HORACE GREELEY'S HANDWRITING.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1263, 14 May 1896, Page 13

HORACE GREELEY'S HANDWRITING.

A journalist wdio was at one time employed on the New York Tribune, tells an amusing story of Horace Gfroeloy, the famous journalist and politician, who wrote a perfectly vile hand which few could decipher. Only one compositor, Lark way, could make any thing of tho editor's scrawds, and he boasted that ho could read Greeley's copy at three yards with ono eye shut. The rest were, of course, jealous, and eager to humble the champion. Some ono sent Greeley two cockerels of a rare breed, which ho prized so much thaLthey were kept at the printing o/lico. One of these chanced to put his foot on the proofpress inking-roller, and then walked across a sheet of white paper. A lightning-Hush of inspiration struck the foreman, and was communicated to the whole staff except Larkway. Next afternoon they were at tho oilico two hours before tho customary time. The "devil " fetched about a dozen sheets of Greeley's usual quarto, and these were spread closely over the floor. The two "roosters " had made a hearty meal of cockroaches, and were in splendid trim. The bottoms of their feet were smeared with ink, and then they were set to. Every few minutes they were taken oil' and inked afresh. At the end of twenty minutes every scrap of paper was covered thick with footprints. Then the foreman collected the sheets, numbered the pages, and headed the whole in Greeley's usual scrawl: "The Plain Duty of Congress," with the Printing direction, " Brevier— Double Lead." The copy was placed on Larkway\s case. The excitement of the jokers was intense. At length the victim appeared with his usual cocksure air. "Still afraid of tho old man's stuff?" he said, jauntily, as ho walked up to his place. " Can't rastle it, eh, Had to leave it for old Larkway ? Well, that's all right; I like it." lie took tho copy, picked up his "stick," and started oil' to set I At the end of the second line ho began to look a little troubled, laid down his stick, and we thought our moment of victory had come ; but he only swore a little, knocked the ashes out of his pipe, picked up his stick, and went on. You could have packed every one of us in a hat-box. The old cave-dweller worked on, and never looked up again until he got almost at the bottom of the last page. Here ho stuck', on a place where one of tho roosters had slapped down tho edge of his wing, also inky. Larkway studied over this part for a long time, then lie said to tho foreman: " Darn it, the host of us got hung up on a word once in a while. What's that down down there '?" "Don't ask me," said tho foreman. " You know 1 can't read tho stuff. Go down and ask tho old man himself." Larkway shuffled out with a long face, ids pipe in one hand and the copy in the other. He went into his chief's room, and said, in a low tone: "Mr Greeley, I'm stuck. What is that word?" Mr Greeley snatched tho sheet from his hand impatiently, studied it a, moment, and then squeaked in his highest voice : " Unconstitutional, sir' Great Jehoshaphat I it

seems to ne; as if you fellows have no brains at all, nowadays." Thus did the great joke of the roosters fall ignobly flat. —J. T. M. EoiNuunon.