out, which was evidently that of a man who had things of vaster importance to think of.
He was whirling Horatio away in a torrent of eloquence, poured out against the sins of the age, and mainly against the theatre, which he denounced as the citadel of dissipation and all immoralities; and my poor friend, who had opened the gates of this flood by his indiscreet pleasantry, was vainly endeavouring to escape and rejoin me, when I observed a person come out of the saloon, and gradually draw near, until he stood within a few feet of the zealous reformer. A group watched him from the door. Before I suspected his object, he threw out the coils of a concealed whip, and springing upon Pendlam from behind, dealt him furious successive blows over the shoulders and head. I ran to the rescue. But already Horatio had seized the whip.
“Good for evil,” cried Pendlam, as I was on the point of throttling the assailant. “My friend, how have I injured you?”
“Interfering with my business! getting away my custom! insulting folks with your cursed tracts!” frothed the angry man. “I swore to cowhide you, and I’ve done it!”
“If that is the case, I have no complaint to make,” said Pendlam. “You can go on with your cowhiding.”
“You’ve had enough for once!” growled the other, rolling up the lash.
“But if I deserve whipping for doing my duty, I deserve a good deal more,” cried Pendlam. “And if you are to be my castigator for each offence, you will find yourself pretty well employed. It would be less trouble, I should think, to do a little more, while you have your hand in. Meanwhile, take this tract upon the sin of Anger, carry it home with you, and read it carefully at your leisure.”
Muttering threats, the man returned to the saloon, amid the laughs and acclamations of his constituents. Pendlam followed impulsively, and left the tract within. He then returned to us. Up to this time, he had appeared exalted and firm; but now there came a reaction; his voice forsook him, he trembled violently, and we were obliged to give him the support of our arms. As we conducted him away, his condition might have been taken for that of many others who get into difficulty in bar-rooms. Arrived at his boarding-house, he thanked us wish pathetic earnestness, and urged us to go in.
“On one condition,” said Horatio,—“that you say no more about the theatres.”
Pendlam smiled faintly. “I should think I might refrain from that and kindred topics, at least until my shoulders have done smarting! But I assure you, my zeal will only be quickened by the occurrences of this night. The first horsewhipping is a great event. I now know what it is to be a martyr!”
We went in and conversed. My repugnance to forming a friendship with the man who was to marry Susan had vanished. I found him rather too zealous, — almost fanatical; but we forgive every thing in a man who shows generosity of heart, and sincere aspirations. Horatio took a paper from his pocket and read for the twentieth time a certain criticism upon Miss Kellerton’s acting; occasionally looking up, to listen to some remark from either Pendlam or myself,—then returning to his favorite article.
I had the honor of differing, on many essential points, with my new clerical acquaintance; and we were soon on excellent terms of courteous dispute. I assumed the philosopher, and expressed candidly my conviction that his intellect had early projected itself into doctrines which would prove too confined for its future growth. I remember distinctly his reply.
“On the contrary, it is you,” he said, “who, I perceive, will some day come over upon the very ground I now occupy. Our modern ways of thinking have become too free and lax. We
