But at last the Doctor gave his spell-bound audience the benefit of a prize-ring illustration, which ran on this wise: He said "that the Southern champion had choice of ground, and the corner in the ring with his back to the sun, which compelled the Northern pugilist to face the fiery orb, which he regarded quite an advantage, as he thought 'Sam' could not long endure the hot blaze in his face. He described 'Sam' as a man of giant frame and strength, but awkward movements, and questionable powers of endurance, a Goliath in appearance, fearful to look upon or to hear, his voice like that of his Philistine prototype. But he had not the pluck, the heroism, the chivalry of his antagonist, and, indeed, could not have, for he was descended from the Roundheads of England, who in all their generations had been a pestilent and meddlesome race of fanatics wherever found, at home and abroad. Not so with the Southern champion. 'Johnny' came down from the Olympic heavens of the English Cavaliers, brave, chivalrous, with small but compact frame, agile, confident, the very David of the Southern house of Israel."

He said "the prize was the grandest ever battled for among the battling nations. The fight in the first few rounds was a regular stand-up give-and-take. The first knock-down and first blood were awarded to 'Johnny' at Bull Run, or Manassas. After that he feinted, dodged and retreated, till at Richmond he got in a stunning blow on the giant, and 'sent him to grass.' After being well sponged up in the Washington corner, by Abraham and Mac, his seconds, the giant came to time again, and a few more rounds were had, at Gettysburg, Fort Donaldson, Shiloh, Perryville, New Orleans and Vicksburg, where the little man of the South was repeatedly knocked down and roughly handled in chancery. 'Johnny' tried once to suddenly flank 'Sam' and get first to the Washington corner, which well-nigh proved fatal to his resources of strength and endurance.

"After this the programme of the little David was changed to dodging, retreating, falling, a la Tom Sayers; but he was to put in a telling blow when he could, tapping the wind, closing the sight, and drawing blood as much as possible, and when he couldn't, to depend mainly on avoiding blows, but keep on provoking them, thus leaving 'Sam' to exhaust himself in 'beating the air,' as heavy blows given in the air are more hurtful and exhausting to the striker than when delivered upon an object. David was to make feints and dodge, which would set the Northern Philistine in a rage after him around the ring, the one giving prodigious blows in the air, the other keeping out of harm's way."

This sort of negative policy the learned, pious and patriotic Doctor claimed would "give victory to the Southern champion, and he would bear the giant's head in triumph to the camp of Israel."

Save the want of rhetorical dignity in the illustration, it was all well enough, only so it had been true to the facts, but unfortunately subsequent events went to show that the little wiry man of the South became exhausted by the dodging and retreating policy first, and went under at last, and the bloody sponge was thrown up in token of his defeat.

Some time before this appearance of the divine orator a card appeared in the Houston press, over the Doctor's name, threatening dire vengeance upon his slanderers, according to the code duello. In his speech he referred to the card, and then giving a Randolphian angle and shake to his dexter index finger said, with bitter venom, "that card is to stand till after the war, when there will be time to settle with my enemies." The moral disgust we felt at this vile utterance was simply unutterable.

The next day a certain widow lady, owner of a large plantation and a hundred negroes, was in the store; she was tall and straight, with sharp angular features, a dark Southern complexion, black hair and eyes in keeping, a masculine business turn of mind, and occupied perpendicular space in air, about five feet nine inches. Taken undivided her presence was rather commanding. Approaching us at the counter, with quizzing eye, and an air of triumph, she said:

"Well, Sir, how did you like the speech yesterday?"

Generally we had to think twice before speaking once, frequently three times, and then again keep up a heavy thinking, and not speak at all. As near as we can calculate we had about three thinks: First, who was the Doctor? second, who was the lady addressing us? and third, who were we? Then we replied:

"Madam, I have no fault to find with the speech as a Confederate speech; it was all well enough in that regard. As a piece of oratory I admired many portions of it; as the effort of a politician on the stump, or of a jury advocate, I thought very well of it, but I did not approve the animus of the speaker when judged from the standpoint of a Christian divine."

"Why, Sir, what do you mean?" said the lady.

"I mean, Madam, that the spirit of dueling is not the spirit of Christ."

"The Doctor's remarks about the dueling card pleased me more than anything else," rejoined the lady.

"That part of the Doctor's remarks I disapproved most," we rejoined.

"Well," she continued, "I am a professing Christian, and a member of the Baptist Church. I have several sons, and have always taught them to defend their characters according to the code of honor, and, Sir, if your ideas are correct then I confess I know very little about Christianity."

"Very likely, Madam, and I think none of us know much about the true spirit of it, the way we are going on. But, my dear lady, what are the Doctor's grievances when compared with those of Christ and his Apostles? and yet what would you think of the idea that they carried deadly weapons to defend their characters and persons with? Preposterous, do you say? 'The servant is not above his Lord.' If the Master might not do so how much less the servant. And furthermore, how does the Doctor's case stand in the constellated light of the Master's declaration, 'My kingdom is not of this world, else my servants would fight.'"

