riptural
injunction against walking in darkness, which explains why so many
_Tribune_ readers are in the dark concerning the truth and justice of
popular questions. Consequently, as in the case of other great men, when
GREELEY'S mind becomes pregnant with a theme, moved to pity by the
neglected education and limited mental resources of many of his readers,
he repairs to one of his numerous literary lairs, and ransacks the pages
of the Past for plunder befitting his pen and party. When he is about to
write an editorial article on Protection, he invariably prepares his
mind by reading several chapters on the "Manly Art of Self-Defense,"
which accounts for the wisdom and brilliancy displayed by him on the
subject of tariffs. In order to approach a discussion of the subject of
vegetarianism without prejudice, H.G. repairs to the wheezy WINDUST'S,
where, for hours at a time, he literally "crams" with his favorite dish
of pork and beans. The Amelioration of the condition of the Working
Classes is another favorite theme with GREELEY, and, in order to discuss
clearly and cogently the many phases and ramifications of this lively
and exciting topic, he devotes several hours to the study of "Idleness
as a Fine Art." Before writing a particularly funny or spirited article
upon Politics, the Fine Arts, or the Drama, H.G., it is said, may be
seen for several hours at the Astor Library, poring over BURTON'S
_Anatomy of Melancholy_. While in the throes of literary labor upon _The
Great Conflict_, he had numerous dogmatic discussions with Mr. KIT
BURNS, participated in several flights of the "fancy" to the
bird-battling haunts of New Jersey, and even pursued the ministers of
muscle to the scene of their bucolic pastimes in the P.R. It is,
perhaps, unnecessary to remark that Mr. GREELEY'S _Recollections of a
Busy Life_ were inspired almost directly by frequent collusion with the
pages of DE QUINCEY and COLERIDGE, whose wild lives and turbulent
experiences possess a peculiar charm for the Triton of the _Tribune_.
When Mr. GREELEY wishes to write against capital punishment--which he
does about every time the moon changes--he naturally turns over a few
pages of _Thirty Years in Washington_. When he purposes to tempt the
bounding bean of the kitchen garden of Chappaqua, or humble the hopeful
harrow of agriculture, he may be found either at the Italian Opera,
serenely sleeping under the soporific strains of _Sonnambula_, or at the
Circus, beni