory. The sentiments, at least, are approved by the President, and he
should have the credit of it, as he would have the blame if it were bad;
and, possessing these sentiments, we have reason to believe that he has
firmness enough to do his duty.

"I say, Hurrah for Jackson, and so I am willing to say at all times when
he does his duty. The only difference between the thorough-going Jackson
man and me is, that I will not 'hurrah' for him right or wrong. And I
think that Jackson's election may save the Union."

If he disliked Jackson on account of his policies, he seemed to dislike
journalists regardless of their political creeds. To his eyes they were
a pestilential crew. Here is the first glimpse of Bryant, the great
William Cullen Bryant, who as a mere boy had penned the beautiful
"Thanatopsis." It is of the date of April 20, 1831. "While I was shaving
this morning at eight o'clock, I witnessed from the front window an
encounter in the street nearly opposite, between William C. Bryant and
William L. Stone, the former one of the editors of the _Evening Post_,
and the latter the editor of the _Commercial Advertiser_. The former
commenced the attack by striking Stone over the head with a cow-skin;
after a few blows the men closed, and the whip was wrested away from
Bryant and carried off by Stone." Here and there are flung expressions
of admiration for Bryant's verse, but the tone is of one speaking of the
cleverness of a trained lizard. Thirteen years intervened between the
first and the last Bryant entry. In February, 1844, Nicholas Biddle, the
great financier, died. Something that Bryant wrote roused Hone's wrath.
Here is his comment of February 28: "Bryant, the editor of the _Evening
Post_, in an article of his day, virulent and malignant as are usually
the streams which flow from that polluted source, says that Mr. Biddle
'died at his country-seat, where he passed the last of his days in
elegant retirement, which, if justice had taken place, would have been
spent in the penitentiary.' This is the first instance I have known of
the vampire of party-spirit seizing the lifeless body of its victim
before its interment, and exhibiting its bloody claws to the view of
mourning relatives and sympathizing friends. How such a black-hearted
misanthrop