I still recall that conversation, the last but one which I ever had with this singular man. Unfortunately, it does not concern the narrative I now write, and I would not like to record his denunciations and invective directed at the Government. He handled it without mercy, and his comments upon the character of President Davis were exceedingly bitter. One of these was laughable for the grim humor of the idea. Opening a volume of Voltaire--whose complete works he had just purchased--he showed me a passage in one of the infidel dramas of the great Frenchman, where King David, on his death-bed, after invoking maledictions upon his opponents, declares that “having forgiven all his enemies _en bon Juif_, he is ready to die.” A grim smile came to the face of the journalist, as he showed me the passage. “That suits Mr. Davis exactly,” he said. “He forgives his enemies _en bon Juif_! I believe I will make an editorial, and quote the passage on him--but he wouldn’t understand it!” That was bitter--was it not, reader? I raised my pen to draw a line through the incident, but it can do no harm now. The solitary journalist-politician spoke freely of himself and his intentions for the future. With a few passages from our talk on this point, I will terminate my account of the interview. “You see I am here chained to the pen,” he said, “and, luckily, I have that which defies the conscript officers, if the Government takes a fancy to order editors into the ranks.” Smiling slightly as he spoke, he showed me his right hand, the fingers of which he could scarcely bend. “I was wounded at Cold Harbor, in June, 1862,” he added; “not much wounded either; but sufficient to prevent me from handling a sword or musket. It is a trifle. I should like to be able to show an honorable scar[1] in this cause, and I am sorry I left the army. By this time I might have, been a brigadier--perhaps a major-general.”[2] [Footnote 1: His words.] [Footnote 2: His words.] “Possibly,” I replied; “but the position of an editor is a powerful one.” “Do you think so?” “Don’t you?” “Yes, colonel; but what good is the _Examiner_ doing? What can all the papers in the Confederacy effect? Besides, I like to command men. I love power.”[1] [Footnote 1: His words.] I laughed. “I would recommend the philosophic view of things,” I said. “Why not take the good the gods provide? As a soldier, you would be in fetters--whatever your rank--to say nothing of the bullet that might cut short your career. And yet this life of the brain is wearing too,--” “But my health is all the better for it,” he said. “A friend was here to see me the other day, and I startled him by the observation ‘I shall live to eat the goose that eats the grass over your grave.’[1] When he inquired my meaning, I replied, ‘For two reasons--I come of a long-lived race, and have an infallible sign of longevity; I never dream, and my sleep is always sound and refreshing.’”[2] [Footnote 1: His words.]