Preaching, in a general way, is a good thing, and, in a particular way, to him who loves to hear himself talk, a pleasant thing, and if he talks well, rather pleasant to others. Now, the Fighting Nigger loved to hear himself talk, but unlike many--too many--inflicted with that infirmity he talked well, as we have had frequent occasion to notice; while again, unlike the majority of the few who talk well, he listened well, which, also, we have once or twice remarked. As his walks through life should lead him no more upon the war-path, and as his color and condition forbade his taking the stump, or appearing at the bar, or sitting in the senate-house, he needs must take to preaching, as the only shift by which he could hope to retain that preeminence among his fellows which his prowess in arms had won for him. Such a calling would give his oratorical powers full scope--a desperate revival among the ebony brotherhood, from time to time, with two or three funeral-sermons to each lay brother or lay sister of peculiar sanctity, being just the thing to set them off to the highest advantage. Nor would this be all. While making the great display, he would be doing a little good--casting bread upon the waters, to be found many days hence; _i.e._, spreading the glad tidings of damnation to nearly everybody born to die, and of salvation to a select few--just enough to keep the angels from getting lonesome--conspicuous among whom were our good old Abram, John Calvin, and Burlman Reynolds.