"Well," said the lady again, in a half desponding tone, "if that's the true doctrine I don't know what we should do if we should undertake to carry it out in this world. But then I can't believe it, and that's all there is about it with me, I can't believe it."

"There's the trouble, Madam, we don't really and practically believe what we profess except when the truth conserves our self-interest, or our convenience. When otherwise we can not trust God for results, but take matters out of his hands and control them ourselves, and for ourselves. And behold what dirty, wicked work we make of it sometimes."

Just then the wealthy planteress left, as though with a new idea in her head and heart.

But to quote the Doctor a little more. He said: "After the war I intend giving myself to the legal profession, and shall not return to the pulpit. I am keeping a spotted book. All persons who refuse to go into the army, or evade the conscript law by any dodge or subterfuge whatever, their names shall go down in the spotted book, to receive my special attention after the war, personally, professionally, and politically, and I swear it here and now; they shall be hunted in town, in the city, through the wilderness, out of the country, and peradventure a worse fate may befall them!"

He said: "If Southern independence can not be achieved I would prefer to go under the English or French flag. I could bear being whipped by the Mexicans, by England, by France, or by any other people under the sun—even by the Hottentots—but to be subjugated by a meddlesome pusillanimous race that says ceow for cow, is intolerable to the last degree."

Two years after this speech, when the war was over, we met the Doctor at the dinner-table of the City Hotel in New Orleans, most slouchfully dressed, and with an equally slouchful look; at least so imagination played through our optics. He was on a pilgrimage to Washington to swallow the hated "iron-clad," and obtain his pardon. We thought appearances indicated that he needed a pardon bad, both from Washington and from a higher source. No man in Texas had done more to promote secession. He was a violent denunciator of all who did not succumb to his way of thinking, and tacitly, at least, gave countenance to the mob spirit against them.

We say, is it strange that laymen should hold human life of little value when their spiritual leaders do the same. Here was a man who bore the tri-colored character of divine, educator and military captain, merging the whole in the low, despicable and intensely wicked character of duelist.

It is only two years since the writer was back in Texas a few months, and while there a political meeting was held at the city of H., one night. At that meeting Judge —— was one of the speakers, and in his speech made some caustic allusions to "scallawags" which the Doctor construed as intended by the speaker for him, whereupon the next day he addressed a note to the Judge, by the hand of his friend, demanding an explanation, which was refused because of the arrogant tone of the language in which the demand was made. A second note was dispatched, repeating the demand, and closing in case the Judge again declined explanation, with a challenge to fight, conceding to him choice of weapons and place. To this he declined as before, and for similar reasons; also, declined acceptance of the challenge on the grounds that, first, he had conscientious scruples, and second, it was a violation of the laws of the land, but that if attacked he should defend himself in accordance with the law and right of self-defense.

Now, at this stage of the affair the Doctor was reduced to the alternatives of yielding the point of honor or shooting on sight. He chose the latter. So, with divers and sundry weapons of death—a rifle, a double-barreled shot-gun, a six-shooter, and a pair of derringers, with, perhaps, a bowie-knife, meaning by the medley of arms to observe the nice point of using the same weapon the Judge might have when they met—he took position on Main Street, where his game had to pass in going from his house to his office, and waited there two or three hours, but the Judge did not appear. By this time a large crowd of the Doctor's friends and neutral spectators had gathered round, and the enraged divine—or colonel, as he was then called—stepped upon a dry goods box and harangued the excited crowd, closing up with the historic and threadbare denunciation of the Judge as "a scoundrel, a liar and a coward," and he would shoot him when and wherever he saw him. He then retired to private quarters, to be flattered by a few friends for his brave and chivalrous conduct. Of course the Judge was a scoundrel a liar and a coward, because the Colonel said so, in the God-defying spirit of hate and murder. He could not be a good man, an honest man, or a brave or true man, after this; no, the Colonel had said it before men and angels, and laughing devils, and the universe was bound to credit his ipse dixit. The parties, however, were soon reconciled by the good and pacific offices of the Masonic fraternity, of which they proved to be members. The Judge said he did not intend his remarks on scalawags for the Colonel, and did not know the Colonel was a Mason. And the Colonel said he did not know the Judge was a Mason, or he might have acted differently; that the Judge was a gentleman, and he certainly felt bound to make the amende honorable. How changed! The furious madman would have killed him but a few hours ago, but suddenly he becomes as "gentle as a sucking dove." O, poor deluded devotee of the dueling code, thou wouldst have imbrued thy hands in the blood of thy fellow, and on thine own mistaken suspicion! Well, God pity thee till thou learnest better, and ceasest thy barbarity of soul!