He reminded me in and out of Horace Greeley, although they looked no more alike than a hawk and a handsaw. But they had a like habit of forgetting themselves and of saying neither more nor less than they meant. They both had the strength of an ox and as little vanity. Mr Greeley used to say that no man could amount to anything who worried much about the fit of his trousers; neither of them ever encountered that obstacle. Early next morning I took a train for home. I was in soldier clothes I had with me, no others--and all in my car came to talk with me about the now famous battle of Bull Run. The big platform at Jersey City was crowded with many people as we got off the train. There were other returning soldiers--some with crutches, some with empty sleeves. A band at the further end of the platform was playing and those near me were singing the familiar music, 'John Brown's body lies a mouldering in the grave. Somebody shouted my name. Then there rose a cry of three cheers for Brower. It's some of the boys of the Tribune, I thought--I could see a number of them in the crowd. One brought me a basket of flowers. I thought they were trying to have fun with me. 'Thank you!' said I, 'but what is the joke?' 'No joke,' he said. 'It's to honour a hero.' 'Oh, you wish me to give it to somebody.' I was warming with embarrassment 'We wish you to keep it,' he answered. In accounts of the battle I had seen some notice of my leading a charge but my fame had gone farther--much farther indeed--than I knew. I stood a moment laughing--an odd sort of laugh it was that had in it the salt of tears--and waving my hand to the many who were now calling my name. In the uproar of cheers and waving of handkerchiefs I could not find Uncle Eb for a moment. When I saw him in the breaking crowd he was cheering lustily and waving his hat above his head. His enthusiasm increased when I stood before him. As I was greeting him I heard a lively rustle of skirts. Two dainty, gloved hands laid hold of mine; a sweet voice spoke my name. There, beside me, stood the tall, erect figure of Hope. Our eyes met and, before there was any thinking of propriety, I had her in my arms and was kissing her and she was kissing me. It thrilled me to see the splendour of her beauty that day; her eyes wet with feeling as they looked up at me; to feel again the trembling touch of her lips. In a moment I turned to Uncle Eb. 'Boy,' he said, 'I thought you...' and then he stopped and began brushing his coat sleeve. 'Come on now,' he added as he took my grip away from me. 'We're goin' t' hev a gran' good time. I'll take ye all to a splendid tavern somewheres. An' I ain't goin' to count the cost nuther. He was determined to carry my grip for me. Hope had a friend with her who was going north in the morning on our boat. We crossed the ferry and took a Broadway omnibus, while query followed query. 'Makes me feel like a flapjack t'ride 'n them things,' said Uncle Eb as we got out.