a modesty and self sacrifice unsuited to the Age of Brass we live in. Are you not seeking to do a humane and generous act? Are you not proposing to tax yourself $600 in order to raise an intelligent, capable, deserving woman from slavery to freedom? Are you not proposing to do this in a manner perfectly lawful and unobjectionable, involving no surrender or compromise of Southern Rights'? My dear sir! such virtue must not be allowed to 'blush unseen.' Our age needs the inspiration of heroic examples, and those who would 'do good by stealth, and blush to find it Fame,' must-by gentle violence, if need be-stand revealed to an amazed, admiring world. True, it might (and might not) have been still more astounding but for your unlucky gambling on the late presidential election, wherein it is hard to tell whether you who lost your money or those who won their president were most unfortunate. I affectionately advise you both never to do so again.

"And now as to this daughter of the late Judge Hopkins of Savannah, Georgia, whom you propose to sell me:

"I cannot now remember that I have ever heard Slavery justified on any ground which did not assert or imply that it is the best condition for the negro. The blacks, we are daily told, cannot take care of themselves, but sink into idleness, debauchery, squalid poverty and utter brutality, the moment the master's sustaining rule and care are withdrawn. If this is true, how dare you turn this poor dependent, for whose well-being you are responsible, over to me, who neither would nor could exert a master's control over her? If this slave ought not to be set at liberty, why do you ask me to bribe you with $1,000 to do her that wrong? If she ought to be, why should I pay you $1,000 for doing your duty in the premises? You hold a peculiar and responsible relation to her, through your own voluntary act, but I am only related to her through Adam, the same as to every Esquimaux, Patagonian, or NewZealander. whatever may be your duty in the premises, why should I be called on to help you discharge it?

"Full as your account of this girl is, you say nothing of her children, though such she undoubtedly has, whether they be also those of her several masters, as she was, or their fathers were her fellow-slaves. If she is liberated and comes North, what is to become of them? How is she to be reconcued to leaving them in slavery? How can we be assured that the masters who own or to whom you will sell them before leaving for California, will prove as humane and liberal as you are?

"You inform me that the friends of Liberty' in New York or hereabout 'will no doubt make up' the $1,000 you demand, in order to give this daughter of a Georgia Judge her freedom. I think and trust you misapprehend them. For though they have, to my certain knowledge, under the impulse of special appeals to their sympathies, and in view of peculiar dangers or hardships, paid a great deal more money than they could comfortably spare (few of them being rinh) to buy individual slaves out of bondage, yet their judg

ment has never approved such payment of tribute to man-thieves, and every day's earnest consideration causes it to be regarded with less and less favor. For it is not the snatching of here and there a person from Slavery, at the possible rate of one for every thousand increase of our slave population, that they desire, but the overthrow and extermination of the slave-holding system; and this end, they realize, is rather hindered than helped by their buying here and there a slave into freedom. If by so buying ten thousand a year, at a cost of Ten Millions of Dollars, they should confirm you and other slaveholders in the misconception that Slavery is regarded without abhorrence by intelligent Christian freemen at the North, they would be doing great harm to their cause and injury to their fellow-Christians in bondage. You may have heard, perhaps, of the sentiment proclaimed by Decatur to the slaveholders of the Barbary Coast-' Millions for defense-not a cent for tribute!' -and perhaps also of its counterpart in the Scotch ballad

Instead of broad pieces, we'll pay them broadswords ;'—

but 'the friends of Liberty' in this quarter will fight her battle neither with lead nor steel-much less with gold. Their trust is in the might of Opinionin the resistless power of Truth where Discussion is untrammeled and Commercial Intercourse constant-in the growing Humanity of our age-in the deepening sense of Common Brotherhood-in the swelling hiss of Christendom and the just benignity of God. In the earnest faith that these must soon eradicate a wrong so gigantic and so palpable as Christian Slavery, they serenely await the auspicious hour which must surely come.

"Requesting you, Mr.

not to suppress my name in case you see fit to reply to this, and to be assured that I write no letter that I am ashamed of, I remain, Yours, so-so,

"HORACE GREELEY."

And here, closing the last volume of the Tribune, the reader is invited to a survey of the place whence it was issued, to glance at the routine of the daily press, to witness the scene in which our hero has labored so long. The Tribune building remains to be exhibited.

CHAPTER XXVI.

DAY AND NIGHT IN THE TRIBUNE OFFICE.

The streets before daybreak-Waking the newsboys-Morning scene in the press-room -The Compositor's room-The four Phalanxes-The Tribune Directory-A lull in the Tribune office-A glance at the paper-The advertisements-Telegraphic marvels-Marine Intelligence-New Publications-Letters from the people-Editorial articles-The editorial Rooms-The Sanctum Sanctorum-Solon Robinson-Bayard Taylor-William Henry Fry-George Ripley-Charles A. Dana-F. J. Ottarson -George M. Snow-Enter Horace Greeley-His Preliminary botheration-The composing-room in tho evening-The editors at work-Mr. Greeley's manner of writing-Midnight-Three o'clock in the morning-The carriers.

WE are in the streets, walking from the regions where money is spent towards those narrow and crooked places wherein it is earned. The day is about to dawn, but the street lights are still burning, and the greater part of the million people who live within sight of the City Hall's illuminated dial, are lying horizontal and unconscious, in the morning's last slumber. The streets are neither silent nor deserted-the streets of New York never are. The earliest milkmen have begun their morning crow, squeak, whoop, and yell. The first omnibus has not yet come down town, but the butcher's carts, heaped with horrid flesh, with men sitting upon it reeking with a night's carnage, are rattling along Broadway at the furious pace for which the butcher's carts of all nations are noted. The earliest workmen are abroad, dinner-kettle in hand; carriers with their bundles of newspapers slung across their backs by a strap, are emerging from Nassau street, and making their way across the Park-towards all the ferries-up Broadway-up Chatham streetto wherever their district of distribution begins. The hotels have just opened their doors and lighted up their offices; and drowsy waiters are perambulating the interminable passages, knocking up passengers for the early trains, and waking up everybody else. In unnumbered kitchens the breakfast fire is kindling, but not yet, in any except the market restaurants, is a cup of coffee attainable. The very groggeries-strange to see-are closed. Apparently, the