Pepper was indeed his name. He had been out to see if he could remember it; and he was so flushed with his success that he repeated it joyously several times, and then, with a short laugh he went away. I had often heard of a man being "so drunk that he didn't know what town he lived in," but here was a man so hideously inebriated that he didn't know what his name was. I saw him no more, but I heard from him. For he published a notice of my lecture, in which he said I had A DISSIPATED AIR! 4.7. HORACE GREELEY'S RIDE TO PLACERVILLE. When Mr. Greeley was in California ovations awaited him at every town. He had written powerful leaders in the "Tribune" in favor of the Pacific railroad, which had greatly endeared him to the citizens of the Golden State. And therefore they made much of him when he went to see them. At one town the enthusiastic populace tore his celebrated white coat to pieces, and carried the pieces home to remember him by. The citizens of Placerville prepared to fete the great journalist, and an extra coach, with extra relays of horses, was chartered to the California Stage Company to carry him from Folsom to Placerville--distance, forty miles. The extra was in some way delayed, and did not leave Folsom until late in the afternoon. Mr. Greeley was to be feted at 7 o'clock that evening by the citizens of Placerville, and it was altogether necessary that he should be there by that hour. So the Stage Company said to Henry Monk, the driver of the extra: "Henry, this great man must be there by 7 to-night." And Henry answered, "The great man shall be there." The roads were in an awful state, and during the first few miles out of Folsom slow progress was made. "Sir," said Mr. Greeley, "are you aware that I MUST be at Placerville at 7 o'clock to-night?" "I've got my orders!" laconically returned Henry Monk. Still the coach dragged slowly forward. "Sir," said Mr. Greeley, "this is not a trifling matter. I MUST be there at 7!" Again came the answer, "I've got my orders!" But the speed was not increased, and Mr. Greeley chafed away another half hour; when, as he was again about to remonstrate with the driver, the horses suddenly started into a furious run, and all sorts of encouraging yells filled the air from the throat of Henry Monk. "That is right, my good fellow!" cried Mr. Greeley. "I'll give you ten dollars when we get to Placerville. Now we ARE going!" They were indeed, and at a terrible speed. Crack, crack! went the whip, and again "that voice" split the air. "Git up! Hi yi! G'long! Yip--yip!" And on they tore over stones and ruts, up hill and down, at a rate of speed never before achieved by stage horses. Mr. Greeley, who had been bouncing from one end of the coach to the other like an india-rubber ball, managed to get his head out of the window, when he said: "Do--on't--on't--on't you-u-u think we-e-e-e shall get there by seven if we do--on't--on't go so fast?"