. In general I knew the grounds of it--his fight against
the banks for using public funds for selfish purposes and "swapping
mushrats for mink" with the government, as uncle put it, by seeking to
return the same in cheapened paper money; his long battle for the
extension of the right of suffrage in our state; his fiery eloquence in
debate. Often I had heard Uncle Peabody say that Van Buren had made it
possible for a poor man to vote in York State and hold up his head like
a man. So I was deeply moved by the prospect of seeing him.

I could not remember that I had ever been "introduced" to anybody. I
knew that people put their wits on exhibition and often flung down a
"snag" by way of demonstrating their fitness for the honor, when they
were introduced in books. I remember asking rather timidly:

"What shall I say when--when you--introduce me?"

"Oh, say anything that you want to say," he answered with a look of
amusement.

"I'm kind o' scared," I said.

"You needn't be--he was once a poor boy just like you."

"Just like _me_!" I repeated, thoughtfully, for while I had heard a good
deal of that kind of thing in our home, it had not, somehow, got under
my jacket, as they used to say.

"Just like _you_--cowhide and all--the son of a small freeholder in
Kinderhook on the Hudson," he went on. "But he was well fed in brain and
body and kept his heart clean. So, of course, he grew and is still
growing. That's a curious thing about men and women, Bart. If
they are in good ground and properly cared for they never stop
growing-never!--and that's a pretty full word--isn't it?"

I felt its fulness, but the Senator had a way of stopping just this side
of the grave in all his talks with me, and so there was no sign of
preaching in any of it.

"As time goes on you'll meet a good many great men, I presume," he
continued. "They're all just human beings like you and me. Most of them
enjoy beefsteak, and apple pie and good boys."

We had come in sight of the house. I lagged behind a little when I saw
the great man sitting on the small piazza with Mrs. Wright. I shall
never forget the grand clothes he wore--black, saving the gray
waistcoat, with shiny, brass buttons--especially the great, white
standing collar and cravat. I see vividly, too, as I write, the full
figure, the ruddy, kindly face, the large nose, the gray eyes, the thick
halo of silvered hair extending from his collar to the bald top of his
head. He rose and said i