I was introduced to a singular looking man in rustic dress.

He was writing an editorial.

His face had a peculiar infantile smoothness, and his long flaxen hair fell down over his shoulders.

I little dreamed then that that uncouth man in tow trousers was yet to be the foremost editor in America, and a candidate, unwisely, for President of the United States.

Horace Greeley, for it was he, who sat before me, has been often described as a man with the "face of an angel, and the walk of a clod-hopper." Ten years later I became well acquainted with him, and from that time a most cordial friendship existed until his dying day.