The late Charles A. Dana fairly bubbled over with the enjoyment of his
work, and was, up to his last illness, at his office every day. A
Cabinet officer once said to him: "Well, Mr. Dana, I don't see how you
stand this infernal grind."

"Grind?" said Mr. Dana. "You never were more mistaken. I have nothing
but fun."

"Bully" was a favorite word with him; a slang word used to express
uncommon pleasure, such as had been afforded by a trip abroad, or by a
run to Cuba or Mexico, or by the perusal of something especially
pleasing in the "Sun's" columns.

"One of my neighbors is a very ill-tempered man," said Nathan
Rothschild. "He tries to vex me, and has built a great place for swine
close to my walk. So, when I go out, I hear first, 'Grunt, grunt,' then
'Squeak, squeak.' But this does me no harm. I am always in good humor."

Offended by a pungent article, a gentleman called at the "Tribune"
office and inquired for the editor. He was shown into a little
seven-by-nine sanctum, where Greeley sat, with his head close down to
his paper, scribbling away at a two-forty rate. The angry man began by
asking if this was Mr. Greeley. "Yes, sir; what do you want?" said the
editor quickly, without once looking up from his paper. The irate
visitor then began using his tongue, with no reference to the rules of
propriety, good breeding, or reason. Meantime Mr. Greeley continued to
write. Page after page was dashed off in the most impetuous style, with
no change of features, and without paying the slightest attention to the
visitor. Finally, after about twenty minutes of the most impassioned
scolding ever poured out in an editor's office, the angry man became